I carried the lump raised by that blow for a week.
I ducked under a straight left, and landed a straight right on his
stomach. It was a fearful blow. The whole weight of my body was
behind it, and his body had been met as it lunged forward. I looked
for him to crumple up and go down. Instead of which his face beamed
approval, and he said, "That was beautiful." The next instant I was
covering up and striving to protect myself from a hurricane of
hooks, jolts, and uppercuts. Then I watched my chance and drove in
for the solar plexus. I hit the mark. The Nature Man dropped his
arms, gasped, and sat down suddenly.
"I'll be all right," he said. "Just wait a moment."
And inside thirty seconds he was on his feet--ay, and returning the
compliment, for he hooked me in the solar plexus, and I gasped,
dropped my hands, and sat down just a trifle more suddenly than he
had.
All of which I submit as evidence that the man I boxed with was a
totally different man from the poor, ninety-pound weight of eight
years before, who, given up by physicians and alienists, lay gasping
his life away in a closed room in Portland, Oregon.
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