" Martin
meanwhile folded the clothes, and put them under the chapel rails; and
now Tom, with East to handle him, and Martin to give him a knee, steps
out on the turf, and is ready for all that may come; and here is the
Slogger too, all stripped, and thirsting for the fray.
It doesn't look a fair match at first glance: Williams is nearly two
inches taller, and probably a long year older than his opponent, and he
is very strongly made about the arms and shoulders--"peels well," as the
little knot of big fifth-form boys, the amateurs, say, who stand outside
the ring of little boys, looking complacently on, but taking no active
part in the proceedings. But down below he is not so good by any
means--no spring from the loins, and feeblish, not to say shipwrecky,
about the knees. Tom, on the contrary, though not half so strong in the
arms, is good all over, straight, hard, and springy, from neck to ankle,
better perhaps in his legs than anywhere. Besides, you can see by the
clear white of his eye, and fresh, bright look of his skin, that he is
in tip-top training, able to do all he knows; while the Slogger looks
rather sodden, as if he didn't take much exercise and ate too much
tuck. The time-keeper is chosen, a large ring made, and the two stand
up opposite one another for a moment, giving us time just to make our
little observations.
"If Tom'll only condescend to fight with his head and heels," as East
mutters to Martin, "we shall do.
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