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On this present occasion Jerry Lawrence stood there exactly as I had seen him stand many times on the football field waiting for the referee's whistle, his thick short body held together, his mouth shut and his eyes on guard. He did not at first recognise me. "You've forgotten me," I said. "I beg your pardon," he answered in his husky good-natured voice, like the rumble of an amiable bull-dog.
Dave was down with the ball, with men of two teams piled above him. At the sound of the referee's whistle the mass disentangled itself. Dave and Jetson were at the bottom of the heap. Jetson was the last man up, but Dave still lay there. "Surgeon here?" called the coach's steady voice, devoid of excitement.
And the way that boy worked it was astonishing! Out of the corner of my eye I could see Izzy Baermann, and he wasn't looking happy. He was nerving himself for one of those quick referee's decisions the sort you make and then duck under the ropes, and run five miles, to avoid the incensed populace. It was this kind of thing happening every now and then that prevented his job being perfect.
The next morning McNiven appeared before Justice Palfrey, submitted his motion, and asked for an interlocutory decree. He left his paper with the clerk. During the afternoon Justice Palfrey looked over the referee's report and decided to grant McNiven's motion.
As the combatants rushed at each other again Kramer struck out two or three times; then clinched to save himself. "Break away, there!" admonished Edwards sternly. "Get off!" Again in that round Kramer clinched, despite the referee's sternest orders. "That's no way to meet a plebe, Mr. Kramer," cried Edwards disgustedly. After the second get-away Dick fairly danced around his man.
Hastings knew it, and purposely lingered just a trifle longer than he would have done had there been no mass of spectators hedging in the field on all sides in a solid bank of humanity. There was a shrill whistle, the referee's signal, and it called into life the twenty-two motionless figures that stood about the field.
"All I know, Genevieve, is that you feel good in the ring when you've got the man where you want him, when he's had a punch up both sleeves waiting for you and you've never given him an opening to land 'em, when you've landed your own little punch an' he's goin' groggy, an' holdin' on, an' the referee's dragging him off so's you can go in an' finish 'm, an' all the house is shouting an' tearin' itself loose, an' you know you're the best man, an' that you played m' fair an' won out because you're the best man.
Those English gentlemen went about their jobs of life and death with the same detached coolness as if their hunters were being saddled, or they were waiting for the referee's whistle in Rugby football. Their attitude was infernally exasperating; yet you couldn't help taking off your hat to their sublime nerve and indifference. I overheard a typical remark when matters were in this critical state.
Slapman, holding before her a shield, from which the arrows of calumny, aimed by her husband, fell harmless. Mr. Slapman had not shown himself in the referee's office since the investigation began. He had become convinced that he had lost the case into which his mad jealousy and his lawyer's advice had plunged him. Mrs.
There was a rush of black-clad girls, with resplendent violet "F's" ornamenting their breasts, another volley of cheers from the audience, then a shrill blast from the referee's whistle rent the air, the teams dropped into their places, the umpire, time-keeper and scorer took their stations, and a tense silence settled over the audience. The referee balanced the ball.
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