"He's all out, Lovely. You've got him. Just one good soak—just one lovely one!"
That was a joke, he supposed—a poor joke—but he would see to that "one soak" the next round.
"Time!" cried the Welsh Rabbit.
For the sixteenth time the seconds raised their champions, steadied them, and sent them forth. One good blow would send either toppling over to the final count. So they craned forward in wild excitement, exhorting them in hoarse whispers.
The two contestants gyrated up and stood blankly regarding each other. About them rose a murmur of voices:
"Sail in!"
"Soak him, Lovely!"
"Clean him up, Gutter Pup!"
"One to the jaw!"
"Now's your time!"