to get in another blow before the rally, but the pugilist flung himself upon him. Stranleigh's feet rose from the platform, and then he fell full length on his back and lay motionless.
A wild yell from the audience was quickly checked by the upraised hand of the standing combatant. He seemed to exercise a sort of hypnotic influence over the mob, as he enunciated, very slowly:
"One—two—three—four—five—" Stranleigh's prone head moved from one side to the other, "six—seven" With a long drawn-out sigh the prostrate man painfully rose to a sitting posture, and then, uncertainly, to his feet. A touch would have sent him over again.
"Had enough, my lud?"
"What did you say?"
"Had enough?"
The younger man smiled.
"Why, no." He pronounced his words with a sort of precise selection as if not quite sure of them. "Why, no; I take it we are just beginning."
"Good man! You don't mind if I fan you a bit?" but there was to be no fanning. With inexplicable suddenness Stranleigh, whose dress coat was split down the back, found himself surrounded by a dozen policemen.
