Nor did he study.

Even to sit still all day at his desk, as he did, was a torment.

It seemed centuries since he had begun the round of daily fights, and time stretched away into a nightmare and infinite future of daily fights.

Why couldn't Cheese-Face be licked?
he often thought; that would put him, Martin, out of his misery.

It never entered his head to cease fighting, to allow Cheese-Face to whip him.
And so he dragged himself to the Enquirer alley, sick in body and soul, but learning the long patience, to confront his eternal enemy, Cheese- Face, who was just as sick as he, and just a bit willing to quit if it were not for the gang of newsboys that looked on and made pride painful and necessary.