TIBERIUS SMITH
I rubbed some oil on his knobby forehead. 'Infighting, number five pictures, remember,' I whispered.
"He winked his uninjured eye slyly, tossed another kiss to the kid, and I called for round two. Champion Chuck had been walking back and forth before his admirers, showing how hardy he was by delivering stamping-mill blows on his chest. The minute Tib stepped to meet him the champ's long, steel arm shot out like a trip-hammer; but, dear, dear! the way Tib bobbed under and around it and sank a pudgy fist into Chuck's cruel face, and followed it up with a two-ton blow over the heart, simply swept 'em off their feet, sir. The old hags began to yowl, and the men threw up their hands to the totem-poles beseechingly and asked of their gods why this was thus, and Chuck went to the ropes.
"Oh no, he wasn't tinged with venom when he got up and came gliding towards Rutland's Pride with long, catlike steps! You see, he saw his laurels would wither if he suffered many more jolts like that, even if he ultimately won out by sheer strength. His game was to finish Tib easily and gracefully, and when I yelled, 'Hurrah for the Green Mountain Tease!' and Tib made a little deprecatory bow and smiled on the gurgling, crowing gate receipts, he adopted a crouching style and got Tib
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