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"Your man brought the scale down at thirteen- three, and Harrison at thirteen-eight." "He's a fifteen-stoner from the loins upwards," cried Dutch Sam, from his corner. "We'll get some of it off him before we finish." "You'll get more off him than ever you bargained for," answered Jim Belcher, and the crowd laughed at the rough chaff.
For my own part, I had Champion Harrison upon one side of me and a stout, florid-faced man upon the other, who whispered to me that he was "Bill Warr, landlord of the One Tun public-house, of Jermyn Street, and one of the gamest men upon the list." "It's my flesh that's beat me, sir," said he. "It creeps over me amazin' fast. I should fight at thirteen-eight, and 'ere I am nearly seventeen.
Thirteen-eight Fourteen-eight. The whistle blew. Judith couldn't see what had happened, but evidently there had been a foul, for Catherine had a free throw. York Hill let themselves go for a minute. Good for Cathy! Seconds were precious now and the play was swift. Again the whistle. This time Patricia took the ball. York Hill held its breath. Fourteen-ten. Nothing succeeds like success!
"Gentlemen," cried Jackson, again, "I am requested to inform you that Sir Charles Tregellis's nominee is Jack Harrison, fighting at thirteen-eight, and Sir Lothian Hume's is Crab Wilson, at thirteen- three. No person can be allowed at the inner ropes save the referee and the timekeeper.
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