Up goes the right of Basil the son of Richard, and behold while all cry "a parry!" in goes his left, quick as a flash, and grazes the chin of the solid Culver.
Whereat the ring well-nigh breaks with applause, and the knowing ones nod one at another, and Heathcote leaps for joy and beams like the sun at mid-day as his hero returns to his knees and girds himself for the second round.
Birket looks up at the clock and groans to see five minutes gone.
Gosse, too, groans as his man steps forward once more, unsteady and amazed at what had befallen him.

"Hit low!" he whispers.
And now, once more, dead silence falls upon the ring, and all eyes turn to where Dick steps lightly up and meets his man.

All mark the laugh in his eye, but the knowing ones like it not.
"Steady," says Birket; "don't be too sure." But Basil the son of Richard heeds him not, and his eyes laugh still.
This time, not Culver, but he is the pursuer, and the unknowing ones quake for their hero.

Yet Culver stands as he stood before and deals his blow.

Once more the new boy parries and drives home with his left.
But, alas! Culver is ready for him, while he, unprepared, with his right still up, receives the fist of Culver on his chest.