Rouse saw it coming. He would not be beaten. He struck out for himself gamely, missed, and hit again. Coles got in the way of that last one and received it on the chin, and Rouse tried to follow it up. He was half afraid that if Coles hit him again he would succumb. He drew away from the friendliness of the wall and tumbled against the table. They were out in the only clear space in the room again at last, and, facing Coles, he saw him preparing for a final blow; he put up his tired hands doggedly, leaned forward and struck at the dim shadow that was Coles, but the shadow slipped aside. Then he received a thudding blow in the mouth, heard himself give an unwitting sob of despair, felt himself falling. He was on the floor. He tried to get up. His limbs would not answer his behests. He kicked out uselessly with one leg trying to find support. At last he lay still.
When at length he came vaguely to his senses and looked round and about, Coles was sitting on the table staring at him sullenly.
He noticed with interest that Coles was marked about the face rather more heavily than he had supposed. Then he closed his eyes again. At last he struggled up. He looked for Coles politely, found himself standing with his back towards him, and turned.
His lips were swollen and difficult to control, so that he spoke with a certain indistinctness.
“Well,” he said, “I’d misjudged things. You can box and I can’t. You were too hot for me. If you don’t mind we’ll go on with this another day. And between now and then I’ll learn to box too.”
“You’re too late,” said he. “There isn’t going to be any boxing. It’s knocked on the head. That’s one of the thoughtful things you’ve done for the school, and I hope you’re satisfied.”
Rouse turned and went out. The corridor was deserted and he was grateful. He was not anxious to be seen coming out of Coles’ study like that. He went unsteadily down the stairs and out into the open. The cold wind cut at the broken skin bitterly, but now he held his head high and went almost proudly across the open towards Morley’s. He was not of the type that show their inner feelings to one and all. He knew that fellows of all kinds and conditions in Harley would be looking to him for a lead as to the correct behaviour at this final crisis, and he must set the right example. It was possible that they might think his face had suffered like that in the match, and in any case he was not going to look ashamed about it. Even when Coles began to boast, and people came to know that he had picked a quarrel with Coles and had got a hiding, there were only a very few in the school who would not understand that Coles could box and he couldn’t.