my upwards. There came
a moment of desperate, confused struggle; and then, as the man lost his
balance at last, he relaxed his grip quite suddenly, flinging him
headlong over his shoulder.

It was a clean throw, contrived with masterly assurance, the result of
deliberate and trained calculation. The bully pitched upon his head on
the rough stones of the yard, and turned a complete somersault with the
violence of his fall.

A shout of amazement went up from the spectators. This end of the
struggle was totally unexpected.

The successful combatant remained standing with the sweat pouring from
his face and the blood still running down his chin. He stretched out his
arms with a slow, mechanical movement as if to test the condition of his
muscles after the tremendous strain he had put upon them. Then, still as
it were mechanically, he felt the torn collar-band of his shirt, with
speculative fingers. Finally he whizzed round on the heels and stared at
the huddled form of his fallen foe.

A shabby little man with thick, sandy eyebrows had gone to his
assistance, but he lay quite motionless in a twisted, ungainly attitude.
The flare of the lamp was reflected in his glassy, upturned eyes. Dumbly
his conqueror stood staring down at him. He seemed to stand above them
all in that his moment of dreadful victory.

He spoke at length, and through his voice there ran a curious tremor as
of a man a little giddy, a little dazed by immense and appalling height.

"I thought I could do it!" he said. "I--thought I could!"

It was his moment of triumph, of irresistible elation. The devil in him
had fought--and conquered.

It swayed him--and passed. He was left white to the lips and suddenly,
terribly, afraid.

"What have I done to him?" he asked, and the tremor was gone from his
voice; it was level, dead level. "I haven't killed him really, have I?"

No one answered him. They were crowding round the fallen man, stooping
over him with awe-struck whispering, straightening the crumpled, inert
limbs, trying to place the heavy frame in a natural posture.

The boy pressed forward to look, but abruptly his supporter caught him by
the shoulder and pulled him back.

"No, no!" he said in a sharp undertone. "You're no good here. Get out of
it! Put on your clothes and--go!"

He spoke urgently. The boy stared at him, suffering the compelling hand.
All the fight had gone completely out of him. He was passive with the
paralysis of a great ho