Tom works slowly round for an opening; he has all the
legs, and can choose his own time. The Slogger waits for the attack,
and hopes to finish it by some heavy right-handed blow. As they quarter
slowly over the ground, the evening sun comes out from behind a cloud
and falls full on Williams's face. Tom darts in; the heavy right hand
is delivered, but only grazes his head. A short rally at close quarters,
and they close; in another moment the Slogger is thrown again heavily
for the third time.
"I'll give you three or two on the little one in half-crowns," said
Groove to Rattle.
"No, thank 'ee," answers the other, diving his hands farther into his
coat-tails.
Just at this stage of the proceedings, the door of the turret which
leads to the Doctor's library suddenly opens, and he steps into the
close, and makes straight for the ring, in which Brown and the Slogger
are both seated on their seconds' knees for the last time.
"The Doctor! the Doctor!" shouts some small boy who catches sight of
him, and the ring melts away in a few seconds, the small boys tearing
off, Tom collaring his jacket and waistcoat, and slipping through the
little gate by the chapel, and round the corner to Harrowell's with his
backers, as lively as need be; Williams and his backers making off not
quite so fast across the close; Groove, Rattle, and the other bigger
fellows trying to combine dignity and prudence in a comical manner, and
walking off fast enough, they hope, not to be recognized, and not fast
enough to look like running away.
Pages:
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319