ick's waiting
left caught him a staggering one on the nose that toppled him
over backwards to the ground.

"One, two, three-----" began the timekeeper, but suddenly broke
off, to call time.

"Prescott, you're a bird!" declared Ben Badger, exultantly, as
he led his man away.

"I wouldn't have gone for him so hard," muttered Dick. "But the
fellow started to get nasty with his mouth. Then it was time
to let him have it."

Frank Thompson went over to Ripley, to see whether the latter
wanted to continue the fight.

"That mucker took an unfair advantage of me, hitting me when I was
getting up," grumbled Fred, who now looked a good deal battered.

"Prescott was right within the rules," declared Thompson. "You
would have done the same thing if you had had the chance."

Fred growled something under his breath.

"Are you coming back to the ring?" demanded the referee.

Ripley hesitated. The yellow streak was strong in him, but he
dreaded letting the others see it.

"I'd rather finish this up some other day," he proposed.

"You know you can't do that," retorted Thompson, disgustedly.
"You either have to come up to the scratch, or admit yourself
beaten."

"Admit myself beaten---by that mucker?" gasped Ripley, turning
livid.

"Then come up at the call of time," directed Thompson, and strode
back to the battle ground.

The timekeeper called. Dick Prescott returned to his ground.
Ripley stood back, leaning against a tree. He tried hard to
look dignified, but one glance at his nose and eyes was enough
to spoil the effect.

"Coming, Ripley?" demanded Thompson.

"Brace up, man, unless you want to admit your thrashing," urged
Ted Butler.

"I'll attend to that mucker when I feel like it," growled Fred
Ripley.

The form of the remark was unfortunate for the one who made it,
for it caused one of the freshman class to call out exultantly:

"He sure doesn't feel like it just now. Look at him!"

"Come, if you don't hurry in you've get to admit the beating,"
muttered Ted Butler.

Ripley's reply being only a snort, Butler suddenly drew forth
his handkerchief, rolling it rapidly into a ball.

"In default of a sponge," called Butler, "I throw this up for
my man---I mean principal."

"Ripley being unable to come to the scratch, the fight is awarded
to Prescott," announced Frank Thompson.

"Whoop! Hoo-oo-ray!" The freshmen clustered about were wild with
excitement.

"You'll have a fine time squaring this