The Dozen from Lakerim Part 17

Bobbles proved himself an adept at that best of boxing tactics, the ability to dodge. He rarely moved more than would take him sufficiently out of harm's way. A little bending of the head from one side to the other, a quick side-step or an adroit duck, saved him from being the bull's-eye of most of Jaynes' attacks.

There were to be three rounds of three minutes each, with one minute's intermission between rounds. The first round was over before either of the men was much more than well warmed up to the work, and before either had scored any impressive amount of points. Jaynes, however, realized that Bobbles had landed oftener than he, and that the sympathy of the audience was with the little fellow. When time was called for the next round, therefore, he decided to rush things; and he charged on Bobbles with such fury that side-stepping and back-stepping were of little avail, and there was nothing for Bobbles to do but go into the mix-up and try to give as much as he received.

Before they knew just how, they were clinched, and the referee was cutting them apart like a cheese-knife. And now the big man realized that on the swift interchange of blows Bobbles was quicker than he, and that he must keep him at a little distance. Relying, then, on his greater reach, he went at Bobbles in a most exasperating manner, holding one long arm out straight, and fanning Bobbles with the other.

Bobbles ran into the outstretched fist with great enthusiasm at first, but after a moment's daze he dodged round and under that arm and devoted himself to playing a tattoo on Jaynes' solar plexus. Since his glove left a black mark wherever it struck, it was tattooing in two senses.

Both men welcomed the gong that announced a chance to breathe.

The grateful rubbing down, fanning, and sponging of the lightning-like seconds between the rounds restored both men somewhat to their enthusiasm, though the furious rate at which they had taken the two previous rounds left them bodily weak.

Jaynes' second told him, during the pause, that Bobbles had decidedly the best of it thus far on form, and Jaynes' temper was aroused.

Bobbles, having been told by his second that he had the better of it, had grown a trifle rash and impudent, and dared to take the aggressive. He went straight into Jaynes' zone of fire, and managed to plant several good hooks and upper cuts.

While Bobbles was playing in the upper regions for Jaynes, Jaynes made a reach for Bobbles' body, several times; but Bobbles was not there.

When Jaynes made a careless lead, Bobbles countered and dodged with remarkable skill.

All these things, while they increased Bobbles' score and standing with the judges, increased Jaynes' temper; and finally he gave a vicious right swing, which Bobbles avoided unintentionally by slipping and falling. So he found himself on the floor, with Jaynes standing over him in expectant antic.i.p.ation of landing him another ebonizing blow. He heard, also, the referee beginning to count slowly the seconds. His first impulse was to rise to his feet and a.s.sail Jaynes with all his might; then he realized that he had nine seconds for refreshment, and there he waited on one hand and one knee, while the seconds were slowly intoned, until the referee sang out:

"Nine!"

Then he made a sidelong scramble to his feet, and succeeded in dodging the blow with which Jaynes welcomed him back.

Jaynes charged now after Bobbles like a Spanish bull; but the wiry Lakerimmer dodged him, and smote back at him while he dodged; while Jaynes, losing his head completely, wasted his strength in futile rushes and wild blows that bruised nothing except the atmosphere.

Before the end of the round both men were decidedly tired, because the pace had been very rapid. The blows they dealt at each other were now hardly more than velvety shoves, and the air seemed to be the chief obstacle in their way. When by some chance they clinched, they leaned lovingly upon each other till the referee had to pry them apart. There was a little revival of interest just before the gong sounded to end the third and last round; for Bobbles, having regained some of his wind, began to pommel Jaynes with surprising rapidity and accuracy.

The end of the bout found them in a happy-go-lucky mix-up, each striking blindly.

The judges now met to discuss the verdict they were to render; and, there being some dispute as to the number of blows landed by each, the two men were brought forward for inspection. Bobbles' face and neck were as black as a piccaninny's, but there were few dark spots upon his chest. Jaynes, however, was like a leopard, for the blacking on Bobbles' gloves had mottled him all up and down and around.

As Jumbo remarked to Sawed-Off: "Bobbles certainly had designs on that big fellow!"

The judges had been agreed that on the points of defense, guarding, ducking, getting away, and counter-hitting, Bobbles, considering his size, was plainly the more brainy and speedy of the two. They were also inclined to grant him the greater number of points on his form in general, and especially on account of the disparity in size and reach; and when they counted the tattoo-marks on each, they found that here also Bobbles had made the highest score, and they did not hesitate to award him the prize.

The next event was the High Kick, which was won by a Kingston hitch-and-kicker, who was a rank outsider from the Dozen. Quiz managed to be third and add one point to the Academy's score.

Then came an exhibition of Indian-club swinging. Jumbo had formerly been the great Indian-club swinger of the Dozen, but he had recently gone in so enthusiastically for wrestling that he had given up his other interest. Sleepy had taken up this discarded amus.e.m.e.nt with as much enthusiasm as was possible to him. There was something about it that appealed to Sleepy. It was different from weight-lifting and dumb bell exercising in that when you once got the clubs started they seemed to do all the work themselves. But Sleepy was too lazy to learn many of the new wrinkles, and the Troy club-swingers set him some tasks that he could not repeat. In form, too, he was not their equal; and this event went to the Kingston opponents.

A novelty was introduced here in place of the usual parallel-bar exhibition. From the horizontal bar a light gate was hung, and the various contestants gave exhibitions of Vaulting. The gate prevented the use of the kippie swing. There was no method of twisting and writhing up to the bar; it had to be clean vaulting; and Kingston gradually raised the mark till the Troy men could not go over it.

At its last notch only one man made it, and that was a Kingston athlete--but unfortunately not a Lakerimmer, as Punk remained behind with the others, and divided second place with a rival.

A Sack Race was introduced to furnish a little diversion for the audience, which, in view of the length of the program, was beginning to believe that, after all, it is possible to have too much of a good thing. The Kingstonians had put their hope in this event upon the Twins. None but the Dozen could tell them apart, but the Kingstonians felt confident that one of the red-headed brotherhood would win out.

And so it looked to the audience when the long row of men were tied up like dummies in sacks that reached to their necks; for, after the first muddle at the start, two small brick-top figures went bouncing along in the lead, like hot-water bags with red stoppers in them.

The Kingstonians, not knowing which of the Twins was in the lead, if indeed either of them actually led, yelled violently:

"The Twins! The Twins!"

It was Reddy that had got the first start and cleared the mult.i.tude, but Heady, by a careful system of jumping, was soon alongside his brother. He made a kind-hearted effort to cut Reddy off, with the result that they wabbled together and fell in a heap. They did not mind the fact that two or three other sack-runners were falling all over them; nor did they care what became of the race: the desire of each was to tear off that sack and get at the wretched brother that had caused the fall. Not being able to work their hands loose, they rolled toward each other, and began violently to bunt heads. Finding that this banner of battle hurt the giver of the blow as much as it did the receiver of it, they rolled apart again, and began to kick at each other in a most ludicrous and undignified manner. The Lakerimmers were finally compelled to rush in on the track and separate the loving brothers. Strange to say, the Twins got no consolation for the loss of the race from the fact that the audience had laughed till the tears ran down its face.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "TIED UP LIKE DUMMIES IN SACKS."]

When the Running High Jump went to Troy on account of the inability of B.J. to reach even his own record, the Kingstonians began to feel anxious of results. Troy had won six events, and they had won only four. The points, too, had fallen in such a way that there was a bad discrepancy.

Sawed-Off appeared upon the horizon as a temporary rescuer; and while he could not put the sixteen-pound bag of shot so far as he had in better days sent the sixteen-pound solid shot, still he threw it farther than any of the Trojans could, and brought the Kingston score up to within one of the events gone to Troy. Pretty added one more by a display of grace and skill in the fencing-match with foils, that surprised even his best friends from Lakerim, and won the unanimous vote of the three judges, themselves skilful fencers.

A wet blanket was thrown on the encouragement of the Kingstonians by their inferiority at weight-lifting. Sawed-Off was many pounds from the power of a certain powerful Trojan, who was a smaller man with bigger muscles.

Then all the members of the Dozen had a special parlay with Jumbo, imploring him to save the day and the honor of both Kingston and Lakerim by winning the wrestling-match.

XXV

When Jumbo glanced across the floor and saw the man that was to be his opponent striding toward the mat in the center of the floor, he wished that some one else had been placed as the keystone in the Kingston arch of success. For Jumbo knew well the man's record as a wrestler.

But Jumbo himself, while small, was well put together; and though built, as he said, "close to the ground," he was built for business.

Since he had gone in for wrestling he had made it the specialty of all his athletic exercises. He had practised everything that had any bearing on the strengthening of particular muscles or general agility.

He had practised cart-wheels, hand-springs, back and front flips. He had worked with his neck at the chest-weight machine. He would walk on his hands to strengthen his throat, and his collars had grown in a few weeks from thirteen and a half to fifteen, and he could no longer wear his old s.h.i.+rts without splitting them. He made the mats in the Kingston gymnasium almost his home.

His special studies were bridging and spinning. He spent hours on his back, rising to his two feet and his head and then rolling from one shoulder to the other and spinning to his front. When he had his bridge-building abilities fairly well started, he compelled his heavy chum Sawed-Off to act as a living meal-bag, and rolled around upon the top of his head and bridged, with Sawed-Off laying all his weight across his chest. When he went to bed he bridged there until the best of wrestlers, sleep, had downed him. When he woke in the morning, he fell out of bed to the floor, turning his head under him and rolling so as not to break his neck or any bones, and bridging rigidly upon his head and bare feet.

Jumbo knew that, whatever might be the ability of his rival, the Trojan Ware, at least he, Jumbo, could have his conscience easy with the thought that he had made the most profitable use of the short time he had spent on wrestling, and that he would put up as good a fight as was in him.

More than that no athlete can do.

Jumbo and Ware met upon the mattress with their close-shaven heads looking like bulldogs' jowls; and they shook hands--if one can imagine bulldogs shaking hands.

Jumbo had two cardinal principles, but he could put neither of them into practice in the first maneuvers: the first was always to try to get out of one difficulty by dumping the opponent into another; the second was always to try for straight-arm leverages.

Ware being the larger of the two, Jumbo was content to play a waiting game and find out something of the methods of his burly opponent. He dodged here and there, avoiding the reaching lobster-claws of Ware by quick wriggles or by slapping his hands away as they thrust. Suddenly Ware made a quick rush, and, breaking through Jumbo's interference, seized him around the body to bend him backward. But while the man was straining his hardest, Jumbo brought his hands around and placed them together in front of the pit of his stomach, so that the harder Ware squeezed the harder he pressed Jumbo's fists into his abdomen.

Ware looked foolish at being foiled so neatly, and broke away, only to come at Jumbo again, and clasp him so close that there was no room for his fists to press against Ware's diaphragm. But now Jumbo suddenly clasped his left arm back of Ware's neck, and with his right hand bent the man's forehead back until he was glad enough to let go and spring away. Ware continued to run around Jumbo as a dog runs around a treed cat. But Jumbo always evaded his quick rushes till Ware, after many false moves, finally made a sudden and unforeseen dash, seized Jumbo's right hand with both of his, whirled in close, and, with his back against Jumbo's chest, carried the Lakerimmer's right arm straight and stiff across his shoulder. Bearing down with all his weight on this lever, and at the same time dropping to his knees, he shot Jumbo over his shoulders, heels over head.

"That Flying Mere was certainly a bird!" said Bobbles.

Ware went down with Jumbo, to land on his chest and break any bridge the boy might form. And the Flying Mere had been such a surprise, and the fall was so far and the floor so hard, that, while Jumbo instinctively tried to bridge, his effort collapsed. His two shoulders touched. The bout was over.

The first fall had been so quickly accomplished, and Jumbo had offered so feeble a resistance, that the Troy faction at once accepted the wrestling-match as theirs, and the Kingstonians gave up the evening as hopelessly lost.

Jumbo was especially covered with chagrin, since he had practised so long, and had builded so many hopes on this victory; worst of all, the whole success of the contest between the two academies depended on his victory.

When, then, after a rest, the referee called "Time!" Ware came stalking up jauntily and confidently; but Jumbo, instead of skulking, was up, and at, and on him like a wildcat. Ware had expected that the Lakerim youngster would pursue the same elusive tactics as before, and he was all amaze while Jumbo was seizing his left hand with his own left hand, and, darting round behind him, was bending Ware's arm backward and upward into the Hammerlock.

The pain of this twist sent Ware's body forward, so that Jumbo could reach up under his right armpit and, placing the palm of his right hand on the back of Ware's head, make use of that crowbar known as the right Half-Nelson. This pressure was gradually forcing Ware forward on the top of his head; but he knew the proper break for the Hammerlock, and simply threw himself face forward on the mat.

As he rose to his knees again Jumbo pounced on him like a hawk, and while Ware waited patiently the little Lakerimmer was reaching under Ware's armpit again for another Half-Nelson; but Ware simply dodged the grasping of Jumbo's right hand, or, bringing his right arm vigorously back and down, so checked Jumbo's arm that the boy could not reach his neck. Jumbo now tried, by leaning his left forearm and all his weight upon Ware's head, to bring it into reach; but Ware's neck was too strong, and when he stiffened it Jumbo could not force it down.

Ware waited in amused patience to learn just how much Jumbo knew about wrestling. Jumbo wandered around on his knees, feinting for another Half-Nelson, and making many false plays to throw Ware off his guard.