He had not time to finish the sentence. Brightly’s hand came up like a flash; but his stroke was parried and returned. Blows fell from each in quick succession; then the combatants clinched, and the next moment they were struggling in each other’s arms with the fury of wild beasts.
[CHAPTER II.]
CHANGING THE RECORD.
The fight was fierce but short.
Harple entered the drill-hall from the stairway, stood for a moment in terrified astonishment, and then pushed his way violently through the crowd to the enraged combatants.
“Stop this!” he cried, laying a firm hand on each wrestler; but in an instant they had broken from his grasp, and fell, struggling, panting, and still fighting, to the floor.
“Bright!” he called, kneeling above them, and trying to gain a new hold, “Bright, for goodness’ sake!”
The door from the dining-room was opened, and in the doorway was framed the stalwart figure of Colonel Silsbee. He took in the situation at a glance, and strode hastily toward the combatants. The crowd separated as if by magic to let him pass; but before he reached the struggling figures on the floor, they, too, had become aware of his presence, had loosed their hold of each other, and had risen to their feet.
They were a sorry sight. Their clothing was torn, their hair dishevelled, their faces bruised and bloody. For a moment there was no sound in the room; the silence was appalling. Then Colonel Silsbee spoke,—