The sharp report of the impact cut the turmoil like a bullet, and was followed by dense silence.
"Send me up another," shouted Stranleigh.
"You didn't give him a chance," retorted one of the crowd.
"What chance have I," cried Stranleigh, "against five thousand roughs, each one so cowardly that he daren't come alone? I've always understood there was fair play among the lower orders. Send me up your best man if you dare."
The growl of hatred began again, but the great close-cropped bullet-head on the thick neck became visible above the platform.
"A clean pat like that," bellowed the prize-fighter, "hurts no man. It was straight from the shoulder, too. What his lordship says is right. You're giving him no sporting odds!" Then, turning his back on the now subdued audience, he said in a most respectful voice to Stranleigh:
"Will you let me get my feet on them boards?"
"Of course" cried the young man. "Give me your hand."
The pugilist, evidently a bit dazed, in spite of his brave words, held up his hand. Stranleigh grasped it, with a powerful pull hoisting him on the
