He would not again be tempted into danger.
For three rounds the honours were fairly equal. The student's hitting
was the quicker, the Master's the harder. Profiting by his lesson,
Montgomery kept himself in the open, and refused to be herded into a
corner. Sometimes the Master succeeded in rushing him to the
side-ropes, but the younger man slipped away, or closed and then
disengaged. The monotonous "Break away! Break away!" of the referee
broke in upon the quick, low patter of rubber-soled shoes, the dull thud
of the blows, and the sharp, hissing breath of two tired men.
The ninth round found both of them in fairly good condition.
Montgomery's head was still singing from the blow that he had in the
corner, and one of his thumbs pained him acutely and seemed to be
dislocated. The Master showed no sign of a touch, but his breathing was
the more laboured, and a long line of ticks upon the referee's paper
showed that the student had a good show of points. But one of this
iron-man's blows was worth three of his, and he knew that without the
gloves he could not have stood for three rounds against him. All the
amateur work that he had done was the merest tapping and flapping when
compared to those frightful blows, from arms toughened by the shovel and
the crowbar.
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