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In fact, half the vice of the Slogger's hitting is neutralized, for he daren't lunge out freely for fear of exposing his sides. It is too interesting by this time for much shouting, and the whole ring is very quiet. "All right, Tommy," whispers East; "hold on's the horse that's to win. We've got the last. Keep your head, old boy." But where is Arthur all this time?
In fact, half the vice of the slogger's hitting is neutralized, for he daren't lunge out freely for fear of exposing his sides. It is too interesting by this time for much shouting, and the whole ring is very quiet. "All right, Tommy," whispers East; "hold on's the horse that's to win. We've got the last. Keep your head, old boy." But where is Arthur all this time?
Acting on the captain's advice I stopped in my own ground, playing all the Slogger's balls carefully back, and by this means managed to score two good leg hits in the fourth over, that sent up six to my account, in addition to three singles, which I had put on by careful watchfulness at first.
He reckoned himself the king of the form, and kept up his position with a strong hand, especially in the matter of forcing boys not to construe more than the legitimate forty lines. He had already grunted and grumbled to himself when Arthur went on reading beyond the forty lines. But now that he had broken down just in the middle of all the long words, the slogger's wrath was fairly roused.
He tried to bark and yell, but could produce nothing better than a scarcely audible whine. His sides were at the same instant grasped by a pair of powerful knees, while a rope was twisted round his neck, and the process of strangulation began. But strangulation was not the Slogger's intention. He had been carefully warned not to kill.
Their eyes met simultaneously, and opened to such an extent that if size had counted for numbers they might have done for four boys. "Hallo, Buttons!" was the Slogger's exclamation. "Hallo, Slogger!" was that of Robin. "Well, now, this is a pleasure! who'd a thought it?" said the conductor, reaching up his hand. "Is that for your fare or a shake, Slogger?" demanded Robin.
A very severe round follows, in which Tom gets out and out the worst of it, and is at last hit clean off his legs, and deposited on the grass by a right-hander from the Slogger. Loud shouts rise from the boys of Slogger's house, and the School-house are silent and vicious, ready to pick quarrels anywhere.
He now fights cautiously, getting away from and parrying the Slogger's lunging hits, instead of trying to counter, and leading his enemy a dance all round the ring after him. "He's funking; go in, Williams," "Catch him up," "Finish him off," scream the small boys of the Slogger party.
"There's the Slogger, now, he won't go into the 'ome on no consideration; says he wouldn't give a empty sugar-barrel for all the 'omes in London. But then the Slogger's a lazy muff. He don't want to work that's about it. He'd sooner starve than work. By consikence he steals, more or less, an finds a 'ome in the `stone jug' pretty frequent.
He now fights cautious, getting away from and parrying the slogger's lunging hits, instead of trying to counter, and leading his enemy a dance all round the ring after him. "He's funking; go in, Williams," "Catch him up," "Finish him off," scream the small boys of the slogger party.
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