"All right; I'll be with you in a second," said Gerald,
disappearing. In the anteroom he rung a bell, and to the boy who
leisurely answered its summons he said rapidly:

"Run over to the club and find Mr. Winslow, Mr. Clark, and whoever
else is in the smoking room, and tell them from me to cone over to
the gymnasium. Tell them there's some fun on."

Then he returned to the gymnasium floor, where Murphy was answering
Orde's questions as to the apparatus. While the two men were
pulling on the gloves, Gerald managed a word apart with the trainer.

"Can you do him, Murph?" he whispered.

"Sure!" said the handler. "Them kind's always as slow as dray-
horses. They gets muscle-bound."

"Give it to him," said Gerald, "but don't kill him. He's a friend
of mine."

Then he stepped back, the same joy in his soul that inspires a
riverman when he encounters a high-banker; a hunter when he takes
out a greenhorn, or a cowboy as he watches the tenderfoot about to
climb the bronco.

"Time!" said he.

The first round was sharp. When Gerald called the end, Orde grinned
at him cheerfully.