"And this one. And this! Here's another!"

By this time the blows were raining in fast and thick. Tom's agile
footwork kept him out of reach of the hard, hammer-like fists of the
stranger.

Tom had been bred in athletics. He was comparative master of boxing,
but before this interchange of blows had gone far the young engineer
realized that he had met a doughty opponent.

What Tom didn't know was that his present foe was an ex-prizefighter,
who had sunk low in the scale of life.

What the lad didn't even suspect was that the man had been hired to pick
a fight with him, and that the fight was for desperate stakes.

"Have you pounded me all you think necessary?" asked Tom coolly, after
more than a minute's hard interchange of blows in which neither man had
gained any notable advantage.

"No, ye slant-eared boob!" roared the assailant. "Ye--"

Here he launched into another stream of abuse.

"You said all that before," remarked Tom, with a new flash in his eyes.
Then fully aroused, he went to work in earnest, intending to drive his
opponent back and down him.

The fighting became terrific. There was little effort now to parry, for
each fighter had become intent on bringing the other to earth.