“That’s the way to do it. Now hand him one!”
“Time!” called the referee. The round was ended. The men retired to their corners, where they were fanned and their faces bathed by their seconds.
“Do something this time,” begged Sam. “You are not half boxing. What is the matter with you to-night?”
“I don’t know. I guess I needed that punch. It made my head swim, but it woke me up. I’ll do better this time.”
“Give him a punch in the plexus, Bill,” advised one of the latter’s seconds. “He doesn’t guard himself there at all.”
“Never mind. I’ve got the fellow’s measure,” answered the bully. “It will all be finished up and done to a turn before we end the second round.”
“Time!” summoned the referee.
Kester sprang into the ring full of confidence, but Dan, to the surprise of everyone, sat calmly in his chair. Kester hesitated, a triumphant gleam appearing in his eyes. Suddenly he made a rush at his opponent’s corner, and all at once the Battleship Boy leaped to his feet. His right fist shot out and then his left. Both blows landed squarely on his adversary’s sore nose, bringing two plainly audible grunts from the big man.
Kester threw one hand to his nose. As he did so, Dan planted a swift, powerful blow, this time in his adversary’s stomach. The force of it sent Bill staggering half way across the ring.
The spectators fairly yelled themselves hoarse.