“He wouldn’t listen to his own mother if she was here. He says if what we suspect is true, he couldn’t show the white feather now. He’s the best sport I’ve ever seen, and I hate 99 to see him beat up by that white-livered slugger.”
“I sha’n’t see it!”
Captain Pott started toward the ring that was rapidly forming about the boxers. He caught the minister’s glance. He halted. In that glance there was an expression which the Captain had come to recognize and respect. Mack McGowan was going to take his medicine, or give it, and no one was to interfere during the dose. The seaman dropped back into the shadow of the stair.
The boxers faced each other. There was no doubt left in the minds of the onlookers as to the profession of the stranger as he squared off for action. The minister recognized, too, the trap that had been set for him, but he gave no evidence of worry. He met the malicious grin of the other with a friendly, but grim smile.
The stranger lost no time in preliminaries. He thought himself in full possession of the minister’s boxing ability, and he showed a great amount of over-confidence. He had studied the other’s speed, he had spied into his 100 style, he had tested his reach. Certainly, with all this knowledge, he should have a picnic. He had been very careful on all occasions to appear as nothing more than a novice. He was not unmindful of the other’s endurance, but hoping to make a quick end of the matter, he tried to force the minister under full headway at once. He went at him in a whirlwind rush. It seemed to the observers that Mr. McGowan must certainly be swept from the floor.
But the minister was not caught off his guard. He quickly guessed the other’s intention. With a swiftness that took the breath of the onlookers, he stepped aside, drew in his left toe under his right heel, and faced to the right. It was done in a flash! With one long step he swung out to the left of his adversary. Out of the range of terrific blows, he smiled and made a closer study of his opponent, eye and brain alert for information. It took but a moment, and he was facing the stranger before the man was ready to meet him.
The Captain had never seen his young friend box with greater ease, although the 101 odds were against him in weight. He warded off blow after blow with a precision that was maddening to the other. His foot-work was as quick as that of a cat, and as sure. Again and again the stranger would rush in with deadly intent, only to find himself blocked, or to back away severely punished.
A breathless suspense hushed all rooting. The minister had dropped his guard! Even the other boxer hesitated, as though he could not believe his own eyes. Mr. McGowan had thrown back his head and shoulders as though he had partially lost his foothold. The city boxer rushed in and swung for the other’s heart with all his weight behind the blow. When it was too late he saw his mistake. He had been led into a trap, and the very movement which had drawn the blow made it ineffective. With lightning-like swiftness the minister stepped forward, delivered three blows on his opponent’s head with bewildering rapidity, and recovered himself with ease and without exertion. The stranger recoiled, and for an instant appeared to be under the impulse to run. But blind rage seized him as 102 his unexpected punishment began to sting, and he came back like a madman. Mr. McGowan shoved aside or blocked the terrific shower of fists with a coolness and precision that drove the stranger momentarily insane. He bellowed like a mad bull. He began to slug with the force of a pile-driver without any pretense to fairness. He leaped from left to right, and back again, like an orangutan stirred to frenzied anger. Mr. McGowan tried to stop him by calling time, but with a foul oath he shot a stiff arm into the minister’s abdomen. Decidedly jarred, Mr. McGowan swayed back under the impact of the foul, but recovered his footing in time to meet the other with a blow full in the face. The stranger rushed in again, but Mr. McGowan ducked, landed his glove with a heavy jar on his adversary’s body, and cut the man’s lip with a right swing as he sprang to safety.
The sight and smell of his own blood sent the city pugilist into a crazed frenzy. He threw his elbow into the minister’s throat and hurled him against the wall. Holding him there as though in a vise he landed a wicked 103 hook under the left ear. Sim Hicks gave an immoderate laugh. A shout went up from the few who favored the stranger. A deep growl was the answer from Hank Simpson and his following as they sprang forward. They seized Mr. McGowan, tore him away from the maddened pugilist, and led him to a box. Hank steadied him while Jud Johnson massaged the bruised neck and bathed the bleeding ear. Sim Hicks crossed to where they were at work.
“Have you got enough?” he asked with a sneer.