which greeted Tom each time he came up, very pale and bleeding, but
confident, against his antagonist.

At last an old sergeant came forward. "Come," he said, "there has been
enough of this. You had better stop."

"Will he say he was sorry he called me a liar?" Tom asked.

"No, I won't," Mitcham answered.

The sergeant was about to use his authority to stop it, when Tom said
to him, in a low voice:

"Look, sergeant! please let us go on another five minutes. I think I
can stand that, and he can hardly see out of his eyes now. He won't
see a bit by that time."

The sergeant hesitated, but a glance at Tom's antagonist convinced him
that what he said was correct. Mitcham had at all times a round and
rather puffy face, and his cheeks were now so swollen with the effect
of Tom's straight, steady hitting, that he could with difficulty see.

It was a hard five minutes for Tom, for his antagonist, finding that
he was rapidly getting blind, rushed with fury upon him, trying to end
the fight. Tom had less difficulty in guarding the blows, given wildly
and almost at random, but he was knocked down time after time by the
mere force and weight of the rush. He felt himself getting weak, and
could hardly get up from his second's knee upon the call of time.
He was not afraid of being made to give in, but he was afraid of
fainting, and of so being unable to come up to time.