Stone found no more chances for staggering Padilla in the next three rounds. He kept his face bloody with an occasional punch, but the Mexican's body-guard was well-nigh perfect and he possessed the ability to lash out viciously from any angle and with either hand. He played for Stone's kidneys, and one hard jab left Stone in swift agony at the close of a round. Scissored in his chair, his face went gray with the effort to straighten up. Lefty watched him anxiously.
"Keep your helbows working," he cautioned. "'E hain't hall to the merry. You got 'is bellows workin' hovertime. Never mind 'is mug hafter this. Play for 'is bread-basket."
Padilla's chest was heaving hard though he smiled confidently. At the bell he came with a rush, charging, his head well down between his broad shoulders, a hurtling mass of nervous energy. Stone's arms were getting more and more tired and heavy. Years of indulgence had sapped his vigour and drained his reserves, more than he had ever dreamed. Before the fury of Padilla's attack he gave ground and resorted to a clinch. Padilla's long arms twined about his in a fierce wrestle and Padilla's fists got home once and again. As Grimm yelled "Break!", the Mexican snapped in a low blow to the groin that left Stone dizzy and tottering. Padilla bounded for him, but Grimm stepped in between them and shook his finger menacingly at the Mexican. The fortunes of the fight had swung. The crowd yelled, the girls screaming in shrill excitement, as the bell rang and both men went to their corners.
