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For some time past there had been insidiously working its way into his mind a

vast contempt for the pugilistic prowess of Young Brophy.

"If," thought Jimmy, "this bird is of championship caliber, I might be a champion

myself." For, though Young Brophy was not a champion, the newspapers had

been pointing to him for some time as a likely possibility for these pugilistic

honors later.

As this mental attitude grew within him and took hold of Jimmy it more and more

irked him to take the punishment which he inwardly felt he could easily inflict

upon Brophy instead, but, as Jimmy had learned through lean and hungry

months, a job is a job, and no job is to be sneezed at or lightly thrown aside.

There was quite a gathering that afternoon to watch Young Brophy's work-out,

and rather a larger representation than usual from society's younger set. The

program, which had consisted in part of shadow boxing and bag punching by

Young Brophy, was to terminate with three rounds with Jimmy.

For two rounds the young man had permitted Brophy to make a monkey of him,

hitting him where he would at will, while Jimmy, as a result of several weeks of

diligent practice, was able to put up apparently a very ferocious attempt to

annihilate his opponent without doing the latter any material damage.

At the close of the second round Brophy landed a particularly vicious right, which

dropped Jimmy to the canvas. The crowd applauded vociferously, and as the gong

sounded as Jimmy was slowly rising to his feet they were all assured that it was

all that had saved the young man from an even worse thrashing.

As Jimmy returned to his corner there arose within him a determination to

thrash Young Brophy within an inch of his life after the big fight was out of the

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