The latter advanced once more,
his bullet head sunk between his shoulders, his little eyes
twinkling. Evidently Mr. Bishop's friend would now take the
aggressive, and forward movement would deliver an extra force to the
professional's blows.
Orde did not wait for Murphy, however. Like a tiger he sprang
forward, hitting out fiercely, first with one hand then with the
other. Murphy gave ground, blocked, ducked, exerted all a ring
general's skill either to stop or avoid the rush. Orde followed him
insistent. Several times he landed, but always when Murphy was on
the retreat, so the blows had not much weight. Several times Murphy
ducked in and planted a number of short-arm jabs at close range.
The round ended almost immediately to a storm of applause from the
galleries.
"What do you think of his being muscle-bound?" Gerald asked Murphy,
as the latter flung himself panting on the wrestling mat for his
rest.
"He's quick as chained lightning," acknowledged the other
grudgingly. "But I'll get him. He can't keep that up; he'll be
winded in half a minute."
Orde sat down on a roll of mat. His smile had quite vanished, and
he seemed to be awaiting eagerly the beginning of the next round.
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