It was Mr. Blake's voice, and he came striding up the ground looking as black as thunder.
"I protest against that deliberate piece of foul play. I have played against all the chief clubs in the district, and in any of those matches, if such a thing had happened, this man would have been ordered off the ground."
There was a buzz of approval, in which several of the Philistines joined.
"You are quite right, Mr. Blake," answered Mr. Fox. "I deeply regret that the game should have been spoiled by a member of my team.—Noaks," he added, turning to the culprit, "put on your coat and go home; you have disgraced yourself and your Comrades. I shall see that you send a written apology to the boy you struck."
"Bravo!" whispered Acton; "old Fox is a good sort."
"Oh, they're most of them all right," answered Morris; "it's only two or three that are such beasts."
The game was continued. The loss of one man on each side made the teams equal in numbers, but the sudden calamity which had overtaken their centre forward seemed to have exerted a very demoralizing effect on the Philistines.
Their attacks were not nearly so spirited, and several times the
Birchite forwards appeared in front of their goal.
Neither side had scored, and it seemed as though the game would end in a draw—a result which the home team would have considered highly satisfactory.
The umpire looked at his watch, and in answer to a query from Mr. Fox said, "Five minutes more."