“Bravo, our man!” cried one. “Stick to it, Newcome!” shouted others. “Now you have it, Halliday!” called out a third. Never was duel before the walls of Troy more desperate. The crowd burst in onto the field and thronged round, foremost among whom Jim’s aunt’s voice was heard crying out shrilly,—
“Well, I never, it’s James and Mr Newcome, my love. How hot they are!”
It was evident the contest in which the two youths were engaged was one not destined to end before time was up. I pointed to within half a minute of the fated hour—and it would take far longer than that for even so powerful a champion as Jim to wrest the ball from Charlie’s defiant grasp. The timekeeper turned away from the rivals and held me up. On went my hand, and on went the struggle.
“Now, Newcome; one tug more?”
“Bravo, our man! You’ll do it yet!”
“Time’s up! No side!”
Then rose those two from the earth, and immediately the astonished Jim felt himself embraced before the whole multitude by his aunt.
“Well, James, and how do you feel after it all?”
“Hungry,” replied Jim.
So ended the famous match. After that Jim had no more trouble from his uncle and aunt on the subject of athletics, which they were fain to admit were a branch of science beyond their comprehension.