The brutal face became a mass of yellow corrugations; a set of broad, well-worn teeth shone whitely.
"I have been a champion," said he proudly.
Ashton-Kirk nodded, and critically his keen eyes ran over the monstrous form before him.
"You are strong," said he. Then darting out one of his slim hands he grasped the thick wrist of the wrestler. Instantly the man caught the meaning of the act and his huge, blubber-like body grew rigid with effort. There was a pause full of striving; the eyes of the two were savage, the teeth shut tightly, the breath swelling in the lungs. Then, slowly, the thick arm of the Oriental bent upward until the clinched hand touched the shoulder; and at this Ashton-Kirk released him and stepped back.
For a moment the amazement which the wrestler felt was plain; but again the fat face broke into yellow corrugations.
"You, too, are strong," said he. "But it was a trick."
"The proper use of strength is made up of tricks," answered Ashton-Kirk, simply.
Okiu had witnessed this little incident with a smiling calm. And now he said to his countryman:
"And so, my friend, you have met your match at hand grasps? I told you it would be so. But," and he turned to Ashton-Kirk, "I did not expect to see it in a man like you." There was a curiously speculative look in the half-closed eyes as they examined the tall, well-built form of the white man. "But," he went on, "experience is knowledge, is it not? And to profit by experience," to Sorakicha, gently, "is the sign of wisdom. So remember, my friend," and he smiled as he spoke, "remember that Mr. Ashton-Kirk is strong."