"Go ahead," grunted Brooks.

I was back in a few seconds.

"That's better," I said.

Round two was exactly the same as round one. So was round three. And four. At the end of each round I nipped off to do something, and came back fresh and bright every time. By now Brooks was getting worried. He was beginning to tire, but I was still prancing about as if I'd only just begun.

"Stand still!" he shouted, swinging his fist wildly.

"No way man!" I said, dodging.

"This isn't boxing!" He complained, "I haven't hit you yet!"

"That's the way I like it!" I said.

By the time round fifteen came. Brooks was noticeably worn down. He had sweat dribbling off his face, and his whole body glistened. He roared at me to give him "One good shot... just one good shot!" but that wasn't in my plans. I would rather have lain down in front of a train, than take one of Brook's punches on my jaw.

Round thirty seven came and went. Brooks was puffing and leaning on the drum, his millions of muscles heaving.

Round fifty arrived. Brooks staggered, fell. He was on his knees.

"Do you concede?" I asked, still prancing about merrily.

"Yes!" he gasped, "Who are you?"

"I am Cosmo, the Hooded One!" I said, pulling off my red mask. Brooks looked up at me from where he was kneeling and stared in unbelief.

"You?" he said, "The little runt from the third form?"

"Ah yes, the one and only!" I laughed. Thank you for coming. You have made my greatest dream come true!"

"You won't... you won't go telling anyone about this, will you?" said Brooks.

"I might."

"But they'd laugh at me." He was pleading now.