Though the boys of St. Bede's and those of Garside regarded themselves as adversaries, to their credit be it said no outbreak of temper had resulted from their meeting at the sand-pit. There had been some amount of good-humoured chaff bandied to and fro across the pit, but nothing more. All were eager for the coming struggle.
A cheer went up from the Garsides directly they caught sight of Paul. The Bedes eyed him critically.
"Looks grim enough—as though he meant business," said one, as Paul advanced to the pit.
The cheer of his comrades put fresh life into Paul. His blood, which had seemed stagnant, began to race through his veins.
"For the honour of the Form," he said to himself, between his clenched teeth, "I must—I will win!"
As though his comrades wished to give him all the encouragement in their power, another cheer went up as he entered the pit, and took up his position on the floor of hard-pressed sand below.
"Where's the other fellow?" he asked.
"Doesn't seem to have turned up yet," said Arbery; "but I don't think it's quite time. How goes it, Levy?"
Leveson had a stop-watch and was very proud of it. He usually acted as timekeeper at the school sports, when the stop-watch was very much to the fore. He prided himself on one thing—always knowing the right time. His was the only watch that kept the right time at Garside—so, at least, Leveson said. To ask Leveson the "correct time" was one of the greatest compliments you could pay him. It was a tacit acknowledgment that the time kept by Leveson's stop-watch was superior to any other.
"Three minutes eighteen seconds to three," answered Leveson, after examining the watch.