The crowd shouted applause and instruction:
“Fine work, Lefty!”
“Keep after him, Jock! Put him out!”
“You’ve got him going! Follow him up!”
“Look out for his left, boy!”
“Soak him another in the same place—that’s the stuff!”
“Well,” said Bent King, in wonderment, “I’ll be hanged if Locke isn’t holding his own with that terrier!”
Apparently Janet did not hear him. A little color had risen into her cheeks, and her bosom was heaving against her tightly clenched hands. She was still fearful of the final result, but he with whom her throbbing heart sympathized had met his brutal enemy like a man of courage, and made it a worthy battle. She could hear Hoover breathing heavily, like one on whom the tremendous strain was beginning to tell at last, while Locke, although his breast rose and fell rapidly, was, to all outward seeming, the fresher of the two.
Once a little, choking gasp escaped her, for the youth was sent reeling by a blow, Jock rushing forward to follow it up. Locke, however, kept his feet with the agility of a cat, avoiding that rush, and getting in a body punch that made the other man grunt.
Following this, discovering at last the drain his efforts were putting upon him, Hoover sought to take it easier, and recuperate. This quickly became apparent, and a cry arose: