“Yes.”
Bill Kester was clad in a pair of short trunks and canvas shoes, with a red handkerchief about his neck. He hopped into the ring, taking his seat in a corner, having chosen the one that suited him best.
A moment later the referee that the men had chosen entered the ring.
“Davis!” he called sharply.
There was a movement outside the ring.
“Here,” answered Dan, pausing in his conversation with a jackie.
“Get into the ring, if you are going to.”
Dan climbed through the ropes, smiled and nodded to the referee, then stood awkwardly twirling his white cap.
“Take your corner.”
The lad walked over and sat down. For the first time, he observed the scowling Bill Kester in the opposite corner, and Dan’s eyes took on a gleam of amusement as he noted the strips of plaster on his opponent’s nose, the swollen lips and discolored eyes.