"First knockdown and blood to Moncrief!" exclaimed Newall. "Oh, he's all right, Waterman. He doesn't want any help from you."
Waterman, who had been standing in the background, leaning in his usual indolent manner against the most comfortable corner of the fireplace, shook on his lethargy as Stanley struck the blow which felled Paul to the ground, and at once left his favourite spot by the fireplace and went to his assistance.
"Hurt, Percival?" he asked as, heedless of Newall's remarks, he wiped away the blood that was trickling down Paul's cheek.
Paul had been momentarily dazed by the unexpected blow; but he was strong, and soon shook the feeling off.
"Thanks, Waterman. No; I'm not hurt," he whispered, rising slowly to his feet.
The boys gathered round. The excitement had grown from the moment Paul had entered the room. From that instant the storm-clouds had begun to gather, and with the blow struck by Moncrief major they had burst.
What would happen?
"Steady yourself, Percival," whispered Waterman. "So—Are you sure you are all right?"
"Quite."
Waterman let go his arm. The blood still trickled down Paul's face, but he walked steadily up to Stanley, who had thrown up his arms in defence, as though expecting a return of the blow.