_By Philip Keppermann._
At twenty-two and a-half minutes past eleven last night a man stood looking
wistfully over a sea of faces looming whitely through a thin blue haze of
tobacco smoke. At his feet lay stretched the limp body of his antagonist.
The disappearance of one eye; under a large red swelling, combined with a
patulous and rubescent nose, detracted to some extent from the dignity of
his appearance. An ugly patch of crimson over his left ribs held the
attention fantastically, morbidly. It was blood, human blood, his own
blood. The thought fascinated me....
Somewhere a voice was counting slowly, steadily,
unhesitatingly--_one_--_two_--_three_.... The voice had in it the
inexorable quality of Fate; it brought tears to the eyes like the wail of
the Chorus in some Greek drama.
I looked at the man by my side. His regard was fixed intently on the
prostrate figure in the ring. His fingers played uneasily with his
watch-chain. He wore evening dress, and I noticed that his tie was a little
crooked.
Away outside we caught the distant hoot of a motorcar. A dog barked. Then a
woman in the audience sneezed; it seemed unwarrantable, impertinent, almost
a desecration....
The voice that was counting ceased. The limp figure did not move. The one
wistful eye of the victor closed for a moment in relief. There was a sudden
incursion of hurrying figures into the ring....
The great fight was over. Nobby Keeks had beaten Bill Cockles.
_By Theresa Chingles._
I was one of forty-four women who witnessed the great battle last night.
There were, it was said, over three thousand men.
On my left sat a young girl in a rose-pink evening dress, with a
dove-colour opera cloak covering her bare shoulders. Her eyes followed
intently the struggling figures on the stage, and I observed that she wore
an engagement ring with three diamonds.
A few seats away, surrounded by a swarm of men in evening dress, sat a
grey-haired woman, watching the fight with interest through a gold-rimmed
lorgnette. Her eyes twinkled as heavy blows were delivered, and when one of
the men began to bleed copiously from the nose, she uttered an exclamation
of delight. She wore black.
So far as I could observe, no woman present showed any sign of repulsion.
It seemed to me significant of the times. I whispered to my neighbour, "_O
tempora! O mores!_" but she replied coldly, "Not at all!" I checked my
impulse to add "_Autres temps, autres moeurs!_"
Of the actual fight I am not competent to speak. I was most interested in
the referee, whose strong mobile face reminded me occasionally of Lord
BYRON, at other times of Mr. WINSTON CHURCHILL.
_By the Rev. Robert Shackleberry._
I had never seen a boxing contest before I was invited by the enterprising
editor of _The Daily Gong_ to witness the encounter last night between
"Nobby" Keeks and William Cockles.
I found an excellent seat reserved for me. It was nearing midnight when the
two men mounted the platform. Cockles came first, wearing a scarlet
dressing-gown with yellow collar and cuffs. He seemed to me a bluff,
hearty, good-tempered-looking man, though perhaps unduly prominent in the
lower jaw. Keeks, who followed, wore a bright green dressing-gown with a
pink sash, and shook hands with six or seven members of the audience. He
was taller and heavier than his opponent, and his features, to my mind,
more intelligent but less amiable.
There was a long delay, during which I was given to understand that the
men's hands were being bandaged for some reason. At length the swarm of
seconds and advisers disappeared to the sound of a gong, and the combatants
stood up and advanced upon one another. I was embarrassed to observe that
they were nearly nude, but my embarrassment did not seem to be shared by
any of the ladies present, so perhaps I have no right to complain.
The actual boxing did not last nearly so long as the preliminaries. This
was perhaps just as well, since Keeks, afterwards announced the victor,
unfortunately sustained considerable damage to his right eye and was also
losing blood from his nose--nasty injuries which, in my opinion, should
have led to the competition being stopped while he received medical
attention. No doubt the injuries were undesigned.
Cockles soon afterwards fell down, and refused to rise while some
individual slowly counted ten. This, I was told, indicated that he was
desirous of withdrawing from the contest before his antagonist sustained
any further damage. In my judgment this generosity merited the award of
victory; but no doubt the authorities know their business.
I was glad to have an opportunity of gaining a new experience, but on the
whole I must say I prefer a quiet rubber of whist.
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