"'Ave a drop o' beer," said one of Neddy's new-won friends, extending a tankard. He took it, though he scarcely felt awake. He was listless and weak, and would not have moved for an hour had he been left alone. But Patsy was brought to, and sneezed loudly, and Neddy was hauled over to shake hands with him.
"You give me a 'ell of a doin'," said Neddy, "I never thought I'd beat you."
"Beat me? well you ain't, 'ave you? 'Ow?"
"Knock-out," answered several at once.
"Well, I'm damned," said Patsy Beard....
In the bar, after the evening's business, Neddy sat and looked wistfully at the stout red-faced men who smoked fourpenny cigars and drank special Scotch; but not one noticed him. His luck had not come 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 faint, and felt doubtful about getting home. Outside it was raining hard. He laid his head on the bar table at which he was sitting, and at closing time there they found him asleep.