Evidently the bully expected to make short work of him, and he carried his right fist as though it were a weapon and not a part of his body.
As he advanced with his right extended, quivering, menacing, and poised for a knock-out blow, his left did not appear in the matter at all.
Suddenly he aimed his fist at Dam like a stone and with great force. Dam side-stepped and it brushed his ear; with his right he smote with all his force upon Harberth’s ribs and with his left he drove at his eye as he came up. Both blows were well and truly laid and with good sounding thuds that seemed to delight the audience.
Bully Harberth changed his tactics and advanced upon his elusive opponent with his left in the position of guard and his right drawn back to the arm-pit. Evidently he was going to hold him off with the one and smash him with the other. Not waiting for him to develop his attack, but striking the bully’s left arm down with his own left, Dam hit over it with his right and reached his nose and—so curious are the workings of the human mind—thought of Moses striking the rock and bringing forth water.
The sight of blood seemed to distress Harberth and, leaping in as the latter drew his hand across his mouth, Dam drove with all his strength at his mark and with such success that Harberth doubled up and fetched his breath with deep groans. Dam stood clear and waited.
Delorme called out, “You’ve a right to finish him,” and was sternly reproved by the referee.
As Harberth straightened up, Dam stepped towards him, but the bully turned and ran to his stool. As he reached it amid roars of execration the time-keeper arose and cried “Time!”
“You had him, you little ass,” said Delorme, as he squeezed a sponge of water on Dam’s head. “Why on earth didn’t you go in and finish him?”
“It didn’t seem decent when he was doubled up,” replied Dam.
“Did it seem decent his hitting you while you shook hands?” returned the other, beginning to fan his principal with a towel.