by the entrance of Grenadier Tompkins and his retinue of attendants. The Grenadier received a polite reception—the customers don't go in for the vocal display at the National Sporting Club of London like they do at the Bowery A. C. It just isn't done, old bean! Then our athlete, Fighting Paddy Leary, looking pale and serious, entered the ring. There were plenty fans from the colonies present besides us and they gave Fighting Paddy a welcoming yell that must have shaken the Tower of London and certainly shook the dignity of the Londoners. I saw many a reproving frown.
Fighting Paddy's first act was to peer anxiously around until he saw us, and then a broad grin lighted up his face. Hazel gave him a brief mechanical smile, then her eyes went right back to the royal box. I fluttered my handkerchief encouragingly and Mr. Daft, all excited, called "Knock him stiff, kid!"
Fighting Paddy nodded back, very serious again.
"Doesn't he look determined?" I whispered, nudging Hazel.
"TH say he does!" she says with a sigh. "And just think—some day he'll be King of England!"
Mr. Daft laughed outright and I gave her up in disgust.
Well, the movie cameras that were to film the championship fight are set up around the ring, the scowling Grenadier Tompkins and the equally scowling Fight-
