'Time' had been called that Allen was able to extricate himself. Tony's
blows had been mostly body blows, and very warm ones at that.

'That's right, sir,' was the comment of the red-headed second. 'Keep
'em both goin' hard, and you'll win yet. You 'ad 'im proper then.
'Adn't 'e, Fred?'

And even the pessimist was obliged to admit that Tony could fight, even
if he was not quick with his guard.

Allen took the ring slowly. His want of training had begun to tell on
him, and some of Tony's blows had landed in very tender spots. He knew
that he could win if his wind held out, but he had misgivings. The
gloves seemed to weigh down his hands. Tony opened the ball with a
tremendous rush. Allen stopped him neatly. There was an interval while
the two sparred for an opening. Then Allen feinted and dashed in. Tony
did not hit him once. It was the first round over again. Left right,
left right, and, finally, as had happened before, a tremendously hot
shot which sent him under the ropes. He got up, and again Allen darted
in. Tony met him with a straight left. A rapid exchange of blows, and
the end came. Allen lashed out with his left. Tony ducked sharply, and
brought his right across with every ounce of his weight behind it,
fairly on to the point of the jaw. The right cross-counter is
distinctly one of those things which it is more blessed to give than to
receive. Allen collapsed.

'... nine ... ten.'

The time-keeper closed his watch.