ven seconds--less 'n half
a minute. An' how many blows struck? One. An' it was me that done it.
Here, I'll show you. It was just like this--a regular scream."

Billy had taken his place in the middle of the room, slightly crouching,
chin tucked against the sheltering left shoulder, fists closed, elbows
in so as to guard left side and abdomen, and forearms close to the body.

"It's the first round," he pictured. "Gong's sounded, an' we've shook
hands. Of course, seein' as it's a long fight an' we've never seen each
other in action, we ain't in no rush. We're just feelin' each other out
an' fiddlin' around. Seventeen seconds like that. Not a blow struck.
Nothin'. An' then it's all off with the big Swede. It takes some time to
tell it, but it happened in a jiffy, in fess In a tenth of a second. I
wasn't expectin' it myself. We're awful close together. His left glove
ain't a foot from my jaw, an' my left glove ain't a foot from his. He
feints with his right, an' I know it's a feint, an' just hunch up my
left shoulder a bit an' feint with my right. That draws his guard over
just about an inch, an' I see my openin'. My left ain't got a foot
to travel. I don't draw it back none. I start it from where it is,
corkscrewin' around his right guard an' pivotin' at the waist to put the
weight of my shoulder into the punch. An' it connects!--Square on the
point of the chin, sideways. He drops deado. I walk back to my corner,
an', honest to God, Saxon, I can't help gigglin' a little, it was that
easy. The referee stands over 'm an' counts 'm out. He never quivers.
The audience don't know what to make of it an' sits paralyzed. His
seconds carry 'm to his corner an' set 'm on the stool. But they gotta
hold 'm up. Five minutes afterward he opens his eyes--but he ain't
seein' nothing. They're glassy. Five minutes more, an' he stands
up. They got to help hold 'm, his legs givin' under 'm like they was
sausages. An' the seconds has to help 'm through the ropes, an' they
go down the aisle to his dressin' room a-helpin' 'm. An' the
crowd beginning to yell fake an' want its money back. Twenty-seven
seconds--one punch--n' a spankin' pair of horses for the best wife Billy
Roberts ever had in his long experience."

All of Saxon's old physical worship of her husband revived and doubled
on itself many times. He was in all truth a hero, worthy to be of that
wing-helmeted company leaping from the beaked boats upon the bloody
English sands. The next