The onslaught was so sudden that Fisher, unable to guard himself, went down with a crash, the fall broken by the bodies of the spectators.
A roar, half laughter, half hysteria, went up.
Dana, clapping them on the shoulders, brought them back to the center of the ring and restored them to the position in which they had fallen. Fisher, plainly shaken up, immediately worked himself into a defensive position, recovering his breath, while Stover frantically sought some instinctive hold with which to turn him over.
Suddenly an arm shot out, caught his head in chancery, and before he knew it he was underneath and the weight of Fisher's body was above, pressing him down. He staggered to his feet in a fury, maddened, unreasoning, and went down again, always with the dead weight above him.
"Here, that won't do," he said to himself savagely, recovering his clarity of vision; "I mustn't lose strength."
All at once, before he knew how it had been done, Fisher's arm was under his, cutting over his neck, and slowly but irresistibly his shoulders were turning toward the fatal touch. Every one was up, shouting:
With a sudden expenditure of strength, he checked the turning movement, desperately striving against the cruel hold.
In a second he had reasoned it out. He was caught--he knew it. He could resist three minutes, five minutes, slowly sinking against his ebbing strength, frantically cheered for a spectacular resistance--and then what? If he had a chance, it was in preserving every ounce of his strength for the coming rounds.
"All right; you've got me this time," he said coldly, and, relaxing, let his shoulders drop.
Dana's hand fell stingingly on him, announcing the fall. He rose amid an angry chorus:
He walked to his seconds, angry at the misunderstanding.
"Here, I know what I'm doing," he said in short, quick breaths, forgetting that he, a freshman, was addressing the lords of creation. He was a captain again, his own captain, conducting his own battle. "I'll get him yet. Rub up this shoulder, quick."
"Why the deuce did you give in so easily?"
"Because there are two more rounds, and I'm going to use my head--hang it!"
"He's right, too," said the first senior, rubbing him fiercely with the towel. "Now, sport, don't monkey with him until you've jarred him up a couple of times!"