Over and
over they tumbled in the dust, clutching hair, hammering ribs, and
grunting and grasping, blind, deaf, and callous as logs; and Joel Ham
stood above them with the familiar cynical twist on his blotched visage,
twisting his cane and making audible comments, but offering no further
interference.
'After you, my boys--after you. There is no hurry, Haddon, I can wait as
you are so busy. McKnight, your future is assured. The prize ring is your
sphere: there wealth and glory await you. Peterson, you see here how
degraded that boy be comes who forgets those higher principles which it
is my earnest effort to instil into the hearts and minds of the boys of
this depraved township. Cann, my boy, behold how brutalising is
ungoverned instinct.'
But, wearying of the contest, the master made a sudden descent upon
Jacker, and tore him from his enemy's grasp. The effort brought Dick to
his feet, panting and still eager for the fray. He could not see an inch
beyond his nose, and for a few moments moved about fiercely, feeling for
his foe.
'D'you gimme best?' he spluttered. 'If you don't, come on--I ain't done
up!' Then he flung the curtain of cobweb from his eyes, and the situation
flashed upon him in all its grim significance. For a swift moment he
thought of flight, but the master's grip was on his collar.
'Blowed if it ain't Jo,' he murmured in his consternation, and yielded
meekly, like one for whom Fate had proved too strong.
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