I can handle myself," nodded Dave, "unless Farley proves to be
a veritable wonder."

"He certainly thinks he is," warned Rollins. "And a good many
of the fellows believe Farley to be the best man of the class
in this line of work."

"They won't think so much longer," returned Dan, as simply as
though merely stating a proved fact. "You see, Rollins, you never
had the great good luck to get your kid training with Dick & Co.
Our old crowd always went in to win just because we were blind
to the idea that there was any possible chance of losing."

"Did you always make good?" asked Rollins curiously.

"Just about always, I reckon," nodded Dan confidently.

"You must have been a wonder-bunch then," smiled Rollins.

Farley was ready, now, and coming forward with a second on either
side of him.

"Step in Dave old fellow." directed Dan.

Dave came forward to where Midshipman Tyson awaited them.

"Gentlemen," announced the referee, "this is to be a fight to
the finish, bare hands. As time is short you are urged to mix
it up briskly to a conclusion. The usual ring rules will guide
the officials of this meeting. Hand-shaking will dispensed with.
Are you ready?"

"Ready!" hissed Farley venomously.

"Ready," nodded Dave coolly.

"Time!"

With a yell Farley leaped in. He didn't want it to last more
than one round, if it could be helped.

The fury of his assault drove the lighter Darrin back. Farley
followed up with more sledge-hammers. He was certainly a dangerous
man, with a hurricane style. He was fast and heavy, calculated
to bear down a lighter opponent.

Before that assortment of blows Dave Darrin was forced to resort
to footwork.

"Stand up and fight!" jeered Farley harshly as he wheeled and
wheeled, still throwing out his hammer blows. "Don't play sneak
on the field!"

Dave didn't even flush. Trained with Dick Prescott at Gridley
High School, Darrin was too old a hand to be taunted into indiscretion.

In spite of his footwork, however, Farley succeeded in landing
upon him twice, though neither blow did much damage.

Then a third blow landed, against the side of Darrin's head, that
jarred him. It was all he could do to stand off Farley until
he recovered his wits enough to dodge once more.

Yet, all the while, Darrin was watching his chance.

CHAPTER VIII

THE MAN WHO WON

"This isn't a sprint!" yelled Farley, in high disgust. "Come back
here!" Dave did come back.

Wheeling