“Don’t bang the door like that,” said Kennedy. “Why didn’t you turn out today?”
“I was kept in.”
“Couldn’t you get out in time to play?”
“No.”
“When did you get out?”
“Six.”
“Not before?”
“I said six.”
“Then how did you manage to go down town—without leave, by the way, but that’s a detail—at half-past five?”
“All right,” said Walton; “better call me a liar.”
“Good suggestion,” said Kennedy, cheerfully; “I will.”
“It’s all very well,” said Walton. “You know jolly well you can say anything you like. I can’t do anything to you. You’d have me up before the prefects.”
“Not a bit of it. This is a private affair between ourselves. I’m not going to drag the prefects into it. You seem to want to make this house worse than it is. I want to make it more or less decent. We can’t both have what we want.”
There was a pause.
“When would it be convenient for you to be touched up before the whole house?” inquired Kennedy, pleasantly.
“What?”
“Well, you see, it seems the only thing. I must take it out of some one for this house-match business, and you started it. Will tonight suit you, after supper?”
“You’ll get it hot if you try to touch me.”
“We’ll see.”
“You’d funk taking me on in a scrap,” said Walton.
“Would I? As a matter of fact, a scrap would suit me just as well. Better. Are you ready now?”
“Quite, thanks,” sneered Walton. “I’ve knocked you out before, and I’ll do it again.”
“Oh, then it was you that night at camp? I thought so. I spotted your style. Hitting a chap when he wasn’t ready, you know, and so on. Now, if you’ll wait a minute, I’ll send across to Blackburn’s for Silver. I told him I should probably want him as a time-keeper tonight.”
“What do you want with Silver. Why won’t Perry do?”
“Thanks, I’m afraid Perry’s time-keeping wouldn’t be impartial enough. Silver, I think, if you don’t mind.”
Spencer was summoned once more, and despatched to Blackburn’s. He returned with Jimmy.
“Come in, Jimmy,” said Kennedy. “Run away, Spencer. Walton and I are just going to settle a point of order which has arisen, Jimmy. Will you hold the watch? We ought just to have time before tea.”
“Where?” asked Silver.
“My dormitory would be the best place. We can move the beds. I’ll go and get the keys.”
Kennedy’s dormitory was the largest in the house. After the beds had been moved back, there was a space in the middle of fifteen feet one way, and twelve the other—not a large ring, but large enough for two fighters who meant business.
Walton took off his coat, waistcoat, and shirt. Kennedy, who was still in football clothes, removed his blazer.
“Half a second,” said Jimmy Silver—”what length rounds?”
“Two minutes?” said Kennedy to Walton.
“All right,” growled Walton.
“Two minutes, then, and half a minute in between.”
“Are you both ready?” asked Jimmy, from his seat on the chest of drawers.
Kennedy and Walton advanced into the middle of the impromptu ring.
There was dead silence for a moment.
“Time!” said Jimmy Silver.
XIII
THE FIGHT IN THE DORMITORY
Stating it broadly, fighters may be said to be divided into two classes—those who are content to take two blows if they can give three in return, and those who prefer to receive as little punishment as possible, even at the expense of scoring fewer points themselves. Kennedy’s position, when Jimmy Silver called time, was peculiar. On all the other occasions on which he had fought—with the gloves on in the annual competition, and at the assault-at-
