A subdued howl of delight came from the members of the upper classes. The plebes looked glum, but Trolley and Joy, who were attending Clif, showed no signs of discouragement.
Time was again called.
Sharpe advanced confidently, and Clif saw him wink at several friends.
The “plebe deviler” essayed the same tactics, but he did not succeed so well as before. The round ended with a furious exchange of blows which left several angry blotches upon Sharpe’s face.
When the two faced each other for the third time, Clif instantly made a feint with his left and let drive with all his force with his right directly into Sharpe’s face.
There was a crunch and a thud, a gasping cry and the cadet corporal found himself upon the hard deck, his head dancing amid a whole galaxy of stars.
He scrambled erect and fairly tore himself from the hands of those about him. He was seen to tear something from his pocket and spring at Clif.
There was a flash, a warning cry from the spectators, then Faraday shot out both hands, landing with terrible force upon the chin and neck of the infuriated cadet.
Sharpe fell like a log, and at the same moment something dropped from his grasp with a metallic clatter.
“He’s knocked out, and pretty badly, too,” announced Blakely, amid a confused murmur of voices.