bit. See what you can do," advised Furlong.

Dick went through a few irregular gymnastics.

"There's one good thing about old ramrod," declared Greg, in a
grinning undertone. "He's always ready, every minute of the time!"

Sharply, quickly, now, the combatants were brought face to face.

At the call of time, Dennison sailed in; Dick leaped forward.
Dennison was amused, more than half contemptuous over the easiness
of the work that he thought had come to him. But he felt in honor
bound to make the thing short. In the first place, he had to
avenge Dodge. In the second place, it would reflect upon himself
if Dennison allowed Prescott to string the battle out.

Some sharp cracks were given and taken, and many more dodged or
struck aside, when, up close to the end of the first round, Prescott
landed one between the big fellow's eyes that made him see stars.

Right in close Prescott followed, before his opponent could recover.

But the time-keeper's call prevented further doings.

"He's a mosquito, that's all," growled Denison to Nelson, in the
corner.

"Go in and swat him, then," grinned Nelson.

"Watch me!"

"Remember, then, that skeeters are dodgers."

"I'll saw him off, this time," grumbled the big fellow.

The call of time brought both men forward.

But Dick, the same quiet smile on his face, had planned new tactics
with Furlong during that minute's rest.

Now, Dick struck Dennison, not very heavily, on the right shoulder.
The next time it was a tap on the right chest.

Dennison strove to resent these indignities, but Prescott had
a definite plan of sustained assault, and the big fellow could
not read it in advance.

Twice Dick got caught by swings, though he was not sadly troubled.
He was lanching in, lightly, all over the less vital parts on
his man now. It did Dennison no harm, but the impudence of it
stung the big fellow.

"Time!"

"That's the b.j.-est skeeter I ever saw," grinned Nelson, as he
sprayed water over Dennison's biceps.

"You quit, Nelse!"

"All right. Don't get mad at me. Just catch Prescott on your
face and mash him!"

Again the men were called to the center of the room. They eyed
each other, "measured arms" in a few useless passes, then settled
down to business.

On Dick's part that business was to dodge about as before, touching
lightly here and there. Dennison's effort was to swing in one hard,
sufficient blow.

Just thirty-five seconds from the start of th