d high and angry words are
being bandied about; "It's all fair,"--"It isn't"--"No hugging": the
fight is stopped. The combatants, however, sit there quietly, tended by
their seconds, while their adherents wrangle in the middle. East can't
help shouting challenges to two or three of the other side, though he
never leaves Tom for a moment, and plies the sponges as fast as ever.

The fact is, that at the end of the last round, Tom seeing a good
opening, had closed with his opponent, and after a moment's struggle had
thrown him heavily, by the help of the fall he had learned from his
village rival in the vale of White Horse. Williams hadn't the ghost of a
chance with Tom at wrestling; and the conviction broke at once on the
slogger faction, that if this were allowed their man must be licked.
There was a strong feeling in the school against catching hold and
throwing, though it was generally ruled all fair within certain limits;
so the ring was broken and the fight stopped.

The school-house are overruled--the fight is on again, but there is to
be no throwing; and East in high wrath threatens to take his man away
after the next round (which he don't mean to do, by the way), when
suddenly young Brooke comes through the small gate at the end of the
chapel. The school-house faction rush to him. "Oh, hurra! now we shall
get fair play."

"Please, Brooke, come up, they won't let Tom Brown throw him."

"Throw whom?" says Brooke, coming up to the ring. "Oh! Williams, I see.
Nonsense! of course he may throw him if he catches him fairly above the
waist."

Now, young Brooke, you're in the sixth, you know, and you ought to stop
all fights. He looks hard at both boys. "Anything wrong?" says he to
East, nodding at Tom.

"Not a bit."

"Not beat at all?"

"Bless you, no! heaps of fight in him. Ain't there, Tom?"

Tom looks at Brooke and grins.

"How's he?" nodding at Williams.

"So, so; rather done, I think, since his last fall. He won't stand above
two more."

"Time's up!" the boys rise again and face one another. Brooke can't find
it in his heart to stop them just yet, so the round goes on, the slogger
waiting for Tom, and reserving all his strength to hit him out should he
come in for the wrestling dodge again, for he feels that that must be
stopped, or his sponge will soon go up in the air.

And now another newcomer appears on the field, to-wit, the under-porter,
with his long brush and great wooden receptacle for dust