Early in the tenth round King began stopping the other’srushes with straight lefts to the face， and Sandel， grownwary， responded by drawing the left， then by ducking itand delivering his right in a swinging hook to the side ofthe head. It was too high up to be vitally effective； butwhen first it landed， King knew the old， familiar descentof the black veil of unconsciousness across his mind. Forthe instant， or for the slightest fraction of an instant，rather， he ceased. In the one moment he saw his opponentducking out of his field of vision and the background ofwhite， watching faces； in the next moment he again sawhis opponent and the background of faces. It was as if hehad slept for a time and just opened his eyes again， andyet the interval of unconsciousness was so microscopicallyshort that there had been no time for him to fall. Theaudience saw him totter and his knees give， and then sawhim recover and tuck his chin deeper into the shelter ofhis left shoulder.
Several times Sandel repeated the blow， keeping Kingpartially dazed， and then the latter worked out hisdefence， which was also a counter. Feinting with his left hetook a half-step backward， at the same time upper cuttingwith the whole strength of his right. So accurately was ittimed that it landed squarely on Sandel’s face in the full，downward sweep of the duck， and Sandel lifted in the airand curled backward， striking the mat on his head andshoulders. Twice King achieved this， then turned looseand hammered his opponent to the ropes. He gave Sandelno chance to rest or to set himself， but smashed blow inupon blow till the house rose to its feet and the air wasfilled with an unbroken roar of applause. But Sandel’sstrength and endurance were superb， and he continued tostay on his feet. A knockout seemed certain， and a captainof police， appalled at the dreadful punishment， arose by theringside to stop the fight. The gong struck for the end ofthe round and Sandel staggered to his corner， protesting tothe captain that he was sound and strong. To prove it， hethrew two back air-springs， and the police captain gave in.
Tom King， leaning back in his corner and breathinghard， was disappointed. If the fight had been stopped， thereferee， perforce， would have rendered him the decisionand the purse would have been his. Unlike Sandel， he wasnot fighting for glory or career， but for thirty quid. Andnow Sandel would recuperate in the minute of rest.
Youth will be served—this saying flashed into King’smind， and he remembered the first time he had heard it，the night when he had put away Stowsher Bill. The toffwho had bought him a drink after the fight and pattedhim on the shoulder had used those words. Youth will beserved！ The toff was right. And on that night in the longago he had been Youth. To-night Youth sat in the oppositecorner. As for himself， he had been fighting for half anhour now， and he was an old man. Had he fought likeSandel， he would not have lasted fifteen minutes. But thepoint was that he did not recuperate. Those upstandingarteries and that sorely tried heart would not enable himto gather strength in the intervals between the rounds.
And he had not had sufficient strength in him to beginwith. His legs were heavy under him and beginning tocramp. He should not have walked those two miles tothe fight. And there was the steak which he had got uplonging for that morning. A great and terrible hatred roseup in him for the butchers who had refused him credit. Itwas hard for an old man to go into a fight without enoughto eat. And a piece of steak was such a little thing， a fewpennies at best； yet it meant thirty quid to him.
With the gong that opened the eleventh round， Sandelrushed， making a show of freshness which he did not reallypossess. King knew it for what it was—a bluff as old as thegame itself. He clinched to save himself， then， going free，allowed Sandel to get set. This was what King desired.
He feinted with his left， drew the answering duck andswinging upward hook， then made the half-step backward，delivered the upper cut full to the face and crumpledSandel over to the mat. After that he never let him rest，receiving punishment himself， but inflicting far more，smashing Sandel to the ropes， hooking and driving allmanner of blows into him， tearing away from his clinchesor punching him out of attempted clinches， and ever whenSandel would have fallen， catching him with one upliftinghand and with the other immediately smashing him intothe ropes where he could not fall.
The house by this time had gone mad， and it was hishouse， nearly every voice yelling： “Go it， Tom！” “Get ’im！
Get ’im！” “You’ve got ’im， Tom！ You’ve got ’im！” It wasto be a whirlwind finish， and that was what a ringsideaudience paid to see.
And Tom King， who for half an hour had conservedhis strength， now expended it prodigally in the one greateffort he knew he had in him. It was his one chance—nowor not at all. His strength was waning fast， and his hopewas that before the last of it ebbed out of him he wouldhave beaten his opponent down for the count. And as hecontinued to strike and force， coolly estimating the weightof his blows and the quality of the damage wrought， herealized how hard a man Sandel was to knock out. Staminaand endurance were his to an extreme degree， and theywere the virgin stamina and endurance of Youth. Sandelwas certainly a coming man. He had it in him. Only out ofsuch rugged fibre were successful fighters fashioned.
