The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [208]
“I feel like I might go a round with one of the punks,” Tommy said.
“Me too, but we don’t want to hurt them,” Studs said.
“A good stiff punch might wake ‘em up, and they’ll quit flogging the dummy,” Doyle said.
“Hey, punk, I’ll box a round with you,” Red said.
“No slugging,” O’Neill replied.
Red and O’Neill boxed. O’Neill fought defensively, jabbing with straight lefts, blocking Red’s lunges. He caught Red on the nose with a left jab.
“Think you’re tough!” Red said, his nose bleeding.
“It was an accident,” O’Neill apologized.
“Better cut it out, Red, you’re getting sore, and you don’t want to kill the punk,” Doyle said.
“Think you can fight me! Think you’re tough!” Kelly bullied, while Wolfson unlaced his gloves, and Studs held a handkerchief to his nose.
“We were just boxing,” O’Neill said.
“You better say that,” Red said, walking over to the drinking fountain by the boathouse.
“That isn’t anything. Red’s nose always bleeds easy,” Studs said, thinking Red was slipping, remembering how he had given Red a bloody nose in their fight, feeling proud because he knew he was able to stand the gaff when Kelly couldn’t, glad Red had been shown up.
Doyle boxed with O’Neill. Doyle rushed, and O’Neill again boxed defensively, jabbing with his left, blocking, trying an occasional jab to the guts with a right cross.
“Hey, for Christ sake, I said I’d box with you, not run a foot race,” Tommy beefed, stopping, hands at side, breathing rapidly.
“I am boxing.”
“You mean you’re trying to win a track meet,” Doyle said, still winded, as he held his gloved hands up to be unlaced.
“Hey, I’ll box with you!” Studs said to Rolfe.
“That’s not my racket,” Rolfe said.
Rosensplatz and Morgan were going to box next, but Milt acceded to Studs.
Jack Morgan was an unassuming, well-built, twenty-year-old kid. He waited calmly while the gloves were laced on Studs’ hands. Studs felt good. He decided that he’d go easy with Morgan, and just show them that he wasn’t through like Doyle and Kelly, but was the old Studs Lonigan. Just let the kid know he had the gloves on with Studs Lonigan.
Morgan faced Studs with hands out in the classical boxing stance. Studs crouched low, and waved his arms in Jack Dempsey fashion. He heard encouraging words from Fat Malloy, and it made him more strongly confident. He thought of himself a little like Jack Dempsey would be when going into the ring. He circled and swayed, pulled two feints, frowned for effect, set himself to let go with a left, and was stabbed in the jaw by a left jab.
“That boy’s fast,” Fat Malloy said professionally.
Studs lumbered in, and got stung with another left jab. He feinted, swayed, and let loose with a roundhouse right. Morgan stepped back and Studs looked foolish.
“Clever boy,” Doyle said.
Studs didn’t like the way Morgan looked at him, calm, unafraid, never changing his expression. He frowned to scare him. He feinted with a left, and got another sharp left jab, and before he knew it a right cross that gave him a headache. He momentarily saw wavering black dots. He forgot trying to box like Jack Dempsey. He rushed, and hit Morgan with a solid right. They clinched, and he tried to shove Morgan around. His arms were pinned, and he got a snapping short one in the ribs. Studs rushed again, took and gave a punch, they clinched. Breaking, he got Morgan with a wild right on the side of the head, and everybody was pepped up and yelled. Morgan’s face was unchanged, and he waited, poised on his toes, left out, right cocked. Studs realized the kid could take it. No more giving him a break. He had to show some stuff, or be shown up. He rushed, and got four jabs for the punch he landed. Coming out of the clinch, he got an uppercut. Studs missed two rights, and received another stiff jab. He lost his temper, and slugged, not knowing what he was doing. Morgan slugged back punch for punch, until Rosensplatz said time was up. “How about another round, kid?” Studs said, trying to hold in his temper and appear unaffected.
He wanted more. He knew he had