nutes,
Mr. Darrin?" asked Second Classman Edgerton.

"For my own part, I do," replied Dave quietly; "I leave the decision to
Mr. Treadwell's courtesy."

"Well, of all the freaks!" muttered Mr. Wheeler, as the two fight
officials walked aside to discuss the matter.

"Darry," demanded the agitated Farley, "are you plumb, clean crazy?"

"Do you know what we're fighting about, Farley, old man?" asked Dave
very quietly.

"No; of course not."

"It's a personal matter."

"O-oh!"

"It's a matter in which I can't accept an imitation whipping."

"But surely you don't expect to whip Treadwell in your present
condition?"

"I very likely shall get a thorough trouncing," smiled Darrin.

"It's madness," broke in Page worriedly.

"I told you it was a personal matter," laughed Dave softly. "I shan't
mind getting whacked if it is done up in good shape. It's only this
near-whipping to which I object."

"Well--great Scott!" gasped Page.

"Hush!" warned Farley. "Here comes Edgerton."

Midshipman Edgerton, looking very much puzzled, stepped over to Dave
Darrin's corner.

"Darrin," began the referee in a friendly tone, "Tread doesn't like the
idea of fighting you again to-night."

"Didn't he say he would?" demanded Darrin.

"Yes; but of course, but--"

"I hold him to his word, Mr. Edgerton."

"But of all the crazy--"

"I have my own reasons, sir," Darrin interposed quietly. "I think it
very likely, too, that Mr. Treadwell will comprehend my reasons."

"But he doesn't like the idea of fighting an already half-whipped man."

"Will it get on his nerves and unsteady him?" asked Dave ironically.

"Are you bound to fight to-night, Mr. Darrin?"

"I am, sir."

"Then I suppose it goes--it has to," assented Midshipman Edgerton
moodily. "But of all the irrational--"

"Just what I said, sir," nodded Page.

"I shall be ready, sir, when the fifteen minutes are up," continued
Dave. "But I am certain that I shall need all the time until then for
getting myself into first-class condition."

"Darry is a fool--and a wonder!" ejaculated Edgerton under his breath,
as he walked away.

"I'm sorry, Darry," murmured Farley mournfully, "but--well, beat your
way to it!"

"I intend to," retorted Dave doggedly.

Rubbed down by his seconds, Dave drew on his blouse, without a shirt.

Quitting the others, Dave walked briskly back and forth. At last he
broke into a jog-trot.

At last he halted, inflating and emptying his lungs w