They put up their fists
and faced each other. Almost instantly Simpson drove in a fierce blow and
ducked cleverly away and out of reach of the blow which Joe returned. Joe
felt a sudden respect for the abilities of his antagonist, but the only
effect upon him was to arouse all the doggedness of his nature and make
him utterly determined to win.
Awed by the presence of the fireman, Simpson's followers confined
themselves to cheering Brick and jeering Joe. The two boys circled
round and round, attacking, feinting, and guarding, and now one and
then the other getting in a telling blow. Their positions were in marked
contrast. Joe stood erect, planted solidly on his feet, with legs wide
apart and head up. On the other hand, Simpson crouched till his head was
nearly lost between his shoulders, and all the while he was in constant
motion, leaping and springing and manoeuvering in the execution of a
score or more of tricks quite new and strange to Joe.
At the end of a quarter of an hour, both were very tired, though Joe was
much fresher. Tobacco, ill food, and unhealthy living were telling on
the gang-leader, who was panting and sobbing for breath. Though at first
(and because of superior skill) he had severely punished Joe, he was now
weak and his blows were without force. Growing desperate, he adopted
what might be called not an unfair but a mean method of attack: he would
manoeuver, leap in and strike swiftly, and then, ducking forward, fall
to the ground at Joe's feet.
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