The Pothunters | Page 4

He was
feeling serious, and wondering if he could bring off his knock-out
before the three rounds were over. He had his doubts.
The fight opened slowly. Both were cautious, for each knew the other's
powers. Suddenly, just as Tony was thinking of leading, Allen came in
like a flash. A straight left between the eyes, a right on the side of the
head, and a second left on the exact tip of the nose, and he was out
again, leaving Tony with a helpless feeling of impotence and disgust.
Then followed more sparring. Tony could never get in exactly the right
position for a rush. Allen circled round him with an occasional feint.
Then he hit out with the left. Tony ducked. Again he hit, and again
Tony ducked, but this time the left stopped halfway, and his right
caught Tony on the cheek just as he swayed to one side. It staggered
him, and before he could recover himself, in darted Allen again with
another trio of blows, ducked a belated left counter, got in two stinging
hits on the ribs, and finished with a left drive which took Tony clean
off his feet and deposited him on the floor beside the ropes.
'Silence, _please_,' said the referee, as a burst of applause greeted this
feat.
Tony was up again in a moment. He began to feel savage. He had

expected something like this, but that gave him no consolation. He
made up his mind that he really would rush this time, but just as he was
coming in, Allen came in instead. It seemed to Tony for the next
half-minute that his cousin's fists were never out of his face. He looked
on the world through a brown haze of boxing-glove. Occasionally his
hand met something solid which he took to be Allen, but this was
seldom, and, whenever it happened, it only seemed to bring him back
again like a boomerang. Just at the most exciting point, 'Time' was
called.
The pessimist shook his head gloomily as he sponged Tony's face.
'You must lead if you want to 'it 'im,' said the garrulous man. 'You're
too slow. Go in at 'im, sir, wiv both 'ands, an' you'll be all right. Won't
'e, Fred?'
'I said 'ow it 'ud be,' was the only reply Fred would vouchsafe.
Tony was half afraid the referee would give the fight against him
without another round, but to his joy 'Time' was duly called. He came
up to the scratch as game as ever, though his head was singing. He
meant to go in for all he was worth this round.
And go in he did. Allen had managed, in performing a complicated
manoeuvre, to place himself in a corner, and Tony rushed. He was sent
out again with a flush hit on the face. He rushed again, and again met
Allen's left. Then he got past, and in the confined space had it all his
own way. Science did not tell here. Strength was the thing that scored,
hard half-arm smashes, left and right, at face and body, and the guard
could look after itself.
Allen upper-cut him twice, but after that he was nowhere. Tony went in
with both hands. There was a prolonged rally, and it was not until
'Time' had been called that Allen was able to extricate himself. Tony's
blows had been mostly body blows, and very warm ones at that.
'That's right, sir,' was the comment of the red-headed second. 'Keep 'em
both goin' hard, and you'll win yet. You 'ad 'im proper then. 'Adn't 'e,
Fred?'
And even the pessimist was obliged to admit that Tony could fight,
even if he was not quick with his guard.
Allen took the ring slowly. His want of training had begun to tell on
him, and some of Tony's blows had landed in very tender spots. He
knew that he could win if his wind held out, but he had misgivings. The

gloves seemed to weigh down his hands. Tony opened the ball with a
tremendous rush. Allen stopped him neatly. There was an interval
while the two sparred for an opening. Then Allen feinted and dashed in.
Tony did not hit him once. It was the first round over again. Left right,
left right, and, finally, as had happened before, a tremendously hot shot
which sent him under the ropes. He got up, and again Allen darted in.
Tony met him with a straight left. A rapid exchange of blows, and the
end came. Allen lashed out with his left. Tony ducked sharply, and
brought his right across with every ounce of his weight behind it, fairly
on to the point of the jaw. The right cross-counter is distinctly one of
those things which it is more blessed