f an aged cow.

The master seized him by the collar.

'Peterson, you have the faculty of divination. I give you till I have
counted ten to exert it. I am counting, Peterson.'

Very often the schoolmaster's language was Greek to the scholars, but his
meaning was never in doubt for a moment.

'Eight, Peterson, nine.'

Peterson slouched along a few yards, and kicked stupidly and resentfully
at a loose board.

'Might 'a' got in there,' he growled. 'Why couldn't you 'a' asked
Moonlight?--he don' mind bein' a sneak.'

But Mr. Ham was down on his knees removing the loose board, and for two
or three minutes after crouched at the opening like a famished yellow cat
at a rat-hole, awaiting his opportunity. Meanwhile the fight under the
school was being prosecuted with unabated fury. Dick and Jacker gripped
like twin bull-terriers, rolling and tumbling about in the confined
space, careless of everything but the important business in hand.
Suddenly Mr. Ham made his spring, and a smart haul brought a leg to
light. Another tug, and a second leg shot forth.

'Pull, boys!' he cried.

Moonlight seized the other limb, and a good tug brought the two boys out
into the open, still fighting enthusiastically and apparently oblivious
of their surroundings. Two soldier ants never fought with greater
determination or with such a whole-souled devotion to the cause. Over and
over they tumbled in the dust, clutching hair, hammering ribs, and
grunting and grasping, blind, deaf, and callous as logs; and Joel Ham
stood above them with the familiar cynical twist on his blotched visage,
twisting his cane and making audible comments, but offering no further
interference.

'After you, my boys--after you. There is no hurry, Haddon, I can wait as
you are so busy. McKnight, your future is assured. The prize ring is your
sphere: there wealth and glory await you. Peterson, you see here how
degraded that boy be comes who forgets those higher principles which it
is my earnest effort to instil into the hearts and minds of the boys of
this depraved township. Cann, my boy, behold how brutalising is
ungoverned instinct.'

But, wearying of the contest, the master made a sudden descent upon
Jacker, and tore him from his enemy's grasp. The effort brought Dick to
his feet, panting and still eager for the fray. He could not see an inch
beyond his nose, and for a few moments moved about fiercely, feeling for
his foe.

'D'you gimme best?' he spluttered. 'If