He waited--waited for the one
perfect opening.
"Come on! Open up and fight, Corbett," panted Roger.
Tom snapped his right in reply. He noticed that Roger moved in with a
hook every time he tried to cross his right. He waited--his legs began
to shake. Roger circled and Tom shot out the left again, dropped into a
semicrouch and feinted with the right cross. Roger moved in, cocking his
fist for the left hook and Tom was ready for him. He threw the right,
threw it with every ounce of strength left in his body. Roger was caught
moving in and took the blow flush on the chin. He stopped as if
poleaxed. His eyes turned glassy and then he dropped to the mat. He was
out cold.
Astro didn't even bother to count.
Tom squatted on the mat beside Roger and rubbed the blond head with his
glove.
"Get some water, Astro," he said, gasping for breath. "I'm glad I don't
have to fight this guy again. And I'll tell you something else--"
"What?" asked Astro.
"Anybody that wants to win as much as this guy does, is going to win,
and I want to have him on my side!"
Astro merely grunted as he turned toward the water cooler.
"Maybe," he called back. "But he ought to read a book of rules first!"
When he came back to the mat with the water, Roger was sitting up,
biting the knots of the laces on his gloves. Tom helped him, and when
the soggy leather was finally discarded, he stuck out his hand.
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