Oakland against all San Francisco, festooned with a free-for-all
fight. Hands overlaid hands two and three deep in the struggle to
grasp the rope. And hands that found no holds, doubled into
bunches of knuckles that impacted on the jaws of the watchers who
strove to tear hand-holds from the rope.

Bert yelped with joy, while Mary clung to him, mad with fear.
Close to the rope the fighters were going down and being
trampled. The dust arose in clouds, while from beyond, all
around, unable to get into the battle, could be heard the shrill
and impotent rage-screams and rage-yells of women and men.

"Dirty work, dirty work," Billy muttered over and over; and,
though he saw much that occurred, assisted by the friendly
Irishman he was coolly and safely working Saxon back out of the
melee.

At last the break came. The losing team, accompanied by its host
of volunteers, was dragged in a rush over the ground and
disappeared under the avalanche of battling forms of the
onlookers.

Leaving Saxon under the protection of the Irishman in an outer
eddy of calm, Billy plunged back into the mix-up. Several minutes
later he emerged with the missing couple--Bert bleeding from a
blow on the ear, but hilarious, and Mary rumpled and hysterical.

"This ain't sport," she kept repeating. "It's a shame, a dirty
shame."