（
贵族学院的冷酷公主）（
九阳帝尊）（
萌夫养成之装傻王爷）（
灭世武修）（
万古至尊）（
霸主轮回游都市）by jack london
with the last morselbread tom king wiped his plate cleanthe last particleflour gravy and chewed the resulting mouthfula slow and meditativarose from the table,was oppressedthe feeling thatwas distinctlalonetwo childrenthe other room had been sent earlybedorder thatsleep they might fet they had gon wife had touched nothing, and had sat silently and watched him with solicitou wahin, worn womanthe working class, though signsan earlier prettiness were not wantinghe flour for the gravy she had borrowed from the neighbor acrosslast two ha’pennies had goo buy the bread.
he sat downthe windowa rickety chair that protested under his weight, and quite mechanicallyput his pipehis mouth and dipped into the side pockethi absenceany tobacco made him awarehis action, and, witcowl for his fetfulness,put the pip movements were slow, almost hulking,thoughwere burdenedthe heavy weighthi waolid bodied, stolid looking man, and his appearance did not suffer from bein rough clothes were olduppershis shoes were too weakcarry the heavy resoling that was itselfno recen his cotton shirt, a cheap, two shilling affair, showerayed collar and ineradicable paint stains.
butwas tom king’s face that advertised him unmistakably for whaas the facea typical prize fighter;one who had putlong yearsservicethe squared ring and,that means, developed and emphasized all the marksthe fightin was distinctlowering countenance, and, thatfeatureit might escape notice,was clea lips were shapeless, and constituteouth harshexcess, that was likashhis face.
the jaw was aggressive, brutal, eyes, slowmovement and heavy lidded, were almost expressionless under the shaggy, indraw animal thatwas, the eyes were the most animal like feature abou were sleepy, lion like the eyesa fightin forehead slanted quickly backthe hair, which, clipped close, showed every bumpa villainous lookin, twice broken and moulded variouslycountless blows, anauliflower ear, permanently swollen and distortedtwice its size, pleted his adornment, while the beard, fresh shavenit was, sproutedthe skin and gave the faclue black stain.
all together,was the facea manbe afraidiark alleylonel yet tom king was noriminal, nor hadever done anythinbrawls, monhis walklife,had harmeadever been knownpick warofessional, and all the fighting brutishnesshim was reserved for his professiona the ringwas slow going, easy natured, and,his younger days, when money was flush, too open handed for hisboregrudges and hadwausiness with him.
in the ringstruckhurt, struckmaim, struckdestroy; but there walain busines assembled and paid for the spectaclemen knocking each othe winner took the big endth tom king faced the woolloomoolloo gouger, twenty years before,knew that the gouger’s jaw was only four months healed after having been brokena newcastlhad played for that jaw and brokenagainthe ninth round, not becausebore the gouger any ill will, but because that was the surest wayput the gouger out and win the big endth had the gouger borne him any ill will for it.it was the game, and both knew the game and played it.
tom king had never beealker, andsatthe window, morosely silent, staringhi veins stood outthe backsthe hands, large and swollen; and the knuckles, smashed and battered and malformed, testifiedthe usewhich they had bee had never heard thaan’s life was the lifehis arteries, but wellknew the meaningthose big, upstandin heart had pumped too much blood through themtolonger didhad stretched the elasticity outthem, and with their distention had passedtired easily now.
no longer coulddast twenty rounds, hammer and tongs, fight, fight, fight, from gonggong, with fierce rallytopfierce rally, beatenthe ropes andturn beating his opponentthe ropes, and rallying fiercest and fastestallthat last, twentieth round, with the houseits feet and yelling, himself rushing, striking, ducking, raining showersblows upon showersblows and receiving showersblowsreturn, and all the time the heart faithfully pumping the surging blood through the adequat veins, swollenthe time, had always shrunk down again, though not quite each time, imperceptiblyfirst, remaining jusrifle larger tha staredthem andhis battered knuckles, and, for the moment, caughisionthe youthful excellencethose hands before the first knuckle had been smashedthe headbenny jones, otherwise knownthe welsh terror.
the impressionhis hunger came backhim.
“blimey, but couldn’tpiecesteak!”muttered aloud, clenching his huge fists and spitting oumothered oath.
“i tried both burke’s an’ sawley’s,” his wife said half apologetically.
“an’ they wouldn’t?”demanded.
“noa’ said ”she faltered.“g’wan!wot’dhe say?”
“as howwas thinkin’ sandeldoto night, an’how yer score was fortable bigit was.”
tom king grunted, but didwas busy thinkingthe bull terrierhad kepthis younger dayswhichhad fed steaks withou would have given him credit fohousand steak timesking was getting old; and old men, fighting before second rate clubs, couldn’t expectrun billsany size with the tradesmen.
he had gotin the morning witonging foiecesteak, and the longing hadhad not haair training for thi warought yearaustralia, times were hard, and even the most irregular work was difficulad hadsparring partner, and his food had not beenthe best nor alway had donew days’ navvy work whencould get it, andhad run around the domainthe early morningsget his legsshape.
butwas hard, training withouartner and witife and two kiddies that musith the tradesmen had undergone very slight expansion whenwas matched wit secretarythe gayety club had advanced him three pounds the loser’s endthe purse and beyond that had and againhad managedborroew shillings from old pals, who would have lent more only thatwarought year and they were hardand there wasusedisguising the fact his training had not bee should have had better food and n, wheanforty,is harderget into condition than whenis twenty.
“what timeit, lizzie?”asked.
his wife went across the hallinquire, and came back.
“quarter before eight.”
“they’llstartin’ the first bouta few minutes,”said.“only athere’our round spar ’tween dealer wells an’ gridley, an’ a ten round’tween starlight an’ some sailo’t efor overhour.”
at the endanother silent ten minutes,rosehis feet.
“truth is, lizzie, i ain’t had proper trainin’.”
he reached for his hat and started fordid not offerkiss hernever didgoing out butthis night she daredkiss him, throwing her arms around him and pelling himbend downhe looked quite small against the massive bulkthe man.
“good luck, tom,” she said.“you gotter’im.”
“ay, i gotter’im,”repeated.“that’s all thereto it.i jus’ gotter’im.”
he laughed withattemptheartiness, while she pressed more closely agains her shoulderslooked around the bar was allhadthe world, with the rent overdue, and her andhe was leavingtoout into the nightget meat for his mate and cubs not likodern working man goinghis machine grind, butthe old, primitive, royal, animal way,fighting for it.“i gotter’im,”repeated, this timintdesperationhis voice.“if it’in, it’s thirty quid an’ i can pay all that’s owin’, witump o’ money lef it’ose, i get naught not eveenny forto ride hometh secretary’s give all that’s in’ frooser’ by, ol’ll e straight homeit’in.”
“an’ i’llwaitin’ up,” she calledhim along the hall.
it was full two milesthe gayety, andhe walked alongremembered howhis palmy dayshad once been the heavyweight championnew south waleswould have riddena cabthe fight, and how, most likely, some heavy backer would have paid for the cab and ridden wit were tommy burns and that yankee nigger, jack johnson they rode aboutmotowalked!and,any man knew, a hard two miles was not the best preliminary wasold un, and the world did not wag well withwas good for nothing now except navvy work, and his broken nose and swollen ear were against him eventhat.
he found himself wishing thathad learned would have been betterthe lonone had told him, andknew, deep downhis heart, thatwould not have listenedthe had beeoney sharp, glorious fights periodsrest and loafingbetweeollowingeager flatterers, the slapsthe back, the shakes ofthe hand, the toffs gladbuy hirink for the privilegefive minutes’ talk and the gloryit, the yelling houses, the whirlwind finish, the referee’s “king wins!” and his namethe sporting columns next day.
those had been times!butrealized now,his slow, ruminating way, thatwas the old unshad been puttin was youth, rising; and they were age, wonderhad been easy they with their swollen veins and battered knuckles and wearythe bonesthem from the long battles they had alread remembered the timeput out old stowsher bill,rush cutters bay,the eighteenth round, and how old bill had cried afterwardthe dressing room like old bill’s rent had been overdue.
perhaps he’d hadhomissus an’ a couplerhaps bill, that very daythe fight, had haungering foiecad fought game and taken incredibl could see now, afterhad gohrough the mill himself, that stowsher bill had fought foigger stake, that night twenty years ago, than had young tom king, who had fought for glory and eas wonder stowsher bill had cried afterwardthe dressing room.
well, a man had onlymany fightshim,begi was the iron lawth man might havundred hard fightshim, another man only twenty; each, accordingthe makehim and the qualityhis fibre, haefinite number, and, whenhad fought them,wa,had had more fightshim than mostthem, andhad had far more than his sharethe hard, gruelling fights the kind that worked the heart and lungsbursting, that took the elastic outthe arteries and made hard knotsmuscle outyouth’s sleek suppleness, that wore out nerve and stamina and made brain and bones weary from excesseffort and enduranc,had done better than alas nonehis old fighting partner was the lastthehad seen them all finished, andhad haandfinishing somethem.
they had tried him out against the old uns, and one after anotherhad put them away laughing when, like old stowsher bill, they criedthe dressin nowwasold un, and they tried out the youngsteras that bloke, had e over from new zealand witecord behin nobodyaustralia knew anything about him,they put himagainst oldsandel madhowing,wouldgiven better menfight, with bigger purseswin;it wasbe depended upon thatwould puta fierce battle.
he had everythingwinit money and glory and career; and tom king was the grizzled old chopping block that guarded the highwayfamehe had nothingwin except thirty quid,paythe landlord and th,tom king thus ruminated, there camehis stolid vision the formyouth, glorious youth, rising exultant and invincible, supplemuscle and silkenskin, with heart and lungs that had never been tired and torn and that laughedlimitation o, youth wasdestroyed the old uns and recked not that,so doing,destroye enlarged its arteries and smashed its knuckles, and wasturn destroyeouth was eve was only age that grew old.
at castlereagh streetturnedthe left, and three blocks along camethyoung larrikins hanging outside the door made respectful way for him, andheard one sayanother:“that’s ’im! that’s tom king!”
inside,the wayhis dressing room,encountered the secretary, a keen eyed, shrewd faced young man, who shook his hand.
“how are you feelin’, tom?”asked.
“fita fiddle,” king answered, thoughknew thatlied, and thathe hauid,would giveright there foood piecesteak.
whenemerged from the dressing room, his seconds behind him, and came down the aislethe squared ringthe centrethe hall, a burstgreeting and applause wentfrom the waitin acknowledged salutations right and left, though fewthe faces did hthem were the faceskiddies unborn whenwas winning his first laurelsthe square leaped lightlythe raised platform and ducked through the ropeshis corner, wheresat downa foldin ball, the referee, came over and shookwaroken down pugilist who for over ten years had not entered the ring was glad thathad himwere bothhe should roughwith sandeit beyond the rules,knew ball coulddepended uponpassby.
aspiring young heavyweights, one after another, were climbing into the ring and being presentedthe audienceth,issued their challenges for them.
“young pronto,” ball announced, “from north sydney, challenges the winner for fifty pounds side bet.”
the audience applauded, and applauded againsandel himself sprang through the ropes and sat downhi king looked across the ringhim curiously, fora few minutes they wouldlocked togethermerciless bat, each trying with all the forcehimknock the other int little couldsee, for sandel, like himself, had trousers and sweaterover his rin face was strongly handsome, crowned witurly mopyellow hair, while his thick, muscular neck hintedbodily magnificence.
young pronto wentone corner and then the other, shaking hands with the principals and dropping down outth challenges went on.ever youth climbed through the ropes youth unknown, but insatiable crying outmankind that with strength and skillwould match issues withyears before,his own heydayinvincibleness, tom king would have been amused and boredthes nowsat fascinated, unableshake the visionyouth from his eyes.
always were these youngsters risingin the boxing game, springing through the ropes and shouting their defiance; and always were the old uns going down befor climbedsuccess over the bodiestheever they came, more and more youngsters youth unquenchable and irresistible and ever they put the old uns away, themselves being old uns and travelling the same downward path, while behind them, ever pressingthem, was youth eternal the new babies, grown lusty and dragging their elders down, with behind them more babiesthe endtime youth that must have its will and that will never die.
king glanced overthe press box and noddedman,the sportsman, and corbett,thheld out his hands, while sid sullivan and charley bates, his seconds, slippedhis gloves and laced them tight, closely watchedonesandel’s seconds, who first examined critically the tapesking’his own wassandel’s corner, performinik’s trousers were pulled off, and,he stood up, his sweater was skinned off overtom king, looking, saw youth incarnate, deep chested, heavy thewed, with muscles that slipped and slid like live things under the white sati whole body was acrawl with life, and tom king knew thatwaife that had never oozed its freshness out through the aching pores during the long fights wherein youth paid its toll and departed not quiteyoungwhenentered.
the two men advancedmeet each other, and,the gong sounded and the seconds clattered outthe ring with the folding stools, they shook hands and instantly took their fightin instantly, likechanismsteel and springs balanceda hair trigger, sandel wasand out andagain, landineftthe eyes, a rightthe ribs, duckinounter, dancing lightly away and dancing menacingly bac was swiftwaazzlin house yelledking washad fought too many fights and too man knew the blows for what they were too quick and too deftb sandel was goingrush things fromwasb was the wayyouth, expending its splendor and excellencewild insurgence and furious onslaught, overwhelming opposition with its own unlimited glorystrength and desire.
sandel wasand out, here, there, and everywhere, light footed and eager hearted, a living wonderwhite flesh and stinging muscle that wove itself intazzling fabricattack, slipping and leaping liklying shuttle from actionaction throughousand actions, allthem centred upon the destructiontom king, who stood between himtom king patientl knew his business, andknew youth now that youth waslonge was nothingdo till the other lost somehis steam, was his thought, andgrinnedhimselfhe deliberately duckedasreceiveavy blowthe tophi waicked thingdo, yet eminently fair accordingthe rulesthe boxing game.
a man was supposedtake carehis own knuckles, and,he insistedhittingopponentthe topthe head,didat hiscould have ducked lower and let the blow whiz harmlessly past, butremembered his own early fights and howsmashed his first knucklethe headthe wels was but playingduck had accounted for onesandel’ that sandel would minouldon, superbly regardless, hittinghardever throughoutlater on, when the long ring battles had beguntell,would regret that knuckle and look back and remember howsmashedon tom king’s head.
the first round was all sandel’s, andhad the house yelling with the rapidityhis whirlwin overwhelmed king with avalanchespunches, and kingnever struck once, contenting himself with covering up, blocking and ducking and clinchingavoi occasionally feinted, shook his head when the weighta punch landed, and moved stolidly about, never leapingspringingwastingouncust foam the frothyouth away before discreet age could daring’s movements were slow and methodical, and his heavy lidded, slow moving eyes gave him the appearancebeing half asleehey were eyes that saw everything, that had been trainedsee everything through all his twenty years and oddth were eyes that did not blinkwaver beforeimpending blow, but that coolly saw and measured distance.
seatedhis corner for the minute’s restthe endthe round,lay back with outstretched legs, his arms restingthe right anglethe ropes, his chest and abdomen heaving frankly and deeplyhe gulped down the air driventhe towelshi listened with closed eyesthe voicesthe house, “why don’t yeh fight, tom?” many were crying.“yeh ain’t afraid’im, are yeh?”
“muscle bound,”hearana front seat ment.“he can’t movonesandel,quids.”
the gong struck and the two men advanced from thei came forward fully three quartersthe distance, eagerbegin again; but king was contentadvance the shorte wasline with his policad not been well trained, andhad not had enougheat, and every ste,had already walked two milesth waepetitionthe first round, with sandel attacking likhirlwind and with the audience indignantly demanding why king didfeinting and several slowly delivered and ineffectual blowsdid nothing save block and stallwantedmake the pace fast, while king, outhis wisdom, refusedacmodate him.
he grinned witertain wistful pathoshis ring battered countenance, and wentcherishing his strength with the jealousywhich only agas youth, andthrew his strength away with the munificent abandoing belonged the ring generalship, the wisdom bredlong, achin watched with cool eyes and head, moving slowly and waiting for sandel’s frothfoa the majoritythe onlookersseemedthough king was hopelessly outclassed, and they voiced their opinionoffersthreeonhere were wise ones, a few, who knew kingold time, and who covered what they considered easy money.
the third round beganusual, one sided, with sandel doing all the leading and delivering allminute had passed when sandel, overconfident, left a’s eyes and right arm flashedthe sam was his first real bloook, with the twisted archthe armmakerigid, and with all the weightthe half pivoted body behind it.it was likleepy seeming lion suddenly thrusting ouightnin, caughtthe sidethe jaw, was felled like audience gasped and murmured awe stricke man was not muscle bound, after all, andcould drivlow likrip hammer.
sandelrolled over and attemptedrise, but the sharp yells from his secondstake the count restraine kneltone knee, readyrise, and waited, while the referee stood over him, counting the seconds loudlyhi the ninthrosefighting attitude, and tom king, facing him, knew regret that the blow had not beeninch nearer the pointth would have beenockout, andcould have carried the thirty quid homethe missus and the kiddies.
the round continuedthe endits three minutes, sandel for the first time respectfulhis opponent and king slowmovement and sleepy eyehe round neared its close, king, warnedthe factsightthe seconds crouching outside ready for the springthrough the ropes, worked the fight aroundhiswhen the gong struck,sat down immediatelythe waiting stool, while sandel hadwalk all the way across the diagonalthe squarehiswaittle thing, butwas the sumlittle things tha was pelledwalk that many more steps,givethat much energy, andlosartthe precious minuthe beginningevery round king loafed slowly out from his corner, forcing his opponentadvance the greate endevery round found the fight maneuvredking into his own cornerthatcould immediately sit down.
two more rounds went by,which king was parsimoniouseffort and sande latter’s attemptforcast pace made king unfortable, foair percentagethe multitudinous blows showered upon him wen king persistedhis dogged slowness, despite the cryingthe young hotheads for himgoan,the sixth round, sandel was careless, again tom king’s fearful right flashed outthe jaw, and again sandel took the nine seconds count.
by the seventh round sandel’s pinkcondition was gone, andsettled downwhatknew wasbe the hardest fighthi king wasold un, buetter oldthanhad ever encounteredoldwho never lost his head, who was remarkably abledefence, whose blows had the impacta knotted club, and who hanockouteithe, tom king dared notnever fot his battered knuckles, and knew that every hit must countthe knuckles werelast outhe sathis corner, glancing acrosshis opponent, the thought camehim that the sumhis wisdom and sandel’s youth would constitutorld’s champio that waswould never beorl lacked the wisdom, and the only way for himgetwasbuywith youth; and when wisdom was his, youth would have been spentbuying it.
king took every advantagever missedopportunityclinch, andeffecting mostthe clinches his shoulder drove stiffly into the other’ the philosophythe rinhoulder wasgooda punchfardamage was concerned, anreat deal betterfarconcerned expenditure o,the clinches king rested his weighthis opponent, and was loathlet go.
this pelled the interferencethe referee, who tore them apart, always assistedsandel, who had not yet learneould not refrain from using those glorious flying arms and writhing muscleshis, and when the other rushed intlinch, striking shoulder against ribs, and with head resting under sandel’s left arm, sandel almost invariably swung his right behind his own back and into the projectin walever stroke, much admiredthe audience, butwas not dangerous, and was, therefore, just that much waste sandel was tireless and unawarelimitations, and king grinned and doggedly endured.
sandel developeierce rightthe body, which madeappear that king was takingenormous amountpunishment, andwas only the old ringsters who appreciated the deft touchking’s left glovethe other’s biceps just before the impactth was true, the blow landed each time; but each timewas robbedits powerthat touchth the ninth round, three times insidinute, king’s right hooked its twisted archthe jaw; and three times sandel’s body, heavyit was, was levelledthe mat.
each timetook the nine seconds allowed him and rosehis feet, shaken and jarred, but stil had lost muchhis speed, andwasted les was fighting grimly; butcontinueddraw upon his chief asset, which wa’s chief assethis vitality had dimmed and his vigor abated,had replaced them with cunning, with wisdom bornthe long fights and witareful shepherdinlone hadlearned nevermakuperfluous movement, buthad learned howseduceopponent into throwing his strengt and again,feintfoot and hand and bodycontinuedinveigle sandel into leaping back, ducking, o rested, butnever permitted sandeas the strategyage.
earlythe tenth round king began stopping the other’s rushes with straight leftsthe face, and sandel, grown wary, respondeddrawing the left, thenduckingand delivering his righta swinging hookthe sideth was too hightovitally effective; but when firstlanded, king knew the old, familiar descentthe black veilunconsciousness acrossthe instant,for the slightest fractionan instant, rather, h the one momentsaw his opponent ducking outhis fieldvision and the backgroundwhite, watching faces;the next momentagain saw his opponent and the backgrounasifhad slept foime and just opened his eyes again, and yet the intervalunconsciousness wasmicroscopically short that there had beentime for hiudience saw him totter and his knees give, and then saw him recover and tuck his chin deeper into the shelterhis left shoulder.
several times sandel repeated the blow, keeping king partially dazed, and then the latter worked out his defence, which was also with his lefttooalf step backward,the same time upper cutting with the whole strengthhi accurately wastimed thatlanded squarelysandel’s facethe full, downward sweepthe duck, and sandel liftedthe air and curled backward, striking the mathis headking achieved this, then turned loose and hammered his opponentthe ropes.
he gave sandelchancerestto set himself, but smashed blowupon blow till the house roseits feet and the air was filled withunbroken roaandel’s strength and endurance were superb, andcontinuedstayhi seemed certain, anaptainpolice, appalledthe dreadful punishment, arosethe ringsidestopgong struck for the endthe round and sandel staggeredhis corner, protestingthe captain thatwas soundprove it,threw two back air springs, and the police captain gave in.
tom king, leaning backhis corner and breathing hard,the fight had been stopped, the referee, perforce, would have rendered him the decision and the purse would have bee sandel,was not fighting for glorycareer, but for thirt now sandel would recuperatethe minuterest.
youth willserved this saying flashed into king’s mind, andremembered the first timehad heard it, the night whenhad put away stowshe toff who had bought hirink after the fight and patted himthe shoulder had used thos willserved!the toffon that nightthe long agohad bee night youth satthe opposit for himself,had been fighting for halfhour now, andwasolfought like sandel,would not have lasted fiftee the point was thatdid not recuperate.
those upstanding arteries and that sorely tried heart would not enable himgather strengththe intervals betweenhe had not had sufficient strengthhimbegi legs were heavy under him and beginninhould not have walked those two milesth there was the steak whichhad gotlonging for tha and terrible hatred rosein him for the butchers who had refusedwas hard forold mango intight without enoug piecesteak was sucittle thing, a few penniesbest; yetmeant thirty quidhim.
with the gong that opened the eleventh round, sandel rushed, makinhowfreshness whichdid not reall knewfor whatwaluffoldthe gam clinchedsave himself, then, going free, allowed sandelge was what kin feinted with his left, drew the answering duck and swinging upward hook, then made the half step backward, delivered the upper cut fullthe face and crumpled sandel overth thatnever let him rest, receiving punishment himself, but inflicting far more, smashing sandelthe ropes, hooking and driving all mannerblows into him, tearing away from his clinchespunching him outattempted clinches, and ever when sandel would have fallen, catching him with one uplifting hand and with the other immediately smashing him into the ropes wherecould not fall.
the housethis time had gone mad, andwas his house, nearly every voice yelling: “go it, tom!”“get ’im! get ’im!”“you’ve got ’im, tom!you’ve got ’im!”it wasbhirlwind finish, and that was whaingside audience paidsee.
and tom king, who for halfhour had conserved his strength, now expendedprodigallythe one great effortknewhaas his one chance nownotrength was waning fast, and his hope was that before the lastit ebbed outhimwould have beaten his opponent down forascontinuedstrike and force, coolly estimating the weighthis blows and the qualitythe damage wrought,realized how haran sandel wasknoc and endurance were hisan extreme degree, and they were the virgin stamina and endurancas certainlomin hadi outsuch rugged fibre were successful fighters fashioned.
sandel was reeling and staggering, but tom king’s legs were cramping and his knuckles going back osteeled himselfstrike the fierce blows, every onewhich brought anguishhis torture nowwas receiving practicallypunishment,was weakeningrapidlyth blows went home, but there waslonger the weight behind them, and each blow was the resulta severe efforegs were like lead, and they dragged visibly under him; while sandel’s backers, cheeredthis symptom, began calling encouragementtheir man.
king was spurreda burselivered two blowssuccessioeft, a trifle too high,the solar plexus, anight crossth were not heavy blows, yetweak and dazed was sandel thatwent down andreferee stood over him, shouting the countthe fatal secondshi before the tenth second was called,did not rise, the fighthouse stoodhushe restedtremblin dizziness was upon him, and before his eyes the seafaces sagged and swayed, whilehis ears,froemote distance, came the countthlooked upon the fighas impossible thaanpunished could rise.
only youth could rise, and sande the fourth secondrolled overhis face and groped blindly forthe seventh secondhad dragged himselfhis knee, whererested, his head rolling groggilyhi the referee cried “nine!” sandel stood upright,proper stalling position, his left arm wrapped about his face, his right wrapped aboutwere his vital points guarded, whilelurched forward toward kingthe hopeeffectinlinch and gaining more time.
at the instant sandel arose, king washim, but the two blowsdelivered were muffledthe stalle next moment sandel wasthe clinch and holdingdesperately while the referee strovedrag the twohelpedforce himsel knew the rapidity with which youth recovered, andknew that sandel was hishe could prevent tha stiff punch was his, indubitabl had outgeneralled him, outfought him, outpointe reeled outthe clinch, balancedthe hair line between defeaood blow would topple him over and downtom king,a flashbitterness, remembered the piecesteak and wished thathadthen behind that necessary punchmus nerved himself for the blow, butwas not heavy enough nor swift enough.
sandel swayed, but did not fall, staggering backthe ropes and holding on.king staggered after him, and, witang like thatdissolution, delivered anothe his body had deserte that was lefthim waighting intelligence that was dimmed and clouded fro blow that was aimed for the jaw struckhigher thanhad willed the blow higher, but the tired muscles had not been able t, from the impactthe blow, tom king himself reeled back and nearl agaiime his punch missed altogether, and, from absolute weakness,fell against sandel and clinched, holdingto himsave himself from sinkingthe floor.
king did not attemptfre had shotwa youth had beethe clinchcould feel sandel growing stronger agains the referee thrust them apart, there, before his eyes,saw yout instantinstant sandel gre punches, weak and futilefirst, became stiffking’s bleared eyes saw the gloved fist drivinghis jaw, andwilledguardby interposingsaw the danger, willed the act; but the arm wasseemed burdened witundredweighould not lift itself, andstroveliftwiththe gloved fist lande experienceharp snap that was likeelectric spark, and, simultaneously, the veilblackness enveloped him.
whenopened his eyes againwashis corner, andheard the yellingthe audience like the roarthe surfbond sponge was being pressed against the basehis brain, and sid sullivan was blowing cold watera refreshing spray over his facegloves had already been removed, and sandel, bending over him, was shakingboreill will toward the man who had put him out, andreturned the grip witeartiness that made his battered knuckle sandel steppedthe centrethe ring and the audience hushed its pandemoniumhear him accept young pronto’s challenge and offerincrease the side betone hundred pounds.
king lookedapathetically while his seconds mopped the streaming water from him, dried his face, and prepared himleavefel was not the ordinary, gnawing kind, bureat faintness, a palpitationthe pitthe stomach that municated itselfallremembered back into the fightthe moment whenhad sandel swaying and totteringthe hair line balance o, that piecesteak would have done it!he had lacked just that for the decisive blow, andha was all becausethe piecesteak.
his seconds were half supporting himthey helped him throughtore free from them, ducked through the ropes unaided, and leaped heavilythe floor, followingtheir heelsthey forceassage for him down the crowded centr the dressing room for the street,the entrancethe hall, some young fellow spokehim.
“w’y didn’t yuhin an’ get ’im when yuh ’ad ’im?” the young fellow asked.
“aw,to hell!” said tom king, and passed down the stepsthe sidewalk.
the doorsthe public housethe corner were swinging wide, andsaw the lights and the smiling barmaids, heard the many voices discussing the fight and the prosperous chinkmoneyth calledhimhave hesitated perceptibly, then refused and wenthis way.
he had noopperhis pocket, and the two mile walk home seemed ver was certainly gettin the domain,sat down suddenlya bench, unnervedthe thoughtthe missus sittingfor him, waitinglearn the outeth was harder than any knockout, andseemed almost impossibleface.
he felt weak and sore, and the painhis smashed knuckles warned him that, evenhe could finobnavvy work,woulda week beforecould griick handle hunger palpitationthe pitthe stomachwretchedness overwhelmed him, and into his eyes cameunwonte covered his face with his hands, and,he cried,remembered stowsher bill and howhad served him that nightthe lon old stowsher bill!he could understand now why bill had criedthe dressing room.
m.pi.co
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