Had Tom Reade received the blow he
would have gone to the ground. But the young engineer's athletic
training stood by him. He slid out, easily and gracefully, but was
compelled to wheel and face his assailant.
"Don't," urged Tom. "It's too hot."
"I'm hot myself," leered the stranger, dancing nearer.
"You look it," Tom admitted. "If you don't stop dancing, you'll soon be
hotter. It makes me warm to look at you."
"Stop this one, ye tin-horn!" snarled the stranger.
"Certainly," agreed Tom, blocking the blow. "However, I wish you
wouldn't be so strenuous. One of us may get hurt."
This last escaped Reade as he blocked the blow, and again displayed a
neat little bit of footwork.
"Let's see you stop this one!" taunted the bully.
"Certainly," agreed Tom, and did so.
"And this one. And this! Here's another!"
By this time the blows were raining in fast and thick. Tom's agile
footwork kept him out of reach of the hard, hammer-like fists of the
stranger.
Tom had been bred in athletics.
Pages:
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151