CHAPTER VIII

THE MAN WHO WON

“This isn’t a sprint!” yelled Farley, in high disgust.  “Come back here!” Dave did come back.

Wheeling suddenly, he struck his right arm up under Farley’s now loose guard.

In the same fraction of a second Dave let fly with his left.

Smack!

It wasn’t such a very hard blow—­but it landed on the tip of
Farley’s nose.

With a yell of rage Farley made a dive at his lighter opponent.

“Time!”

In his rage Farley tried to strike after that call, but Dave bounded to one side.

Then, turning his back, Darrin walked away to where Dan and Midshipman Rollins awaited him.

“Be careful, Mister Farley,” warned Second Class Man Tyson, striding over to him.  “You struck out after the call of time.  Had the blow landed I would have been compelled under the rules to award Darrin the fight on a foul.”

“First blood for our side!” cheered Dan, as he sprang at Dave with a towel.

In a few moments the young man had been well rubbed down, and now Dan and Rollins, on opposite sides, were kneading his muscles.

From over in Farley’s corner came a growl: 

“I came here to fight, not to go in for track work.  That fellow can’t fight.”

“Queer!” remarked Dan cheerfully.  “We hold all the honors so far.”

Quickly enough the call of time came.

Farley, the flow of blood from his nose stanched, came back as full of steam as before.

Dave’s footwork was as nimble as ever.  Speed and skill in dodging were features of Darrin’s fighting style.

Yet Farley caught him, with a blow on the chest that sent him to his knees.

Like a flash, however, Darrin was upon his feet, and Farley lunged at him swiftly and heavily.

In the very act of reaching his feet, however, Dave Darrin leaped lightly to the left.

With an exclamation of disgust Farley turned and swung again.

But Dave dropped down, then shot up under his opponent’s guard once more.

Biff!

This time an exclamation of real pain came from Farley, for the blow had landed solidly on his left eye, just about closing it.

A second time Darrin might have landed, but he was taking no chances under a steam-roller like Farley.

As Dave danced away, however, followed up by his opponent, bellowing from the sudden jolt his eye had received, he saw that Farley was fighting almost blindly.

Dan Dalzell now jumped in as close as he had any right to be.  He wanted to see what would happen next.

Nor was he kept long guessing, for Dave had slipped around on the blind side of his opponent.

“Confound you!  Can’t you stand up and fight square?” demanded Farley harshly.

Dave flushed, this time.  Dodging two of Farley’s blows he next moved as though about to retreat.