“Just what I said.”

“Do you think I’m going to have any trouble whatever about finishing up that touge youngster!” demanded Tread well sarcastically.

“No; I don’t imagine you will.  But at the same time, Tread, I tell you I don’t care about having enemies among fellows who come back as swiftly, strongly and as much like a bulldog as Darry does.”

Seeing Dave pull off his blouse, Treadwell slowly removed his own clothing above the waist.

“Rub me down along the arms a bit,” said Midshipman Treadwell, after he had exercised his arms a moment.

“I reckon we’d better,” nodded Conners.  “You must have got stiff from standing still after the late mix-up.”

“No kinks but what will iron out at once,” chuckled Treadwell.  “I’ll show you as soon as I get in action.”

His two seconds rubbed him down loyally.

“Are you ready, gentlemen?” called Midshipman Edgerton.

Both men stepped quickly forward, but all of the onlookers thought they saw rather more spring in Dave Darrin than in his more bulky opponent.

The preliminaries were announced in a few words.

Of course, there was no handshaking.

“Time!” sounded the call.

Dave Darrin quickly proved to be so full of vigor that Treadwell lay back on the defensive after the first two or three passes.  Dave followed him right up with vim.

Yet, for the first forty seconds of the round no real damage was done on either side.  Then: 

Bump!

“O-o-oh!”

That cry came simultaneously from Treadwell and from all the spectators.

Dave’s right fist had landed crushingly on the top classman’s left eye, almost instantly closing that organ.

Darrin leaped nimbly back, both from a chivalrous impulse to give Treadwell a chance to recover his steadiness and to save himself from any sudden rush and clinch by his big opponent.

But Treadwell, standing with his guard up, showed no inclination to follow the one who had just given him such punishment.

“Mix it up, gentlemen—­mix it!” called Midshipman Edgerton impatiently.

At that command from the referee Dave Darrin sprang forward.

Treadwell seemed wholly on the defensive now, though he struck as heavily as ever.  Toward the end of the round Treadwell, having gotten over the worst of the stinging from his eye, once more tried to rush matters.

Whenever the big fellow’s undamaged eye caught sight of the cool, hostile smile on Darrin’s face, Treadwell muttered savage words.

Some hard body blows were parried and others exchanged.

Both men were panting somewhat when the call of time closed the first round.

“Darry, you nervy little rascal, waltz in and put that other eye up in black clothes!” begged Page ecstatically, as he and Farley worked over their principal.

Dave was ready quite twenty seconds before the call of time for the second round.