"Right," said Adair quietly, and knocked him down.
He was up again in a moment. Adair had pushed the table back, and was
standing in the middle of the open space.
"You cad," said Stone. "I wasn't ready."
"Well, you are now. Shall we go on?"
Stone dashed in without a word, and for a few moments the two might have
seemed evenly matched to a not too intelligent spectator. But science
tells, even in a confined space. Adair was smaller and lighter than
Stone, but he was cooler and quicker, and he knew more about the game.
His blow was always home a fraction of a second sooner than his
opponent's. At the end of a minute Stone was on the floor again.
He got up slowly and stood leaning with one hand on the table.
"Suppose we say ten past six!" said Adair. "I'm not particular to a
minute or two."
Stone made no reply.
"Will ten past six suit you for fielding practice tomorrow?" said Adair.
"All right," said Stone.
"Thanks. How about you, Robinson?"
Robinson had been a petrified spectator of the Captain-Kettle-like
maneuvers of the cricket captain, and it did not take him long to make
up his mind. He was not altogether a coward. In different circumstances
he might have put up a respectable show.
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