Acton Threw Him Into The Snow-heap.
"The pig bleeds," said Acton, cheerfully. "You have him now, Bourne; he's too sick to have an ounce of fight left in him. Time!"
The next round wasn't a round really; it was a procession, with Bourne, as fresh as paint from his success, following up the other blubbing with rage, pain, and sickness. Before Acton called, the fellow dropped to the ground and howled dismally.
"Get your coat, Jack, and then come here. He's done. Stand back, you others."
Jack came back.
"Now, you pig, get up and apologize to this gentleman for having knocked him into the snow-heap. I suppose your pig's eyes couldn't see he was only half your size." Acton got hold of the fellow by the collar and jerked him to his feet. "Apologize."
The fellow would not understand; he snivelled obstinately, and struggled aimlessly in Acton's grasp.
"Apologize."