Donald snapped a light left to the ugly face and danced out of range. The champion’s thick lips parted in a fiendish grin. “My, mamma’s nice boy has a terrible punch!” he derided.
Donald continued his dazzling footwork, keeping the champion in pursuit and contending himself with occasional left-hand jabs that kept his opponent’s head rocking. He shot glances at intervals to his corner for instructions from Andy, who nodded his head in approval of his tactics.
The round finished in the challenger’s favour by a wide margin on points. The champion had not landed a single effective blow during the round.
The action of the first round caused Donald to forget his nervousness. Andy crowded between his knees and gently massaged his body, all the while speaking words of commendation and counsel.
“Now that you find that you can reach ’im easily with your left, watch me for signals. If I see that ’e’s openin’ up, I’ll give you the sign to shoot your left with all you ’ave. If he swings again with ’is left, try for ’is bread basket. You understand me, Donnie?”
“Easiest thing I’ve picked yet,” chuckled the champion as he came to his corner.
“He may be stalling,” cautioned his evil-faced manager.
“Huh!” grunted the champion. “I can take all he has in dat left and never feel it. I’m goin’ to open up on him de last part of de next round.”
Donald caught a glimpse of Pursell’s face as he crouched in the opposite corner. Such a look of vicious hate shot from his one gleaming eye that Donald shivered.
The rough element began to boo Donald for his running tactics. Some fans feel that they are cheated out of the price of admission unless they can witness the spectacle of two boxers slugging toe to toe until one goes down. Science counts for nothing with this small minority.
“Whadda ya think this is, a marathon?” they shouted.
Garrieau suddenly tore in, letting loose a terrific right that would have stopped the bout right then if it had landed. From a clinch Donald looked to his corner. Andy went through the pantomime of shooting a straight left. Donald nodded.
“Powder-puff punch!” again shouted the disgruntled fan.
“Did ya hear that?” hissed Garrieau, twisting his mouth into an apish grin. “Yo can’t hit hard enough to break an egg. I’m goin’ to fix dose teet’ for you now.” He leered brutally as he tore after Donald, disdainful of the belittled left.