I have a tougher proposition on my
hands."

Prescott sighed a trifle as he hastily undressed, placing his clothing
according to the regulations on the subject.

Just as he had finished taps sounded on the drum outside. Dick
turned off his gas, bounded into bed and lay there as the door
opened and the bull's-eye lantern of the subdivision inspector
flashed into the room.

"All right here, sir, or accounted for," Dick remarked to the
inspector, who hastily closed the door and hurried along on his
rounds.

True to the medical officer's promise Greg was discharged from
hospital the following morning, and permitted to report back to
full duty.

"What's this I hear, Dick, old ramrod?" Greg demanded as soon as
the chums were back in quarters from breakfast. "The news is
flying around fast that Mr. Spurlock is going to call you out."

"I expect that he is," Dick admitted ruefully, and then told his
chum all the details of the occurrence of the night before.

"Why, that doesn't strike me as fair excuse for a fight," Greg
muttered. "You explained and apologized."

"Mr. Spurlock wouldn't accept any apology."

"Just the same," argued Greg, "I don't believe you have to fight, in
this case. You can refuse, anyway, until the matter has been
examined into by the scrap committee of the yearling class. Now,
in view of the fact that you offered explanation and apology, I
don't believe that the yearling scrap committee can hold you to any
meeting with Mr. Spurlock this time. Let me handle this affair for
you, old ramrod."

"Greg," rejoined Dick, laying an affectionate hand on his
roommate's shoulder, "as long as I'm a new plebe I don't intend to
try to dig out of any fight that an upper class man demands from
me. Perhaps I could get the scrap committee to turn down Mr.
Spurlock's desire--but I don't mean to do anything of the sort. I did
all that I felt I could do consistently to stop the fight. Now it has
got to come off, or else it will be because Mr. Spurlock has
become more reasonable."

"He'll eat you up, that big fellow," mused Greg bitterly. "Mr.
Spurlock is at least fifteen pounds heavier than you. He has had a
year more of West Point gym work than you've had and he has the
reputation of being pretty nearly the yearling champion in the
ring."

"Of course I shall be thrashed," admitted Dick doggedly.
"However, that probably won't do me any permanent harm.
Besides, Greg, it's certain that I'll have to fight some y