He searched out her solar plexus, and did no more than snap his middle finger against it. This time she experienced a ****** paralysis, accompanied by a stoppage of breath, but with a brain and vision that remained perfectly clear. In a moment, however, all the unwonted sensations were gone.
"Solar Plexus," Billy elucidated. "Imagine what it's like when the other fellow lifts a wallop to it all the way from his knees.
That's the punch that won the championship of the world for Bob Fitzsimmons."
Saxon shuddered, then resigned herself to Billy's playful demonstration of the weak points in the human anatomy. He pressed the tip of a finger into the middle of her forearm, and she knew excruciating agony. On either side of her neck, at the base, he dented gently with his thumbs, and she felt herself quickly growing unconscious.
"That's one of the death touches of the Japs," he told her, and went on, accompanying grips and holds with a running exposition.
"Here's the toe-hold that Notch defeated Hackenschmidt with. I learned it from Farmer Burns.--An' here's a half-Nelson.--An' here's you makin' roughhouse at a dance, an' I 'm the floor manager, an' I gotta put you out."
One hand grasped her wrist, the other hand passed around and under her forearm and grasped his own wrist. And at the first hint of pressure she felt that her arm was a pipe-stem about to break.
"That's called the 'come along.'--An' here's the strong arm. A boy can down a man with it. An' if you ever get into a scrap an' the other fellow gets your nose between his teeth--you don't want to lose your nose, do you? Well, this is what you do, quick as a flash."
Involuntarily she closed her eyes as Billy's thumb-ends pressed into them. She could feel the fore-running ache of a dull and terrible hurt.
"If he don't let go, you just press real hard, an' out pop his eyes, an' he's blind as a bat for the rest of his life. Oh, he'll let go all right all right."
He released her and lay back laughing.
"How d'ye feel?" he asked. "Those ain't boxin' tricks, but they're all in the game of a roughhouse."
"I feel like revenge," she said, trying to apply the "come along" to his arm.
When she exerted the pressure she cried out with pain, for she had succeeded only in hurting herself. Billy grinned at her futility. She dug her thumbs into his neck in imitation of the Japanese death touch, then gazed ruefully at the bent ends of her nails. She punched him smartly on the point of the chin, and again cried out, this time to the bruise of her knuckles.
"Well, this can't hurt me," she gritted through her teeth, as she assailed his solar plexus with her doubled fists.
By this time he was in a roar of laughter. Under the sheaths of muscles that were as armor, the fatal nerve center remained impervious.
"Go on, do it some more," he urged, when she had given up, breathing heavily. "It feels fine, like you was ticklin' me with a feather."
"All right, Mister Man," she threatened balefully. "You can talk about your grips and death touches and all the rest, but that's all man's game. I know something that will beat them all, that will make a strong man as helpless as a baby. Wait a minute till I get it. There. Shut your eyes. Ready? I won't be a second."
He waited with closed eyes, and then, softly as rose petals fluttering down, he felt her lips on his mouth.
"You win," he said in solemn ecstasy, and passed his arms around her.
