“Course it ain’t! What kind av a low-down hedgehog do ye take me fer, anyway?” retorted his companion indignantly.
Walter put out his hand and apologized promptly, ashamed to think that he should have been guilty of entertaining such a thought. Then he began by briefly explaining the rules governing boxing, pointing out that a blow below the waist line constitutes a foul, that a man knocked down is allowed ten seconds in which to get on his feet again, and during that time must not be touched by his opponent; that wrestling is not allowed, and that matches usually are conducted by rounds of three minutes each, with a minute for rest in between.
“No true sportsman will ever hit a man when he’s down,” concluded Walter.
This was difficult for the backwoods boy to grasp, and it was equally hard for him to understand why in a fight he should not scratch, kick and gouge, even use his teeth if opportunity offered, for in his hard life in the lumber camps he had witnessed many a rough and tumble fight where ethics are unknown, and where fighting men sink to the level of fighting beasts, employing every weapon with which nature has endowed them, and giving no mercy to a fallen foe.
But Pat was blessed with a strong sense of fair play, and when he had fully grasped the meaning of the rules they appealed to him instantly. “’Tis jist a square deal both byes gits in a foight!” he exclaimed, a light breaking over his puzzled face.
Then Walter showed him a few of the simplest guards, how to parry an opponent’s blow with one arm while countering with the other, how to protect the body with elbows and forearms while the hands shield the face, how to step inside, and how to duck under a swing, how, by watching his opponent, to anticipate the coming blow and be prepared to avoid it. Lastly he showed him the art of side-stepping, the little shift of the feet which while keeping the body perfectly poised allows the blow to pass harmlessly to one side or the other, at the same time opening an opportunity to counter on the opponent.
Naturally quick, and with an Irishman’s inborn love of battle, Pat picked up the points readily and when at the end of an hour Walter flung himself on the ground for a breathing spell Pat executed a double shuffle.
“Shure it be the greatest dancin’ lesson av me loife!” he whooped joyously, side-stepping, ducking and lunging into empty space. “Come on, bye, come on! Oi can lick yez now! Come on, ye spalpeen! ’Tis Pat Malone will give yez the greatest lickin’ av yer life!”
Walter declined with thanks, lying back weak from laughter, while the young giant continued to dance around sparring, ducking and countering on an imaginary foe. “’Tis meself will clane out the Durant camp before anither sun is up as shure as Oi be the eldest son av me mither,” he chuckled, flinging himself beside Walter from sheer exhaustion.
When they had rested a bit Walter proposed that they go try the fish, and that Pat come in his canoe. In an instant the young woodsman had forgotten his newly acquired accomplishments, for a new idea had suddenly possessed him.