"If you'll come one
at a time, I'll lick you both."
Quincy addressed Mary. "Don't be distressed. You may pardon his
offence to you if you choose, but I'm going to settle my personal
account with him. He doubted my word. I'm going to make him believe
what I said, and by that time he'll be ready to apologize to you."
Bob squared off, but Quincy did not raise his hands.
"Are you 'fraid? Don't you know how to put up your dukes?"
"I'm not a boxer," said Quincy, "if that's what you mean. I'll look
out for myself, rough and tumble."
Bob rushed forward and aimed a blow at Quincy's face. It fell short,
for Quincy retreated; then, springing forward, he gave Bob a violent
kick on his left knee. As his opponent threw his right leg over to
keep his balance he was obliged to lean forward; Quincy caught him by
the collar and Bob went sprawling upon the ground. He leaped to his
feet, red with rage.
"Why don't you fight fair?" he bellowed.
"You fight your way and I'll fight mine," was Quincy's reply.
"All right," cried Bob, "I'll try your way."
He sprang upon Quincy and grabbed him by the collar with both hands
and pulled him forward. This just suited Quincy, for, catching Bob
around the legs, he lifted him high in the air and threw him
backwards over his head. Bob's face was cut and bleeding, when he
arose.
"Time's up," cried Tom.
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