out sweat. They fought with frantic enthusiasm and notable waste
of energy.

The audience laughed itself into helplessness, gasping advice and
encouragement to each with a fine lack of favouritism.

'Wire in, wee yin! Try again, pipeshanks! Weel hit, Grocer! That
had him, Wullie!--ye'll be a corporal afore yer auntie! Haw, Mac,
that was a knock-oot, if it had struck! Cheer up, Private Thomson;
gi'e him the kidney punch on his whuskers! Guid stroke.
Grocer!--fair on his goods' entrance! We'll be payin' for to see
ye in pictur' hooses yet--the Brithers Basher! Gor, this is better
nor a funeral! Keep it up, lads!' And so forth.

But it was far too fast to last. A few minutes, and both were
utterly pumped. As though with mutual agreement, they paused
panting. Neither had gained any visible advantage.

'Nae blood yet,' remarked some one in tones of regret mingled with
hope.

'Never heed,' interposed Jake, humanely Tak' aff their gloves.
They've done enough. We'll ca' it a draw--or to be conteenued in
oor next dull evenin'--whichever they like. I hope you twa lads
'll never learn scienteefic boxin'. There's ower little fun in the
warld nooadays.'

Neither offered any resistance to the removal of the gloves.

'Shake han's, lads,' said Jake.