But Gavin kept just out of reach, moving with an almost insolent carelessness, and ever flashing some painful blow to face or to body as he retreated.
Then, as the other charged, Gavin sidestepped with perfect ease, and, when the beach-comber wheeled clumsily to face him, threw one foot forward and at the same time pushed the larger man's shoulder violently with his open palm.

It was a repetition of the "leverage theory" Gavin had so recently been expounding to his antagonist.

It caught the lunging giant at precisely the right non-balance angle, as he was turning about.
And, for the second time, the beach-comber sat down on the trampled sand, with unexpected suddenness and force.
Gavin Brice laughed aloud, with boyish mischief, and stood back, waiting for the cursing madman to scramble to his feet again.

But, as the beach comber leaped up--and before he could get fairly balanced on his legs--another foot-and-palm maneuver sent him sprawling.
This time the puffing and foaming and insanely-badgered man did not try at once to rise.

Instead, his hand whipped back to his thigh.
"My clumsy friend," Brice was saying, pleasantly, "I'm afraid you'll never win that watch.