ur."

There was encounter after encounter, and close after close, during which
Syd generally went down first; but to Terry's astonishment the more he
knocked his young antagonist about the fiercer it made him, and at last
after delivering a successful blow full in Syd's chest he cried out--

"Take him away, Roy; I don't want to hurt him any--"

Terry did not finish his remark, for the second half of that last word
was knocked back by a bang right in the mouth, followed up by several
others so rapidly delivered that the champion of the midshipmen's mess
went down this time without a struggle.

"What do you think o' that, young gen'leman?" said Barney.

"Hurray!" whispered Bolton, bending down and squeezing his hands between
his knees; "he'll lick him."

"Eh? I thought he was your man."

"A beast! He's always knocking us about," whispered Bolton. "Hurray!
go it, Belt."

The adversaries were face to face again, and there was a breathless
silence.

"Had enough?" panted Terry.

"No, not half," cried Syd, rushing at him.

"Look at that! See his teeth?" said Barney. "That's British bull-dog,
that is. Master Syd never fights till he's made, but when he does--My
eye! that was a crack."

But it was not Barney's eye. It was Terry's, and the blow was so sharp
that the receiver went down into a corner, and refused to get up again,
while the subjects of the fallen king crowded round the victor eager to
shake hands.

"No, no," panted Syd; "don't: my knuckles are all bleeding. What's my
face like?" he said sharply to Roylance.

"Knocked about; but never mind that, Belton; you've won."

"I don't mind," was the reply; "and I don't want to win. Are you much
hurt?" he continued, going to Terry's corner, where the vanquished hero
was still seated upon the floor with little Jenkins, with much sympathy,
offering to sponge his face.

"I'm sorry we fought," said Syd, quietly. "Shake hands."

There was no reply.

"You're not hurt much, are you?"

Terry gave him one quick look, and then let his head down on his chest.

"You'll shake hands?" said Syd. "We can be friends now."

Still no notice.

"Shake hands, Mike Terry," piped little Jenkins. "You've licked
everybody, and it was quite your turn."

"Hold your tongue, you little wretch," hissed the other. "I owe you
something for this."

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the impish little fellow, beginning to caper about
with the sponge. "You touch me again and I'll