mean nothing. Hits the 'eart what counts. Go slow. Don't mind them shoutin' hat you to mix it. You pay hattention to what I tell you. You're a hamature. I'm a pro. Leave it to me. Fight slow. Don't huse your harms too much. They'll get tired. Hand, for Gawd's sake, don't leave yourself hopen! Jab 'im. Jab 'is hugly mug for 'im 'til I tell you to switch. Feel 'im hout."
The Chinaman clanged his gong at the cry of the timekeeper and Padilla glided out to meet Stone. The big referee met them, his arms outspread. He spoke to the Mexican holding the watch.
"I'm starting this bout," he said. "This scrap is going to be on its merits." He turned to Padilla first.
"No monkey business goes with you," he said, crisply. "Put up your hands. Up with them. I'm going to be sure none of your Spiggoty pals passed you a knife." Padilla scowled but obeyed and Grimm deftly patted him, doing the same to Stone with a friendly grin.
"You'll break clean when I tell you," he went on. "First man I catch fouling loses the fight. Three-minute rounds. One minute rest. To a finish?" he asked, looking at Stone, who nodded. "Till one is knocked out or quits. Get back to your corners. Now, then, let her go!" And the gong clanged again.
He bulked over both of them but he was active, evidently knew his end of the game, and meant to see it carried out. He gave Stone a certain confidence though Stone never considered the outcome. He
