Slowly something that he had learned came into Robert’s mind. Something his wrestling instructor had told him at Harvard. “If you ever get into a free-for-all—” What was it? His head was whirling. He was being pressed back. If he could only use his right arm. Freeman suddenly backed off and in that instant Robert remembered. He drove the heel of his left hand full at Freeman’s chin, the fingers spread out across his face. Freeman straightened up and threw up his hands. Like a flash Robert had fallen on one knee, tackled his adversary about the ankles, thrown him over his shoulder like a sack of wheat, staggered about in a circle for a few steps and—dropped him. Freeman struck the floor on the back of his head with a crash and lay stunned for a second. Robert staggered back against the wall. Freeman had backheeled him. It was fair. His right hand was helpless. He saw Freeman rise slowly, shake his head and lunge heavily forward. Robert grinned. He ducked under the outstretched arm and struck straight out at the pit of his stomach with his left. Freeman collapsed and lay in a heap, his collar loosened, his tie twisted around his neck, his hair and face dripping with perspiration, the corner of his mouth swollen and streaked with red.
A voice outside in the hall: “What’s going on there!” Footsteps in the office. “Anybody there?” Silence. The footsteps retreating. Freeman raised his head. Robert bent down and pushed it back and sat astride his chest.
“Am I a coward?”
“Let up, you damned—”
Robert shoved his head back with his open hand.
“Am I a coward?”
Freeman gurgled. His face was red. Robert withdrew his hand.
“Am I—” His hand clutched forward.
“No.”
“Am I a coward to quit a bunch of men who fight in the dark? Am I a coward when I know that I’ll be threatened with death for resigning?”