He was in the centre of a savage and dangerous mob. Then he
drew his watch from his pocket and held it dial upwards in his palm.
"In three minutes," said he, "I will declare the fight off."
They raged round him. His cool face and that aggressive top-hat
irritated them. Grimy hands were raised. But it was difficult,
somehow, to strike a man who was so absolutely indifferent.
"In two minutes I declare the fight off."
They exploded into blasphemy. The breath of angry men smoked into his
placid face. A gnarled, grimy fist vibrated at the end of his nose.
"We tell thee we want noan o' thee. Get thou back where thou com'st
from."
"In one minute I declare the fight off."
Then the calm persistence of the man conquered the swaying, mutable,
passionate crowd.
"Let him through, mon. Happen there'll be no fight after a'."
"Let him through."
"Bill, thou loomp, let him pass. Dost want the fight declared off?"
"Make room for the referee!--room for the Lunnon referee!"
And half pushed, half carried, he was swept up to the ring. There were
two chairs by the side of it, one for him and one for the timekeeper.
He sat down, his hands on his knees, his hat at a more wonderful angle
than ever, impassive but solemn, with the aspect of one who appreciates
his responsibilities.
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