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" "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
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