"There'll be a lot of 'in-fighting,'" he said; "there always is nowadays, they've caught it from America. You'll find that rather boring. But it isn't boring really. There's heaps of science in it; more than there used to be in the old boxing. They say that that's where Beckett will be beaten—that he can't in-fight. I don't believe they're right, but we'll see.... That's what makes to-night so exciting. No one knows really what Beckett can do. He knocked out Wells too quickly, and he's improved so much that he's hardly the same man as he was before."
He chattered on, apparently now quite happy. What a dear he was! What a boy! How natural and good and simple! She felt maternal to him, as though he were her child. How happy they would be when they were married! how happy she would make him!
They drew near to Olympia. They were now in a great stream of cars and taxis. Crowds thronged the road. They got out and pushed their way along. The presence of the crowd thrilled Lois so that her eyes shone and her heart hammered. She clung to "Tubby's" strong arm. Soon they were through the gates, pushing up the Olympia steps, passing the turn-stiles. What strange faces there were on all sides of her! She could not see another woman anywhere. She gathered her cloak more closely about her. They passed into the arena. For a moment she was dazzled by the light. The tiers of seats rose on every side of her, higher and higher. She followed "Tubby" meekly, feeling very small and insignificant. Soon they were seated close to the ring. Already men were boxing, but no one seemed to look at them. Everyone hurried to and fro; people were finding their seats. Around her, above her, beyond her, was a curious electrical hum of excitement, like the buzz of swarming bees. She herself felt so deeply moved that she was not far from tears. She grew more accustomed to the place. She sat back in her chair, throwing her cloak behind her. "Tubby" talked to her in a low voice, explaining where everything was, who various celebrities were. There was Cochran; that was Eugene Corri; there was a famous actor; and so on. She began to be confident. She knew that men were looking at her. She liked them to look at her. She asked "Tubby" for a cigarette. Her eyes moved to the ring; she watched the boxing. She felt a renewed thrill at the sight of the men's splendid condition; and then, as she looked about her and saw the black cloud of men rising above and around her on every side, she could have clapped her hands with joy. Soon she was impatient of the boxing. She wanted the great event of the evening to begin. She felt as though she could not wait any longer, as though she must get up in her seat and call to them to come. She was aware then that "Tubby" was again uncomfortable. Was he distressed because men looked at her? Why should they not? Perhaps he did not think that she should smoke. Well, she would smoke. He was not her keeper.
The heat, the smoke, the stir, confused and bewildered her, but she liked the bewilderment. She was drunk with it—only this intense impatience for Beckett and Goddard to come was more than she could bear. "Oh, I do wish they'd come.... I do wish they'd come!" she sighed. Then, turning to "Tubby," she said: "Cheer up! What's the matter?"
"Oh, I'm all right." He moved uneasily. She fancied that he glanced with anger at a fat, black-haired, be-ringed man near him who, as she already noticed, stared at her.
"Oh, I do wish they'd come!" she cried, speaking more loudly than she had intended. Some man near her heard her and laughed.
They came at last. The tall fellow was Goddard. The shorter man in the dull-coloured dressing-gown was Beckett. They walked about inside the ring; then they sat down and were hidden by a cloud of men with towels. A little man walked about the ring shouting something through a megaphone.
Lois could not hear what he said because of her own excitement. The ring was cleared; the fight had begun. The breathless silence that followed was almost more than she could bear. From the first moment she wanted Beckett to win. His grim seriousness fascinated her. The way that he stood crouching forward, his magnificent condition, the brown healthiness of his skin, appealed to her desperately. "I want him to win! I want him to win!" she repeated again and again to herself. He seemed to be having the best of it. Men shouted his name. The first round was over. In the pause of the interval she realised for a moment, as though she had come down from a great height, that the men near her were looking at her and smiling. She did not care; if only Beckett would win she cared for nothing. "The first round's Beckett's on points, anyway," she heard a man say near her. The ring was cleared again, the men moved cautiously, watching one another. Suddenly Beckett had sprung in. Before she could account to herself for what was happening Goddard was on the floor. Men rose in their seats, shouting. The referee could be seen counting the seconds. Goddard was up. Then Beckett was in to him again—right, left, tuned like a piece of music. Goddard was down again, and this time he lay his full length without moving. The vast building seemed to rise like the personification of one exultant man and shout. Lois herself had risen; she was crying she knew not what, waving her programme. A man had leaped forward and kissed Beckett. Goddard was dragged by his seconds like a sack to his chair. The roar continued; men shouted and yelled and cheered. Lois sat down. It was over; Beckett had won. She had had her desire. She felt as though she had walked for miles and miles through thick, difficult country.
She could only see, over and over again those quick blows—right, left, like a piece of music....
They sat there quietly for a little; then she said, "Let's go. I don't want to see any more after that."