"Brace up, man, unless you want to admit your thrashing," urged
Ted Butler.

"I'll attend to that mucker when I feel like it," growled Fred
Ripley.

The form of the remark was unfortunate for the one who made it,
for it caused one of the freshman class to call out exultantly:

"He sure doesn't feel like it just now. Look at him!"

"Come, if you don't hurry in you've get to admit the beating,"
muttered Ted Butler.

Ripley's reply being only a snort, Butler suddenly drew forth
his handkerchief, rolling it rapidly into a ball.

"In default of a sponge," called Butler, "I throw this up for
my man---I mean principal."

"Ripley being unable to come to the scratch, the fight is awarded
to Prescott," announced Frank Thompson.

"Whoop! Hoo-oo-ray!" The freshmen clustered about were wild with
excitement.

"You'll have a fine time squaring this with the sophomore class,"
uttered Ted Butler, disgustedly. "Your class, Ripley, will be
sore enough, anyway, over losing the paper chase for the first