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Jimmy did not strike him then. He merely placed the palm of one hand against
the man's breast and pushed him backward, but with such force that, striking a
chair, Steve Murray fell backward and sprawled upon the floor. Scrambling to his
feet, he rushed Jimmy like a mad bull.
In his younger days Murray had been a boiler-maker, and he still retained most
of his great strength. He was a veritable mountain of a man, and now in the
throes of a berserker rage he was a formidable opponent. His face was white and
his lips were drawn back tightly, exposing his teeth in a bestial snarl as he
charged at Jimmy. His great arms and huge hands beat to the right and left like
enormous flails, one blow from which might seemingly have felled an ox.
Torrance had stood for a moment with an arm still around the girl; but as Murray
rose to his feet he pushed her gently behind him, and then as the man was upon
him Jimmy ducked easily under the other's clumsy left and swung a heavy right
hook to his jaw. As Murray staggered to the impact of the blow Jimmy reached
him again quickly and easily with a left to the nose, from which a crimson burst
spattered over the waiter and his victim. Murray went backward and would have
fallen but for the fact he came in contact with one of his friends, and then he was
at Jimmy again.
By this time waiters and patrons were crowding forward from all parts of the
room, and Feinheimer, shrieking at the top of his voice, was endeavoring to worm
his fat, toadlike body through the cordon of excited spectators. The proprietor
reached the scene of carnage just in time to see Jimmy plant a lovely left on the
point of Murray's jaw.
The big man tottered drunkenly for an instant, his knees sagged, and, as Jimmy
stood in readiness for any eventuality, the other crashed heavily to the floor.
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