a
sleeveless jersey and gymnasium trousers, the latter secured by a
belt. On the feet were rubber-soled shoes, as giving the best
chance for foothold on the damp ground.

The seconds began kneading the muscles of their principals, and
otherwise putting them in shape.

Mr. Butler yawned two or three times, appearing slightly bored.
Greg did not glance in the direction of his coming antagonist, but
Holmes's face was impassive, inscrutable. He did not appear
nervous. The moment had come, and Greg faced the situation
dumbly but absolutely without fear.

Then the principals were placed in their corners. Referee Plympton
stated the terms under which the meeting was to be held. Then at
the call, the two cadets leaped forward.

"Remember the moves we planned last night," had been Dick's last
whispered words.

On Butler's face rested a broad grin. He pranced about lightly,
swinging his hardmuscled arms. He intended to start with a bit of
easy nonsense, putting Holmes off his guard. Then the yearling's
plan was to make the affair a lesson in scientific mauling.

While Butler was dancing about, grinning, Greg, vastly more
watchful than he appeared to be, suddenly let his right out in a
feint, then followed with a left drive.

Butler all but struck this blow up, yet, as he darted back from the
parry, the yearling tasted blood from his own lower lip. That
taught him that even a despised little plebe like Mr. Holmes might
have his points of danger.

"Now, stand up and let us see how good your quick counter is,"
laughed the yearling, dancing about.

Butler's footwork was fine and fast, but Greg, watching him, only
pivoted about, putting up his hands with great speed. Thus Greg
blocked all but three or four lighter blows up to the time when the
time-keeper's interruption came.

"You won't need to do much in the rubbing line," whispered Greg,
as his seconds started in on him in his "corner." "My man, as yet,
hasn't any more than warmed me up."

"Look out for a smash on the nose, old fellow," warned Dick. "You
got first blood in a half-sort of way, by that cut on the other man's
lip. In this next round Mr. Butler will try to get the real first
blood."

"I hope so," muttered Greg dreamily. "For that one I believe I have
one of the best counters known."

Surely enough, in the beginning of the second round, Butler
feinted, then led off for a hard one on the plebe's nose. But the
delivery was the very one that Cadet Holm