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He was very proud of this feat, but, though most refreshing, Dam could have preferred that the water had come from a sprayer. "Seconds out of the ring, Time!" called the referee. Harberth appeared quite recovered, but he was of a curious colour and seemed tired. Acting on his second's advice, Dam gave his whole attention to getting at his opponent's body again, and overdid it.
Years passed and Dam strove to explain that the mainspring had broken and that he had heard it click when suddenly a great black drop-curtain rolled up, while some one snapped back some slides that had covered his ears, and had completely deafened him. Then he saw Harberth and heard the voice of the time-keeper saying: "five six seven".
"How do you like this?" inquired Dam rising also and he smote his tormentor with all his strength beneath the point of his chin. He lay still and white with closed eyes. "Golly," shrilled the Haddock, "Funky Warren has murdered Bully Harberth. Hooray! Hooray!" and he capered with joy.
Down he went like a nine-pin, but was up as quickly, and ready for Harberth who had rushed at him in the act of rising, while the referee shouted "Stand clear". As he came on, Dam fell on one knee and drove at his mark again. Harberth grunted and placed his hands on the smitten spot. Judging time and distance well, Dam hit with all his force at the bully's chin and he went down like a log.
He knocked Harberth clean out, they say. Perhaps his father has had him properly taught and he can really box. Ever seen him play footer? Nippiest little devil I ever saw. Staunch too. Rum go," commented his friend. Dam thought of Sergeant Havlan and his son, the punching-ball, and the fighting days at Monksmead. Perhaps he could "really" box, after all.
Had he been given time to get into sparring position the blow would not have moved him. Nor was Harberth himself in an attitude to put much weight behind the blow and it was more a cuff than a punch. Circling round his enemy, Dam sparred for an opening and watched his style and methods.
As Harberth struck at him with his left, he ducked, and as he was aiming at Harberth's mark, he was suddenly knocked from day into night, from light into darkness, from life into death....
As Harberth straightened up, Dam stepped towards him, but the bully turned and ran to his stool. As he reached it amid roars of execration the time-keeper arose and cried "Time!" "You had him, you little ass," said Delorme, as he squeezed a sponge of water on Dam's head. "Why on earth didn't you go in and finish him?" "It didn't seem decent when he was doubled up," replied Dam.
He scrambled to his knees, "eight" swayed and staggered to his feet, collapsed, rose, "nine" and was knocked down by Harberth. The time-keeper again stood up and counted, "One two three". But this blow actually helped him. He lay collecting his strength and wits, breathing deeply and taking nine seconds' rest.
Harberth, a big clumsy boy, a little inclined to fat, with small eyes, heavy low forehead, thick lips, and amorphous nose, lurched over to where Dam endeavoured to read himself into a better and brighter world inhabited by Deadwood Dick, Texas Joe, and Red Indians of no manners and nasty customs. "I want you, Funky Warren.