to the surprise of every one the punch had no other effect, and a
quick exchange of infighting sent Murphy staggering back from the
encounter. The smile had disappeared from Orde's face, and his eye
had calmed.

"Look here," he called to Gerald, "I don't understand this game very
well. At school we used 'taps.' Is a man supposed to hit hard?"

Gerald hesitated, then looked beyond Orde to the gallery. To a man
it made frantic and silent demonstration.

"Of course you hit," he replied. "You can't hurt any one with those
big gloves."

Orde turned back to his antagonist. The latter advanced once more,
his bullet head sunk between his shoulders, his little eyes
twinkling. Evidently Mr. Bishop's friend would now take the
aggressive, and forward movement would deliver an extra force to the
professional's blows.

Orde did not wait for Murphy, however. Like a tiger he sprang
forward, hitting out fiercely, first with one hand then with the
other. Murphy gave ground, blocked, ducked, exerted all a ring
general's skill either to stop or avoid the rush. Orde followed him
insistent. Several times he landed, but always when Murphy was on
the retreat, so the blows had not much weight. Several times Murphy
ducked in and planted a number of short-arm jabs at close range.
The round ended almost immediately to a storm of applause from the
galleries.