As he spoke, the ball flew out of the circle like a shell from a mortar.
Unfortunately it went directly over Mizzle's head. Before he could wink
he went down before them, and the rushing mass of men passed over him
like a mountain torrent over a blade of grass.

Meanwhile Mivins ran ahead of the others, and gave the ball a kick that
nearly burst it, and down it came exactly between O'Riley and Grim, who
chanced to be far ahead of the others. Grim dashed at it. "Och! ye big
villain," muttered the Irishman to himself, as he put down his head and
rushed against the carpenter like a battering-ram.

Big though he was, Grim staggered back from the impetuous shock, and
O'Riley following up his advantage, kicked the ball in a side direction,
away from every one except Buzzby, who happened to have been steering
rather wildly over the field of ice. Buzzby, on being brought thus
unexpectedly within reach of the ball, braced up his energies for a
kick; but seeing O'Riley coming down towards him like a runaway
locomotive, he pulled up, saying quietly to himself, "Ye may take it all
yer own way, lad; I'm too old a bird to go for to make my carcass a
buffer for a madcap like you to run agin."

Jack Mivins, however, was troubled by no such qualms. He happened to be
about the same distance from the ball as O'Riley, and ran like a deer to
reach it first. A pool of water lay in his path, however, and the
necessity of going round it enabled the Irishman to gain on him a
little, so that it became evident that both would come up at the same
moment, and a collision be inevitable.

"Hold yer wind, Paddy," shouted the men, who paused for a moment to