in an undertone. "He keeps on running away until he has the other man
gasping for breath. Then Darrin jumps in and wins."

"The method doesn't much matter," commented Briggs dryly, as he and
Decker worked over their man. "It's the result that counts. Rush Darry
into a tight corner, Pen, and then slam him hard and sufficiently."

"Thanks, fellows; now I'm all right for the second round." muttered
Midshipman Pennington.

In a few seconds more Dave and his opponent were hard at work.

Dave still used his footwork, and most cleverly. Yet, wherever he went,
Pen followed him nimbly. It didn't look so one sided now.

Then Pennington, at last, managed to deliver one blow on Darrin's right
short ribs. It took a lot of Dave's spare wind; he raced about, seeking
to regain his wind before allowing close quarters. But at last
Pennington closed in again, and, after a swift feint, tried to land the
same short-rib blow.

Darrin was watching, and blocked. Then, his temples reddening with
anger, Dave swung in a huge one that crashed in under Pennington's right
ear.

"Time!" shouted Dawley, just as Pen went to the floor in a heap. That
saved the larger midshipman from having to take the count. His seconds
had him ready at the call for the third round.

Now, suddenly, Darrin seemed to change not only his tactics, but his