“One—two—three—four—five,” counted Jack.
At the count of six, Frank raised himself to his knees, and at nine staggered to his feet. By a great effort he avoided the lieutenant’s blow and staggered into a clinch. A moment later time was called.
Frank’s second was in the ring in an instant and dragged the lad quickly to his corner, where he did all in his power to revive him before time was again called.
“He thinks he’s got you now,” he whispered. “If you can stall through this round, you will be all right. Clinch, and hang on tight.”
In the opposite corner Lieutenant Taylor sat with a sneering smile on his face.
“I’ll end it this round,” he told himself.
When time was called for the sixth round Frank rushed desperately into a clinch. Each moment his head became clearer, and he grew stronger. He clinched time after time and succeeded in going through the round without punishment.
Through the seventh and eighth round Frank continued to fight off his opponent, not attempting to strike a blow himself. The opening of the ninth round found the lad himself again.
“He has had it all his own way too long,” he told himself. “It’s time for me to get busy.”
Once more the lieutenant came forward with a rush. But this time, instead of stepping backward, Frank, warding off the lieutenant’s right, stepped inside the other’s guard, and delivered a sharp, short-arm jab to his opponent’s jaw. The lieutenant hesitated a moment, and the lad, following up his advantage, sent his left to his opponent’s stomach.