“Right!” said the master, silencing the shout of laughter. “Next word.”
With like gentle courtesies the battle began; but in the second round the little A, B, C's were ruthlessly swept off the field with second-book words, and retired to their seats in supreme exultation, amid the applause of their fellows still left in the fight. After that there was no mercy. It was a give-and-take battle, the successful speller having the right to give the word to the opposite side. The master was umpire, and after his “Next!” had fallen there was no appeal. But if a mistake were made, it was the opponent's part and privilege to correct with all speed, lest a second attempt should succeed.
Steadily, and amid growing excitement, the lines grew less, till there were left on one side, Thomas, with Ranald supporting him, and on the other Margaret, with Hughie beside her, his face pale, and his dark eyes blazing with the light of battle.
Without varying fortune the fight went on. Margaret, still serene, and with only a touch of color in her face, gave out her words with even voice, and spelled her opponent's with calm deliberation. Opposite her Thomas stood, stolid, slow, and wary. He had no nerves to speak of, and the only chance of catching him lay in lulling him off to sleep.
They were now among the deadly words.
“Parallelopiped!” challenged Hughie to Ranald, who met it easily, giving Margaret “hyphen” in return.
“H-y-p-h-e-n,” spelled Margaret, and then, with cunning carelessness, gave Thomas “heifer.” (“Hypher,” she called it.)
Thomas took it lightly.
“H-e-i-p-h-e-r.”
Like lightning Hughie was upon him. “H-e-i-f-e-r.”