CHAPTER XV MAN TO MAN It was a scene to be printed indelibly on the memory: The palpitant, swaying crowd, those in front pushed forward by those behind; the baseball players round the edges of the cleared space, bracing to hold the mob back almost by main strength; human beings climbing on other human beings to get a momentary glimpse of the fighters; men and boys jammed in a dense mass on the bleachers, and still more of them clinging like monkeys to the bending limbs of the tree――and every face ablaze with the primitive passion of mankind, the savage zest of battle, the barbarous joy of witnessing a sanguinary struggle between two of their specie. But Janet saw only the fighters; not for a moment did her straining eyes waver or wander. She watched them leap and retreat, meet again, stagger, recover, sway this way and that, all the time turning round and round to the left or to the right, their arms flashing out, their battering fists giving forth sounds now sharp, now sodden, as they smashed on head or body. She saw the head of the brown-haired youth jerk backward before a blow full on the mouth; and then, as blood stained his lips, a cry――half snarl, half roar――broke from the crowd. Hoover had drawn first blood, seeing which, an expression of malicious joy contorted his repellent face, and he seemed spurred to still fiercer efforts. He thirsted to leave the stamp of his fists indelibly recorded on that clean-cut face; to mark the youth for life would be an exquisite pleasure, lingering long in aftertaste. Locke, however, continued to keep his head, improving such openings as he could find or make. A cut lip was of no consequence when he had not felt the blow much; but he must take care that his antagonist did not reach his jaw with a swing like that, having a bit more steam behind it. And he must husband his energy and bide his time, for this was no fight by rounds, and Hoover had set a pace which flesh and blood could not keep up protractedly. In time, he must weary and slacken, and Locke hoped to be ready to make the most of it when this faltering came. The youth’s left-handed guard bothered Jock somewhat, causing him to fret and snarl. Twice he pinned Locke up against the crowd, that could not make room for his free movement; but once Tom got under his arm and away, and once he met the aggressor with such a sudden storm of blows that Hoover was checked and driven back. After that both men were bleeding, the Bully having received a stiff smash on the nose. The crowd shouted applause and instruction: “Fine work, Lefty!” “Keep after him, Jock! Put him out!” “You’ve got him going! Follow him up!” “Look out for his left, boy!” “Soak him another in the same place――that’s the stuff!” “Well,” said Bent King, in wonderment, “I’ll be hanged if Locke isn’t holding his own with that terrier!”