Presently Bayliss, considerably battered, though not as severely
punished as Dodge had been, went down to his knees, nor would
he rise.

"Going to get up and go on?" demanded Darry, pausing before him.
"Or do you quit?"

Bayliss, breathing hard, did not answer.

"What you need here," declared the farmer, stepping forward and
puffing slowly at his pipe, "is a referee. I'll take the job.
Bayliss, if you believe that you can do anything more, then the
place for you is on your feet. I'll give you until I count five."

Deliberately the farmer counted, but Bayliss remained on his knees.

"Bayliss loses," announced the farmer. "Not that I believe he
ever had much in the fighting line to lose, but he loses."

"I'll wait five minutes for him," offered Darry. "By that time
he'll be in shape to go on again."

"He's in good enough shape now," declared the self-appointed referee.
"The point is that Mr. Bayliss hasn't any liking for boxing.
He's the kind of young man that finds croquet strenuous enough!"

The four recent combatants now had some repairing to do. Dick
and Dave were attended by their own friends. The farmer offered
to help Bert Dodge ease his bruises. Greg made a tender of his
services to Bayliss, but was gruffly repulsed.