howled. He remembered, too, the hard, wiry training the other was in
and--hesitated. But it was too late to draw back, and so he rushed on
his enemy, hitting out right and left; and at first Anthony seemed to be
getting the worst of it, for, in common with his race, he had no idea
how to use his fists, nor had he been long enough at Saint Kirwin's to
have learnt, and the scuffle was enlivened by the encouraging though
stifled adjurations of the spectators.

"Go it, Smithson! Now then, Cetchy! Ah! He's got it! Shut up, you
fellows. We'll have Medlicott in directly if you kick up such a row,"
and so forth. But just then, Anthony, who, if he hadn't science,
assuredly had all the fierce fighting valour of his race, woke up to a
mighty effort, and dashing out with both hands and hurling himself
forward at the same time, landed his adversary full in the face, and
down went Smithson minor, and with him two other fellows who were
pressing him too close behind. In the midst of which shindy the door
opened, and in walked Haviland.

"What's all this about?" he cried, turning the gas full up and revealing
the whole scene of disorder--the panting combatants and the now
sheepish-looking spectators, some of whom were making desperate efforts
to appear as if they had never left their beds. "Come here, Smithson.
What d'you mean by it, eh?"

Smithson, who recognised in this formula a certain preamble to condign
punishment, thought he might as well try to say something for himself.

"Please, Haviland, he cheeked me," he faltered.

"Cheeked you, did he? I wonder you haven't had Sefton up here with his
cane, and of course that wouldn't have meant a thousand lines for me for
not keeping order, would it?"

"He tell me he smack my head," cut in Anthony. "I tell him he can't do
it. Then he try. Ha!"

The room tittered. Haviland was mollified.

"Did he do it?" he said.

"No fear. I knock him over. Then you come in." And the speaker stood
with his head in the air, and the light of battle in his eyes, albeit
one of them was rather swollen, looking for all the world a youthful
reproduction of one of his warrior sires.

"Well, I know jolly well that Cetchy didn't begin the row," pronounced
Haviland, throwing down his square cap, and beginning to take off his
coat and vest with a yawn. "Get into bed, Smithson. If I hear anything
about this to-morrow from Sefton, I'll sock your head off. If not, I'll
let you off this t