Dam approached him.

“Don’t let my point rest on your hilt, Sergeant,” he said.

“What’s the game?” inquired the surprised and suspicious Sergeant.

“My little trick.  I thrust rather than cut, you know,” said Dam.

“I’ll watch it, me lad,” returned Sergeant O’Malley, wondering whether Dam were fool or knave.

“Trooper Matthewson, get ready,” called the Corporal, and Dam stepped into the ring, saluted, and faced the Sergeant.

A brief direction and caution, the usual preliminary, and the word—­

“On guard—­Play” and Dam was parrying a series of the quickest cuts he had ever met.  The Sergeant’s sword flickered like the tongue of a—­Snake.  Yes—­of a Snake! and even as Dam’s hand dropped limp and nerveless, the Sergeant’s sword fell with a dull heavy thud on his head-guard.  The stroke would have split Dam’s head right neatly, in actual fighting.

“Stop,” shouted the referee.  “Point to Red.”

“On guard—­Play”

But if the Sergeant’s sword flickered like the tongue of a snake—­why then Dam must be fighting the Snake. Fighting the Snake and in another second the referee again cried “Stop!” And added, “Don’t fight savage, White, or I’ll disqualify you”.

“I’m awf’ly sorry,” said Dam, “I thought I was fighting the Sn——­”

“Hold your tongue, and don’t argue,” replied the referee sternly.

“On Guard—­Play.”

Ere the Sergeant could move his sword from its upward-inclined position Dam’s blade dropped to its hilt, shot in over it, and as the Sergeant raised his forearm in guard, flashed beneath it and bent on his breast.

“Stop,” cried the referee.  “Point to White.  Double”—­two marks being then awarded for the thrust hit, and one for the cut.

“On guard—­Play.”

Absolutely the same thing happened again within the next half-second, and Dam had won the British Troops’ Sword v.  Sword Dismounted, in addition to being in for the finals in Tent-pegging, Sword v.  Sword Mounted, Jumping (Individual and By Sections), Sword v.  Lance, and Tug-of-War.

“Now jest keep orf it, Matthewson, and sweep the bloomin’ board,” urged Troop-Sergeant-Major Scoles as Dam removed his fencing-jacket, preparatory to returning to barracks.  “You be Best Man-at-arms in the Division and win everythink that’s open to British Troops Mounted, and git the ‘Eavy-Weight Championship from the Gorilla—­an’ there’ll be some talk about promotion for yer, me lad.”

“Thank you, Sergeant,” replied Dam.  “I am a total abstainer.”

“Yah! Chuck it,” observed the Sergeant-Major.

Of no interest to Women nor modern civilized Men.

The long-anticipated hour had struck, the great moment had arrived, and (literally) thousands of British soldiers sat in a state of expectant thrill and excited interest, awaiting the appearance of the Gorilla (Corporal Dowdall of the 111th Battery, Royal Garrison Artillery—­fourteen stone twelve) and Trooper Matthewson (Queen’s Greys—­fourteen stone) who were to fight for the Elliott Belt, the Motipur Cup, and the Heavy-Weight Championship of India.