LITMIR.BIZ

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Perhaps his father has had him properly taught and he can really box. Ever seen him play footer? Nippiest little devil I ever saw. Staunch too. Rum go," commented his friend.

      Dam thought of Sergeant Havlan and his son, the punching-ball, and the fighting days at Monksmead. Perhaps he could "really" box, after all. Anyhow he knew enough to hit straight and put his weight into it, to guard chin and mark, to use his feet, duck, dodge, and side step. Suppose Harberth knew as much? Well—since he was far stronger, taller, and heavier, the only hope of success lay in the fact that he was connected with the Snake—from whom mere blows in the open would be welcome.

      Anyhow he would die or win.

      The positive joy of fighting It in the glorious day and open air, instead of in the Bottomless Pit—bound, stifled, mad with Fear—none could realize….

      Bully Harberth entered the ring accompanied by Shanner, who looked like a Sixth Form boy and was in the Shell.

      Harberth wore a thick sweater and looked very strong and heavy.

      "If the little kid lasts three rounds with that" observed Cokeson to Coxe Major, "he ought to be chaired."

      Dam was disposed to agree with him in his heart, but he had no fear. The feeling that his brief innings had come—after the Snake had had Its will of him for a dozen years—swallowed up all other feelings.

      Coxe Major stepped into the ring. "I announce a friendly boxing contest between Harberth of the Fifth, nine stone seven, and Funky Warren (said to be no longer Funky) of Barton's House, weight not worth mentioning," he declaimed.

      "Are the gloves all right," called Cokeson (whose father owned racehorses, was a pillar of the National Sporting Club, and deeply interested in the welfare of a certain sporting newspaper).

      "No fault can be found with Warren's gloves," said Shanner, coming over to Dam.

      "There's nothing wrong with the gloves here," added Delorme, after visiting Harberth's corner.

      This was the less remarkable in that there were no gloves whatsoever.

      Presumably the fiction of a "friendly boxing contest" was to be stoutly maintained. The crowd of delighted boys laughed.

      "Then come here, both of you," said Cokeson.

      The combatants complied.

      "Don't hold and hit. Don't butt nor trip. Don't clinch. Don't use knee, elbow, nor shoulder. When I call 'Break away,' break without hitting. If you do any of these things you will be jolly well disqualified. Fight fair and God have mercy on your souls." To Dam it seemed that the advice was superfluous—and of God's mercy on his soul he had had experience.

      Returning to their corners, the two stripped to the waist and sat ready, arrayed in shorts and gymnasium shoes.

      Seen thus, they looked most unevenly matched, Harberth looking still bigger for undressing and Dam even smaller. But, as the knowing Coxe Major observed, what there was of Dam was in the right place—and was muscle. Certainly he was finely made.

      "Seconds out of the ring. Time!" called the time-keeper and Dam sprang to his feet and ran at Harberth who swung a mighty round-arm blow at his face as Dam ducked and smote him hard and true just below the breast-bone and fairly on the "mark ".

      The bully's grunt of anguish was drowned in howls of "Shake hands!" "They haven't shaken hands!"

      "Stop! Stop the fight," shouted Cokeson, and as they backed from each other he inquired with anger and reproach in his voice:—

      "Is this a friendly boxing-contest or a vulgar fight?" adding, "Get to your corners and when Time is called, shake hands and then begin."

      Turning to the audience he continued in a lordly and injured manner: "And there is only one Referee, gentlemen, please. Keep silence or I shall stop the fight—I mean—the friendly boxing contest."

      As Dam sat down Delorme whispered:—

      "Splendid! _In_fighting is your tip. Duck and go for the body every time. He knows nothing of boxing I should say. Tire him—and remember that if he gets you with a swing like that you're out."

      "Seconds out of the ring. Time!" called the time-keeper and Dam walked towards Harberth with outstretched hand, met him in the middle of the ring and shook hands with great repugnance. As Harberth's hand left Dam's it rose swiftly to Dam's face and knocked him down.

      "Shame! Foul poke! Coward," were some of the indignant cries that arose from the spectators.

      "Silence," roared the referee. "Will you shut up and be quiet. Perfectly legitimate—if not very sporting."

      Dam sprang to his feet, absolutely unhurt, and, if possible, more determined than ever. It was only because he had been standing with feet together that he had been knocked down at all. Had he been given time to get into sparring position the blow would not have moved him. Nor was Harberth himself in an attitude to put much weight behind the blow and it was more a cuff than a punch.

      Circling round his enemy, Dam sparred for an opening and watched his style and methods.

      Evidently the bully expected to make short work of him, and he carried his right fist as though it were a weapon and not a part of his body.

      As he advanced with his right extended, quivering, menacing, and poised for a knock-out blow, his left did not appear in the matter at all.

      Suddenly he aimed his fist at Dam like a stone and with great force. Dam side-stepped and it brushed his ear; with his right he smote with all his force upon Harberth's ribs and with his left he drove at his eye as he came up. Both blows were well and truly laid and with good sounding thuds that seemed to delight the audience.

      Bully Harberth changed his tactics and advanced upon his elusive opponent with his left in the position of guard and his right drawn back to the arm-pit. Evidently he was going to hold him off with the one and smash him with the other. Not waiting for him to develop his attack, but striking the bully's left arm down with his own left, Dam hit over it with his right and reached his nose and—so curious are the workings of the human mind—thought of Moses striking the rock and bringing forth water.

      The sight of blood seemed to distress Harberth and, leaping in as the latter drew his hand across his mouth, Dam drove with all his strength at his mark and with such success that Harberth doubled up and fetched his breath with deep groans. Dam stood clear and waited.

      Delorme called out, "You've a right to finish him," and was sternly reproved by the referee.

      As Harberth straightened up, Dam stepped towards him, but the bully turned and ran to his stool. As he reached it amid roars of execration the time-keeper arose and cried "Time!"

      "You had him, you little ass," said Delorme, as he squeezed a sponge of water on Dam's head. "Why on earth didn't you go in and finish him?"

      "It didn't seem decent when he was doubled up," replied Dam.

      "Did it seem decent his hitting you while you shook hands?" returned the other, beginning to fan his principal with a towel.

      "Anyhow he's yours if you go on like this. Keep your head and don't worry about his. Stick to his body till you have a clear chance at the point of his jaw."

      "Seconds out of the ring. Time!" cried the time-keeper.

      This round was less fortunate for the smaller boy. Harberth's second had apparently given him some good advice, for he kept his mark covered and used his left both to guard and to hit.

      Also he had learned something from Dam, and, on one occasion as the latter went at his face with a straight left, he dropped the top of his head towards him and made a fierce hooking punch at Dam's body. Luckily it was a little high, but it winded him for a moment, and had his opponent rushed him then, Dam could have done nothing at all.

      Just as "Time" was called, Harberth swung a great round-arm

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