falling.... From afar came the babble of the others as to what they
might think they were going to be; for himself he could be anything,
scale any heights, beat triumphantly through all things. He felt the
swelling earth bearing him up, as though he were one with its strength
and fertility, one with its irresistible march. He felt the sword-chill
breath of the spring wind on his brow; he saw the first faint pricking
of the earliest stars, and the rolling up of the sky as the great cumuli
massed overhead; and he felt as though he too could sweep into them and
be of them. Life was before him for him to do what he liked with. He
laughed aloud and rolled over a little, flinging his arms wide. A
stinging blow came on his cheek, and he heard Doughty's angry voice
crying, "Take that!" and a sharp sound from Hilaria.

"Well, what's he want to laugh at me for? I'll teach him--" came
Doughty's voice again. Ishmael had scrambled up; his blood was still
singing in his veins; he felt no dismay at the sight of the looming
Doughty.

"Don't be an ass, Doughty," said Polkinghorne sharply; "and if you can't
help being a cad, wait till Miss Eliot isn't present."

"Oh, never mind about me; I want to see you _kill_ him, Ishmael!" cried
Hilaria viciously.

"Well, why did you want to laugh when Doughty said that?" asked
Polkinghorne judicially.

"Said what?" asked Ishmael.

"Why, that he was just going to be a gentleman."

"Did he say that? I didn't hear him. But I should have laughed if I had...."

Killigrew stared at his friend in amazement. Was this the Ishmael who a
half-hour or so ago had put forward the theory that one should never
fight till one was sure of winning? He did not know that the wine in
Ishmael's brain at that minute was the headiest in the world, the most
sure in imparting sense of power--the sudden up-welling of the joy of
life. It was Doughty's turn to laugh now; he seemed suddenly to have
recovered poise.

"I forgot--you'd be such a good judge of a gentleman--with your family
history," he said.

The singing went from Ishmael's being, but something hot came up through
him like a tide. "What d'you mean by that?" he asked, and still in his
passionate dislike of the other did not see what was opening at his
feet.

"Only that a fellow with a pack of bastard brothers must have had just
the father and mother to teach him...."

There was a moment's silence; the boys all felt intensely uncomfortable,
not so much