Speeding the film for the last time, we arrive
at the fifteenth round of the battle for the light-
weight championship of the world. We see the

1.200]



OUT OP HIS CLASS



level rays of the setting sun as they strike
across the open-air arena; we see the waiting
thousands, tense in their seats, leaning forward
in their eagerness to miss nothing; we can al-
most hear the click and rattle of the telegraph
instruments at the ring side and the muttered
comment of the experts.
We see the two fighters struggling in a cor-
ner of the ring. Carsey's back is against the
ropes. He is drooping and weary, intent only
on protecting his ribs from further assault, and
as he blocks and covers he watches for a chance
to slip out into the open where there is room to
run. 'Malley pens the champion in the angle
of the ropes, battering him back and forth with
savage lefts and rights. Carsey, the dancing
master of the lightweight division, the old fox,
the ring general, the champion of the world, has
made one match too many.
'Malley shifts and drives a crushing left-
hander under the champion's guard, and Car-
sey's hands fall at his sides; a spasm of pain
twists his features ; he bends forward, helpless.
The challenger leans towards him and grins
through a smear of blood; his lips move; he is
whispering something to Carsey. The next in-
stant a dark-brown glove flashes upward from
'Malley 's hip, and in exactly ten seconds by
the timekeeper's watch there is a new light-
weight champion of the world.
