were sparkling.  It was good, it was a game he loved.  The moment of stage fright had passed.  He had forgotten the crowd.  His foot-work was fast and made Clancy seem almost sluggish by comparison.  That was the danger.  Would he waste himself too early?  Ten rounds!  Not too long for Jerry, if the other didn’t land dangerously and more often than he.  Clancy played for the head, and caught the boy fairly on the jaw, but got a blow in the ribs that made him grunt.  Jerry did most of the leading, ducking a vicious swing of Clancy’s right, that made the Sailor look foolish, and brought a roar of delight from the crowd.  Clancy grinned cheerfully and came on, stabbing with his long left arm at Jerry’s head, but getting only his trouble for his pains.  At the close of the round the honors were even, and both were smiling in their corners.

“He’s got the science,” said the optimist next door, “a pretty piece o’ work—­very pretty.”

“Just you wait, Petey,” said the stout man, while behind us an Irishman shouted, “Get them green tights workin’, Clancy.”

The second round was clearly Jerry’s.  Even the stout man admitted it.  Clancy’s famous crouching pose met with mishap early in the round, for Jerry by fine judgment twice evaded the advancing left arm and straightened Clancy with terrific upper cuts, the kind that Flynn had said were like tons of coal.  At the end of the round Clancy realized, I think, that his opponent was well worth considering seriously, for when he came to the center of the ring again, his face washed clean, he wore a solemn expression curious and respectful, but villainously determined.  He began boring in, as the phrase is, leading constantly and taking what came.  He hit Jerry hard, always when the boy was going away, however, and caught some well-judged ones in return.  He swung a hard right which caught Jerry napping and sent him against the ropes, but before he could follow up the advantage the boy had slipped out of danger.  They exchanged blows here, toe to toe, and the crowd howled with delight.  Here was a mere boxer who wasn’t afraid to take what he gave.  In the exchange Jerry profited, for Clancy, lunging with his right and missing, fell into a clinch where Jerry gave his ribs a fearful beating.  At the end of the round both were breathing hard, but the crowd was cheering, Jerry.

I find myself slipping into the phraseology of the sporting page, and little wonder when for weeks the boxer’s terms were the only phrases I had heard.  I hope I will not be blamed for dwelling with too great a particularity upon this affair, which, whatever its merits as a test of strength and skill, was nothing less than a contest in brutality.