He was piling on his points and establishing a lead.
He might as well make hay while the sun shone. The Master was looking
all abroad. Montgomery popped one upon his blue jowl and got away
without a return. And then the Master suddenly dropped both his hands
and began rubbing his thigh. Ah! that was it, was it? He had muscular
cramp.
"Go in! Go in!" cried Teddy Barton.
Montgomery sprang wildly forward, and the next instant was lying half
senseless, with his neck nearly broken, in the middle of the ring.
The whole round had been a long conspiracy to tempt him within reach of
one of those terrible right-hand upper-cuts for which the Master was
famous. For this the listless, weary bearing, for this the cramp in the
thigh. When Montgomery had sprung in so hotly he had exposed himself to
such a blow as neither flesh nor blood could stand. Whizzing up from
below with a rigid arm, which put the Master's eleven stone into its
force, it struck him under the jaw; he whirled half round, and fell a
helpless and half-paralysed mass. A vague groan and murmur,
inarticulate, too excited for words, rose from the great audience.
With open mouths and staring eyes they gazed at the twitching and
quivering figure.
"Stand back! Stand right back!" shrieked the referee, for the Master
was standing over his man ready to give him the _coup-de-grace_ as he
rose.
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