“Well,” he said, “I’d misjudged things. You can box and I can’t. You were too hot for me. If you don’t mind we’ll go on with this another day. And between now and then I’ll learn to box too.”
Coles looked at him contemptuously.
“You’re too late,” said he. “There isn’t going to be any boxing. It’s knocked on the head. That’s one of the thoughtful things you’ve done for the school, and I hope you’re satisfied.”
Rouse turned and went out. The corridor was deserted and he was grateful. He was not anxious to be seen coming out of Coles’ study like that. He went unsteadily down the stairs and out into the open. The cold wind cut at the broken skin bitterly, but now he held his head high and went almost proudly across the open towards Morley’s. He was not of the type that show their inner feelings to one and all. He knew that fellows of all kinds and conditions in Harley would be looking to him for a lead as to the correct behaviour at this final crisis, and he must set the right example. It was possible that they might think his face had suffered like that in the match, and in any case he was not going to look ashamed about it. Even when Coles began to boast, and people came to know that he had picked a quarrel with Coles and had got a hiding, there were only a very few in the school who would not understand that Coles could box and he couldn’t.
He came at last to his own study and went in. Toby had gone, but Terence rose from a chair and moved towards him. He took one glance at Rouse and turned away. There was a moment’s silence. Rouse went to the table and sat down. He was trembling a little. His hands would not keep still. At last he looked up.
Presently he made his confession.
“He put me down,” said he.
“Often?” asked Terence gently.
“Yes. Quite often.”
Terence nodded his head sympathetically. He saw that there was no need for words.