But this did not content him; his blood was up, and he determined to attack the evil at its source.

He strode through his discomfited enemies straight into Brigson's room, struck a match, and said, "Brigson, get out of bed this instant." "Hullo!" grunted Brigson, pretending to be only just awake.
"None of that, you blackguard! Will you take a thrashing ?" "No!" roared Brigson, "I should think not." "Well, then, take _that_!" he shouted, striking him in the face.
The fight that followed was very short.

In a single round Montagu had utterly thrashed, and stricken to the earth, and forced to beg for mercy, his cumbrous and brutal opponent.

He seemed to tower above him with a magnificent superiority, and there was a self-controlled passion about him which gave tremendous energy to every blow.

Brigson was utterly dashed, confounded, and cowed, and took without a word the parting kick of ineffable contempt which Montagu bestowed on him.
"There," he said to the fellows, who had thronged in from all the dormitories at the first hint of a fight, "I, a sixth-form fellow, have condescended to thrash that base coward there, whom all you miserable lower boys have been making an idol and hero of, and from whom you have been so readily learning every sort of blackguardly and debasing trick.
But let me tell you and your hero, that if any of you dare to annoy or lift a finger at me again, you shall do it at your peril.