Bob found himself surprisingly opposed. Beneath his loose, soft clothing
the riverman seemed to be made of steel. Suddenly Bob was called upon to
exert every ounce of strength in his body, and to summon all his
acquired skill to prevent himself from being ignominiously overpowered.
The ferocity of the rush, and the purposeful rapidity of Roaring Dick's
attack, as well as the unexpected variety thereof, kept him fully
occupied in defending himself. With the exception of the single blow
delivered when he had regained his feet, he had been unable even to
attempt aggression. It was as though he had touched a button to release
an astonishing and bewildering erratic energy.
Bob had done a great deal of boxing and considerable wrestling. During
his boyhood and youth he had even become involved in several fisticuffs.
They had always been with the boys or young men of his own ideas. Though
conducted in anger they retained still a certain remnant of convention.
No matter how much you wanted to "do" the other fellow, you tried to
accomplish that result by hitting cleanly, or by wrestling him to a
point where you could "punch his face in.
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