TIBERIUS SMITH
Then he made a few savage passes near our respective heads as an intimation that when the blows fell they wouldn't be mistaken for thistle-down. And we both observed that he was no novice with his dukes.
"‘What class is he in, Billy?' inquired Tib, drowsily, as I tossed on my skins unable to close an eye. 'Think he must be in the ten-ton class. Thinks he's a fighter—out of date, antique—rolling-guard—I could—and the old fellow was sound asleep.
"In the morning Chuck bounced in and point-blank demanded me to tell where we had found the flakes. I had no sooner refused than I got a jolt that for causing constellations had a mid-winter's sky backed from the heavens. That agitated Tib, who sprang forward, only to be measured beside me by a neat left hook. I was so angry I shed a few vain tears. There is something so extremely humiliating in a man's saucy fist.
"‘No cutting,' he grinned, turning to go. 'But lots of times I do this with these,' and he admired his huge pads proudly.
"After he had left us, Tib collected his head together and tried to think. 'How was that solar-plexus blow given?' he suddenly asked.
"‘Why,' I groaned, nursing my jaw, 'he simply uncoiled his arm and thumped me.'
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