a chance to recover his steadiness and to save himself from
any sudden rush and clinch by his big opponent.

But Treadwell, standing with his guard up, showed no inclination to
follow the one who had just given him such punishment.

"Mix it up, gentlemen--mix it!" called Midshipman Edgerton impatiently.

At that command from the referee Dave Darrin sprang forward.

Treadwell seemed wholly on the defensive now, though he struck as
heavily as ever. Toward the end of the round Treadwell, having gotten
over the worst of the stinging from his eye, once more tried to rush
matters.

Whenever the big fellow's undamaged eye caught sight of the cool,
hostile smile on Darrin's face, Treadwell muttered savage words.

Some hard body blows were parried and others exchanged.

Both men were panting somewhat when the call of time closed the first
round.

"Darry, you nervy little rascal, waltz in and put that other eye up in
black clothes!" begged Page ecstatically, as he and Farley worked over
their principal.

Dave was ready quite twenty seconds before the call of time for the
second round.

Treadwell, however, took his full time in responding. At the last moment
he took another dab with the wet sponge against his swollen left eye.

"Time!"

With a suppressed yell Treadwell rushed at his opponent. Dave had to
sidestep to his own right, out of range of Treadwell, to save himself.

Then at it they went, all around the ring. Darrin had determined to
keep himself out of the way of those sledge-hammer fists until he saw
his own clear opening.

Four or five times Treadwell landed heavily on Darrin's ribs. The
younger, smaller midshipman was getting seriously winded, but all the
time he fought to save himself and to get that one opening.

It came.

Pound!

Darrin's hard-clenched left fist dropped in on Treadwell's right eye.

This time there was no exclamation from the bruised one.

Alert Dave was careful to give him no chance. Within a second after that
eye-closer landed Darrin struck with his right, landing on the jaw bone
under Treadwell's ear.

Down in a heap sank the top classman. He was unconscious before his body
struck the ground.

Wheeler counted off the seconds.

"--ten!"

Still Mr. Treadwell lay motionless.

"Do your best for him, gentlemen," begged Referee Edgerton, turning to
the first classman's seconds. "Mr. Darrin wins the second fight."

Dave, a satisfied look on his face, stepped back to his