Very often the schoolmaster’s language was Greek to the scholars, but his meaning was never in doubt for a moment.

‘Eight, Peterson, nine.’

Peterson slouched along a few yards, and kicked stupidly and resentfully at a loose board.

’Might ‘a’ got in there,’ he growled.  ’Why couldn’t you ‘a’ asked Moonlight?—­he don’ mind bein’ a sneak.’

But Mr. Ham was down on his knees removing the loose board, and for two or three minutes after crouched at the opening like a famished yellow cat at a rat-hole, awaiting his opportunity.  Meanwhile the fight under the school was being prosecuted with unabated fury.  Dick and Jacker gripped like twin bull-terriers, rolling and tumbling about in the confined space, careless of everything but the important business in hand.  Suddenly Mr. Ham made his spring, and a smart haul brought a leg to light.  Another tug, and a second leg shot forth.

‘Pull, boys!’ he cried.

Moonlight seized the other limb, and a good tug brought the two boys out into the open, still fighting enthusiastically and apparently oblivious of their surroundings.  Two soldier ants never fought with greater determination or with such a whole-souled devotion to the cause.  Over and over they tumbled in the dust, clutching hair, hammering ribs, and grunting and grasping, blind, deaf, and callous as logs; and Joel Ham stood above them with the familiar cynical twist on his blotched visage, twisting his cane and making audible comments, but offering no further interference.

’After you, my boys—­after you.  There is no hurry, Haddon, I can wait as you are so busy.  McKnight, your future is assured.  The prize ring is your sphere:  there wealth and glory await you.  Peterson, you see here how degraded that boy be comes who forgets those higher principles which it is my earnest effort to instil into the hearts and minds of the boys of this depraved township.  Cann, my boy, behold how brutalising is ungoverned instinct.’

But, wearying of the contest, the master made a sudden descent upon Jacker, and tore him from his enemy’s grasp.  The effort brought Dick to his feet, panting and still eager for the fray.  He could not see an inch beyond his nose, and for a few moments moved about fiercely, feeling for his foe.

‘D’you gimme best?’ he spluttered.  ’If you don’t, come on—­I ain’t done up!’ Then he flung the curtain of cobweb from his eyes, and the situation flashed upon him in all its grim significance.  For a swift moment he thought of flight, but the master’s grip was on his collar.

‘Blowed if it ain’t Jo,’ he murmured in his consternation, and yielded meekly, like one for whom Fate had proved too strong.

The schoolmaster’s white-lashed eyelids blinked rapidly for a second or so, and he screwed his face into a hard wrinkled grin of gratification.

‘Yes, Ginger, my lad,’ he said genially, ’Jo, at your service—­very much at your service; and yours, McKnight.  We will go inside now, boys.  The sun is painfully hot, and you are fatigued.’