who faced each other with the savage intensity of gamecocks, with no
thought but to maim and kill the enemy in front of them.

A crowd gathered, and Pinkey was pushed to the outside of the ring,
where she could only judge the progress of the fight by the cries of
the onlookers.

"Use yer left, Chook."

"Wot price that?"

"Time!"

"Wait fer 'is rush, an' use yer right."

"Foller 'im up, Chook."

"Oh, dry up! I tell yer 'e slipped."

"Not in the same class, I tell yer."

"Mix it, Chook--mix it. Yer've got 'im beat."

The last remark was true, for Stinky, in spite of his superior weight
and height, was no match for Chook, the cock of Cardigan Street. It was
the fifth round, and Chook was waiting for an opening to finish his man
before the police came up, when a surprising thing happened. As Stinky
retreated in exhaustion before the fists that rattled on his face like
drumsticks, his hand struck his enemy's lower jaw by chance, and the next
minute he was amazed to see Chook drop to the ground as if shot. And he