All eyes were immediately fixed on Vivian, and the faces of the Classics
were triumphant with smiles; those of the manager's particular friends,
the Romantics, we may call them, were clouded; but who shall describe
the countenance of Mallett? In a moment the school broke up with an
agitated and tumultuous uproar. "No stranger!" shouted St. Leger Smith;
"no stranger!" vociferated a prepared gang. Vivian's friends were
silent, for they hesitated to accept for their leader the insulting
title. Those who were neither Vivian's friends nor in the secret, weak
creatures who side always with the strongest, immediately swelled the
insulting chorus of Mr. St. Leger Smith. That worthy, emboldened by his
success and the smiles of Mallett, contained himself no longer: "Down
with the manager!" he cried. His satellites chorussed. But now Vivian
rushed forward. "Mr. Smith, I thank you for being so definite; take
that!" and he struck Smith with such force that the Cleon staggered and
fell; but Smith instantly recovered, and a ring was instantly formed. To
a common observer, the combatants were unequally matched; for Smith was
a burly, big-limbed animal, alike superior to Grey in years and
strength. But Vivian, though delicate in frame and more youthful, was
full his match in spirit, and, thanks to being a Cockney! ten times his
match in science. He had not built a white great coat or drunk blue ruin
at Ben Burn's for nothing!

Oh! how beautifully he fought! how admirably straight he hit! and his
stops quick as lightning! and his followings up confounding his
adversary with their painful celerity! Smith alike puzzled and punished,
yet proud in his strength, hit round, and wild, and false, and foamed
like a furious elephant. For ten successive rounds the result was
dubious; but in the eleventh the strength of Smith began to fail him,
and the men were more fairly matched. "Go it, Ranger! go it, Ranger!"