getting up," grumbled Fred, who now looked a good deal battered.

"Prescott was right within the rules," declared Thompson. "You
would have done the same thing if you had had the chance."

Fred growled something under his breath.

"Are you coming back to the ring?" demanded the referee.

Ripley hesitated. The yellow streak was strong in him, but he
dreaded letting the others see it.

"I'd rather finish this up some other day," he proposed.

"You know you can't do that," retorted Thompson, disgustedly.
"You either have to come up to the scratch, or admit yourself
beaten."

"Admit myself beaten---by that mucker?" gasped Ripley, turning
livid.

"Then come up at the call of time," directed Thompson, and strode
back to the battle ground.

The timekeeper called. Dick Prescott returned to his ground.
Ripley stood back, leaning against a tree. He tried hard to
look dignified, but one glance at his nose and eyes was enough
to spoil the effect.

"Coming, Ripley?" demanded Thompson.