Ben Hopper, who was acting as Larry's second, was filled with surprise
and indignation at his principal's fighting tactics. "You blame fool,"
he said to Larry as he ministered to his all too apparent necessities.
"What do you think you're doing? Do you think he's a sausage machine
and you a bloody porker? Keep away from him. You know he's too heavy for
you. If he were not so clumsy he would have had you out before this. One
good punch from him would do it. Why don't you do your foot work?"

"Corec," said Joe. "Larree, you fight all the same Mack Morrison's ram.
Head down, jump in--head down, jump in. Why you run so queek on dat Mop
feller? Why you not make him run after you?"

"He's right, Larry," said Ben. "Use your feet; make him come after you.
You will sure get his wind."

But Larry stood recovering his breath, glowering meanwhile at his enemy
across the ring. He neither heeded nor heard the entreaties of his
friends. In his ears one phrase only rang with insistent reiteration.
"He's a coward, an' his mother's a coward before him." Only one
obsession possessed him, he must keep hard at his enemy.

"Time!" The second round was on. Like a tiger upon his prey, Larry was
upon his foe, driving fast and furious blows upon his head and face. But
this time Mop was ready for him, and bearing in, head down, he took on
his left guard the driving blows with no apparent injury, and sent back
some half a dozen heavy swings that broke down Larry's guard, drove him
across the ring and finally brought him gasping to his knees.

"Stay where you are," yelled Ben. "Take your count, Larry, and keep away
from him. Do you hear me? Keep away, always away."