"

"Cool!" grimaced Cadet Holmes. "Why, I guess I am everywhere
except in my punished eye. That feels like a red-hot furnace!"

As the men faced each other for the fourth round Greg, through
his right eye, saw a look of intent in Butler's eye that meant
business. The yearling was now going in, in earnest, to wind up
this affair.

"I'm going to get something out of this!" grumbled Cadet Holmes
inwardly.

As Butler came at him, swift and terrible, Cadet Holmes formed
the purpose of playing off a block to be followed by a direct and
sure assault on one of his man's eyes. And presently the chance
came. Greg bounced in so resolutely over Butler's right eye that the
yearling staggered back, fighting for sight and wind. But Greg,
who knew it was thrash-or-be-thrashed, was merciless. He leaped
about, harassing his opponent, then sent in a well-calculated blow
that closed the yearling's other eye.

Butler reeled. It looked as though he must go down. Greg,
unwilling to take any unfair advantage, paused a second. Then,
realizing that Mr. Butler was keeping his feet, Cadet Holmes
leaped in, feinting blow after blow with such speed that the
yearling was dazed. Suddenly, with a new feint for the yearling's
solar plexus, Holmes suddenly raised, driving in hard on the left
side of Mr. Butler's jaw. That sent the dazed man down. He went
in a heap, then unfolded and lay limp.

Time-keeper Connors began to count, though perfunctorily. There
was no reason to believe that Mr. Butler could wake up in time,
and he didn't. Mr. Plympton, in a cold tone, awarded the fight to
the plebe. Butler's seconds went to work over him, but it was some
minutes before they brought him back to consciousness. By this
time Greg was dressed.

"Mr. Butler," murmured Greg, bending over his at last conscious
opponent, "I would like to say a word--now. That business with the
cord was a trick put up on me, not on you. You were only the
incidental victim. I had no willing or knowing part in your
discomfiture. I tell you this now, sir, after having proved that I
wasn't afraid merely of being called out. I am tremendously sorry
that this fight had to be."

"You held up your end all right, mister," was the yearling's concise
tribute.

Then, after sending Anstey back to camp with the officials, Dick
accompanied Greg to cadet hospital, where the latter's eye was
dressed and "painted out" as much as could be.

Both of Mr. Butler's seconds were required to he