Both had the deep blue shadows of the day's growth of beard upon the
chin and, in that morbid yellow lamplight, their eyes were sunk in
hollows dull and black as charcoal.
"Now, who's attending to Morrison?" said the master of ceremonies.
Two men stepped forward out of the crowd.
"Well--get over there at that side. Got yer towels? And the men for
Tucker? Come on! Come on!"
He relegated them to their positions, and the little group of men
fell away, leaving the two antagonists alone in an open space.
"Now shake 'ands, gentlemen, please," said the master. "'Urry up for
Gawd's sake--I'm getting stiff, I am."
They made no motion of obedience, and he looked from one to the other.
Even from their window, they could see in his face the clouds of the
storm that was about to burst.
"Oh, I can understand now," exclaimed Traill, in an undertone. He
addressed the remark to Sally, but his face scarcely turned in her
direction. "You see, these chaps have a quarrel and they're going
to fight it out under rules and regulations. They've got this fellow
who knows something about boxing--at least I presume he does--to come
and manage the affair. Probably he knows nothing of the quarrel.
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