Bump! Twenty-five seconds only of this round had gone when Darrin landed
his right fist with fearful force upon the high point of Pennington's
jaw.

Down went the larger midshipman again. This time he moaned. His eyes
were open, though they had a somewhat glassy look in them.

Dawley was counting off the seconds in measured tones.

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

Pen had struggled to rise to his feet, but sank back with a gasp of
despair and rage.

"Mr. Pennington loses the count and the fight," announced Referee
Remington coolly. "I don't believe we're needed here, Dawley. The
seconds can handle the wreck. Come along."

As the two officials of the meeting hustled out of the barn, Dalzell
gave his attention to helping his chum, while Farley went over to offer
his services in getting the vanquished midshipman into shape.

"There were times when I could have closed both of Pennington's eyes,"
murmured Dave to Dan. "But I didn't want to give him any disfiguring
marks that would start questions on board ship."

"You had him whipped from the start," murmured Dan confidently, as he
sprayed, then rubbed Dave's chest and arms.

"Maybe, but I'm not so sure of that," rejoined Darrin. "That fellow