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Updated: May 12, 2025
As luck would have it, he had not so long to wait as he had expected, for the Pauline, taking the lead after the first few exchanges, out-fought his man so completely that the referee stopped the contest in the second round. Sheen got up from his corner and went to the dressing-room. The Tonbridgian was already there. He took off his coat.
Sheen, filled with a great calm, walked out of his corner and shook hands with his opponent. It was all over in half a minute. The Tonbridgian was a two-handed fighter of the rushing type almost immediately after he had shaken hands. Sheen found himself against the ropes, blinking from a heavy hit between the eyes.
Through the mist he saw his opponent sparring up to him, and as he hit he side-stepped. The next moment he was out in the middle again, with his man pressing him hard. There was a quick rally, and then Sheen swung his right at a venture. The blow had no conscious aim. It was purely speculative. But it succeeded. The Tonbridgian fell with a thud. Sheen drew back. The thing seemed pathetic.
The Tonbridgian had shown up well in the competition of the previous year, and the crowd welcomed him as an old friend. Keep that guard up straight left. Straight left guard up. "Seconds out of the ring." Guard up. Not too high. Straight left. It beats the world. What an age that man was calling Time. Guard up. Straight "Time," said the referee.
His opponent was a Tonbridgian, who, from the glimpse Sheen caught of him, seemed muscular. After opening tamely, the light-weight bout had become vigorous in the second round, and both men had apparently forgotten that their right arms had been given them by Nature for the purpose of guarding. They were going at it in hurricane fashion all over the ring.
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