cond round Prescott thought he
saw his chance. Feinting with his left, he drove in a hook with
his right, aimed for Bert's nose.

It touched, instead, on the lip, not a hard blow, but a tantalizing
one. As the men drew back at the call of time a blotch of red
was seen on Bert's lower lip. When he came back for the third
round, that lip was puffing fast.

"Third round, time!"

Again Bert Dodge started in with his heavy body tactics. But
this time Dick himself changed the style. With swift, clever
foot-work he danced all around his now furious opponent.
Dodge could follow the swift style, too, however, and defended
himself, finally coming back with the assault.

Half way through the round Dick received a sharp tap on his nose
that brought the red. Stung, Prescott became only the cooler.
For some time he fought for the opening that he wanted, and got
it at last, though Dodge's guarding left prevented the blow from
landing with quite all the force with which it had been driven.

Dick's middle knuckles raked that already swollen lip, but the
lower knuckles landed against the tip of Dodge's jaw with a force
which, while not complete, nevertheless sent Bert to the floor,
where he lay on his side.

"One, two, three, four-----" began Maitland, his gaze on the slipping
second hand of his watch.

"Take the full count, Bert!" warned Dennison.

"Nine, ten!" finished Maitland.

In that instant Dodge was on his feet again, head down and working
with great caution.

"Time!"

The third round ended ere Prescott could put in any finishing
touches. Yet, under the skillful hands of his seconds, Dodge
came up rather smilingly at the call for the opening of the fourth.

There was almost murder in Dodge's eyes now. He felt that he
was the better man, and yet he had been getting slightly the worst
of it so far. But he would show them!

Yet, after forty seconds of this work, when Dodge had just let
fly a blow intended to land over Prescott's heart, his fist touched
only air and he lurched forward. In the same instant Dick swung
a smashing blow on Bert's left ear. Bert went down, lying there
like a log.

In the silence that followed the finish of the count, and the
referee's awarding words, Dick Prescott's voice broke in, as soft
and cool as ever:

"In fifteen minutes, Mr. Dennison, I'll be ready for _you_!"

CHAPTER XIX

MR. DENNISON'S TURN IS SERVED

Furlong sprang forward to protest.

"See here,