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crisis. Blunt did not come one day--afterwards he admitted his
deliberate intention--and through the tedious morning Whitey awaited the
interval between the spells with an ostentatious impatience. He knew
nothing of the scrapping lessons, and he spent the time in telling
Denton and the vault generally of certain disagreeable proceedings he
had in mind.
Whitey was not popular, and the vault disgorged to see him haze the new
man with only a languid interest. But matters changed when Whitey's
attempt to open the proceedings by kicking Denton in the face was met by
an excellently executed duck, catch and throw, that completed the flight
of Whitey's foot in its orbit and brought Whitey's head into the
ash-heap that had once received Denton's. Whitey arose a shade whiter,
and now blasphemously bent upon vital injuries. There were indecisive
passages, foiled enterprises that deepened Whitey's evidently growing
perplexity; and then things developed into a grouping of Denton
uppermost with Whitey's throat in his hand, his knee on Whitey's chest,
and a tearful Whitey with a black face, protruding tongue and broken
finger endeavouring to explain the misunderstanding by means of hoarse
sounds. Moreover, it was evident that among the bystanders there had
never been a more popular person than Denton.
Denton, with proper precaution, released his antagonist and stood up.
His blood seemed changed to some sort of fluid fire, his limbs felt
light and supernaturally strong. The idea that he was a martyr in the
civilisation machine had vanished from his mind. He was a man in a world
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