The two men crouched at a little distance from each other, while McCord gave the word.
“Are you ready?” was his question.
“Sure!” growled Billings.
“All ready,” said the stranger.
“Then fly at it!”
Round and round they circled, crouching low, their arms swinging, watching for an opening. Suddenly the tramp seemed to give Billings his chance. Skip rushed in and grabbed.
With a writhing twist, the tramp seemed to avoid the other man’s hands, and an instant later he seized Billings about the body, flung the fellow’s heels into the air, and hurled him fairly over his head.
The building shook and the glasses and bottles behind the bar rattled as Skip came down with a terrible thump, flat on his shoulder blades. The concussion stunned him for a moment, and he lay prone on his back, blinking at the smoky ceiling.
After a moment’s silence the witnesses of this remarkable thing uttered a shout. Never had they seen a handsomer piece of work.
Slowly Billings sat up, looking around for his antagonist.