"That's the stuff!"
"Show your grit!"
"Hold out!"
"Show your nerve!"
In a second he had reasoned it out. He was caught—he knew it. He could resist three minutes, five minutes, slowly sinking against his ebbing strength, frantically cheered for a spectacular resistance—and then what? If he had a chance, it was in preserving every ounce of his strength for the coming rounds.
"All right; you've got me this time," he said coldly, and, relaxing, let his shoulders drop.
Dana's hand fell stingingly on him, announcing the fall. He rose amid an angry chorus:
"What the deuce!"
"Say, I don't stand for that!"
"Thought he was game."