Jack, standing well above six feet, still was not as tall as his opponent, who topped him by a full inch. Their arms were about of a length, but Harris was big through the chest and his arms seemed more powerful than Jack's. A close observer, however, would have seen that while Jack was in perfect physical condition, Harris carried a trifle too much fat—not much, but still a trifle. With the battle anywhere near equal, this fat might prove to Jack's advantage.
Jack's arms showed strength, but the muscles were not knotted like those of Harris. Harris was perhaps twenty-eight years old, Jack almost ten years younger. Jack had the youth, but Harris had the experience of many hard encounters. It appeared that the odds were heavily against Jack.
Jack and Harris sized each other carefully. Jack smiled. So did Harris.
As they touched gloves, Harris said:
"You're a nice boy. I don't want to hurt you too much, so I'll make this short"—the referee had announced that the match was to be for ten rounds.
"Don't worry about me," said Jack. "I can take care of myself. If the match is short you won't find me on the deck."
Harris would have replied, but at that moment the referee called:
"Time!"
Jack leaped lightly backward even as Harris aimed a vicious blow at his head, apparently trying to make good his word to end the battle at once. The blow missed Jack's face by the fraction of an inch. Harris followed up this blow with a right and left, which Jack blocked neatly, and then brought his right up, trying to upper cut.
Jack leaped backward and the blow grazed his chin. Before Harris could recover, Jack stepped quickly forward and planted a sharp right and a hard left to Harris' nose. Harris stepped back and wiped away a stream of red.
It was first blood for Jack and the crew of the Queen Mary sent up a wild cheer.