“I’ll watch it, me lad,” returned Sergeant O’Malley, wondering whether Dam were fool or knave.
“Trooper Matthewson, get ready,” called the Corporal, and Dam stepped into the ring, saluted, and faced the Sergeant.
A brief direction and caution, the usual preliminary, and the word—
“On guard—Play” and Dam was parrying a series of the quickest cuts he had ever met. The Sergeant’s sword flickered like the tongue of a—Snake. Yes—of a Snake! and even as Dam’s hand dropped limp and nerveless, the Sergeant’s sword fell with a dull heavy thud on his head-guard. The stroke would have split Dam’s head right neatly, in actual fighting.
“Stop,” shouted the referee. “Point to Red.”
“On guard—Play”
But if the Sergeant’s sword flickered like the tongue of a snake—why then Dam must be fighting the Snake. Fighting the Snake and in another second the referee again cried “Stop!” And added, “Don’t fight savage, White, or I’ll disqualify you”.
“I’m awf’ly sorry,” said Dam, “I thought I was fighting the Sn——”
“Hold your tongue, and don’t argue,” replied the referee sternly.
“On Guard—Play.”