"See! see!" everyone around the ring shouted. "Who'd have thought that a light rung of a fellow like Gahey would have beat Moleskin Joe?"
"Wait till he's beaten!" I shouted back angrily. "I'll have something to say to some of you idiots."
"Good, Flynn!" said Moleskin, rising to his feet. "Just put in a word on my behalf with them lubberly coopers. I'll see to them myself in a minute or two, when I get this wee job off my hands."
So saying, my mate made for Gahey, who was afraid to come into contact with Joe when he was on the ground. The men fought to win, and the fight had no rules. All was fair, clinching, clutching, scraping, kicking, sarcasm, and repartee. Joe followed Gahey up, coming nearer every moment and eager to get into grips. When that would happen, Gahey was lost; but being wary, he avoided Moleskin's clutches, and kept hopping around, aiming in at intervals one of his lightning blows, and raising a red mark on Moleskin's white body whenever he struck. Joe kept walking after his man; nothing deterred him, he would keep at it until he achieved his purpose. The other man's hope lay in knocking Moleskin unconscious; but even that would ensure victory only for the moment. Joe once fought a man twenty-six times, and got knocked out every time. In the twenty-seventh fight, Joe knocked out his opponent. Joe did not know when he was beaten, and thus he was never defeated.
Now he kept walking stolidly round and round the ring after Gahey. Sometimes he struck out; nearly always he missed, and seldom was he quick enough to avoid the lightning blows of his enemy. Even yet he was smiling, although the smile had long gone from the face of Gahey, who was still angry and wanting to inflict punishment. He inflicted punishment, but it seemed to have no effect; apparently unperturbed, Joe took it all without wincing.
The crowd watched Gahey wistfully; now they knew instinctively that he was going to get beaten. Joe was implacable, resistless. He was walking towards an appointed goal steadily and surely; his pace was merciless, and it was slow, but in the end it would tell. For myself, I doubted if Joe could be successful. He was streaming with blood, one eyebrow was hanging, and the flesh of the breast was red and raw. Gahey was almost without a scratch; if he finished the fight at that moment, he would leave the ring nearly as fresh as when he came into it. Joe still smiled, but the smile looked ghastly, when seen through the blood. Now and again he passed a joke.
The look of fear came into Gahey's eyes suddenly. It came to him when he realised that he would be beaten if he did not knock Joe out very soon. Then he endeavoured at every opportunity to strike fully and heavily, trying to land on the point, but this Joe kept jealously guarded. Gahey began to lose confidence in himself; once or twice he blundered and almost fell into Joe's arms, but saved himself by an effort.
"I'll get you yet, my Irish blanket-grabber!" Joe said each time.
"Get him now and put an end to the fight," I cried to Moleskin. "It's not worth your while to spend so much time over a little job."