Adventure, November 1915 — page 140: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

138 “How are ye, sonny?” he demanded. “How are ye makin’ out?” The giant was trembling. “T’ve got his number,” whispered Billy, reaching for his water bottle. ‘‘Make that referee count slow, that’s all!” O’Hanlon was amazed; but in all his ring battles he had never once known Billy make a false prediction. ee right, sonny. Ill keep my eye on “Tf you do, I’ve as good as won,” said Billy, and O’Hanlon went back to his seat Round three was a hummer from the start. Mike overreached himself and hit the floor within the first ten seconds. Billy, like a clean little sportsman, jumped clear instantly, and the crowd applauded. The contrast between his behavior and Connolly’s was marked, as he intended that it should be. The feeling of the crowd was beginning to be with him, and that helps more than many fans imagine. ran MIKE was on his feet again before cK the referee saw fit to start the count, 3 and came in with a rush. There followed another toe-to-toe slamming- match, in which Billy had by no means the worst of it, for Connolly gave ground slowly toward his corner. Again the referee ap- peared to whisper to him—or so it seemed to Terence—and suddenly without cause or excuse, but just exactly as Billy’s left start- ed on a swing, Mike dropped down on one knee. “Foul!” stantly. But not even that referee dared give it. Billy had stopped in time. He had pulled the blow. He did land on Mike, but much too lightly for it to be called a foul, and he stepped back with a grin and a wave of his glove towards the crowd that was more eloquent than words. That wave of the hand, though, and the momentary inatten- tion, looked like losing him the fight. Mike was’up from his knee in a flash, rushed in like a flash, and landed. The blow sounded like a pile-driver at work, and Billy fell forward on his knees. ‘““He’s out!” yelled the crowd, watching Billy swaying to and fro and sinking lower. But Terence O’Hanlon, with his eye on the referee and one finger around the washer, : “ yelled Mike’s’ seconds in- a Adventure had his doubts about the exact spot where that blow had landed. “Stand back!” said the referee, waving one hand up and down, but not counting aloud. “Ar-r-re ye countin’?” bellowed O’Han- lon; and the referee looked down at him. The washer was protruding through O’Han- lon’s fingers. He did not want to die, but on the other hand he did not dare begin counting all over again so late. “Two!” he called; and Terence’s right hand went back towards his pocket. Billy’s attitude was strange. He was on one knee. One hand was down beside him and the other was raised up to his face. He looked almost as if he were praying. Con- nolly, with one eye on the referee, came one pace nearer. “Four—five—six—”’ tolled out the third man in the ring, watching O’Hanlon shrewd- ly and ignoring Connolly. Mike took a short step closer. He stood now almost directly over Billy, in flagrant disregard of the rules, ready to nail Billy the instant that the other rose. Billy swayed a little as he knelt. He seemed about to topple over backward. .To make sure, Mike came yet six inches nearer. ‘“Eight—nine—” called the referee, slowly — enough to suit O’Hanlon. Billy moved slightly. Connolly leaned in to administer the sleep punch. And then— in a flash—the utterly impossible occurred. Billy straightened. He rose like a rocket from the floor, and that terrific left of his. went home on the peak of Mike’s jaw, with a pop like a cork escaping from a bottle. Mike was lifted backward off his feet by a shock like dynamite. He fell full length on his back, to lie there motionless while the whole house rocked applause. The referee was forced to count him out. He dawdled over it until the fans laughed at him, but Mike gave no sign of life, and in the end the ‘‘Eight—nine—ten—he’s out!” was yelled for him by the fans in unison. Billy helped them carry Mike over to his corner, and returned to his to find O’Han- lon there before him, dancing elephantine jigs of joy. “Ye little runt!” he shouted. “Ye de- cent little runt! D’ye know what ye’ve done? Ye’re champion again, an’ ye’ve saved the firm besides!” Terence threw two enormous arms around him and tossed him high above his head. =COMiIGooOO S (E©) mn