They touched gloves! She followed that. English tried to hit him! She followed that. And then thud! thud! thud! She could not beat as swiftly with one fist the palm of her other hand as Perry's glove struck thrice the welter's face.
Thud! thud! thud! And skip and shuffle—thud! And a straining, desperate embrace.
"Oh, he's so much bigger," she heard herself wailing. "He's so much bigger!"
And the trainer, remembering through it all her presence:
"Watch it! Watch it! Watch—that—left—hand!"
She saw then that it was Perry's short, jabbing, stiff left forearm which perplexed the heavier man. She saw the latter set himself to swing, and take it in the face, and go off balance. And set and take it again. And she didn't cry out any more. She leaned forward, so tensely set herself in every muscle that she found she was tired when the trainer stopped it.
"Time!"
The trainer she learned then was not pleased. He snarled at Jack English. But English only grinned.
"Slow!" he said. "Slow! Oh, boy! So'd you look slow trying to pace the Empire State Express."
And there was more. Faster, faster and faster. And cruder! He could never tell her again that this was merely sport. And English was bigger and his size did count. At the last he seemed barely to snap his right gloved hand forward, and Perry staggered back.