was a knockout blow.

Dave took plenty of time, within his rights, about leaping to his feet,
and in each instance got away from Treadwell's leaping assault.

Just after the second knock-down, time was called for the end of the
round.

"You'll get him yet, Darry," was Page's prediction, but he did not speak
as hopefully as before.

Farley, too, was full of loyalty for his friend and fellow-classman,
but he did not allow this to blind his judgment. Farley's opinion was
that Dave was done for, unless he could land some lucky fluke in a
knockout blow.

"Go right in and land that youngster," Treadwell's own seconds were
advising him. "Don't let him have the satisfaction of standing up to you
for three whole rounds or more."

"Do you think that little teaser is as easy as he looks?" growled
Treadwell.

"Oh, Darrin is all right at his own weight," admitted Midshipman
Conners. "But he has no business with you, Tread. You're quick enough,
too, when you exert yourself. So jump right in and finish it before this
round is over."

"I'll try it, then," nodded Treadwell.

Though he had not the slightest notion that he was to be defeated, this
big top classman was learning a new respect for Darrin's prowess. He
could thrash Dave, of course, but Treadwell did not expect to do it
easily.

For the first twenty seconds of the third round the two men sparred
cautiously. Dave had no relish for standing the full force of those
sledge-hammer blows, while Treadwell knew that he must look out for the
unexpected from his still nimble opponent.

"Lie down when you've had enough," jeered Treadwell, as he landed a
jolt on one of the youngster's shoulders and sent him reeling slightly.

Dave, however, used his feet well enough to get away from the follow-up.

"Are you getting tired?" Darrin shot back at his opponent.

"Silence, both of you," commanded Referee Edgerton. "Do all your talking
with your fists!"

Just then Treadwell saw an opening, and followed the referee's advice by
aiming a blow at Dave's left jaw. It landed just back of the ear,
instead, yet with such force that Dave sank dizzily to the ground, while
Treadwell drew back from the intended follow-up.

Farley and Page looked on anxiously from their corner. Midshipman
Wheeler, scanning his watch, was counting off the seconds.

"--five, six, seven, eight, nine--ten!"

At the sound of eight Dave Darrin had made a strenuous effort to rise.

Yet he had swayed, fallen