Jerry paused and I saw a smile growing slowly at the corners of his lips.  I knew that smile.  Jerry wore it the day Skookums disobeyed orders and had the encounter with the skunk.

“You had a good go of it?” I asked.

He nodded.

“You see, there was a big Jew named Sagorski, ‘Battling’ Sagorski they call him, hanging around the place.  He’s a ‘White Hope.’  He’s been sparring partner of one of the champions and he thinks a good deal of himself.  Flynn doesn’t like him a great deal—­some dispute about a debt, I believe.  I was sparring with Flynn, Sagorski watching.

“I heard someone make a remark and then Sagorski’s voice sneering.  Flynn dropped his hands and turned.

“‘Ye always c’ud talk, Sagorski,’ said he.  ’But talk’s cheap.  I’ll match the bye again ye six rounds, fer points, double or quits, the same bein’ the small amount that’s been hangin’ betune us the little matter of a year.’

“Sagorski was up in a moment, smiling rather disdainfully.  ‘Yer on,’ he growled.

“They fixed us up, seconds, timekeepers and all, and we went at it.  He was a good one and strong but slow, Roger.  You know, Flynn’s lighter than I am, but lightning fast.  Sagorski gave me more time, but he had a good left and an awful wallop with his right.  Flynn had warned me to look out for that right and I did.  The first round was slow.  Each of us was feeling the other out.  I landed a few and got one in the ribs.  The second round went faster.  I avoided him by ducking and side-stepping, but he kept boring in, still smiling disagreeably.  I didn’t like that smile.  He wanted to knock me out, I think, for he made several vicious swings that might have settled me, but I got away from them and kept him moving.

“‘Wot’s this, sonny?’ he sneered at last, ‘a foot race?’

“But he didn’t make me mad—­not then.  I kept hitting him freely, not hard, you know, but piling up points nicely for Flynn.  He couldn’t really reach me at all and was getting madder and madder.  It was funny.  I think I must have let up a little then, for I think it was in the fourth round he got in past my guard and swung a hard right on my nose.  The blow staggered me and I nearly went down.  Anyway, Roger, it made me angry.  It seemed a part of that ugly smile.  I saw red for a moment and then I went for him with everything I had, straight-arms, swings, uppercuts—­everything.  I think I must have been in better shape than he was, for by the time the round was ended he was groggy.

“When we came up for the next I heard Flynn whispering at my ear, ‘Finish him, Masther Jerry.  If you don’t, he’ll put ye out.’

“I didn’t need that warning.  I sparred carefully for a minute, feeling out what he had left.  He swung at me hard, just grazing my ear.  Then I went after him again, feinted into an opening and caught him flush on the point of the chin.”

He paused for breath.  “I didn’t want to, you know, Roger, but Flynn was so insistent—­and, of course, having started—­”