With swift, clever foot-work he danced all around his now furious opponent.
Dodge could follow the swift style, too, however, and defended himself, finally coming back with the assault.
Half way through the round Dick received a sharp tap on his nose that brought the red.

Stung, Prescott became only the cooler.
For some time he fought for the opening that he wanted, and got it at last, though Dodge's guarding left prevented the blow from landing with quite all the force with which it had been driven.
Dick's middle knuckles raked that already swollen lip, but the lower knuckles landed against the tip of Dodge's jaw with a force which, while not complete, nevertheless sent Bert to the floor, where he lay on his side.
"One, two, three, four-----" began Maitland, his gaze on the slipping second hand of his watch.
"Take the full count, Bert!" warned Dennison.
"Nine, ten!" finished Maitland.
In that instant Dodge was on his feet again, head down and working with great caution.
"Time!" The third round ended ere Prescott could put in any finishing touches.

Yet, under the skillful hands of his seconds, Dodge came up rather smilingly at the call for the opening of the fourth.
There was almost murder in Dodge's eyes now.

He felt that he was the better man, and yet he had been getting slightly the worst of it so far.

But he would show them! Yet, after forty seconds of this work, when Dodge had just let fly a blow intended to land over Prescott's heart, his fist touched only air and he lurched forward.