A FIGHT TO THE FINISH 



357 



Grasping the stopper cautiously with 

 both hands, Mike called for a volunteer 

 to cut the rope. An innocent youth 

 from the Middle West, in somewhat 

 cynical indifference, stepped forward. 

 The rest of us stepped back. The 

 critical moment had come. Mike 

 braced himself for the shock and nodd- 

 ed to the youth to cut. Not a soul 

 breathed as the old case knife slowly 

 chewed its way through the rope. It 



a yell of agony as the youth reeled 

 backward to the ground, the shriek 

 of escaping gases and a geyser-like ex- 

 plosion obliterating the interior of the 

 tent in pungent white mist. 



When the air had cleared sufficiently 

 to see anything, there was Mike, the 

 jug on a bench in front of him, both 

 hands clapped over the opening, and 

 every muscle strained to repress its 

 struggles. The youth sat in a far cor- 



The critical moment had come 



was cut. There was a moment's silence 

 while Mike slowly released his hold 

 on the plug. 



Mike's face fell, and a ripple of 

 laughter ran through the crowd. We 

 could not hear what Mike said dis- 

 tinctly, but what we heard was enough. 

 He proceeded to investigate. There 

 came a report like a full-grown cannon., 



ner nursing his face. Both the men, 

 as well as everything else in the tent, 

 were completely plastered, but Mike 

 was radiant. 



"Boys and boys," he shouted, "but 

 that's powerful stuft ! Hand me that 

 dish-pan, somebody!" 



The crowd was wild with delight. 

 "Swing to her, Mike! Hold her! Give 



