Alleys of Peril
THE MINUTE I seen the man they'd picked to referee the fight
between me and Red McCoy, I didn't like his looks. His name was Jack
Ridley and he was first mate aboard the _Castleton,_ one of them lines
which acts very high tone, making their officers wear uniforms. Bah!
The first cap'n I ever sailed with never wore nothing at sea but a
pair of old breeches, a ragged undershirt and a month's growth of
whiskers. He used to say uniforms was all right for navy admirals and
bell-hops but they was a superflooity anywheres else.
Well, this Ridley was a young fellow, slim and straight as a spar,
with cold eyes and a abrupt manner. I seen right off that he was a
bucko which wouldn't even let his crew shoot craps on deck if he could
help it. But I decided not to let his appearance get on my nerves, but
to ignore him and knock McCoy stiff as quick as possible so I couldst
have the rest of the night to myself.
They is a old feud between the _Sea Girl_ and McCoy's ship, the
_Whale._ The minute the promoter of the Waterfront Fight Arena heard
both our ships had docked, he rushed down and signed us up for a
fifteen-round go--billed it as a grudge fight, which it wasn't nothing
but, and packed the house.
The crews of both ships was holding down ringside seats and the
special police was having a merry time keeping 'em from wrecking the
place. The Old Man was rared back on the front row and ever few
seconds he'd take a long swig out of a bottle, and yell: "Knock the
flat-footed ape's lousy head off, Steve!" And then he'd shake his fist
across at Cap'n Branner of the _Whale,_ and the compliments them two
old sea horses wouldst exchange wouldst have curled a Hottentot's
hair.
You can judge by this that the Waterfront Fight Arena is kinda
free and easy in its management. It is. It caters to a rough and ready
class, which yearns for fast action, in the ring or out. Its
performers is mostly fighting sailors and longshoremen, but, if you
can stand the crowd that fills the place, you'll see more real mayhem
committed there in one evening than you'll see in a year in the
politer clubs of the world.
Well, it looked like every sailor in Hong Kong was there that
night. Finally the announcer managed to make hisself heard above the
howls of the mob, and he bellered: "The main attrackshun of the
evenin'! Sailor Costigan, one hunnerd an' ninety pounds, of the _Sea
Girl--_"
"The trimmest craft afloat!" roared the Old Man, heaving his empty
bottle at Cap'n Branner.
"And Red McCoy, one hunnerd an' eighty-five pounds, of the
_Whale_," went on the announcer, being used to such interruption.
"Referee, First Mate Ridley of the steamship _Castleton,_ the
management havin' requested him to officiate this evenin'. Now, gents,
this is a grudge fight, as you all know. You has seen both these boys
perform, an'--"
"And if you don't shut up and give us some action we'll wreck the
dump and toss your mangled carcass amongst the ruins!" screamed the
maddened fans. "Start somethin' before we do!"
The announcer smiled gently, the gong sounded, and me and Red went
together like a couple of wildcats. He was a tough baby, one of them
squat, wide-built fellows. I'm six feet; he was four inches shorter,
but they wasn't much difference in our weight. He was tough and fast,
with one of these here bulldog faces, and how that sawed-off brick-top
could hit!
Well, nothing much of interest happened in the first three rounds.
Of course, we was fighting hard, neither of us being clever, but both
strong on mixing it. But we was both too tough to show much damage
that early in the fight. He'd cut my lip and skinned my ear and
loosened some teeth, and I'd dropped him for no-count a couple of
times, but outside of that nothing much had happened.
We'd stood toe-to-toe for three rounds, flailing away right and
left and neither giving back a step, but, just before the end of the
third, my incessant body punching began to show even on that chunk of
granite they called Red McCoy. For the first time he backed out of a
mix-up, and just before the gong I caught him with a swinging right to
the belly that made him grunt and bat his eyes.
SO I COME out for the fourth round full of snap and ginger and
promptly run into a right hook that knocked me flat on my back. The
crowd went crazy, and the _Whale's_ men begun to kiss each other in
their ecstasy, but I arose without a count and, ducking the cruel and
unusual right swing McCoy tossed at me, I sunk my left to the wrist in
his belly and crashed my right under his heart.
1108200863
between me and Red McCoy, I didn't like his looks. His name was Jack
Ridley and he was first mate aboard the _Castleton,_ one of them lines
which acts very high tone, making their officers wear uniforms. Bah!
The first cap'n I ever sailed with never wore nothing at sea but a
pair of old breeches, a ragged undershirt and a month's growth of
whiskers. He used to say uniforms was all right for navy admirals and
bell-hops but they was a superflooity anywheres else.
Well, this Ridley was a young fellow, slim and straight as a spar,
with cold eyes and a abrupt manner. I seen right off that he was a
bucko which wouldn't even let his crew shoot craps on deck if he could
help it. But I decided not to let his appearance get on my nerves, but
to ignore him and knock McCoy stiff as quick as possible so I couldst
have the rest of the night to myself.
They is a old feud between the _Sea Girl_ and McCoy's ship, the
_Whale._ The minute the promoter of the Waterfront Fight Arena heard
both our ships had docked, he rushed down and signed us up for a
fifteen-round go--billed it as a grudge fight, which it wasn't nothing
but, and packed the house.
The crews of both ships was holding down ringside seats and the
special police was having a merry time keeping 'em from wrecking the
place. The Old Man was rared back on the front row and ever few
seconds he'd take a long swig out of a bottle, and yell: "Knock the
flat-footed ape's lousy head off, Steve!" And then he'd shake his fist
across at Cap'n Branner of the _Whale,_ and the compliments them two
old sea horses wouldst exchange wouldst have curled a Hottentot's
hair.
You can judge by this that the Waterfront Fight Arena is kinda
free and easy in its management. It is. It caters to a rough and ready
class, which yearns for fast action, in the ring or out. Its
performers is mostly fighting sailors and longshoremen, but, if you
can stand the crowd that fills the place, you'll see more real mayhem
committed there in one evening than you'll see in a year in the
politer clubs of the world.
Well, it looked like every sailor in Hong Kong was there that
night. Finally the announcer managed to make hisself heard above the
howls of the mob, and he bellered: "The main attrackshun of the
evenin'! Sailor Costigan, one hunnerd an' ninety pounds, of the _Sea
Girl--_"
"The trimmest craft afloat!" roared the Old Man, heaving his empty
bottle at Cap'n Branner.
"And Red McCoy, one hunnerd an' eighty-five pounds, of the
_Whale_," went on the announcer, being used to such interruption.
"Referee, First Mate Ridley of the steamship _Castleton,_ the
management havin' requested him to officiate this evenin'. Now, gents,
this is a grudge fight, as you all know. You has seen both these boys
perform, an'--"
"And if you don't shut up and give us some action we'll wreck the
dump and toss your mangled carcass amongst the ruins!" screamed the
maddened fans. "Start somethin' before we do!"
The announcer smiled gently, the gong sounded, and me and Red went
together like a couple of wildcats. He was a tough baby, one of them
squat, wide-built fellows. I'm six feet; he was four inches shorter,
but they wasn't much difference in our weight. He was tough and fast,
with one of these here bulldog faces, and how that sawed-off brick-top
could hit!
Well, nothing much of interest happened in the first three rounds.
Of course, we was fighting hard, neither of us being clever, but both
strong on mixing it. But we was both too tough to show much damage
that early in the fight. He'd cut my lip and skinned my ear and
loosened some teeth, and I'd dropped him for no-count a couple of
times, but outside of that nothing much had happened.
We'd stood toe-to-toe for three rounds, flailing away right and
left and neither giving back a step, but, just before the end of the
third, my incessant body punching began to show even on that chunk of
granite they called Red McCoy. For the first time he backed out of a
mix-up, and just before the gong I caught him with a swinging right to
the belly that made him grunt and bat his eyes.
SO I COME out for the fourth round full of snap and ginger and
promptly run into a right hook that knocked me flat on my back. The
crowd went crazy, and the _Whale's_ men begun to kiss each other in
their ecstasy, but I arose without a count and, ducking the cruel and
unusual right swing McCoy tossed at me, I sunk my left to the wrist in
his belly and crashed my right under his heart.
Alleys of Peril
THE MINUTE I seen the man they'd picked to referee the fight
between me and Red McCoy, I didn't like his looks. His name was Jack
Ridley and he was first mate aboard the _Castleton,_ one of them lines
which acts very high tone, making their officers wear uniforms. Bah!
The first cap'n I ever sailed with never wore nothing at sea but a
pair of old breeches, a ragged undershirt and a month's growth of
whiskers. He used to say uniforms was all right for navy admirals and
bell-hops but they was a superflooity anywheres else.
Well, this Ridley was a young fellow, slim and straight as a spar,
with cold eyes and a abrupt manner. I seen right off that he was a
bucko which wouldn't even let his crew shoot craps on deck if he could
help it. But I decided not to let his appearance get on my nerves, but
to ignore him and knock McCoy stiff as quick as possible so I couldst
have the rest of the night to myself.
They is a old feud between the _Sea Girl_ and McCoy's ship, the
_Whale._ The minute the promoter of the Waterfront Fight Arena heard
both our ships had docked, he rushed down and signed us up for a
fifteen-round go--billed it as a grudge fight, which it wasn't nothing
but, and packed the house.
The crews of both ships was holding down ringside seats and the
special police was having a merry time keeping 'em from wrecking the
place. The Old Man was rared back on the front row and ever few
seconds he'd take a long swig out of a bottle, and yell: "Knock the
flat-footed ape's lousy head off, Steve!" And then he'd shake his fist
across at Cap'n Branner of the _Whale,_ and the compliments them two
old sea horses wouldst exchange wouldst have curled a Hottentot's
hair.
You can judge by this that the Waterfront Fight Arena is kinda
free and easy in its management. It is. It caters to a rough and ready
class, which yearns for fast action, in the ring or out. Its
performers is mostly fighting sailors and longshoremen, but, if you
can stand the crowd that fills the place, you'll see more real mayhem
committed there in one evening than you'll see in a year in the
politer clubs of the world.
Well, it looked like every sailor in Hong Kong was there that
night. Finally the announcer managed to make hisself heard above the
howls of the mob, and he bellered: "The main attrackshun of the
evenin'! Sailor Costigan, one hunnerd an' ninety pounds, of the _Sea
Girl--_"
"The trimmest craft afloat!" roared the Old Man, heaving his empty
bottle at Cap'n Branner.
"And Red McCoy, one hunnerd an' eighty-five pounds, of the
_Whale_," went on the announcer, being used to such interruption.
"Referee, First Mate Ridley of the steamship _Castleton,_ the
management havin' requested him to officiate this evenin'. Now, gents,
this is a grudge fight, as you all know. You has seen both these boys
perform, an'--"
"And if you don't shut up and give us some action we'll wreck the
dump and toss your mangled carcass amongst the ruins!" screamed the
maddened fans. "Start somethin' before we do!"
The announcer smiled gently, the gong sounded, and me and Red went
together like a couple of wildcats. He was a tough baby, one of them
squat, wide-built fellows. I'm six feet; he was four inches shorter,
but they wasn't much difference in our weight. He was tough and fast,
with one of these here bulldog faces, and how that sawed-off brick-top
could hit!
Well, nothing much of interest happened in the first three rounds.
Of course, we was fighting hard, neither of us being clever, but both
strong on mixing it. But we was both too tough to show much damage
that early in the fight. He'd cut my lip and skinned my ear and
loosened some teeth, and I'd dropped him for no-count a couple of
times, but outside of that nothing much had happened.
We'd stood toe-to-toe for three rounds, flailing away right and
left and neither giving back a step, but, just before the end of the
third, my incessant body punching began to show even on that chunk of
granite they called Red McCoy. For the first time he backed out of a
mix-up, and just before the gong I caught him with a swinging right to
the belly that made him grunt and bat his eyes.
SO I COME out for the fourth round full of snap and ginger and
promptly run into a right hook that knocked me flat on my back. The
crowd went crazy, and the _Whale's_ men begun to kiss each other in
their ecstasy, but I arose without a count and, ducking the cruel and
unusual right swing McCoy tossed at me, I sunk my left to the wrist in
his belly and crashed my right under his heart.
between me and Red McCoy, I didn't like his looks. His name was Jack
Ridley and he was first mate aboard the _Castleton,_ one of them lines
which acts very high tone, making their officers wear uniforms. Bah!
The first cap'n I ever sailed with never wore nothing at sea but a
pair of old breeches, a ragged undershirt and a month's growth of
whiskers. He used to say uniforms was all right for navy admirals and
bell-hops but they was a superflooity anywheres else.
Well, this Ridley was a young fellow, slim and straight as a spar,
with cold eyes and a abrupt manner. I seen right off that he was a
bucko which wouldn't even let his crew shoot craps on deck if he could
help it. But I decided not to let his appearance get on my nerves, but
to ignore him and knock McCoy stiff as quick as possible so I couldst
have the rest of the night to myself.
They is a old feud between the _Sea Girl_ and McCoy's ship, the
_Whale._ The minute the promoter of the Waterfront Fight Arena heard
both our ships had docked, he rushed down and signed us up for a
fifteen-round go--billed it as a grudge fight, which it wasn't nothing
but, and packed the house.
The crews of both ships was holding down ringside seats and the
special police was having a merry time keeping 'em from wrecking the
place. The Old Man was rared back on the front row and ever few
seconds he'd take a long swig out of a bottle, and yell: "Knock the
flat-footed ape's lousy head off, Steve!" And then he'd shake his fist
across at Cap'n Branner of the _Whale,_ and the compliments them two
old sea horses wouldst exchange wouldst have curled a Hottentot's
hair.
You can judge by this that the Waterfront Fight Arena is kinda
free and easy in its management. It is. It caters to a rough and ready
class, which yearns for fast action, in the ring or out. Its
performers is mostly fighting sailors and longshoremen, but, if you
can stand the crowd that fills the place, you'll see more real mayhem
committed there in one evening than you'll see in a year in the
politer clubs of the world.
Well, it looked like every sailor in Hong Kong was there that
night. Finally the announcer managed to make hisself heard above the
howls of the mob, and he bellered: "The main attrackshun of the
evenin'! Sailor Costigan, one hunnerd an' ninety pounds, of the _Sea
Girl--_"
"The trimmest craft afloat!" roared the Old Man, heaving his empty
bottle at Cap'n Branner.
"And Red McCoy, one hunnerd an' eighty-five pounds, of the
_Whale_," went on the announcer, being used to such interruption.
"Referee, First Mate Ridley of the steamship _Castleton,_ the
management havin' requested him to officiate this evenin'. Now, gents,
this is a grudge fight, as you all know. You has seen both these boys
perform, an'--"
"And if you don't shut up and give us some action we'll wreck the
dump and toss your mangled carcass amongst the ruins!" screamed the
maddened fans. "Start somethin' before we do!"
The announcer smiled gently, the gong sounded, and me and Red went
together like a couple of wildcats. He was a tough baby, one of them
squat, wide-built fellows. I'm six feet; he was four inches shorter,
but they wasn't much difference in our weight. He was tough and fast,
with one of these here bulldog faces, and how that sawed-off brick-top
could hit!
Well, nothing much of interest happened in the first three rounds.
Of course, we was fighting hard, neither of us being clever, but both
strong on mixing it. But we was both too tough to show much damage
that early in the fight. He'd cut my lip and skinned my ear and
loosened some teeth, and I'd dropped him for no-count a couple of
times, but outside of that nothing much had happened.
We'd stood toe-to-toe for three rounds, flailing away right and
left and neither giving back a step, but, just before the end of the
third, my incessant body punching began to show even on that chunk of
granite they called Red McCoy. For the first time he backed out of a
mix-up, and just before the gong I caught him with a swinging right to
the belly that made him grunt and bat his eyes.
SO I COME out for the fourth round full of snap and ginger and
promptly run into a right hook that knocked me flat on my back. The
crowd went crazy, and the _Whale's_ men begun to kiss each other in
their ecstasy, but I arose without a count and, ducking the cruel and
unusual right swing McCoy tossed at me, I sunk my left to the wrist in
his belly and crashed my right under his heart.
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Alleys of Peril
Alleys of Peril
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Product Details
| BN ID: | 2940013740730 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | WDS Publishing |
| Publication date: | 01/07/2012 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| File size: | 25 KB |
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