"Yes, by George," said Smith, "we had enough of Marmion on the way out. Shirley's a long way too fond of poetry. Now, you two, are you ready? Buttons on the foils? That's right. Now then!"
"Charge, Chester, charge; on, Stanley, on!'"
shouted Shirley, who was irrepressible, and who, indeed, was said to have got Marmion by heart a week after it was issued, in February of this year.
The duel began. The combatants were pretty evenly matched, and as the spectators watched thrust and parry, lunge and riposte, now cheering one, now the other, the air became charged with electric excitement. Right foot well forward, left arm well behind his head, Jack watched his opponent with the keenness of a hawk, and for a time seemed to content himself with standing on the defensive. He knew his man, and held himself in with the confident expectation that Pomeroy would by and by become reckless.
"Two to one on Pomeroy!" shouted Dugdale, who was growing excited.
"Done!" said Smith. "Name your stakes."
"Anything you like; I'm not particular. I want a new pair of breeches. Yours won't fit me, but mine'll fit you with a little trimming'. Gad, Lumsden was nearly pinked that time. Make it two pairs!"
"D'you mind moving aside?" said Shirley, who, being head and shoulders shorter than Dugdale, found his view obstructed by six feet two and a back broad in proportion.
"Sorry; get on my back if you like," said Dugdale. "Won a bet by running a race with young Jukes of Pembroke on my back. I don't mind."
But Shirley contented himself with edging in to a place beside the big sportsman.