Here was something definite--this hard-faced,
deformed Hercules to beat, with a career as the price of beating him.
He glowed with the joy of action; it thrilled through his nerves.
He faced his man with little in-and-out steps, breaking to the left,
breaking to the right, feeling his way, while Craggs, with a dull,
malignant eye, pivoted slowly upon his weak leg, his left arm half
extended, his right sunk low across the mark. Montgomery led with his
left, and then led again, getting lightly home each time. He tried
again, but the Master had his counter ready, and Montgomery reeled back
from a harder blow than he had given. Anastasia, the woman, gave a
shrill cry of encouragement, and her man let fly his right. Montgomery
ducked under it, and in an instant the two were in each other's arms.
"Break away! Break away!" said the referee.
The Master struck upwards on the break, and shook Montgomery with the
blow. Then it was "time." It had been a spirited opening round.
The people buzzed into comment and applause. Montgomery was quite
fresh, but the hairy chest of the Master was rising and falling.
The man passed a sponge over his head while Anastasia flapped the towel
before him. "Good lass! good lass!" cried the crowd, and cheered her.
The men were up again, the Master grimly watchful, Montgomery as alert
as a kitten.
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