The "Boiler-plate's" fists made a noise like a woodchopper. Natica stood watching it with a queer, queer smile. But I saw-and I saw it with a sinking at the heart, for I realized that I'd cherished the guilty hope that things were not really going to be straightened out-that with every mark of the "Boiler-plate's" glove, her husband was coming back into his own.
She half sprang toward them when Jack went down with a crash, after I had got them started on the last go. Drayton arose warily, the blood spurting from a nasty cut over the eye, where the heel of the other's glove had scraped. The "Boiler-plate" lumbered dangerously near just then, and Natica, despite her, uttered a cry of warning.
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