earling
sooner or later, so I may as well take the dose now. Every plebe, I
reckon, has to have one fight, anyway, with a yearling. It's a part of
the system here, from all I can hear."

Rap-tap sounded at the door.

"Come in," called Dick, but the door opened just as he was calling.
Mr. Kramer, of the yearling class, stepped inside.

"Mr. Spurlock requests me to inform Mr. Prescott that he demands
a fight, at as early a moment as possible."

"My compliments to Mr. Spurlock, and I will meet him--here in
barracks, to-night, I hope. Mr. Holmes has consented to act as one
of my seconds."

"Very good, sir," nodded Yearling Kramer stiffly. "Mr. Holmes,
will you step out and discuss the matter with me now?"

"Yes, sir," responded Greg. He was gone ten minutes. When he
returned Greg announced:

"There's an extra room on the top floor of the next subdivision.
The fight will take place there at nine to-night. Mr. Anstey has
agreed to help look after your interests."

"All right, and thank you, old fellow," nodded Dick, as he turned to
pick up a book.

Greg gulped and quivered behind his chum's back.

"He doesn't seem excited, but I know that I am," muttered Cadet
Holmes. "The dear old fellow won't lose anything through
nervousness, anyway."

Dick went through his studies and recitations as usual that day. If
the stiff ordeal of the coming night carried any twinges for him, it
wasn't noticeable in his demeanor. Yet Dick knew that the news
had gotten thoroughly about among the cadets. He saw many of the
new plebes gazing at him wonderingly.

When they returned from supper that night and reached their room,
Greg was manifestly nervous--nervous enough for the pair of them,
in fact.

"Dick, do you--do you expect to win?" asked Greg at last.

"Against a man like Mr. Spurlock?" smiled Cadet Prescott, and
turned back to his study.

At a little after half past eight Mr. Anstey knocked on the door and
came in.

"How's your form, Prescott, old ramrod?" the Virginian demanded.

"Fine, I hope," replied Dick laconically.

Greg heaved an inward sigh.

"Poor old Dick," he told himself. "I hate to see him hammered
black and blue in a bare-knuckles fight like this one!"

CHAPTER IX

PLEBE PRESCOTT'S FIRST FIGHT

"We'd better get on hand early," advised Greg. "You want to take
plenty of time about stripping for the fight. It would be throwing
some of your chances away, Dick, for you to strip and prepare
hur