Gus saw Tony’s real hurt and was incensed. “Oh, don’t you believe that,” he said to Tony. “Another time——”
“Huh, fellow! Maybe you think you could stand up to Sadler. I’d like to see you, or anyone here, even the instructor.” He glanced around. “Could they, Mr. Gay?”
“Well, perhaps not. Sadler has the punch and you can’t hurt him,” said the instructor, coming up. “Feel all right now, Sabaste?”
Nothing more was said about another bout, but the subject stirred the crowd so that it could not die out entirely. Three or four days later the instructor and Siebold entered the gym together, and stopped to watch Gus punching the bag. Siebold had never seen anything quite so snappy as that. Mr. Gay made some remarks.
“That fellow must have had some instructions under a strong teacher—there’s good material there! Say, look at the way he plays a tattoo and swings, too, and gets away from it. Foot work, my boy—foot work! You’re good, Siebold, but we haven’t anything like that in the school. I had no idea of it.”
“Shucks! All the same I’d like to see him swap cracks with Sadler,” said Siebold doggedly. Just at that instant Sadler came lumbering in with a dozen other fellows at his heels.
“Better not start anything rough,” cautioned Mr. Gay.
But Siebold paid no heed. He walked over to Gus and addressed him roughly:
“Say, would you have the nerve to fight Sadler?”
“Fight? Fight? Why, man, I have no reason to. I haven’t anything against him.” Gus was indignant. “And as to boxing bouts, I’m not in this game. Too busy!”