'I can if I like!' yelled Willie, losing his head. 'Tak' that!'
A tremendous buffet with the right intended for Macgregor's nose caught his forehead with a sounding whack.
Thus began an extraordinary battle in which there was little attempt at dodging, less at guarding and none at feinting. Each man confined his attentions to his opponent's face and endeavoured to reached the bull's eye, as it were, of the target, though that point was not often attained, and never with spectacular effect. Ere long, however, Macgregor developed a puffiness around his left eye while Willie exhibited a swelling lip. Both soon were pouring out sweat. They fought with frantic enthusiasm and notable waste of energy.
The audience laughed itself into helplessness, gasping advice and encouragement to each with a fine lack of favouritism.
'Wire in, wee yin! Try again, pipeshanks! Weel hit, Grocer! That had him, Wullie!—ye'll be a corporal afore yer auntie! Haw, Mac, that was a knock-oot, if it had struck! Cheer up, Private Thomson; gi'e him the kidney punch on his whuskers! Guid stroke. Grocer!—fair on his goods' entrance! We'll be payin' for to see ye in pictur' hooses yet—the Brithers Basher! Gor, this is better nor a funeral! Keep it up, lads!' And so forth.
But it was far too fast to last. A few minutes, and both were utterly pumped. As though with mutual agreement, they paused panting. Neither had gained any visible advantage.
'Nae blood yet,' remarked some one in tones of regret mingled with hope.
'Never heed,' interposed Jake, humanely Tak' aff their gloves. They've done enough. We'll ca' it a draw—or to be conteenued in oor next dull evenin'—whichever they like. I hope you twa lads 'll never learn scienteefic boxin'. There's ower little fun in the warld nooadays.'
Neither offered any resistance to the removal of the gloves.
'Shake han's, lads,' said Jake.