" 'Tain't a dog-fight!" shouts Bob Blair.
"Stand up straight an' fight it fair."
I get end-up with a grin.
"Time!" yells Pike, an' bangs a tin.
"Corners, boys. A minute's spell."
"Good lad, Jim! You're doin' well,"
Says the little Dusty, Dick. . . .
Murray's eye is closin' quick.
It was Spring, sweet Spring, an' a man must have his fling:
Healthy men must be respondin' to the moods the seasons bring.
That sweet air, with scrub scents laden, all my body was invadin',
Till each breath I drew within me made me feel I was a king.
'Twas the season to be doin' — fondlin' maids, or fightin' men—
An' I felt my spirit yearnin' for another crack at Ben.
Pike bangs on his tin again.
"Time!" he roars. "Get to it, men!"
I come eager, fit to dance;
Ben spars cautious for a chance.
With a laugh I flick him light;
Then—like lightnin' comes his right
Full an' fair upon the jaw —
Lord, the purple stars I saw!
