reached no further than the ear for which they were intended.

"Your own favorite Cumberland grip--where's the whale strength of you
now, Bruiser Bill--your buffalo rush, hah? It's my weakness to make a
show of you here on this deck--you, my Bruising Bill, the boastful lump
of muscle that you are. Just muscle, no more. And now where are
you--where, I say?"

The long, smooth muscles of Kieran's back were gathering and swelling.
His waist, contrasted with the splendid development under his shoulders,
looked slim as a corseted girl's; and not Noyes alone was noting them.
Every muscle in the smooth-skinned body--it seemed as if he drew them
from his very toes for service in that hug.

The bosun's breath was coming in labored gasps, yet still that terrible
man kept holding him close, drawing his waist to him and increasing his
pressure as he drew. "You've the tonnage and engine-room of a
battleship," jeered Kieran, "but you've only the steam of an East River
tug. And a low-pressure tug at that. And what little steam you had is
gone. You've a big engine but no boiler. And you know what use an engine
is without a boiler, don't you? Well, that's you, son--your steam's
gone."

The swimming head kept falling backward toward the ground. And for
Kieran, as he felt his enemy weaken, the purple lights were flashing
again. The call of battle was ringing in his ears; came back to him the
memory of more careless days, when he lived for this kind of thing.
After all, what was life but a means whereby to give one's spirit play?
And yet again--and yet--was he no more than a brute himself? What was
the use? What good would it all do? And suddenly he loosed his grip, and