“I say, Gilks,” said he, half coaxing, half warning, “don’t be a fool. Don’t ruin yourself. I didn’t mean to be offensive. You know it’s as much in your interest as mine. If we can get hold of young Wyndham again—”
“If you want him, get him yourself, I’m not going to do it,” once more said Gilks, with pale face and clenched teeth.
Silk’s manner changed once more. His face became livid, and his eyes flashed, as he sprang at Gilks, and with a sudden blow, exclaimed, “Take that, then!”
It was as good as proclaiming that the game was over. As Gilks’s guilty confidant he had retained to the last some sort of influence; but now, with that blow, the last shred of his superiority had gone, and he stood there beaten before ever the fight began.
Gilks had expected the blow, but had not been prepared for its suddenness. It struck him full on the cheek, and for a moment staggered him—but only for a moment. Wasting no words, he returned it vehemently, and next moment the fight had begun.
That fight was not the growth of a day or a week. For many weeks it had been getting nearer and nearer, sometimes by rapid strides, sometimes by imperceptible steps; but always getting nearer, until now it had suddenly reached its climax; and the cry, “A fight—Gilks and Silk!” spread like wildfire over Willoughby.
The Welchers, in the heyday of their triumph, heard it above even the chorus of the glorious Bouncer; and hearing it, forsook their revelry and hurried towards it. The Parretts quitted their melancholy teapot, and rushed with one accord to the spot. And ere they reached it Telson was there, and many a schoolhouse Limpet, and Game, and Ashley, and Wibberly, from Parrett’s; and Tucker, and I know not what crowds from Welch’s. And they crowded round, and took sides, and speculated on the result, and cheered impartially every hit.
Far be it from me to describe that fight. It was no different from twenty other fights that same term, except from the one fact that the combatants were seniors. No one cared an atom about the quarrels or its merits. It was quite enough that it was an even match—that there was plenty of straight hitting and smart parrying, and that it lasted over a quarter of an hour.
It was a wonder it lasted so long. Not that the men could not stay, but because no monitor with power to stop it appeared on the scene. Indeed, the only monitor present was Gilks himself, and he took no steps to end the conflict.
At length, however, while the result was still undecided, a cry of “Cave!” was raised.