horrible crunch of the Grenadier's fists against his face and body could be heard to the farthest corner of the place. Honestly, it looked all over but the shouting, and Paddy gazed despairingly down at us above the Grenadier's shoulders. The Grenadier hit Paddy with one glove and pulled back the other for the finishing glow. I felt it was now or never!
"Do your stuff!" I hissed in Mr. Daft's ear. Mr. Daft yanked a small megaphone from under his coat and took a deep breath.
"Cut!" he roars.
As Shakespeare once remarked, that was the most unkindest cut of all! Grenadier Tompkins stopped short at the familiar command in the familiar voice. The clicking of the cameras about the ring seemed to come to his ears for the first time. Mechanically he dropped his arms. The entire crowd was now on its feet, yes, dignified English and all, howling itself hoarse. Wam! The amazed but delighted Fighting Paddy Leary swung a terrible blow at the champion's jaw. It knocked Grenadier Tompkins as cold as thirty-eight dollars' worth of frosted chocolate, and if they hadn't swept him up he'd be there yet!
On the way back to our hotel, after Hazel had witnessed the Prince of Wales shake Fighting Paddy Leary's hand and she had agreed to dine with the new king of the middleweights the following night, I asked
