“Look out, here’s Riddell!” cried some small boy.
A round was just beginning, and neither combatant evinced any desire to desist on account of the captain’s approach.
Riddell was not alone, Fairbairn was with him, and, being naturally attracted by the crowd and shouting, they both hurried up in time to see the end of the round.
As soon as it was over they pushed their way in among the crowd and entered the ring.
“Stop the fight!” said Riddell.
The two combatants glared at him angrily, and Gilks replied, “Who says so?”
“I say so,” said Riddell, quietly.
The days were long gone by when the captain issued his orders in an apologetic voice and a diffident manner. He had learned enough during this term to discover the value of a little self-confidence, and had profited by the discovery. Willoughby was far more docile to an order than to a request, and on the present occasion neither Gilks nor Silk seemed disposed to argue the matter.
They put on their jackets sulkily, and, without further words to one another or to the monitors, betook their battered selves to their several quarters.
Willoughby, perceiving that the matter was at an end, also dispersed and returned to its several quarters. The Welchers resumed their interrupted revel with unabated rejoicing; the melancholy Parretts called for more hot water to eke out the consolations of their teapot; the Limpets turned in again to their preparation, and the seniors to their studies—every one criticising the fight, and wondering how it would have ended, but scarcely one troubling himself much about its merit, and less still about its consequences.