"
But seemingly he won't, for there he goes in, making play with both
hands. Hard all is the word; the two stand to one another like men;
rally follows rally in quick succession, each fighting as if he thought
to finish the whole thing out of hand. "Can't last at this rate," say
the knowing ones, while the partisans of each make the air ring
with their shouts and counter-shouts of encouragement, approval, and
defiance.
"Take it easy, take it easy; keep away; let him come after you,"
implores East, as he wipes Tom's face after the first round with a wet
sponge, while he sits back on Martin's knee, supported by the Madman's
long arms which tremble a little from excitement.
"Time's up," calls the time-keeper.
"There he goes again, hang it all!" growls East, as his man is at it
again, as hard as ever. A very severe round follows, in which Tom gets
out and out the worst of it, and is at last hit clean off his legs, and
deposited on the grass by a right-hander from the Slogger.
Loud shouts rise from the boys of Slogger's house, and the School-house
are silent and vicious, ready to pick quarrels anywhere.
"Two to one in half-crowns on the big un," says Rattle, one of the
amateurs, a tall fellow, in thunder-and-lightning waistcoat, and puffy,
good-natured face.
"Done!" says Groove, another amateur of quieter look, taking out his
notebook to enter it, for our friend Rattle sometimes forgets these
little things.
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