The end of the match was not long postponed. Mullin had lost his head, and he quickly gave his opponent an opening that was accepted. A smashing blow on the jaw sent Tapper down and out. In fact, fully ten minutes elapsed before Mullin fully recovered.
During those ten minutes the stranger was congratulated by several witnesses, including Bingo McCord.
“You’re a better man dan Mullin,” confessed Bingo. “If I didn’t have a little business on my hands to-night I’d try you a go myself. What’s your name?”
“It’s Hepworth Hoboson,” was the answer. “I’m usually called Hep for short.”
“Well, Hep, you’re a rattler, and dat’s straight goods. Are you going to stay round dese parts?”
“I may linger till I git restless,” laughed Hoboson. “I can’t stay very long in one place, for I adore traveling.”
“Well, as long as you stay here dis is de gang for you to run wid,” said McCord. “We’ll take you in wid us. What do you say, Skip?”
“Why, sure,” nodded Billings.
Mullin made no objection, and in this manner Hoboson was accepted as one of the tough set of Peaceful Point.
Although he did not call attention to the fact, Hep Hoboson was skillful in yet another manner. With the craft of a juggler he managed to spill the contents of every glass set before him, emptying the stuff into a sawdust-filled box that served as a cuspidor and stood close under the rail of the bar. Not even a swallow passed his lips. Once or twice he was seen lowering his empty glass, as if he had drunk the contents, and the suspicions of his companions were not aroused.