"Stick a knife into me; do anything!" he said to his second, "if I go
off, only bring me up to time. He can't hold out much longer."

Nor could he. His hitting became more and more at random, until at
last, on getting up from his second's knee, Mitcham cried in a hoarse
voice, "Where is he? I can't see him!"

Then Tom went forward with his hands down. "Look here, Mitcham, you
can't see, and I can hardly stand. I think we have both done enough.
We neither of us can give in, well because--because I am a gentleman,
you because you are bigger than I am; so let's shake hands, and say no
more about it."

Mitcham hesitated an instant, and then held out his hand. "You are a
good fellow, Scudamore, and there's my hand; but you have licked me
fairly. I can't come up to time, and you can. There, I am sorry I
called you a liar."

Tom took the hand, and shook it, and then a mist came over his eyes,
and his knees tottered, as, with the ringing cheers of the men in his
ears, he fainted into his second's arms.

"What a row the men are making!" the major said, as the sound of
cheering came through the open window of the mess-room, at which the
officers were sitting at lunch. "It's a fight of course, and a good
one, judging by the cheering. Does any one know who it is between?"

No one had heard.