The Fight on the Bowling-green
There are some boys so serene of temper that they can go through school
life without a serious quarrel with anyone. Dick Forge was a boy of
this type. He had risen from the First Form at Foxenby to his present
responsible position as captain of the school without having had a
single pugilistic encounter of any moment. Still, he was too all-round
an athlete not to have gained a sound knowledge of boxing, and he was
nail-hard physically. It was not the ability but the desire to fight
that he lacked.
Now that he had done what he deemed to be his duty in releasing Fluffy
Jim from torture, he had no grudge against the big young horseman with
whom he found himself matched. He felt listless about the
matter--bored by it, though keenly alive to the necessity of keeping
that huge red hand as far as possible from his face and body. One fair
smack from such a leg-o'-mutton fist might well serve to put him to bed
for a week, which would be particularly awkward.
For fully three rounds, therefore, he remained entirely on the
defensive, much to the disappointment of the crowd, who saw no merit in
his performance of side-stepping and dancing beyond the reach of their
champion's writhing arms. To them that indicated cowardice, with which
they freely taunted him.
"Hit him hard, an' knock his teeth oot, Juddy," they urged. "Barge
cloöase up tiv him!"
Which, being interpreted, meant: "Get close up to him"--excellent
counsel, but rather more difficult to follow than they realized.
"Keep on playing him, lad--that's right," whispered Chuck Smithies,
encouragingly. "He'll tire first at this game. Has no more idea of
boxing than a backwoods-man. But you mustn't let him hit you,
mind--he'll knock you sick if he gets one in."
"I wish it were over," said Dick, devoutly. "It's such a farce.
There's really so little to fight about."
"Oh, true enough, that village idiot seems to be your evil star," the
bookmaker agreed. "Like fighting for a block of wood, sure! But you
butted in to save him, sonny, so you've got to stick it out. Buck up!
Juddy's coming for you baldheaded this time."
Yes, Juddy was indeed in most desperate earnest on this occasion. With
all the vocal support on his side, and a big advantage in weight, he
had every inducement to force the fight to an early and successful
issue. If, he told himself, he could slam his fist once, just once,
into the schoolboy's face--so cool a face it was, too, as it
tantalizingly bobbed up and down in front of him--there would be a
straight road into the public-house, drinks round at some
hero-worshipper's expense, and three cheers for a jolly good fellow.
The said "good fellow" being, as a matter of course, Juddy himself.
Dazzled by the prospect of such hero-worship, Juddy made the pace
"mustard". Twice his sledge-hammer fist got near enough to sting and
redden Dick's ear--another inch to the left and the schoolboy would
have gone down like a felled ox. Every artifice in Dick's
box-of-tricks had to be brought into play before the termination of
that hurricane round. It left him badly in need of his second wind,
but unhurt. Moreover it had begun to dawn on a section of the crowd
that the swiftness of his movements was not altogether due to funk, and
some few amongst them shuffled round to his side of the ring.
"Ahr Juddy ain't hevin' it all his own roöad this journey," observed
one elderly farm-hand, puffing thoughtfully at his pipe.
"Noa," his mate agreed. "T'young feller from t'schule seems ter hev
some soöart of a game on. Leastways, Juddy canna fetch him one."
"Cos why? Cos t'schule kid's 'wick' on his feet," put in another,
wiser than the rest. "He's t'captain o' t'foöitball team, an' it wor
him as would ha' scored t'winnin' goal at Walsbridge if Fluffy Jim
hedn't spoilt him."
"What! And after that he runs up agin Juddy to save Jim fro' a hidin'!
Why, if Ah'd been him, Ah'd hev seen Jim cold as frozen mutton fust."
"Nay, that's soöart o' thing they do in them big schules, tha knows.
'Code of honour' they calls it, Ah'm telled. Of all the daft
ideas--hey, sitha," he broke off, "what a sissup Juddy's just given
him!"
"Sitha, what a sissup" was the yokel's way of announcing to those
behind him that their champion had at last "got home" with that vicious
right hand of his. An exultant cheer marked the success. Dick spun
round with the jarring shock, and in that helplessly sick moment he
would have fallen an easy prey to Juddy's next blow but for a lucky
chance. Dick slipped on the snow of the improvised prize-ring, worn
glassy by now, and thereby escaped the full force of his opponent's
second drive. As it was, blood flowed from a cut on his cheek, which
Chuck Smithies had difficulty in stanching.
"Didn't I warn you not to let him hit you?" he grumbled. "One more
swipe on the napper like that, and you'll be dreaming of home and
mother, sonny."
"I'm not so particular what happens," gasped Dick, in his giddy agony.
"Can't stop rotting about here all afternoon."
He was dimly conscious that Chuck Smithies was breathing fire and
brimstone into his ear as he rose to face the next round. He was quite
too badly shaken for the time being, to realize that his
triumph-flushed opponent was blowing like the bellows of a blacksmith's
shop.
Juddy was no pierrot, and the unaccustomed prancing he had done before
"clumpin' t'schule-kid's chump" had almost emptied his lungs of ozone.
Greatly to the chagrin of his supporters, he seemed quite unable to
break again through Dick's somewhat groggy guard.
"Oh, Juddy, lad," they passionately pleaded, "dew slap it across him.
He nobbut needs a push--why, tha could blow him o'er!"
Which was precisely what Juddy could not do. He could scarcely have
cooled his porridge with the breath that was left in him just then.
Still, there was no reduction in the carthorse strength of his muscles,
as the bruises on Dick's protective arms could have testified. Both of
them came out of that round with diminished glory, and the referee cast
anxious glances back at his neglected public-house, darkly hinting at a
draw "if things don't buck up quick".
"They're pumped, both of 'em," observed a candid critic. "You could
wring 'em out like a couple o' dishcloths. What a frost!"
And a "frost" it most likely would have been, with a bored-stiff
schoolboy on one side, and a Puffing Billy of a horseman on the other,
had not Mr. Mawdster, dressed in his Sunday best, and obviously "out
for the afternoon", taken advantage of a parting in the crowd to
insinuate himself amongst the foremost spectators. There, with his
nose superciliously wrinkled, and a contemptuous smile playing on his
thin lips, he formed a conspicuous figure which Dick could not fail to
note, even though one of the schoolboy's eyes was rapidly closing under
a puff of tender skin.
The scorn of an enemy is the surest form of tonic to a fighter of
mettle. The printer, deliberately meaning to be insulting, did Dick an
immeasurable kindness. Pride surged up like a red sea in the school
captain's veins. The feeling of numbness passed from them--they
tingled into leaping life.
"The worm's come here to gloat over me being pole-axed," he decided.
"Very well, I'll disappoint him. Juddy Whatshisname, Esquire, can look
out for his eye now. I'm going to fight!"
Into the ring he jumped, a new man from head to foot. No more
back-pedalling and side-stepping--no more trelliswork-formation of
defending arms before an elusive head. Dick sought out his opponent
with a refreshing newness of purpose which astonished everyone, more
particularly the young horseman, who was called upon to shield himself
for the first time, and plainly didn't know how to do it.
Rap, rap went Dick's knuckles between the yokel's wide-set eyes. No
damage done, apparently! Dick ducked to avoid the round-armed return
blow, and brought his left instantly to Juddy's jaw. "Ugh!" grunted
Juddy, but that was all. A weather-beaten head like his could stand a
lot of pommelling.
"Like hitting a wooden Highlander outside a snuff-shop," Dick inwardly
commented. "Nil desperandum! I'll hurt him yet!"
"Hit him on t'neb, Foxey--hit him on t'neb," came a familiar voice from
the crowd--the hoarse voice of Fluffy Jim.
The village idiot was not quite so daft after all! While the fight had
been going against his champion he had kept a shut mouth--he was sharp
enough to realize the change in the feelings of the crowd, which made
it safe at last to venture on an encouraging yell. He knew, too, that
his own body would probably be free from violence for a long time to
come if Juddy were beaten now. This time he was to be a help, not a
hindrance, to the Captain of Foxenby, who really appreciated a
heartening cheer at the turn of the tide.
"Bravo, sonny!" cried Chuck Smithies, at the end of the round. "You've
sparred him to a standstill. But that isn't enough by a jugful. The
shades of night will fall before you knock him down by hammering his
dial. I know these farm-hands--bred on beef and bacon pasties--tough
as prairie grass. The referee is fidgeting to declare it a draw; if
the police pop in and catch him amusing himself like this, they'll haul
him before the beak. There's only one way to end it. Just one spot to
hit Juddy on----"
"The solar plexus?" queried Dick.
"Don't recommend it; too dangerous, even if you could locate it. No,
you must tap him on the neck; here, behind the ear."
"Any risk of serious harm?"
"None whatever. Absolute kindness to animals, my dear boy. Safer than
chloroform. He'll go to sleep like a babe for a few minutes, that's
all. Now, at it again. It's cat-and-mouse, lad, so put him out of his
misery, sharp!"
The village idiot's voice, still harping on the necessity of smiting
Juddy's "neb", boomed out again, and the crowd's sympathy seemed now to
veer to Dick's side. After all, many of the farm boys had gone too
long in fear of Juddy the Unconquered--a wholesome pasting, they began
to think, would do him no harm!
He seemed to know what was in store for him, too, for his crouching
attitude as Dick approached him was curiously suggestive of an
exhausted bull awaiting the dash of a matador.
A pang of perilous pity shot through Dick's heart, so woebegone did his
rival look. But the recollection of the torture this hulking bully had
inflicted on Fluffy Jim served to steel his heart. Conscious that the
round was wholly his, he lured the tired giant into the exact position
necessary for the _coup de grace_. Then, setting his teeth, he
followed Chuck Smithies' directions ruthlessly. To his unutterable
relief, the medicine worked like a charm.
Juddy crumpled up and fell, and was counted out before his astonished
supporters could haul him to his feet and shake the breath back into
his body.
Amid the babel which followed, the sportsmanship of the farm-hands rose
to a higher level than had previously seemed possible. Rather
shamefacedly, as though they were afraid of being caught at it, they
cheered "t'Foxenby kid", and would have stood him a good many drinks if
he had coveted such a doubtful appreciation. But Chuck Smithies
shepherded him into the tavern, and, with those cunning restoratives
known best to frequenters of the prize-ring, modified the pain and
unsightliness of his face and eye.
"You're a boxer of parts, sonny," said the admiring bookie, "but you'd
never make a professional bruiser. Too soft-hearted! Still, you'll be
the talk of the country-side after outing Juddy Stockgill. He's been
Cock o' the North two years. At the school, too, they'll make no end
of a song-and-dance, what?"
"I hope to goodness they never hear a syllable about it," said Dick
fervently.
The kindly bookmaker stared.
"Why, laddie, you ought to be jumping glad to have your chums know of
this victory," he said. "But you don't seem happy at all."
"Oh, I'm all right, thanks. Don't worry about me," Dick hastened to
say.
The bookie adjusted his hat and drew on his gloves with care.
"Well, chin-chin, sonny--I am hopping it now," he said. "Many thanks
for a jolly afternoon! I like you. I'm no fair-weather friend.
Remember what I said to you in the train--hail me if you're ever in a
hole, and I'll do my little best to dig you out. Keep on bathing your
eye till bedtime. Warm water will fetch the plaster off in the
morning. You'll feel better then than Clodhopper Juddy, I'll wager a
crown!"