st,
nothing could be finer. Randall was twenty pounds the heavier, and slight
David staggered when the blows came home, yet always he came back. His
panting persistence, his determination to strike, were too much for the
other. He held back, and David came on; he drew aside, and David followed
him; he struck, and David without parrying came right through, and landed
blow after blow somewhere.

The men were yelling presently, here was so evidently grit against mere
muscle, spirit against flesh. Randall grew angry and hit hard, but he was
wild; he grew afraid and tried to clinch, but his rush was feeble. David
jabbed him repeatedly in the ribs, drew off, and for the first time in
the three rounds (the referee was just calling time) hit Randall
neatly--on the nose.

And Randall, in pain but not hurt (for the boy couldn't hit hard)
nevertheless believed himself finished. I think he wanted to stagger and
fall at full length, but he only succeeded in sitting down. Shout upon
shout upon shout! Then we of the squad took David, groggy with his own
efforts, rubbed him and fanned him and swabbed him, and finally walked
him off between us.

Knudsen said in my ear, "You were right. That was worth a thousand
dollars."

A fellow from another squad tried to be complimentary. "Well done, Lucy!"

Pickle, without any ceremony, pushed in between. "Cut that out! His name
is Farnham."

The chap was puzzled. "But you don't call him that."

"We know him better now," said Pickle. "We call him David."

And David, who had been leaning heavily on me, at the words stood
upright. He had been smiling with satisfaction; now he looked happy. He
put his arm over Pickle's shoulder as the other fellow walked away.
"Thanks, Pick, old man," he said.

Knudsen and Corder and I fell behind and shook hands. The name Lucy was
dead and buried.

David wouldn't go to bed; he sat contentedly on his cot, sopping liniment
on a bruised lip, while fellows kept coming in from other squads, to
congratulate. After a while I went out, and seeing a little knot of our
men at the captain's tent, joined them.

The officers like to have the men come to them with questions, and after
repeated invitations issued at general conferences, the men have come to
believe it. So there is growing up a little habit of stopping at the
captain's tent for a question which often extends into an interchange of
ideas from which each side benefits. But they weren't on any technical