Andy noted the glad look in Donald’s eyes and he spoke sharply to Donald’s seconds, who were for ordering the boisterous visitor out of the ring. The word “pyschology” was foreign to Andy, but he knew that Donald’s mind had for a moment drifted away from the fight. Donald was surprised to see Douglas greet Gillis warmly as the big man left the ring.
“I have two good friends in the audience, anyway,” whispered Donald to himself.
Andy leaned over him, talking in a low voice, giving him comfort and advice. “E’ll try right along, Donnie, to get your goat by cursing and using vile language, but don’t listen to ’im, and don’t lose your temper. ’E fights with ’is chin tucked in the ’ollow of ’is left shoulder and ’is neck muscles rigid. It’s mighty ’ard to land on ’is jaw with a right. Now the first round,” Andy went on, “you just jab ’im light with your left; don’t ’it ’ard, just a good snappy punch. ’E’ll think you ’ave no sting in it, and the next round ’e’ll get careless and let you ’it ’im so’s to get in a punch. Of course, if you see a good opening, let fly with all you ’ave, but ’e won’t open up until ’e tries you out a bit. Watch the dirty blighter in the clinches; ’e’ll foul you if ’e gets a chance. Another thing: this is to be twenty rounds, so tyke your time. Now is everything clear to you, Donnie?”
“Yes, Andy.”
Andy patted Donald’s bare shoulder affectionately.
The contestants stood in their corners as they were introduced. The referee beckoned them to the centre of the ring for instructions. As Donald slipped the enveloping bathrobe from his shoulders and stepped forward, a murmur of admiration swelled from the crowd. His lean loins and broad shoulders showed to advantage in the bright light. The long, flowing muscles rippled under his skin when he moved, like those of a panther. Loud applause came from all over the arena. Garrieau, thinking the ovation was for himself, turned and ducked his head with a motion that was intended for a bow.
A rough voice near the top shouted: “Aw! that wasn’t for you, you big stiff!”
The judge and the dentist turned and looked at each other. The eyes of the latter seemed to say, “I told you so.” The judge smiled and nodded.
A fat man, who could not have been more than thirty-five years of age, yet with rolls of fat at his waist-line, a bulbous nose and florid face, bit savagely on a big cigar. “By gad!” he ejaculated, “that man is perfect.” There was a look of admiration and envy in his red-rimmed eyes. Thus do men admire the strong, well-kept body of the athlete, even though their own physical self has degenerated to mere paste.
“Two to one that Garrieau wins inside of ten rounds!” shouted a voice. Douglas covered the bet at once.