his ferocious eyes fixed upon his fallen antagonist. The timekeeper
called the seconds. If ten of them passed before Montgomery rose to his
feet, the fight was ended. Ted Barton wrung his hands and danced about
in an agony in his corner.
As if in a dream--a terrible nightmare--the student could hear the
voice of the timekeeper--three--four--five--he got up on his
hand--six--seven--he was on his knee, sick, swimming, faint, but
resolute to rise. Eight--he was up, and the Master was on him like a
tiger, lashing savagely at him with both hands. Folk held their breath
as they watched those terrible blows, and anticipated the pitiful
end--so much more pitiful where a game but helpless man refuses to
accept defeat.
Strangely automatic is the human brain. Without volition, without
effort, there shot into the memory of this bewildered, staggering,
half-stupefied man the one thing which could have saved him--that blind
eye of which the Master's son had spoken. It was the same as the other
to look at, but Montgomery remembered that he had said that it was the
left. He reeled to the left side, half felled by a drive which lit upon
his shoulder. The Master pivoted round upon his leg and was at him in an
instant.
"Yark him, lad! yark him!" screamed the woman.
"Hold your tongue!" said the referee.
Montgomery slipped to the left again and yet again; but the Master was
too quick and clever for him. He struck round and got him full on the
face as he tried once more to break away. Montgomery's knees weakened
under him, and he fell with a groan on the floor. This time he knew that
he was done. With bitter agony he realized, as he groped blindly with
his hands, that he could not possibly raise himself. Far away and
muffled he heard, amid the murmurs of the multitude, the fateful voice
of the timekeeper counting off the seconds.
"One--two--three--four--five--six----"
"Time!" said the referee.
Then the pent-up passion of the great assembly broke loose. Croxley gave
a deep groan of disappointment. The Wilsons were on their feet, yelling
with delight. There was still a chance for them. In four more seconds
their man would have been solemnly counted out. But now he had a minute
in which to recover. The referee looked round with relaxed features and
laughing eyes. He loved this rough game, this school for humble heroes,
and it was pleasant to him to intervene as a _Deux ex machina_ at so
dramatic a moment. His chair and his hat were both tilted at an extreme
angle; he and the timekeeper smiled at each other. Ted Barton and the
other second had rushed out and thrust an arm each under Montgomery's
knee, the other behind his loins, and so carried him back to his stool.
His head lolled upon his shoulder, but a douche of cold water sent a
shiver through him, and he started and looked round him.
"He's a' right!" cried the people round. "He's a rare brave lad. Good
lad! Good lad!" Barton poured some brandy into his mouth. The mists
cleared a little, and he realized where he was and what he had to do.
But he was still very weak, and he hardly dared to hope that he could
survive another round.
"Seconds out of the ring!" cried the referee. "Time!"
The Croxley Master sprang eagerly off his stool.
"Keep clear of him! Go easy for a bit," said Barton, and Montgomery
walked out to meet his man once more.
He had had two lessons--the one when the Master got him into his corner,
the other when he had been lured into mixing it up with so powerful an
antagonist. Now he would be wary. Another blow would finish him; he
could afford to run no risks. The Master was determined to follow up his
advantage, and rushed at him, slogging furiously right and left. But
Montgomery was too young and active to be caught. He was strong upon his
legs once more, and his wits had all come back to him. It was a gallant
sight--the line-of-battleship trying to pour its overwhelming broadside
into the frigate, and the frigate manoeuvring always so as to avoid it.
The Master tried all his ring-craft. He coaxed the student up by
pretended inactivity; he rushed at him with furious rushes towards the
ropes. For three rounds he exhausted every wile in trying to get at him.
Montgomery during all this time was conscious that his strength was
minute by minute coming back to him. The spinal jar from an upper-cut is
overwhelming, but evanescent. He was losing all sense of it beyond a
great stiffness of the neck. For the first round after his downfall he
had been content to be entirely on the defensive, only too happy if he
could stall off the furious attacks of the Master. In the second he
occasionally ventured upon a light counter. In the third he was smacking
back merrily where he saw an opening. His people yelled their approval
of him at the end of every round. Even the iron-workers cheered him with
that fine unselfishness which true sport engenders. To most of them,
unspiritual and unimaginative, the sight of this clean-limbed young
Apollo, rising above disaster and holding on while consciousness was in
him to his appointed task, was the greatest thing their experience had
ever known.
But the Master's naturally morose temper became more and more murderous
at this postponement of his hopes. Three rounds ago the battle had been
in his hands; now it was all to do over again. Round by round his man
was recovering his strength. By the fifteenth he was strong again in
wind and limb. But the vigilant Anastasia saw something which encouraged
her.
"That bash in t' ribs is telling on him, Jock," she whispered. "Why else
should he be gulping t' brandy? Go in, lad, and thou hast him yet."
Montgomery had suddenly taken the flask from Barton's hand, and had a
deep pull at the contents. Then, with his face a little flushed, and
with a curious look of purpose, which made the referee stare hard at
him, in his eyes, he rose for the sixteenth round.
"Game as a pairtridge!" cried the publican, as he looked at the hard-set
face.
"Mix it oop, lad; mix it oop!" cried the iron-men to their Master.
And then a hum of exultation ran through their ranks as they realized
that their tougher, harder, stronger man held the vantage, after all.
Neither of the men showed much sign of punishment. Small gloves crush
and numb, but they do not cut. One of the Master's eyes was even more
flush with his cheek than Nature had made it. Montgomery had two or
three livid marks upon his body, and his face was haggard, save for that
pink spot which the brandy had brought into either cheek. He rocked a
little as he stood opposite his man, and his hands drooped as if he
felt the gloves to be an unutterable weight. It was evident that he was
spent and desperately weary. If he received one other blow it must
surely be fatal to him. If he brought one home, what power could there
be behind it, and what chance was there of its harming the colossus in
front of him? It was the crisis of the fight. This round must decide it.
"Mix it oop, lad; mix it oop!" the iron-men whooped. Even the savage
eyes of the referee were unable to restrain the excited crowd.
Now, at last, the chance had come for Montgomery. He had learned a
lesson from his more experienced rival. Why should he not play his own
game upon him? He was spent, but not nearly so spent as he pretended.
That brandy was to call up his reserves, to let him have strength to
take full advantage of the opening when it came. It was thrilling and
tingling through his veins, at the very moment when he was lurching and
rocking like a beaten man. He acted his part admirably. The Master felt
that there was an easy task before him, and rushed in with ungainly
activity to finish it once for all. He slap-banged away left and right,
boring Montgomery up against the ropes, swinging in his ferocious blows
with those animal grunts which told of the vicious energy behind them.
But Montgomery was too cool to fall a victim to any of those murderous
upper-cuts. He kept out of harm's way with a rigid guard, an active
foot, and a head which was swift to duck. And yet he contrived to
present the same appearance of a man who is hopelessly done. The Master,
weary from his own shower of blows, and fearing nothing from so weak a
man, dropped his hand for an instant, and at that instant Montgomery's
right came home.
It was a magnificent blow, straight, clean, crisp, with the force of the
loins and the back behind it. And it landed where he had meant it
to--upon the exact point of that blue-grained chin. Flesh and blood
could not stand such a blow in such a place. Neither valour nor
hardihood can save the man to whom it comes. The Master fell backwards,
flat, prostrate, striking the ground with so simultaneous a clap that it
was like a shutter falling from a wall. A yell which no referee could
control broke from the crowded benches as the giant went down. He lay
upon his back, his knees a little drawn up, his huge chest panting. He
twitched and shook, but could not move. His feet pawed convulsively once
or twice. It was no use. He was done. "Eight--nine--ten!" said the
timekeeper, and the roar of a thousand voices, with a deafening clap
like the broadside of a ship, told that the Master of Croxley was the
Master no more.
Montgomery stood half dazed, looking down at the huge, prostrate figure.
He could hardly realize that it was indeed all over. He saw the referee
motion towards him with his hand. He heard his name bellowed in triumph
from every side. And then he was aware of some one rushing towards him;
he caught a glimpse of a flushed face and an aureole of flying red hair,
a gloveless fist struck him between the eyes, and he was on his back in
the ring beside his antagonist, while a dozen of his supporters were
endeavouring to secure the frantic Anastasia. He heard the angry
shouting of the referee, the screaming of the furious woman, and the
cries of the mob. Then something seemed to break like an over-stretched
banjo-string, and he sank into the deep, deep, mist-girt abyss of
unconsciousness.
The dressing was like a thing in a dream, and so was a vision of the
Master with the grin of a bulldog upon his face, and his three teeth
amiably protruded. He shook Montgomery heartily by the hand.
"I would have been rare pleased to shake thee by the throttle, lad, a
short while syne," said he. "But I bear no ill-feelin' again' thee. It
was a rare poonch that brought me down--I have not had a better since my
second fight wi' Billy Edwards in '89. Happen thou might think o' goin'
further wi' this business. If thou dost, and want a trainer, there's not
much inside t' ropes as I don't know. Or happen thou might like to try
it wi' me old style and bare knuckles. Thou hast but to write to t'
iron-works to find me."
But Montgomery disclaimed any such ambition. A canvas bag with his
share--one hundred and ninety sovereigns--was handed to him, of which he
gave ten to the Master, who also received some share of the gate-money.
Then, with young Wilson escorting him on one side, Purvis on the other,
and Fawcett carrying his bag behind, he went in triumph to his carriage,
and drove amid a long roar, which lined the highway like a hedge for the
seven miles, back to his starting-point.
"It's the greatest thing I ever saw in my life. By George, it's
ripping!" cried Wilson, who had been left in a kind of ecstasy by the
events of the day. "There's a chap over Barnsley way who fancies himself
a bit. Let us spring you on him, and let him see what he can make of
you. We'll put up a purse--won't we, Purvis? You shall never want a
backer."
"At his weight," said the publican, "I'm behind him, I am, for twenty
rounds, and no age, country, or color barred."
"So am I!" cried Fawcett; "middle-weight champion of the world, that's
what he is--here, in the same carriage with us."
But Montgomery was not to be beguiled.
"No; I have my own work to do now."
"And what may that be?"
"I'll use this money to get my medical degree."
"Well, we've plenty of doctors, but you're the only man in the Riding
that could smack the Croxley Master off his legs. However, I suppose you
know your own business best. When you're a doctor, you'd best come down
into these parts, and you'll always find a job waiting for you at the
Wilson Coal-pits."
Montgomery had returned by devious ways to the surgery. The horses were
smoking at the door, and the doctor was just back from his long journey.
Several patients had called in his absence, and he was in the worst of
tempers.
"I suppose I should be glad that you have come back at all, Mr.
Montgomery!" he snarled. "When next you elect to take a holiday, I
trust, it will not be at so busy a time."
"I am sorry, sir, that you should have been inconvenienced."
"Yes, sir, I have been exceedingly inconvenienced." Here, for the first
time, he looked hard at the assistant. "Good heavens, Mr. Montgomery,
what have you been doing with your left eye?"
It was where Anastasia had lodged her protest.
Montgomery laughed. "It is nothing, sir," said he.
"And you have a livid mark under your jaw. It is, indeed, terrible that
my representative should be going about in so disreputable a condition.
How did you receive these injuries?"
"Well, sir, as you know, there was a little glove-fight to-day over at
Croxley."
"And you got mixed up with that brutal crowd?"
"I _was_ rather mixed up with them."
"And who assaulted you?"
"One of the fighters."
"Which of them?"
"The Master of Croxley."
"Good heavens! Perhaps you interfered with him?"
"Well, to tell the truth, I did a little."
"Mr. Montgomery, in such a practice as mine, intimately associated as it
is with the highest and most progressive elements of our small
community, it is impossible----"
But just then the tentative bray of a cornet-player searching for his
keynote jarred upon their ears, and an instant later the Wilson Colliery
brass band was in full cry with, "See the Conquering Hero Comes,"
outside the surgery window. There was a banner waving, and a shouting
crowd of miners.
"What is it? What does it mean?" cried the angry doctor.
"It means, sir, that I have, in the only way which was open to me,
earned the money which is necessary for my education. It is my duty,
Doctor Oldacre, to warn you that I am about to return to the University,
and that you should lose no time in appointing my successor."
THE END
* * * * *
Transcriber Notes:
page 44 Original: "Montgomery looked askance
Replaced: Montgomery looked askance
Unchanged:
page 60 Original: "Break away! Break away?" cried the referee.
retained the ?, perhaps ! intended.
page 66 a _Deux ex machina_ at so dramatic a moment.
perhaps intended Deus - left as clearly printed