But a problem which required instantaneous solution was now presented to him by Carlos Don Seville. It was a problem which neither diplomacy, moral persuasion nor flight of oratory could solve. He realized in that very second that the only way out of this difficulty was to take the coward at his word. It was to be a fistic encounter to the finish.
“Apology, I have none to offer you sir, and am ready to give you such satisfaction as you desire,” replied the old man with a dignified firmness.
A remarkable change had taken place in the person of Cielo Allenson. That venerable and spirituelle individual had been transformed in a twinkling of an eye, into a grim and determined looking animal, and like an expert gladiator of the fistic arena, he took the attitude of self-defense.
The “ring” constituted the platform of the wooden bridge, the side rails of which served as the partial ropes. There were no seconds to goad their favorites into action, no referee to decide the doubtful or unlawful blows, no gong to mark the rounds, nor time-keeper to count the defeated out of action. In the languorous glow of the twilight their shadows, reflected in black silhouettes in the placid waters below, were the only silent witnesses of this remarkable encounter.
The contest was constant and in the vernacular of pugilism, superbly game, fast and furious! After the acceptance of the challenge there was no parley between them, but by a sudden rush, Don Seville with his right hand landed a hammering blow on the Professor’s skull, which the latter parried with his left with dexterous agility and thus saved a crisis, for if left unchecked the blow would have reached his “solar plexus.” In rapid succession the fight continued, Don Seville taking the aggressive and the Professor acting more in self-defense. However, as often as opportunity presented, the latter put in a few well aimed jabs, here and there, on the vital points of Don Seville’s anatomy. At the same time it was apparent that Don Seville was getting the best of the contest. The venerable Professor unused to long continued strain of the kind, began to experience difficulty in breathing, and this did not escape Don Seville’s observation. Shortly, however, a remarkable change was visible; the Professor seemed to grow stronger with each onslaught he made. He had gained his so-called “second wind” thereby recouping his adroitness and elasticity.
With the consummate skill of a scientific boxer, several times he feigned signs of weakness, by giving false openings, of which his infuriated antagonist attempted to avail himself, thinking the Professor to be on the verge of collapse, only to receive in return several well directed right and left swings on the jaw. These staggered Don Seville to his knees, but he was allowed to rise to his feet by the generous tolerance of the Professor, and the consciousness of this humility caused him to wage the attack with reckless fury. With vulgar oaths he began to resort to foul tactics, trying to hit the defender beyond the limits of decent pugilism.
Don Seville’s endurance had now come to its end. His youth, dissipated by debauchery, was undermined of its stability, and in spite of the wide disparity of ages the old man had Don Seville absolutely in his power. It was time, he thought, to terminate these proceedings, so distasteful and undignified to him, but the only way he saw was, to lay aside the tactics of self defense, and adopt those of a punitive retaliation.
With keen alertness he watched for an opportunity and when Don Seville, almost crazed with anger, rushed on him for a clinch, entirely oblivious of the intention of the Professor, the latter gave a sudden shift to his position by swinging his body away from his antagonist Don Seville blindly followed him in his determination of a desperate onslaught. It was then that the venerable Allenson shot out a driving “right upper cut” to the jaw.
This was the finale! Don Seville staggered to the rails and toppling over fell with a splash into the limpid waters below.
