the game-第7部分

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attack；　while　Joe　had　no　chance　against　the　other's　enormous

vitality。　　His　hope　lay　in　that　Ponta　himself　should　ultimately

consume　his　strength。



But　Genevieve　was　beginning　to　wonder　why　her　lover　did　not　fight。

She　grew　angry。　　She　wanted　to　see　him　wreak　vengeance　on　this　beast

that　had　persecuted　him　so。　　Even　as　she　waxed　impatient；　the　chance

came；　and　Joe　whipped　his　fist　to　Ponta's　mouth。　　It　was　a

staggering　blow。　　She　saw　Ponta's　head　go　back　with　a　jerk　and　the

quick　dye　of　blood　upon　his　lips。　　The　blow；　and　the　great　shout

from　the　audience；　angered　him。　　He　rushed　like　a　wild　man。　　The

fury　of　his　previous　assaults　was　as　nothing　compared　with　the　fury

of　this　one。　　And　there　was　no　more　opportunity　for　another　blow。

Joe　was　too　busy　living　through　the　storm　he　had　already　caused；

blocking；　covering　up；　and　ducking　into　the　safety　and　respite　of

the　clinches。



But　the　clinch　was　not　all　safety　and　respite。　　Every　instant　of　it

was　intense　watchfulness；　while　the　breakaway　was　still　more

dangerous。　　Genevieve　had　noticed；　with　a　slight　touch　of　amusement；

the　curious　way　in　which　Joe　snuggled　his　body　in　against　Ponta's　in

the　clinches；　but　she　had　not　realized　why；　until；　in　one　such

clinch；　before　the　snuggling　in　could　be　effected；　Ponta's　fist

whipped　straight　up　in　the　air　from　under；　and　missed　Joe's　chin　by

a　hair's…breadth。　　In　another　and　later　clinch；　when　she　had　already

relaxed　and　sighed　her　relief　at　seeing　him　safely　snuggled；　Ponta；

his　chin　over　Joe's　shoulder；　lifted　his　right　arm　and　struck　a

terrible　downward　blow　on　the　small　of　the　back。　　The　crowd　groaned

its　apprehension；　while　Joe　quickly　locked　his　opponent's　arms　to

prevent　a　repetition　of　the　blow。



The　gong　struck；　and　after　the　fleeting　minute　of　rest；　they　went　at

it　againin　Joe's　corner；　for　Ponta　had　made　a　rush　to　meet　him

clear　across　the　ring。　　Where　the　blow　had　been　over　the　kidneys；

the　white　skin　had　become　bright　red。　　This　splash　of　color；　the

size　of　the　glove；　fascinated　and　frightened　Genevieve　so　that　she

could　scarcely　take　her　eyes　from　it。　　Promptly；　in　the　next　clinch；

the　blow　was　repeated；　but　after　that　Joe　usually　managed　to　give

Ponta　the　heel　of　the　glove　on　the　mouth　and　so　hold　his　head　back。

This　prevented　the　striking　of　the　blow；　but　three　times　more；

before　the　round　ended；　Ponta　effected　the　trick；　each　time　striking

the　same　vulnerable　part。



Another　rest　and　another　round　went　by；　with　no　further　damage　to

Joe　and　no　diminution　of　strength　on　the　part　of　Ponta。　　But　in　the

beginning　of　the　fifth　round；　Joe；　caught　in　a　corner；　made　as

though　to　duck　into　a　clinch。　　Just　before　it　was　effected；　and　at

the　precise　moment　that　Ponta　was　ready　with　his　own　body　to　receive

the　snuggling　in　of　Joe's　body；　Joe　drew　back　slightly　and　drove

with　his　fists　at　his　opponent's　unprotected　stomach。　　Lightning…

like　blows　they　were；　four　of　them；　right　and　left；　and　heavy　they

were；　for　Ponta　winced　away　from　them　and　staggered　back；　half

dropping　his　arms；　his　shoulders　drooping　forward　and　in；　as　though

he　were　about　to　double　in　at　the　waist　and　collapse。　　Joe's　quick

eye　saw　the　opening；　and　he　smashed　straight　out　upon　Ponta's　mouth；

following　instantly　with　a　half　swing；　half　hook；　for　the　jaw。　　It

missed；　striking　the　cheek　instead；　and　sending　Ponta　staggering

sideways。



The　house　was　on　its　feet；　shouting；　to　a　man。　　Genevieve　could　hear

men　crying；　〃He's　got　'm；　he's　got　'm！〃　and　it　seemed　to　her　the

beginning　of　the　end。　　She；　too；　was　out　of　herself；　softness　and

tenderness　had　vanished；　she　exulted　with　each　crushing　blow　her

lover　delivered。



But　Ponta's　vitality　was　yet　to　be　reckoned　with。　　As；　like　a　tiger；

he　had　followed　Joe　up；　Joe　now　followed　him　up。　　He　made　another

half　swing；　half　hook；　for　Ponta's　jaw；　and　Ponta；　already

recovering　his　wits　and　strength；　ducked　cleanly。　　Joe's　fist　passed

on　through　empty　air；　and　so　great　was　the　momentum　of　the　blow　that

it　carried　him　around；　in　a　half　twirl；　sideways。　　Then　Ponta　lashed

out　with　his　left。　　His　glove　landed　on　Joe's　unguarded　neck。

Genevieve　saw　her　lover's　arms　drop　to　his　sides　as　his　body　lifted；

went　backward；　and　fell　limply　to　the　floor。　　The　referee；　bending

over　him；　began　to　count　the　seconds；　emphasizing　the　passage　of

each　second　with　a　downward　sweep　of　his　right　arm。



The　audience　was　still　as　death。　　Ponta　had　partly　turned　to　the

house　to　receive　the　approval　that　was　his　due；　only　to　be　met　by

this　chill；　graveyard　silence。　　Quick　wrath　surged　up　in　him。　　It

was　unfair。　　His　opponent　only　was　applaudedif　he　struck　a　blow；

if　he　escaped　a　blow；　he；　Ponta；　who　had　forced　the　fighting　from

the　start；　had　received　no　word　of　cheer。




His　eyes　blazed　as　he　gathered　himself　together　and　sprang　to　his

prostrate　foe。　　He　crouched　alongside　of　him；　right　arm　drawn　back

and　ready　for　a　smashing　blow　the　instant　Joe　should　start　to　rise。

The　referee；　still　bending　over　and　counting　with　his　right　hand；

shoved　Ponta　back　with　his　left。　　The　latter；　crouching；　circled

around；　and　the　referee　circled　with　him；　thrusting　him　back　and

keeping　between　him　and　the　fallen　man。



〃Fourfivesix〃　the　count　went　on；　and　Joe；　rolling　over　on　his

face；　squirmed　weakly　to　draw　himself　to　his　knees。　　This　he

succeeded　in　doing；　resting　on　one　knee；　a　hand　to　the　floor　on

either　side　and　the　other　leg　bent　under　him　to　help　him　rise。

〃Take　the　count！　　Take　the　count！〃　a　dozen　voices　rang　out　from　the

audience。



〃For　God's　sake；　take　the　count！〃　one　of　Joe's　seconds　cried

warningly　from　the　edge　of　the　ring。　　Genevieve　gave　him　one　swift

glance；　and　saw　the　young　fellow's　face；　drawn　and　white；　his　lips

unconsciously　moving　as　he　kept　the　count　with　the　referee。



〃Seveneightnine〃　the　seconds　went。



The　ninth　sounded　and　was　gone；　when　the　referee　gave　Ponta　a　last

backward　shove　and　Joe　came　to　his　feet；　bunched　up；　covered　up；

weak；　but　cool；　very　cool。　　Ponta　hurled　himself　upon　him　with

terrific　force；　delivering　an　uppercut　and　a　straight　punch。　　But

Joe　blocked　the　two；　ducked　a　third；　stepped　to　the　side　to　avoid　a

fourth；　and　was　then　driven　backward　into　a　corner　by　a　hurricane　of

blows。　　He　was　exceedingly　weak。　　He　tottered　as　he　kept　his

footing；　and　staggered　back　and　forth。　　His　back　was　against　the

ropes。　　There　was　no　further　retreat。　　Ponta　paused；　as　if　to　make

doubly　sure；　then　feinted　with　his　left　and　struck　fiercely　with　his

right　with　all　his　strength。　　But　Joe　ducked　into　a　clinch　and　was

for　a　moment　saved。



Ponta　struggled　frantically　to　free　himself。　　He　wanted　to　give　the

finish　to　this　foe　already　so　far　gone。　　But　Joe　was　holding　on　for

life；　resisting　the　other's　every　effort；　as　fast　as　one　hold　or

grip　was　torn　loose　finding　a　new　one　by　which　to　cling。　　〃Break！〃

the　referee　commanded。　　Joe　held　on　tighter。　　〃Make　'm　break！　　Why

the　hell　don't　you　make　'm　break？〃　Ponta　panted　at　the　referee。

Again　the　latter　commanded　the　break。　　Joe　refused；　keeping；　as　he

well　knew；　within　his　rights。　　Each　moment　of　the　clinch　his

strength　was　coming　back　to　him；　his　brain　was　clearing；　the　cobwebs

were　disappearing　from　before　his　eyes。　　The　round　was　young；　and　he

must　live；　somehow；　through　the　nearly　three　minutes　of　it　yet　to

run。



The　referee　clutched　each　by　the　shoulder　and　sundered　them

violently；　passing　quickly　between　them　as　he　thrust　them　backward

in　order　to　make　a　clean　break　of　it。　　The　moment　he　was　free；　Ponta

sprang　at　Joe　like　a　wild　animal　bearing　down　its　prey。　　But　Joe

covered　up；　blocked；　and　fell　into　a　clinch。　　Again　Ponta　struggled

to　get　free；　Joe　held　on；　and　the　referee　thrust　them　apart。　　And

again　Joe　avoided　damage　and　clinched。



Genevieve　realized　that　in　the　clinches　he　was　not　being　beaten

why；　then；　did　not　the　referee　let　him　hold　on？　　It　was　cruel。　　She

hated　the　genial…faced　Eddy　Jones　in　those　moments；　and　she　partly

rose　from　her　chair；　her　hands　clenched　with　anger；　the　nails

cutting　into　the　palms　till　they　hurt。　　The　rest　of　the　round；　the

three　long　minutes　of　it；　was　a　succession　of　clinches　and　breaks。

Not　once　did　Ponta　succeed　in　striking　his　opponent　the　deadly　final

blow。　　And　Ponta　was　like　a　madman；　raging　because　of　his　impotency

in　the　face　of　his　helpless　and　all　but　vanquished　foe。　　One　blow；

only　one　blow；　and　he　could　not　deliver　it！　　Joe's　ring　experience

and　coolness　saved　him。　　With　shaken　consciousness　and　trembling

body；　he　clutched　and　held　on；　while　the　ebbing　life　turned　and

flooded　up　in　him　again。　　Once；　in　his　passion；　unable　to　hit　him；

Ponta　made　as　though　to　lift　him　up　and　hurl　him　to　the　floor。



〃V'y　don't　you　bite　him？〃　Silverstein　taunted　shrilly。



In　the　stillness　the　sally　was　heard　over　the　whole　house；　and　the

audience；　relieved　of　its　anxiety　for　its　favorite；　laughed　with　an

uproariousness　that　had　in　it　the　note　of　hysteria。　　Even　Genevieve

felt　that　there　was　something　irresistibly　funny　in　the　remark；　and

the　relief　of　the　audience　was　communicated　to　her；　yet　she　felt

sick　and　faint；　and　was　overwrought　with　horror　at　what　she　had　seen

and　was　seeing。



〃Bite　'm！　　Bite　'm！〃　voices　from　the　recovered　audience　were

shouting。　　〃Chew　his　ear　off；　Ponta！　　That's　the　only　way　you　can

get　'm！　　Eat　'm　up！　　Eat　'm　up！　　Oh；　why　don't　you　eat　'm　up？〃



The　effect　was　bad　on　Ponta。　　He　became　more　frenzied　than　ever；　and

more　impotent。　　He　panted　and　sobbed；　wasting　his　effort　by　too　much

effort；　losing　sanity　and　control　and　futilely　trying　to　compensate

for　the　loss　by　excess　of　physical　endeavor。　　He　knew　only　the　blind

desire　to　destroy；　shook　Joe　in　the　clinches　as　a　terrier　might　a

rat；　strained　and　struggled　for　freedom　of　body　and　arms；　and　all

the　while　Joe　calmly　clutched　and　held　on。　　The　referee　worked

manfully　and　fairly　to　separate　them。