Sim caught the savage glare in the Captain’s eyes, and reluctantly admitted that it had been over a minute.
“But this ain’t no regular match!” he shouted.
The pugilist looked in the direction of the Captain as he drew away from the minister and steadied himself against an upright.
“I guess we’ll have to call it regular enough to go by rules,” declared the city boxer. “I’m beaten, Hicks.”
“I was sorry to do it, but there seemed no other way. There was too much at stake to run the risk of losing,” said the minister. “May I say, sir, that you are a good boxer?”
“Mr. McGowan,”––the stranger extended his hand with unaffected cordiality,––“it’s great of you to say that after what I tried to do to you. I refused to apologize when that old fellow tried to make me, but I do it now. I’m ashamed of the way I lost my head. If 110 you’ll accept my apology, I’ll accept your compliment.”
“Gladly!” exclaimed the minister.
Beneath the rough exterior of this savage fighter there was the spirit of the true sportsman. The two men removed their gloves and gripped bare hands in a warm grasp.
“The fact of the matter is, you had me outclassed at every turn. Any man who could do what you have done to-night, after I’d thought I’d spied on you long enough to secure the key to all your strong points, could make his fortune in the ring. I’m heartily ashamed that I made myself a party to this plot to put you out. What your old friend has said is true: I’m a cur and a white-livered coward to sneak in on you the way I did.”
“See here!” shouted Sim Hicks, abandoning all caution, “ain’t you going to finish this little job you’ve been paid for?”