Then the contest should have been over, but the defeated man would not have it so. With a hoarse shout of rage he sprang to his feet and rushed straight at Drake. When the latter saw him coming he set himself for the onslaught with a jerk, and a dangerous light burned in his eyes.
The Irishman dashed for him with the speed and force of a wild bull, and Drake ducked slightly. Then as the man reached him he grasped him by the wrists, and straightened up with a great heave. The sailor went flying over his head and shot through the air like a projectile from a gun.
A cry went up from everybody there, for it seemed certain that he would be killed. Fortunately, however, his momentum was so great that it carried him clear to the wall, where he dove head first into a bunk. For a moment he lay stunned, but then staggered weakly out, shaking his head from side to side.
“Be all the saints,” he gasped, “Oi’ve met me match this night and got the lickin’ of me life. The best man won, that’s all Oi’ve got to say. Shake hands before ye go, will ye, kid?”
“Sure,” said Drake frankly, extending his hand. “You gave me a hard tussle, and deserved to win. I hope I never have to stand up against you again,” he added, with a grin, “for you’re certainly a dandy.”
Then he and his followers filed out, and returned to the training quarters. The first person they saw when they entered was Reddy, and he grinned broadly as they came in. Bert had hinted pretty broadly at the object of their visit to the forecastle, but had not told Reddy openly what was in the wind, as in his official capacity the trainer would not have felt in a position to sanction the affair. As it was, he awaited news of the outcome with considerable anxiety, and seemed much relieved when the whole contest was recounted to him and he learned of its successful termination.
“Well, to bed with you now, you worthless spalpeens,” he said at the end of the recital. But as they were dispersing to their bunk he called, “I’m mighty glad you won, Drake.”
The next morning Drake was on deck and practising at the usual time, feeling no ill effects from his strenuous experience other than a slight stiffness, which bothered him very little. In a couple of days even this wore off, and the next day but one from the date of the exciting contest he broke the record for discus throwing by a matter of almost six inches, thus justifying the trainer’s judgment.
As for the crew, they treated Drake with marked respect, and from that day forward nothing more was heard from them except praise concerning “college athletes,” and especially “plate-throwers.”