The Way of a Man | Page 9

the ancient "hip lock,"
and the ineffectual schoolboy "grapevine"--he would none of things so
crude, and slipped out of them like a snake. Continually I felt his hands,
and where he touched there was pain--on my forehead, at the edge of
the eye sockets, at the sides of my neck, in the middle of my
back--whenever we locked and broke I felt pain, and I knew that such
assault upon the nerve centers of a man's body might well disable him,
no matter how strong he was. But, as for him, he did not breathe the
faster. It was system with him. I say, I felt not fear only but a horror of
him.

By chance I found myself with both hands on his arms, and I knew that
no man could break that hold when once set, for vast strength of
forearm and wrist was one of the inheritances of all men of the Cowles
family. I drew him steadily to me, pulled his head against my chest, and
upended him fair, throwing him this time at length across my shoulder.
I was sure I had him then, for he fell on his side. But even as he fell he
rose, and I felt a grip like steel on each ankle. Then there was a
snake-like bend on his part, and before I had time to think I was on my
face. His knees were astride my body, and gradually I felt them pushing
my arms up toward my neck. I felt a slight blow on the back of my
head, as though by the edge of the hand--light, delicate, gentle, but
dreamy in its results. Then I was half conscious of a hand pushing
down my head, of another hand reaching for my right wrist. It occurred
to me in a distant way that I was about to be beaten, subdued--I, John
Cowles!
This had been done, as he had said of my own work with Singleton, as
much by the momentum of my own fall as by any great effort on his
part. As he had said regarding my own simple trick, the time of this
was perfect, though how far more difficult than mine, only those who
have wrestled with able men can understand.
For the first time in my life I found myself about to be mastered by
another man. Had he been more careful he certainly would have had the
victory over me. But the morning was warm, and we had worked for
some moments. My man stopped for a moment in his calm pinioning of
my arms, and perhaps raised his hand to brush his face or push back his
hair. At that moment luck came to my aid. He did not repeat the strange
gentle blow at the back of my head--one which I think would have left
unconscious a man with a neck less stiff--and as his pressure on my
twisted arm relaxed, I suddenly got back my faculties. At once I used
my whole body as a spring, and so straightened enough to turn and put
my arm power against his own, which was all I wanted.
He laughed when I turned, and with perfect good nature freed my arm
and sprang to his feet, bowing with hand upreached to me. His eye had
lost its peculiar stare, and shone now with what seemed genuine

interest and admiration. He seemed ready to call me a sportsman, and a
good rival, and much as I disliked to do so, I was obliged to say as
much for him in my own heart.
"By the Lord! sir," he said--with a certain looseness of speech, as it
seemed to me, for a minister of the gospel to employ, "you're the first I
ever knew to break it."
"'Twas no credit to me," I owned. "You let go your hand. The horse is
yours."
"Not in the least," he responded, "not in the least. If I felt I had won
him I'd take him, and not leave you feeling as though you had been
given a present. But if you like I'll draw my own little wager as well.
You're the best man I ever met in any country. By the Lord! man, you
broke the hold that I once saw an ex-guardsman killed at Singapore for
resisting--broke his arm short off, and he died on the table. I've seen it
at Tokio and Nagasaki--why, man, it's the yellow policeman's hold, the
secret trick of the Orient. Done in proper time, and the little gentleman
is the match of any size, yellow or white."
I did not understand him then, but later I knew that I had for my first
time seen the Oriental art of wrestling put in practice. I do not want to
meet