Whereat Gosse cries aloud "bravo!" but Heathcote rages and shouts "belt!" and would himself spring into the fray, but Birket holds him back.
For Basil's eyes flash fire, and on the distant staircase stands already Cresswell, ready to stop the fight.

"A minute more," cries Birket, and the ring is still as when Etna, ready to burst, sleeps.
Then does Basil the son of Richard gather himself together and draw breath, while Culver, sure of his man, steps back for a mighty blow.
Dick sees it coming, and marks with a quick cool eye its fierce descent.
With half a step he avoids it, and as the solid form sways past he greets it right and left with well-aimed blows, which send it headlong to the dust two long yards distant.
Then, as when the swelling torrent breaks with one furious bound into the vale below, does the crowd burst into the ring, and, with mighty shouts, proclaim a victory to the light-footed son of Richard.

And, behold, as they do so, the towering form of Cresswell comes in view and bears down upon the scene.
Never did swarm of mice, spying Grimalkin afar, scamper quicker to their holes than do the youths of Templeton vanish before the distant view of Cresswell.

Victor and vanquished, knowing and unknowing--all but one, fade to sight, and ere the monitor can stop the fight, the fight is over.
Birket alone remained to meet the senior.
"Well," said the latter, "is it all over ?" "Rather," said the Fifth-form boy.

"I'm awfully glad you didn't come sooner." "Bless you," said Cresswell, "I've been watching it for the last five minutes, so I ought to know when to turn up." "You have?
Then you saw the finish?
The youngster made as neat a job of it as I ever saw." "It was rather pretty," said Cresswell.