Dorothy had taken great pleasure in her participation of Harrys punishment and her allotment of strokes were certainly not the least effective. The boy had expressed his admiration for the girls strength in bellows and screams. Somehow Dorothy had always found a most tender spot between the thighs and buttocks when she wielded the tawse.
When it was over and the limping boy was dismissed with orders to do his ten laps. "Go upstairs and put on the old play shorts," Geraldine said. "No need to soil those new shorts."
"You will do the laps at five minutes each," and not a second slower," his uncle had warned him. "You know what will happen if you disobey. Now run along."
They watched from the window as Harry, dressed only in flimsy, outgrown little shorts dashed frantically around the path. "At least the exercise will keep him warm even in his scanty attire," Ralph said wit ha chuckle. "Most boys I know are wearing sweaters and longs by now. The mornings are pretty cool."
"We normally have him run naked as we are trying to harden him up a bit," Brian said. "Hes been pampered enough by his previous guardians and I dont intend to make the same mistake. Hes too soft."
"My friends brother," Dorothy said, "is sent to a sporting club to learn karate and other self-defence tactics. His parents say it is doing him a lot of good."
Geraldine nodded. "Yes, that is something Harry may find useful. Boxing, perhaps?"
"Yes, they have a ring and a competition each month. They are grouped by weight and size. He is among the middle weights. He had to buy a pair of boxing gloves."
"I think thats a great idea," Brian agreed. "Ill see to it. Just give me the name of the club and the man in charge there."
It was exactly 50 minutes later when young Harry made his perspiring appearance.
"Not too cold for you outside?" Brian asked his nephew sarcastically. He looked at his watch. "Well, I must say you are on time. Unfortunately I have no way in verifying whether you did ten laps or three but I must assume you have cheated. Have you?"
"No, Uncle," Harry said, lowering his eyes. His face was flushed from the run so that was not necessarily a sign of dishonesty.
"Well, Ill let it go this time, my boy. But better be careful in the future. Right now we are just discussing a sports program for you. Would you like that?"
Harry looked dubious but said, "Yes, sir."
"Very good. I will have it all arranged by next week."
Brian had made the necessary inquiries and a few days later sat opposite the clubs manager.
"I understand, Mr. Randall," the manager said. "It is unfortunate that more parents dont take sports and physical exercise seriously enough. It is always football or cricket. Boys dont take enough responsibility for their own performance. In boxing, you are on your own."
"Quite right," Brian said. "I want the boy to learn to take a few punches without starting to cry or run away. He is a little coward and must be toughened up considerably, and quickly."
"We can give him an accelerated training program," the manager said.
"What does that consist of?"
"The coach is John Burson and he likes to introduce smaller boys to bigger opponents. He allows quite a bit of punching before he will stop a match. Your boy might benefit from a few encounters like that. We dont encourage sympathy for the losers and I would suggest you dont either when, for instance, he arrives back home with a bloody nose."
"Certainly not. On the contrary, I believe that losers deserve firm punishment."
"Yes, well, that certainly would encourage him to fight harder the next time, wouldnt it?" the manager smiled.
A few days later Harry was taken to the club immediately after his ten laps around the bridle path and eight with the cane for "slacking." He wore his usual shorts and polo shirt for the interview.
Burson sat behind his desk and surveyed the boy standing fearfully in front of him. "Ah, so this is the pampered little boy, is it?"
"Answer the man, Harry," Brian snapped as the boy stood and gaped at his future boxing coach. A sharp smack across the boys bare thighs followed the admonishment.
"Y-yes, sir," Harry mumbled.
"And you are willing to learn this nice sport?" Burson continued.
"Yes, sir," the boy replied in a weary voice.
"I want a loud, clear and enthusiastic reply," Brian said sharply, smacking the boys thighs again.
"Yes, sir!" Harry called out, louder this time.
"Very well," Burson said. "Come with me and Ill give you a pair of trunks to wear."
They moved towards a row of small cubicles that served as changing rooms. "Take off all your clothes," Burson said after they had entered one of the cubicles. This was quickly accomplished as there was not much to remove. When Harry stood naked and trembling, Burson inspected him briefly, then turned to a chest of drawers and selected pair of blue cotton shorts from a drawer.
"Here, these should fit," he said.
The trunks were too small and Harry had some trouble getting them up over his hips but once in place, they hugged his form suitably. A bit of bare buttocks could be seen emerging from below the hems and Burson took in the dark welts visible on those areas. He nodded with satisfaction. The boys uncle knew how to deal with these spoiled little brats.
"Good, now lets go and meet Alfred. He is due for a few training rounds and he will be happy to show you a few good maneuvers." He laughed and Harry looked worried.
And with good reason, as it turned out. Alfred, wearing black trunks, appeared to be around thirteen and was quite a bit taller than Harry. He was also slender and sinewy as he posed inside the ring waiting for his new adversary. Harry was made to enter the ring and stand facing Alfred while Burson put some gloves on him and tied them tightly.
"You will do three rounds of two minutes each. If this works out well, we will add another three rounds. You will touch gloves and come out fighting when you hear the bell. You will stop and go back to your corners when you hear the bell again. Is that understood?"
The boys nodded, eyeing each other, Alfred arrogant and self-assured, Harry close to fainting. Then the bell sounded and Alfred quickly touched his gloves to Harrys. Before Harry knew what had happened, he felt a tremendous punch in his ribs and almost immediately another across his cheek. He started to cry and turned towards his uncle who was watching with a questioning, alarmed look.
"Raise your hands," Burson called out. "You have to protect yourself at all times. Just jab with your left to keep Alfred away from you. Keep moving so he cant get a good blow."
Although Harry tried to follow all these instructions, blow after blow landed on his head, arms and body until he felt ready to drop. Luckily the bell rang and he staggered back to his corner.
"No need to sit, boy," Burson said, wiping the sweat off Harrys face. "Youre going to have a few bruises on that cheek, but I guess you are used to bruises by now, even if they are on a different part of your anatomy." He laughed.
Then it was time for round two and more punches until Harry broke into tears. He dropped his arms and turned to his uncle.
"Please, Uncle," he whined, "can I come out now?"
"You finish this round and the next," Brian replied calmly, "then we will decide whether you should go another round."
"But, Uncle," Harry persisted, "hes so much stronger."
"That is exactly the point," Burson said, greatly amused. "To make you just as strong as he is. So dont be a cry baby and lets go." The bell rang and Alfred swung a great body punch that made Harry stagger back into the ropes. Blow after blow, to the head and when Harry tried to cover his face, the blows landed on his chest and stomach. When h tried to protect his body, a forceful uppercut brought Harry to the canvas, dizzy and confused.
Burson started a slow count. "One...two...three..."
"Get up, Harry," Brian called out, "or youll get a really good thrashing when we get home. No use being a coward when inside a boxing ring. You have to learn to protect yourself and be a little more aggressive."
At the count of eight Harry managed to get to his feet only to absorb several more blows before the bell rang.
"Loo, boy," Brian told the boy during the minute rest between rounds, "you better put some effort into it. When we get home, I will give you a dozen with the cane. If you dont land a few punches of your own in this last round, I will make it two dozen. Is that understood?"
"But, Uncle," Harry started but the bell rang nd he had no choice but to face his fierce adversary again. Alfred was grinning. He was having a great workout without having suffered a single punch himself. He was just using Harry as a punching bag.
Although Harry managed to remain standing for the next two minutes, he had not been able to land a glove on young Alfred who now stood, arms raised in victory, after the final bell.
Harry was helped out of the ring. His lip was split and a bruise was forming on his left cheek. His ribs ached from the repeated punches that had landed there and his knees shook.
"Thank you very much, coach," Brian said to Burson. "I think this did Harry a great deal of good. I am sure he will do better next time after I am through with him. We will have another few rounds next week."
"I will keep Wednesdays open for him," Burson said with a smile. "I will teach him and train him, as long as he shows willingness to learn and improve."
"Oh, that he will, that he will, I can promise you that," Brian said, propelling the boy towards the changing cubicle. "Well see you next Wednesday then. Thank you for your help with this little slacker."
Harry removed his little boxing trunks and changed back into his own clothes. He cried during the walk back home.
"Go to the study, boy," Brian said when they arrived. "I am going to see to it that the two dozen with the cane will teach you to behave better the next time. And you will get a sound caning each time Mr. Burson tells me you have not tried hard enough. When he tells me that you have won a fight, you will be spared the caning. I hope even you can understand this."
"Yes, Uncle," Harry whimpered.
"Good, now get your shorts down and wait for me in the corner. I will just bring the cane and be back in thirty minutes or so."
Harry, aching all over, his lip and cheeks throbbing, his ribs sore, waited dutifully in the corner for his upcoming caning.