Grundy was already at the trysting-place, accompanied by Andson, a chum from the Upper Fourth, and Fletcher junior. It was quite an informal little gathering, and the business was conducted in a free-and-easy manner, and with an entire absence of the cut-and-dried ceremony which characterized similar undertakings in the palmy days of the prize ring.
"Look here, young Vance," said Grundy, "if you like to apologize for calling me a liar, I'll let you off; if not, I'm going to punch your head."
"Punch away!" answered Jack stolidly, and all further attempt at pacification was abandoned.
The principals took off their coats and collars, while their companions drew aside to give them room, and the signal was given to commence the action.
Grundy made no attempt at any display of science; he simply relied on his superior strength and size, and charged down upon his adversary with the intention of thumping and pounding him till he gave in. Jack Vance knew very little about the "noble art," except that it was the proper thing to hit straight from the shoulder; and following out this fundamental principle, he succeeded in landing his opponent a good hard drive between the eyes, which made him see more stars than are to be witnessed at the explosion of a sixpenny rocket. Grundy drew back, and after blinking and rubbing his nose for a moment, came on again, this time with greater caution. Jack, on the other hand, emboldened by his previous success, made an unwise attempt to rush the fighting, and was rewarded with a sounding smack on the cheek-bone which broke the skin and sent him staggering back into the arms of Diggory.
Once more the combatants approached each other, this time with a little more feinting and dodging, which showed a certain amount of respect for the weight of each other's fists. At length, urged on to further feats of arms by impatient ejaculations of "Now, then, go into it!" and "Keep the game alive!" from Fletcher and Andson, they closed again, and after a sharp interchange of rather random pounding, Jack smote his opponent on the nose, and received in return a heavy blow on the chest which very nearly sent him to the ground.
After this there was another short breathing-space; a thin stream of blood was trickling from Grundy's nasal organ, while Diggory and Mugford noticed with aching hearts that their comrade was beginning to look rather limp, and was getting short of breath.
What would have been the ultimate result of the contest had it been resumed I am sure I cannot say, but I fear that, taking Grundy's superior weight and height into consideration, the story of the fight would have been recorded among the trials and not the triumphs of the Triple Alliance. As it was, a sudden interruption brought the encounter to a premature close.
"Hullo, you young beggars! what are you up to?"
The voice was that of Allingford, who, attracted by cries of "Go it!"— "Give him another!"—"Bravo, Vance!" and other warlike shouts, had hurried round to the rear of the pavilion to find out what was happening.