The Master pivoted round upon his leg and was at him in
an instant.
"Yark him, lad! Yark him!" screamed the woman.
"Hold your tongue!" said the referee.
Montgomery slipped to the left again and yet again, but the Master was
too quick and clever for him. He struck round and got him full on the
face as he tried once more to break away. Montgomery's knees weakened
under him, and he fell with a groan on the floor. This time he knew
that he was done. With bitter agony he realised, as he groped blindly
with his hands, that he could not possibly raise himself. Far away and
muffled he heard, amid the murmurs of the multitude, the fateful voice
of the timekeeper counting off the seconds.
"One--two--three--four--five--six--"
"Time!" said the referee.
Then the pent-up passion of the great assembly broke loose. Croxley
gave a deep groan of disappointment. The Wilsons were on their feet,
yelling with delight. There was still a chance for them. In four more
seconds their man would have been solemnly counted out. But now he had
a minute in which to recover. The referee looked round with relaxed
features and laughing eyes. He loved this rough game, this school for
humble heroes, and it was pleasant to him to intervene as a _Deus ex
machina_ at so dramatic a moment.
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