The Gaul arose, saluted, military fashion, with a clicking of heels. “Eet ees an honor, M'sieu!”
Greer stared around dourly. “Hogan?”
The Irishman leaped to his feet joyfully. “Oi'm wid ye, Misther Greer, and we'll bate th' long face off th' spalpeen, though I hate to hit Frinchy Dashalong, who is a good frind o' mine.”
All the men were up now circling about the principals.
“You don't have to do no fightin', 'Ogan,” explained Galton, “you simply stand by and 'old up for your man, an' 'elp fan 'im 'twixt rounds.”
“Rounds!” exclaimed the disgusted Irishman. “I thought they were choosin' sides for a free-for-all.”
Caradoc began methodically stripping to the waist and Greer followed suit. The Englishman presented his watch to Madden with a slight bow.
“If you'll be so kind as to keep time,” he suggested, “that's a neutral position. We fight four minutes and rest one.”
