Just at this crisis a dozen or so of the Templars entered the gate, and, seeing at a glance the belligerent status of Conway and myself, dropped bat and ball, and rushed to the spot where we stood.
"Is it a fight ?" asked Phil Adams, who saw by our freshness that we had not yet got to work.
"Yes, it's a fight," I answered, "unless Conway will ask Wallace's pardon, promise never to hector me in future--and put back my hair!" This last condition was rather a staggerer.
"I sha'n't do nothing of the sort," said Conway, sulkily.
"Then the thing must go on," said Adams, with dignity.

"Rodgers, as I understand it, is your second, Conway?
Bailey, come here.

What's the row about ?" "He was thrashing Binny Wallace." "No, I wasn't," interrupted Conway; "but I was going to because he knows who put Meeks's mortar over our door.

And I know well enough who did it; it was that sneaking little mulatter!" pointing at me.
"O, by George!" I cried, reddening at the insult.
"Cool is the word," said Adams, as he bound a handkerchief round my head, and carefully tucked away the long straggling locks that offered a tempting advantage to the enemy.

"Who ever heard of a fellow with such a head of hair going into action!" muttered Phil, twitching the handkerchief to ascertain if it were securely tied.