“Seconds out of the ring. Time!” called the time-keeper and Delorme ceased fanning with the towel, splashed a spongeful of water in Dam’s face and backed away with his stool.
Harberth seemed determined to make an end.
He rushed at his opponent whirling his arms, breathing stertorously, and scowling savagely.
Guarding hurt Dam’s arms, he had no time to hit, and in ducking he was slow and got a blow (aimed at his chin) in the middle of his forehead. Down he went like a nine-pin, but was up as quickly, and ready for Harberth who had rushed at him in the act of rising, while the referee shouted “Stand clear”.
As he came on, Dam fell on one knee and drove at his mark again.
Harberth grunted and placed his hands on the smitten spot.
Judging time and distance well, Dam hit with all his force at the bully’s chin and he went down like a log.
Rising majestically, the time-keeper lifted up his voice and counted: “One—two—three—four—five—six”—and Harberth opened his eyes, sat up, “seven—eight—nine”—and lay down again; and just as Dam was about to leap for joy and the audience to roar their approval—instead of the fatal “OUT” the time-keeper called “Time”.
Had Dam struck the blow a second sooner, the fight would have been over and he would have won. As it was, Harberth had the whole interval in which to recover. Dam’s own luck! (But Miss Smellie had always said there is no such thing as Luck!) Well—so much the better. Fighting the Snake was the real joy, and victory would end it. So would defeat and he must not get cock-a-hoop and careless.
Delorme filled his mouth with water and ejected it in a fine spray over Dam’s head and chest. He was very proud of this feat, but, though most refreshing, Dam could have preferred that the water had come from a sprayer.