THE FIGHT
“Time!”
It was the call of the watch-holder, and, as he spoke the word, two
scantily clad figures leaped toward each other.
“Take him easy now, Cap!” cautioned Bill to his larger brother.
“Go in and finish him!” advised Mersfeld to North, for whom he was
acting as second. Merton was keeping time, and Ward, the other Senior
who had been the unbidden guest at the little spread was referee.
It was the fight between North and Cap Smith—the fight which was the
inevitable outcome of the interference when the bully was mistreating
little Harvey.
The contest took place where all such affairs were “pulled off,” if
I may use such a term, in a well-secluded spot back of the baseball
grandstand.
“Watch his left!” was the further advice of Bill, who was acting as
second, gave to his brother, while Mersfeld sarcastically cut in with:
“Look out for biting in the clinches, North.”
It was a useless insult, for Cap never answered it.
Narrowly he watched his opponent, looking into his eyes, and trying to
guess, by close observations of those organs, how the lead would be.
Out shot North’s left, after a weak feint with his right. Cap was not
deceived. Cleverly he blocked the blow and countered with his left. His
aim was a bit short, but it caught North over the eye, too lightly to
raise a mark, however.
The fight was now on, and for a time blows were delivered with such
rapidity that the onlookers were in doubt as to who was having the best
of it. It was give and take, yet it was not brutal.
For the lads were both healthy and strong, and the soft gloves which
the Seniors had insisted that they wear, precluded any serious damage
to either. Nor were they scientific enough to do any material harm, for
though they had both taken boxing lessons, they were far from being in
the class with pugilists.
North half turned, made a feint as though to drive his right into Cap’s
face, quickly shifted, and shot out his left.
“Wow!” cried Mersfeld in anticipation of what was about to happen to
the youth against whom he bore a grudge.
But it was the unexpected which took place, for North in making the
shift had left himself unguarded for one fatal moment.
In shot the ready left of Cap Smith, straight from the shoulder, with
all the steam behind it which our hero could muster, and North was
neatly bowled over, bleeding slightly from the nose.
“First blood for us!” called Bill shrilly.
“Well, you needn’t shout over it, and bring McNibb here!” grumbled
Mersfeld, as he hurried to his fallen champion.
“I—I’m all right!” gasped North. “My—my foot slipped on the grass.”
“Like fun!” retorted Pete. “You’ll have some more of those ‘slips’
before it’s over.”
“That’ll do,” spoke Ward quietly. He looked at his classmate.
“Time,” called Merton, for North had been attended by his second, while
Bill looked after Cap, who was in no way distressed.
“Don’t hurry to finish him,” whispered Bill, as Cap arose from his knee
to go forward. “You can do him.”
“I don’t know about that,” was the cautious reply. “He has a strong
right, and guards pretty well. I just managed to get in.”
“Don’t let him get you that way again,” advised Mersfeld to his friend.
“It’s too risky.”
“I won’t, if I can help it.”
They were at it again, hammer and tongs, giving and taking. Several
body blows were exchanged, making both lads grunt, but doing no damage.
Then, when Cap tried for another left to the jaw he either
miscalculated, or North guarded quickly, for Cap’s fist came against
his opponent’s forearm, and the next minute our hero went down under a
well directed blow, that eventually closed his right eye. But he did
not mind this, got up quickly and was at it again.
Seeing his advantage in the next round North hammered away at Cap’s
optic, thereby not only causing the Smith lad exquisite pain, but
greatly hampering him in the fight, for his vision was reduced by half.
“You’ve got him now!” exulted Mersfeld, when the round was over, and
he was spraying his man with water from a ginger ale bottle. “Keep at
him!”
“Oh, he’s got lots of go yet,” declared North. “If I can close his
other eye I’ll have him though.”
“Then play for that.”
North tried to, but he was so intent on this that he left his own chin
unguarded. Cap did not care much about inflicting visible punishment on
the bully, but he did want to end the fight, for which, truth to tell,
he had no great hankering.
Once more his reliable left went boring in, and North gently went over
backwards, coming heavily down in the grass. He almost took the count,
but the time keeper was merciful, and allowed him a few seconds.
“He’s about all in,” whispered Bill to his brother, when after some
feeble and cautious sparring the round was at an end. “Finish him up.
I’m afraid McNibb or some of the profs. might come.”
“So am I. Here goes for a knock-out.”
Cap tried for it, but North was shifty. He was playing on the defensive
now, for he found that Cap was more cautious and was guarding his
damaged eye well. And North did not dare open his guard enough to come
back strong. Therefore he clinched several times, hanging heavily on
his opponent to tire him.
Cap tried to avoid this, and there was considerable leg work which was
hard on the breathing apparatus. He thought he saw one good chance, and
sent in an upper cut, but it fell short, and he got a blow on the ear
that made his head ring.
Thereafter he was more cautious.
“You must do him up soon,” implored Bill. “Can’t you take a chance?”
“I’m afraid to, with my bad eye.”
“That’s so. Well, use your own judgment.”
But the next round was the last, and the end came most unexpectedly.
North led with his right, intending to try once more his feinting,
shifting tactics. But he made a miscalculation. Cap blocked with his
left, and sending in a cross-counter with his right caught North on the
side of the head.
Down went the bully like a log, not badly hurt, but stunned enough to
make him take the count. There was no chance to allow the fatal ten
seconds to elapse, however, for, from the crowd that surrounded the two
contestants came the cry:
“Here comes Prexy!”
“Skip! Here’s Dr. Burton!”
“Come on, Cap! Get into your coat—never mind your shirt—out this
way!” cried Bill, Pete and Whistle-Breeches in the same breath.
Cap looked afar, and saw the figure of the venerable president bearing
down on them. The head of Westfield school was eagerly perusing one
book, and had another under his arm.
Cap hurriedly dressed as best he could. He saw North slowly rising,
assisted by his friends. Cap started toward him.
“Where you going?” demanded Bill.
“To shake hands—it’s all over. I want to be friends.”
“You’ve no time. I doubt if we can get away as it is.”
Bill, Pete, Whistle-Breeches and some of the others tried to get Cap
in their midst, so that his blackened eye would not be seen. They
hoped to be able to get back to their rooms by a round-about path, but,
alas for their hopes. Dr. Burton looked up, saw them, and changing his
course, bore down more directly on them.
“It’s all up!” groaned Pete.
Bill looked around, and saw North and his friends hurrying into the
dressing rooms under the grandstand. He wished he had thought of that,
but there was no time now.