Fighting rapidly but cautiously, Jimmie dodged heavy swings, always coming back with a return that carried a sting. He was playing a game that he had learned years before when it had been necessary for him to protect his corner on the Bowery from the encroachments of other newsboys. In these encounters he had learned the truth of the old saying that "continual dropping will wear away a stone," although he would not have put it exactly that way.
His theory was that if a telling blow were landed early in a fistic encounter, another in the same place would accomplish more than if planted in another spot that was not already sore. Therefore, he endeavored to play for one spot, while his antagonist scattered his attention to any portion of Jimmie's body that he thought might be reached. Oftener than not Jimmie was well out of reach by the time his opponent arrived. In this manner the smaller lad kept up a continual rain of light jabs, waiting for an opening at the other's jaw. His theory was soon proven correct.
Becoming enraged at his unsuccessful attempts to land a knockout, the larger lad at length tried to rush Jimmie. This, apparently, was just what was wanted. A sidestep, a quick forward lunge, accompanied by a lightning-like hook, and the bully went down to stay. Jimmie's fist had connected squarely.
Absorbed in watching the defeated lad, Jimmie had failed to observe that Pete had regained his feet. Too late to protect himself, he realized his danger. A terrific smash full in the face felled the Wolf, to the cheers of some and shouts of disapproval from others.
"Cut it, Pete! Play square! Have a heart!" some shouted.
Although staggered by the unexpected and brutal attack, Jimmie lost no time in getting to his feet. Exhausted by his recent battle, and with no time to recover his wind, the lad was scarcely a match for his burly foe. Employing all the tricks of which he was master, he managed to avoid the other's rush, but was compelled to take severe punishment, in exchange for which he offered little aggressiveness.
Directly an opening appeared, to Jimmie's delight. One straight arm punch, delivered with his entire remaining strength, fell squarely on the bully's face. He tripped and fell backward, landing bodily on the kettle wherein the boys had been cooking their stew.
Several of his comrades hastened to rescue their fallen friend, while others crowded around Jimmie to offer congratulations.
Disengaging himself from their attentions as quickly as he could, Jimmie hastened back to the station and, without attempting to make himself presentable, took the next train to the city. Arriving there he made his way in a taxi to the club rooms of the Black Bear Patrol.