There was a crash as the dazed man went to the floor.
Instantly Mr. Jennison's voice rose, counting:
"One, two, three, four—"
"Take the full count, Spurdy," advised Kramer, bending forward over his principal.
"—eight, nine, ten!" gasped out the timekeeper.
Mr. Spurlock had shown no sign of rising. In fact, he was still unconscious.
"I award the fight to Mr. Prescott," called the cool, exact tones of
Mr. Edward.
Greg could have let out a whoop and danced a war-dance, but in the presence of upper class men this plebe had to restrain himself. Anstey's eyes flashed, but otherwise the Virginian bore himself modestly.
"Carry Mr. Spurlock down to the door. Then summon stretcher-bearers from the hospital," directed Mr. Edwards.
It was Yearling Devine who sprang to obey this direction.