consented. It's one of my many weaknesses, that, whether
it's a woman or a man, anything like a challenge sets me
off. But I knew Cullingworth's ways, and I told you in
my last what a lamb of a temper he has. None the less,
we pushed back the table, put the lamp on a high bracket,
and stood up to one another.

The moment I looked him in the face I smelled
mischief. He had a gleam of settled malice in his eye.
I believe it was my refusal to back his paper which was
running in his head. Anyway he looked as dangerous as he
could look, with his scowling face sunk forward a little,
his hands down near his hips (for his boxing, like
everything else about him, is unconventional), and his
jaw set like a rat-trap.

I led off, and then in he came hitting with both
hands, and grunting like a pig at every blow. From what
I could see of him he was no boxer at all, but just a
formidable rough and tumble fighter. I was guarding
with both hands for half a minute, and then was rushed
clean off my legs and banged up against the door, with my
head nearly through one of the panels. He wouldn't stop
then, though he saw that I had no space to get my elbows
back; and he let fly a right-hander which would have put
me into the hall, if I hadn't slipped it and got back to
the middle of the room.

"Look here, Cullingworth," said I; "there's not much
boxing about this game."