Tales of Mean Streets

as silver-tipped. Neddy Milton was not quite fighting-fit. A day’s questing for an odd job had left him weary in the feet; and a lad of eighteen can not comfortably go unfed from breakfa

nly the widow, his mother, had been able to give him a good send-off in the matter of clothes. Also, he had had one chance of picking up a tra

tinctly remembered that rather less than half a loaf was left after breakfast; so that it would never do to go home, for at such a time the old woman had a trick of pretending not to be hungry, and of starving herself. He almost wished that shilling of entran

ould be useful now. Still, the investment might turn out a gold mine. Luck must cha

baptism of pummelings, had learned the trick of a straight lead, a quick counter, and a timely duck; and here, in the nine-stone competition to open this very night, he might perchance punch wide the gates of Fortune. For some sporting publican, or discriminating boo

hibition bouts up west, wore a light Newmarket coat, and could stand whisky and soda with anybody. To be “taken up” on the strength of these early performances was more than he could reasonably expect. There might be luck in the third trial; but he

ght aspersion of fine rain come down the gusts, and further damped his cap and shoulders and the ragged hair that hung o

were many at the bar, and t

ed face, “you don’t look much of a bl

Neddy reddened high. He had heard the joke. The man himself was one of the very backers that might make one’

,” one of Ned’s friends informe

have to meet him at first set-off was ill luck, and no mistake. He was a thickset little butc

me toward him, shouldering him quietly out of the group. It w

y?” he asked,

enveloping a pallid sausage-roll. “‘Ave ‘alf o’ this,” he said. It was a heavy and a clammy thing, but Ned took it, furtively swallowed a large p

. Why couldn’t they begin the competition at once? When they did, his bout would be number five.

difficult to understand. He had never felt like it before. He was almost trembling; and that lump of sausage-ball had struck half-way, and made breathing painful work. Patsy Beard was at the opposite corner, surrounded by admirers. He was red-faced, well-fed, fleshy, and confident. His

about to sneeze, wearily pawing at each other while their heads hung forward. Somebody jogged him in the back, and he found he must get ready. His dressing was simple. An ill-conditioned old

he seconds, a battered old pug with one eye, at once seized Neddy. “Come along, yo

one thirteen; now it was eight stone bare. Patsy Beard, on the

hand one of a very black and long-worn pair of boxing-gloves. They were soft and flaccid; Neddy’s heart warmed toward the one-eyed man, for well he knew from many knocks that the softe

d ducked solemnly forward and back with the towel flicking overhead. While he was fanning, Neddy was still conscious of the lump of sausage-roll in his chest. Also he fell to wondering idly why they called Beard Patsy, when hi

sung the

aid, presenting the water-bottle to Neddy’s mouth. “Don’t swallow

out of

n’t go in-fightin’,” he whispered from behind. “Mark ’im on the stickin’

im

ance with his left knee as they began to spar for an opening; it was Patsy’s way. All Neddy’s anxiety was gone. The moment his right foot dropped behind his left

tention to business. He feinted with his left, and got back; but Patsy was not to be drawn. Then Neddy stepped in and led quickly, ducking the counter and re

and take was the order of the round, and they fought all over the ring, Patsy Beard making for close quarters, and Neddy keeping off, and stopping him with the left. Neddy met a straight punch on the nose that made his eyes water, but through the tears he saw the plaster displaced, and a tiny stream of blood trickling toward the corner of Patsy’s

g. Neddy fought on, weak and gasping, and longed for the call of time. His arms felt as if they were hung with lead, and he could do little more t

, and now and again swing an ineffectual arm as it hung from the shoulder. Presently a flush hit on the nose drove him against the ropes, another in the

im

e-eyed pug in his ear as he sponged his face. “Nothink like pluck. But you m

ing wildly, shook his head

e gits leadin’ loose, take it auf an’ give him the right straight from the guard — if you know the trick. Point o’ the jaw that’s for, mind.

the ring!” calle

ver ’im!” And Neddy felt the wet sponge squeezed against the

im

got two heavy body blows and a bad jaw-rattler. He floundered to the right in an attempt to slip, and fell on his face. He rolled on his side, however, and was up again, breathless and unsteady. There was a sickening throbbing in the crown of his head, and he could scarce lift his arms. But there was no respite; the other lad was at him again, and he was driven across the ring and back, blindly pushing his aching arms before him, while punch followed punch on nose, ears, jaws, and body, till something began to beat inside his head, louder and harder than all beside, stunning and sickening him. He could hear the crowd roaring still, but it seemed further off; and the yells of “That’s it, Patsy! Now you’re got ’im! Keep at ’im! Hout ’im this time!”— came from some other building close by where so

ody spoke. He was in his chair again,

o another round, are ye? Better chuck it. It’s no disgrace, after the way you’ve stood up.” But Neddy shook h

m good on the point. ‘E’s none so fresh ‘isself; ‘e’s blowed with the work, an’ you pasted ’im fine when you did ‘it. Last thing, just before ‘e sent ye dow

out of

— give it ”im ‘ard and give it ’im soon, an’ if you feel groggy, chuck it d’rec

im

nostrils, and the cut was open and raw. He rushed in with a lead which Neddy ducked and cross-countered, though ineffectually. There were a few vigorous exchanges, and then Neddy staggered back from a straight drive on the mouth.

eddy sunk into it, panting, with bloodshot eyes. Patsy lay still. The timekeeper watched the seco

I ever see — smack on the point o’ the jaw. Never thought you’d ‘a’ done it. I said there was nothink like pluck, didn’t? ‘Ave a wash now, an

scarcely felt awake. He was listless and weak, and would not have moved for an hour had he been left

doin’,” said Neddy. “I ne

, you ain’t, ‘

eral at once. “Well, I’m

ome after all. But there was the second round of bouts, and the final, in a week’s time — perhaps it would come then. If he could only win the final — then it must come. Meanwhile, he was sick and