The game . oot-racer waitingthe start. He was waiting for the it sounded he shot forward andacross the ring, catching Ponta in the midstof his seconds as he rose from his in the midst of his seconds Pontawent down, knocked down by a right-hand blow. As he arose from the con-fusion of buckets, stools, and seconds, Joeput him down again. And yet a thirdtime he went down before he could escapefrom his own corner. i68 THE GAME Joe had at last become the remembered his Just watch,youll know when I go after him. Thehouse knew it, too. It was on its feet,every
The game . oot-racer waitingthe start. He was waiting for the it sounded he shot forward andacross the ring, catching Ponta in the midstof his seconds as he rose from his in the midst of his seconds Pontawent down, knocked down by a right-hand blow. As he arose from the con-fusion of buckets, stools, and seconds, Joeput him down again. And yet a thirdtime he went down before he could escapefrom his own corner. i68 THE GAME Joe had at last become the remembered his Just watch,youll know when I go after him. Thehouse knew it, too. It was on its feet,every voice raised in afierce yell. Itwas the blood-cry of the crowd, andit sounded to her likewhat she imaginedmust be the howlingof wolves. And whatwith confidence in her loversvictory she found room in herheart to pity vain he struggled to defend himself,to block, to cover up, to duck, to clinchinto a moments safety. That momentwas denied him. Knockdown after knock-down was his portion. He was knocked. THE GAME 169 to the canvas backwards, and sideways, waspunched in the clinches and in the break-aways— stiff, jolty blows that dazed hisbrain and drove the strength from hismuscles. He was knocked into the cornersand out again, against the ropes, rebound-ing, and with another blow against the ropesonce more. He fanned the air with hisarms, showering savage blows upon empti-ness. There was nothing human left inhim. He was the beast incarnate, roaringand raging and being destroyed. He wassmashed down to his knees, but refusedto take the count, staggering to his feetonly to be met stiff-handed on the mouthand sent hurling back against the ropes. In sore travail, gasping, reeling, panting,with glazing eyes and sobbing breath, gro-tesque and heroic, fighting to the last, striv-ing to get at his antagonist, he surged 170 THE GAME in and was driven about the ring. And that moment Joes foot sHpped on the wet canvas. Pontas swimming eyes saw and knew the chance. All the fleeing st
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1900, bookpublishernewyo, bookyear1905
