"Don't be so touchy," scowled Kelley. "Tackle der bag a while, an' let's see how yer work."
Browning went at the punching bag while the professor stood by and called the changes. He thumped it up against the ceiling and caught it on the rebound thirty times in succession, first with his right and then with his left. Then he went at it with both hands and fairly made it hum. Then, at the word, with remarkable swiftness, he gave it fist and elbow, first right and then left. Then he did some fancy work at a combination hit and butt.
By the time Buster called him off Browning was streaming with perspiration and breathing heavily.
"Dat's first rate," complimented the professor. "Yer does dat like yer wuz a perfessional."
"Great Scott!" gasped Bruce. "I'd never torture myself in this way if I didn't have to! It is awful!"
He looked around for a chair, but Buster grinned and said:
"Dat's right, set right down—nit. Youse don't do dat no more in dis joint. Wen I gits yer yere, yer works till yer t'rough—see? Dat's der way ter pull der meat off er man."
"Well, what's next?"
"See if yer can raise yer record anoder pound on der striker."
Bruce went at the striking machine, which registered the exact number of pounds of force in each blow it received.