Bill (surname unknown) was not one of your ultra-scientific fighters.
He did not favour the American crouch and the artistic feint. He had a
style wholly his own. It seemed to have been modelled partly on a
tortoise and partly on a windmill. His head he appeared to be trying to
conceal between his shoulders, and he whirled his arms alternately in
circular sweeps.

Mike, on the other hand, stood upright and hit straight, with the
result that he hurt his knuckles very much on his opponent's skull,
without seeming to disturb the latter to any great extent. In the
process he received one of the windmill swings on the left ear. The
crowd, strong pro-Billites, raised a cheer.

This maddened Mike. He assumed the offensive. Bill, satisfied for the
moment with his success, had stepped back, and was indulging in some
fancy sparring, when Mike sprang upon him like a panther. They
clinched, and Mike, who had got the under grip, hurled Bill forcibly
against a stout man who looked like a publican. The two fell in a heap,
Bill underneath.

At the same time Bill's friends joined in.

The first intimation Mike had of this was a violent blow across the
shoulders with a walking-stick. Even if he had been wearing his
overcoat, the blow would have hurt. As he was in his jacket it hurt
more than anything he had ever experienced in his life. He leapt up
with a yell, but Psmith was there before him. Mike saw his assailant
lift the stick again, and then collapse as the old Etonian's right took
him under the chin.