I parried several more swift blows and then hit out myself when I thought I saw my chance. He just moved his head a trifle to one side and my fist shot by. My whole weight went with it and I collided against him. He only rocked a little on his feet, and as I dodged back he struck me a blow on the chest that drove me half a dozen yards into the arms of the spectators.
“If I had placed that higher up—as I might—you would have been asleep, my lad,” he said, coolly. “Don’t you believe it?”
“I do, sir,” I said, panting.
“I am just as much better than you, as you are than Bob,” he said, laughing again. “He has no science and you have a little. But I have more science and so we’re not fairly matched. And now, boys, that’s fun enough for to-day,” and he turned on his heel and went up on deck.
I tell you right now, I felt pretty foolish. But the men didn’t laugh. The big man, whom I learned later was Tom Thornton, said:
“He’s a smart little bit of a man, is Mr. Jim Barney. You might be proud to be put out by him.”
“Excuse me!” I returned, feeling to see if all my teeth were sound. “No kicking mule has got anything on him when he hits you.”
“And his brother Alf, on the Seamew, is a match for him,” said another of the men. “There’s a pair of them—brothers and twins, and as much alike as two peas in a pod. I mind the time they was looking for some men down in a joint on Front Street, Baltimore, and a gang started in to clean ’em up. Thought they was dudes trying to be rounders. The Barney boys held off a dozen of them till the police came, and neither of them even showed a scratch.”
I pulled myself together and went over to Bob, who was swabbing his face in a bucket of water. I held out my hand to him, and said:
“The second mate was right. If we’d fought rough and tumble you could have easily fixed me. But you’ve got lots of muscle and I bet that second mate doesn’t sail without a set of gloves in his cabin. If he’ll lend ’em to us I’ll teach you what little I know myself about boxing.”