"Not to-day, I think, thanks," replied Thomas without heat.
"Then, look here!" said Phipps briskly, "I know a ripping little place just off the Lelby Road. It isn't five minutes' walk, and there's no chance of being booked there. Rot if someone was to come and stop it half-way through. It's in a field; thick hedges. No one can see. And I tell you what—I'll keep time. I've got a watch. Two minute rounds, and half-a-minute in between, and I'm the referee; so, if anybody fouls the other chap, I'll stop the fight. See? Come on!"
Of the details of that conflict we have no very clear record. Phipps is enthusiastic, but vague. He speaks in eulogistic terms of a "corker" which Spencer brought off in the second round, and, again, of a "tremendous biff" which Thomas appears to have consummated in the fourth. But of the more subtle points of the fighting he is content merely to state comprehensively that they were "top-hole." As to the result, it would seem that, in the capacity of referee, he declared the affair a draw at the end of the seventh round; and, later, in his capacity of second to both parties, helped his principals home by back and secret ways, one on each arm.
The next items to which the chronicler would call the attention of the reader are two letters.
The first was from Mrs. Shearne to Spencer, and ran as follows—
My Dear Spencer,—I am writing to you direct, instead of through
your aunt, because I want to thank you so much for looking after
my boy so well. I know what a hard time a new boy has at a public
school if he has got nobody to take care of him at first. I heard
from Tom this morning. He seems so happy, and so fond of you. He
says you are "an awfully decent chap" and "the only chap who has
stood up to him at all." I suppose he means "for him." I hope you
will come and spend part of your holidays with us. ("Catch me!"
said Spencer.)
Yours sincerely, Isabel Shearne
P.S.—I hope you will manage to buy something nice with
the enclosed.
The enclosed was yet another postal order for five shillings. As somebody wisely observed, a woman's P.S. is always the most important part of her letter.
"That kid," murmured Spencer between swollen lips, "has got cheek enough for eighteen! 'Awfully decent chap!'"
He proceeded to compose a letter in reply, and for dignity combined with lucidity it may stand as a model to young writers.
5 College Grounds, Eckleton.
Mr. C. F. Spencer begs to present his compliments to Mrs. Shearne,
and returns the postal order, because he doesn't see why he should
have it. He notes your remarks re my being a decent chap in
your favour of the 13th prox., but cannot see where it quite
comes in, as the only thing I've done to Mrs. Shearne's son is to
fight seven rounds with him in a field, W. G. Phipps refereeing. It
was a draw. I got a black eye and rather a whack in the mouth, but
gave him beans also, particularly in the wind, which I learned to do
from reading "Rodney Stone"—the bit where Bob Whittaker beats the
Eyetalian Gondoleery Cove. Hoping that this will be taken in the
spirit which is meant,
I remain Yours sincerely, C. F. Spencer One enclosure.