With an inarticulate exclamation of rage the younger man struck the
proffered hands aside and led with a straight left for the other's head.
Yorke blocked it cleverly and fell into a clinch.

"Ah!" murmured Yorke in his antagonist's ear with a sinister smile,
"rotten manners! for just that, my buck, I'll make you scoff 'muffin'
'till you're quite poorly!"

Working his arms cautiously, he sprang clear of the clinch, then, rushing
his man and feinting for the ribs, he rocked Redmond's head back with two
terrific left and right hooks to the jaw.

The jarring sting of the punches, although dazing him slightly, brought
Redmond to his senses, as he realized how vulnerable his momentary loss
of temper had rendered him. He now braced himself with dogged
determination and, covering up warily, circled his adversary with clever
foot-work. Yorke, tearing in again was met with one of the crudest jabs
he had ever known--flush in the mouth. Gamely he retaliated with a
stinging uppercut and a right swing which, coming home on Redmond's
cheek-bone, whirled him off his balance and sent him sprawling.

Dazed, but not daunted, he scrambled to his feet. Yorke, blowing upon
his knuckles with all the air of an old-time "Regency blood," waited with
heaving chest and scornful, narrowed eyes.

"Want to elevate the sponge?" he queried sneeringly.

"No!" panted George grimly, "it was you started the whole rotten dirty
business, and, by gum! I'll finish it!"