Allen came in instead. It seemed to Tony for the next half-minute that
his cousin's fists were never out of his face. He looked on the world
through a brown haze of boxing-glove. Occasionally his hand met
something solid which he took to be Allen, but this was seldom, and,
whenever it happened, it only seemed to bring him back again like a
boomerang. Just at the most exciting point, 'Time' was called.

The pessimist shook his head gloomily as he sponged Tony's face.

'You must lead if you want to 'it 'im,' said the garrulous man. 'You're
too slow. Go in at 'im, sir, wiv both 'ands, an' you'll be all right.
Won't 'e, Fred?'

'I said 'ow it 'ud be,' was the only reply Fred would vouchsafe.

Tony was half afraid the referee would give the fight against him
without another round, but to his joy 'Time' was duly called. He came
up to the scratch as game as ever, though his head was singing. He
meant to go in for all he was worth this round.

And go in he did. Allen had managed, in performing a complicated
manoeuvre, to place himself in a corner, and Tony rushed. He was sent
out again with a flush hit on the face. He rushed again, and again met
Allen's left. Then he got past, and in the confined space had it all
his own way. Science did not tell here. Strength was the thing that
scored, hard half-arm smashes, left and right, at face and body, and
the guard could look after itself.

Allen upper-cut him twice, but after that he was nowhere. Tony went in
with both hands. There was a prolonged rally, and it was not until