preferred to call it, was, from the tap of the gong, as pretty a

two-fisted scrap as ever any aggregation of low-browed fight fans

witnessed. The details of this gory contest, while interesting, have no

particular bearing upon the development of this tale. What interests us

is the outcome, which occurred in the middle of a very bloody fourth

round, in which Jimmy Torrance scored a clean knock-out.

It was a battered but happy Jimmy who sat in his room the following

Monday afternoon, striving to concentrate his mind upon a college

text-book which should, by all the laws of fiction, have been 'well

thumbed,' but in reality, possessed unruffled freshness which belied its

real age.

"I wish," mused Jimmy, "that I could have got to the bird who invented

mathematics before he inflicted all this unnecessary anguish upon an

already unhappy world. In about three rounds I could have saved

thousands from the sorrow which I feel every time I open this blooming

book."

He was still deeply engrossed in the futile attempt of accomplishing in

an hour that for which the college curriculum set aside several months

when there came sounds of approaching footsteps rapidly ascending the

stairway. His door was unceremoniously thrown open, and there appeared

one of those strange apparitions which is the envy and despair of the

small-town youth--a naturally good-looking young fellow, the sartorial

arts of whose tailor had elevated his waist-line to his arm-pits,

dragged down his shoulders, and caved in his front until he had the

appearance of being badly dished from chin to knees. His trousers

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