The Collected Fiction of William Hope Hodgson: The Dream Of X & Other Fantastic Visions (16 page)

“Thanks,” said the Honourable Biliy, and buckled the three weights together. Then, taking the strap by the bight, he snatched the hundred-weight-and-a-half of metal to his shoulder with one hand, and pressed it thence easily to full arm’s length above his head.

“Well done, lad! Well done!” said Dankley. “Thou art a strong lad, and no mistake. Go your ways now, an’ don’t come here again till after the match, lad, or there’s them that’ll say we had mind to cook summat. Good-arternoon, lad.” And he shook hands once more with him. “Us shall see who’m best man on Saturday.”

And so the Honourable Billy left him, feeling that, whatever happened, the man he had to fight was a thorough sportsman, and would box clean. But, for all that, he felt that the match would be bound to go to the big smith, if only his ring-craft were as good as rumour told, for the man’s tremendous physique and calm, balanced assurance had impressed him very deeply, so that he was somewhat depressed as he pedalled home along the Longsite. This feeling was not eased when he reached his little cottage and found his wife weeping quietly in their combined study and sitting-room, and learned that there bad been two new summonses received by registered post whilst he had been out.

“By the lord,” said the Honourable Billy, with tremendous earnestness, “I’ll win! You see if I don’t.”

“Win what, dear?” asked his wife, quickly looking up at him through her tear-stains.

“It’s a secret, little woman,” said the Honourable Billy; “but I’ve got hopes of making some money soon. I shall know by Saturday night, and then we’ll pay off all these debts and go away for a nice little holiday.”

He nodded his head vigorously and patted her arm, but the memory of the gigantic blacksmith made him feel terribly unsure of winning.

“I will!” he said suddenly, aloud. “By the lord, I will!”

“What is it, dear?” asked his wife, looking up at him with a sense of vague fright. “Tell me what you are going to do? Tell me, dear? I’m bothered, and I shall only worry all the more if I don’t know. Tell me, dear?”

But the Honourable Billy only gave her a hug, and told her there was nothing at all to worry about.

“I’ll tell you on Saturday, dear,” he said. “I shall know all about it then.” And with that, seeing that he did not wish to say any more, she asked no further.

But she turned it over continually in her mind, with a slight sense of worry that grew, as she thought, putting this fact to that fact. Yet a day or two had passed before she had reasoned to the truth.

The following morning the Honourable Billy was chased into town by a couple of his creditors, and had fairly to run for it.

“Tha’s had a breather!” was Bellett’s critical comment as he entered, breathless. “What hasta bin doin’?”

“I’m worried to death with those confounded duns! They’re following me everywhere!” said the Honourable Billy. “It’s sickening!”

“They can’t do nowt,” said Bellett, “so as you keep ’em from gettin’ into the ’ouse ! They can’t gaol you, not till you’ve bin through th’ coort, an’ shown contempt o’ the order to pay!”

“Is that so?” said the Honourable Billy. “All the same, it’s deuced unpleasant; and if I let them come close, and they sling any of their dirty abuse, I shall be plugging them! Then I guess I shall get gaoled quick enough for assault!”

“Tha’s reet there, lad!” replied Bellett sympathetically. “Th’ judge never shows no mercy on a fightin’ man, not so how he’ve done his best to keep out o’ trouble!”He spoke with deep feeling that told much to the Honourable Billy, who remembered Bellett’s early attitude to him. “Wot tha’s got to do.” continued the trainer, “is to lick Blacksmith Dankley, an’ thou’ll ha’ brass an’ to spare, lad. But tha mun mind his left, lad; he’ve a turrible quick left punch!”

“You can bet I’ll do my best,” said the Honourable Billy quietly, as he drew on his gloves for the bout. “But he’s the hardest-looking case I’ve ever set eyes on, and he runs two stone nine heavier than I, and not an ounce of waste on him!”

“He’s older, lad,” said Bellett reassuringly, “and he’s slower nor thee on ’s feet, an’ a trifle slower nor thee wi’ his punch. But he’s a turrible good man, he is that, an’ I guess he’ve the reach o’ thee ; an’ he’ll take more punishment, I’m thinkin’, than tha con stand, lad. But thee keep up tha pecker! Tha’s a s’prisin’ strong lad, an’ thee strips as big agin as thee looks i’ tha clo’es!”

And with that they began the usual bout.

That night, the fight being on the morrow, Bellett wanted the young man to sleep down at his quarters, for a number of reasons which he stated plainly. But the Honourable Billy declared that his wife would worry if he did not go home, and promised to get to bed early and come down in good time in the morning, so as to escape meeting any of his creditors.

This he did, and got down to the trainer’s room without trouble, where Bellett met him, and looked him over with an anxious and critical eye, declaring at the end that he was fit to fight for his life.

“And I need to be, Bellett!” replied the Honourable Billy soberly. “Wait till you see Dankley in the ring!”

“Ay, I knows Dankley!” replied Bellett. “He’s a tur’ble good fighter, but I b’lieves tha’lt out un. Tha’s quicker an’ cleverer nor ’im wi’ thy feet; but he’s wonnerful clever wi’ his ’ands, an’ a tur’ble good two-’anded fighter. Lucky for thee there’s to be no clinchin’ an’ wrastlin’, for Dankley ’ud do thee out i’ no time that way, lad; he wou’d that!”

The fight was arranged to begin at three o’clock prompt that afternoon, and at two-thirty Bellett came in to help the Honourable Billy to get into his fighting gear, which consisted of short, loose black drawers, striped at the sides with bright orange silk ribbon, and belted with a light elastic belt of the same colour. On his feet he had light boxing-pumps, with very short-legged socks. Over all he drew on his dressing-gown, and at ten minutes to three he followed Bellett out on to the bowling green, where his appearance was greeted by a loud cheer. For seats had been built up roughly all round the green, and at least three to four thousand people were there, awaiting the great match.

In the ring the Honourable Billy saw that the big smith already waited, dressed in a huge overcoat. He was sitting contentedly in his chair, and seemed entirely without concern or excitement of any kind. Behind him stood his striker and another man, who were evidently to act as his seconds. On his part, the Honourable Billy was seconded by Bellett and—by his own request—big Tom Holden, the lurry-man.

The Honourable Billy climbed into the ring, and the big smith rose and bowed gravely to him, with a curious old-fashioned courtesy that surprised and pleased the Honourable Billy; then re-seated himself, and seemed once more to resume his calm meditation.

“The man’s a born gentleman!” muttered the young man. “I’ve never met a man I could like better!”

The preliminaries were speedily arranged, and a Mr. Ritter, who was to act as referee, inspected the ring.

“One minute!” called the timekeeper. And the two principals rose from their chairs and took off their outer wraps, each looking curiously to learn how the other would “strip.”

The blacksmith had his coat off first, and stood revealed in a pair of short, blood-red drawers, buttoned loosely at the knees. He wore a plain leather belt, and had on the regulation pumps.

As he showed himself, a murmur of admiration and astonishment came from the on-looking thousands; for the man was a kind of gaunt Hercules. I mean that, whilst spare of muscular tissue about the wrists, hips, knees, shins, and elbows, he was yet tremendously muscled, in such, a fashion as to suggest that his muscular system consisted of immense masses of muscle, gathered into compact, rugged heaps, and possessing very little taper to the sinews, which seemed to show covered only by the hard, brown skin for half the length of his forearms and lower legs.

The effect was that though enormously muscular, he yet gave to the eye, through his great bony wrists and legs, an impression of gauntness, which was not lessened by the huge, gnarled neck, entirely void of any “grace-flesh” to give it beauty.

“Like a blessed ’orse and a rock rolled into one!” said a man in the crowd; and this certainly expressed somewhat the sense of gaunt but huge strength that the big blacksmith gave.

Very easily the Honourable Billy slipped out of his long dressing-gown, and stood strong and beautiful in the sunlight. Like the enormous blacksmith, he was naked except for his loose black silk running knickers, and the short socks and boxing pumps on his feet. But the difference in the two men was extraordinary.

Where the blacksmith showed the great bones and massive sinews, seeming covered only by the skin, the younger man tapered by beautiful degrees from the working mass of his muscles down to the steel-like tendons into which they blended.

Yet, for all that this beauty of outline was his, there was no mistaking the marvellous development of the torso; of the deltoids of the shoulders; of the great biceps that bunched up grandly as he bent his arms a time or two; and of the huge triceps at the back of the upper arms, that rippled and stood out strangely as he straightened his elbows. Even Dankley nodded in commendation, and reproved his striker calmly for some apparently disparaging remark.

As the younger man had removed his wrap, there had been a murmur from the enormous crowd, which had grown almost instantly to a silence, as they looked him over in an ever-growing wonder of appreciation, that finally burst out into a roar of applause. And through the deep note of the men’s voices it was possible to detect the shriller interest of the gentler sex in the young gladiator. And directly the air was full of yellow roses—this being his colour—which were showered into the ring; and which one of the attendants at once proceeded unemotionally to sweep out with a broom.

Dankley, on his part, glanced round at the onlookers with a touch of grim humour, for never a red rose had been thrown. They took the point, and there came a burst of cheers and laughter, and immediately there came a storm of red roses, with renewed cheers and laughter.

As the attendant proceeded to sweep the red roses after the yellow, the crowd calmed down to an expectant silence and hum of undertalk, in which it was possible to hear odd remarks.

“T’ blegsmith ’ll out un sure!” the younger man heard one burly local assuring all within his vicinity; and directly afterwards Mr. Jackson’s voice delightedly:

“Look at that abdominal development, sir; look at it! No waste weight there!” gleefully punning, and booking bets as fast as he could pencil them down.

“Sunshine trained, by the look of his skin. Looks like a blessed Greek god done in bronze,” the Honourable Billy heard a tall, intellectual man remark to a friend; and suddenly realised that they were referring to him.

“Blacksmith Dankley’s no beauty, but he’s a heap stronger than the young chap,” were the last words the Honourable Billy caught; for the next thing he knew the chairs and attendants were out of the ring, and he was shaking hands with the great blacksmith in the centre.

“Now, lad,” said the big smith, as they gripped, “it’s thee or me. An’ God Almighty let the best man win!” he concluded, with a solemnity that was almost a prayer. Then they stepped back, and faced each other with their hands up.

For perhaps five complete seconds the two stood there, making no more movement than two statues of gladiators; the while they looked at each other, and tensioned each his nature to the first act in the rough game. Whilst round about them a tingling silence of suspense and fierce interest held the vast audience almost to breathlessness.

Abruptly the great blacksmith lowered his hands somewhat, and spoke to the Honourable Billy:

“Lead off, lad! Lead off!” he said. “My blood runs slower nor thine.”

The Honourable Billy nodded, and stepping in swiftly, flicked Dankley twice on the right cheek with his glove, sufficiently hard to stir the big man’s blood to retaliate. Then back out of distance. There came a touch of brightness into the older man’s eyes, and a sudden alertness into his shoulders and knees; and the fight had begun.

The Honourable Billy circled swiftly to the right, and the other pivoted easily to cover him; then, like a flash, the young man stepped in. Smash! The Honourable Darrell found himself on his back half a dozen yards away.

He had altogether under-rated the speed of the big man’s foot-work. He had been thinking of the smith’s notorious left, and had not conceived that he would attempt to block him off with his right; for he had edged so much to Dankley’s left, that it had not appeared to him a possibility in the time, owing to the smith’s method of standing. And, lo! the great blacksmith had pushed up his lead with his enormous wrist like lightning, and punched him off his feet with the right.

He felt like the veriest amateur; shame and pain and sickness all shaking him towards losing his balance to get out of his difficulty; for already the big smith was standing over him, waiting to give the knock-out the instant he should rise.

And somewhere to his left he heard dully, and seemingly at a considerable distance, the monotonous sound of a man counting—“three, four, five.” And abruptly it came to him that it was the voice of the referee counting him out. “Six.” In another four seconds the fight would be at an end, unless he could rise and avoid the waiting smith, and he would have lost—knocked out of time like some village youth standing up to a professional pug in a travelling boxing-booth.