ith vigorous
breathing.

"I feel just about as good as ever," he declared, nodding cheerily to
his seconds.

"Get off that blouse, then," ordered Midshipman Farley, after a glance
at his watch. "We've two minutes left out of the fifteen."

"I'll go forward at the scratch, then," nodded Dave.

Treadwell, in the meantime, had pulled on his outer clothing and had
stood moodily by, watching Dave's more workmanlike preparations with a
disdainful smile.

"I'll get the fellow going quickly this time," Mr. Treadwell told
Conners. "As soon as I get him going I'll dive in with a punch that will
wind up the matter in short order. I've planned to do considerable
reviewing of navigation to-night."

"I hope you have your wish," murmured Conners.

"What do you mean?"

"Just what I said."

"Do you think I'm going to have any trouble whatever about finishing up
that touge youngster!" demanded Tread well sarcastically.

"No; I don't imagine you will. But at the same time, Tread, I tell you I
don't care about having enemies among fellows who come back as swiftly,
strongly and as much like a bulldog as Darry does."

Seeing Dave pull off his blouse, Treadwell slowly removed his own
clothing above the waist.

"Rub me down along the arms a bit," said Midshipman Treadwell, after he
had exercised his arms a moment.

"I reckon we'd better," nodded Conners. "You must have got stiff from
standing still after the late mix-up."

"No kinks but what will iron out at once," chuckled Treadwell. "I'll
show you as soon as I get in action."

His two seconds rubbed him down loyally.

"Are you ready, gentlemen?" called Midshipman Edgerton.

Both men stepped quickly forward, but all of the onlookers thought they
saw rather more spring in Dave Darrin than in his more bulky opponent.

The preliminaries were announced in a few words.

Of course, there was no handshaking.

"Time!" sounded the call.

Dave Darrin quickly proved to be so full of vigor that Treadwell lay
back on the defensive after the first two or three passes. Dave followed
him right up with vim.

Yet, for the first forty seconds of the round no real damage was done on
either side. Then:

Bump!

"O-o-oh!"

That cry came simultaneously from Treadwell and from all the spectators.

Dave's right fist had landed crushingly on the top classman's left eye,
almost instantly closing that organ.

Darrin leaped nimbly back, both from a chivalrous impulse to give
Treadwell