slow. For the decision Larry cared nothing at all. At the most he had
little to lose for it would be but small disgrace to be beaten by a boy
so much bigger. The cause of his distress was something quite other
than this. He knew that from the first moment of the bout he would be
fighting. That this undoubtedly would make Mop fight back, and he was
haunted by the fear that in the stress of battle he might play the
coward. Would he be able to stand up to Mop when the fight began to
go against him? And suppose he should run away, should show himself a
coward? How could he ever live after that, how look any of the boys in
the face? Worst of all, how could he face his father, whose approval in
this boxing game since he had revealed himself as a "fighting man" the
boy coveted more than anything else. But his father was not present when
the boy stepped into the ring. Impelled by the dread of showing himself
a coward and running away, Larry flung to the winds his father's
favourite maxim, "Let your heels save your head," a maxim which ought
if ever to be observed in such a bout as this in which he was so
out-classed in weight.

At the word "Time" Larry leaped for his opponent and almost before Mop
was aware that the battle had begun he was being blinded, staggered and
beaten all around the ring, and only a lucky blow, flung wildly into
space and landing heavily upon Larry's face, saved him from complete
defeat in the first round. That single heavy blow was sufficient to give
temporary pause to Larry's impetuosity, but as soon as he got back his
wind he once more ran in, feinting, ducking, plunging, but ever pressing
hard upon his antagonist, who, having recovered from his first surprise,
began to plant heavy blows upon Larry's ribs, until at the end of the
round the boy was glad enough to sink back into his corner gasping for
breath.