The tall, lanky boatman who acted as referee shuffled off the floor.
“Who’s next?” Red McGee invited with a broad smile.
It was evident at once that few of the men cared to take him on. Tomingo was wearing a flaming patch where Red’s glove had raked his chin.
“Red,” one of his own men volunteered, “there’s one of them kids from the Stormy Petrel who’d like to learn a little about boxing. Would y’ mind a teachin’ him?”
“One of those boys?” Red looked squarely at Johnny. Johnny flinched. Did Red know? “Oh, sure!” Red’s lips spread in a broad smile. “I like boys, always have. Sure I’ll show him.
“Look, Tom,” he turned to the referee. “Help the boy on with his gloves. Be sure he gets ’em on the right hands. It’s awkward boxing if you don’t.” He let out a low chuckle.
Once again Johnny flinched. What did Red know? Probably nothing. This was just his way of poking fun at the Stormy Petrel’s crew. This made Johnny a little angry, but not too much.
“Show ’em, Johnny,” Blackie hissed in his ear. Next Johnny found himself shaking the great paw of Red McGee. And so the fight began.
Nothing had been said about the number of rounds, nor their length. Johnny was a little taken back when the referee settled himself on a box in a corner.
“But then,” it came to him with a sudden shock, “I’m supposed to be a learner. When you’re taking lessons there are no rounds. Well, I’ll be a learner, for a while.”