Midshipman
Quimby started to follow up his advantage. In another moment,
however, he was backing away with a cut lip.

"There's something to wipe off your own face," suggested Dan,
grinning harder than ever.

Stung, Mr. Quimby made strenuous efforts to pay back with worse coin.
He was still trying when the call of time sounded.

"You didn't half go in after him, Dan," murmured Dave, as the latter
and Rollins quickly toweled their man in the corner.

"If I had, I might have gotten more of him than I wanted," muttered
Dalzell.

"Why don't you mix it up faster?" queried Rollins.

"Because," proclaimed Midshipman Dan, "I don't want to fight or
get hurt. I'm doing this sort of thing just for exercise, you
understand."

Then they were called into the second round. Quimby, in the meantime,
had been counseled to crowd the plebe hard, and to hammer him when
he got close.

So, now, Quimby started in to do broadside work. At last he scored
fairly, hitting Dalzell on the nose and starting the flow.

But, within ten seconds, Dalzell had return the blow with interest.
After that things went slowly for a few more seconds, when time
was again called.

"That plebe isn't exactly easy," Quimby confided to his seconds.
"I've got to watch him, and be cautious. I haven't seen a plebe as
cool and ready in many a day."

In the third round Quimby was perhaps too cautious. He did not
rush enough. Dan, on the other hand, bore down a bit. Just before
the call of time he closed Quimby's right eye.

Both Quimby and his seconds were now dubious, though the youngster's
fighting pluck and determination ran as high as ever.

"I've got to wipe him off the field in this fourth round, or go to
the grass myself," murmured Quimby, while his seconds did the best
they could with him.

"I'm warming up finely," confided Dan to Dave and Rollins.

"You're coming through all right," nodded Dave confidently. "At
present you have twice as much vision as the other fellow, and only
a fraction as much of soreness. But keep on the watch to the end."

For the first twenty seconds of the new round it was Quimby who
was on the defensive. Dan followed him up just warmly enough
to be annoying.

At last, however, Dan straightened, stiffened, and there was a
quick flash in his eyes.

He saw his chance, and now he jumped in at it. His feint reached
for Quimby's solar plexus, but the real blow, from Dalzell's right
hand, hammered in, all but