"Yet I've got to teach him both to respect my class and myself." On this point, as an official of the fight, Referee Edgerton did not feel called upon to express an opinion.
Farley, at his first glimpse of the waiting first classman, felt a chill of coming disaster.
"Page," he growled, "that huge top-classman makes our Darry look like a creeping infant." "Darry will take care of himself," retorted Midshipman Page in an undertone.
"Do you believe it ?" "I surely do." "But Treadwell looks a whole lot more vast now that he's stripped." "Darry is much smaller, I know; But Darrin is one of those rare fellows who don't know what it means to be whipped.

He can't be put out of business by anything smaller than a twelve-inch gun!" "I hope you're right," sighed Farley.
Dave, in the meantime, to keep himself from being chilled by the frosty air, was running lightly about, swinging his arms.
"Are you both ready, gentlemen ?" inquired Midshipman Edgerton, while Time-keeper Wheeler drew out his stop watch.
Both stepped to toe the scratch.
"Yes." nodded Dave.
"Ready!" rumbled Treadwell.
The referee briefly made the usual announcement about it being a fight to the finish, with two-minute rounds and two minutes between rounds.
"Time!" As Treadwell leaped forward, both fists in battery, Dave took a swift, nimble sidestep.

He felt that he had to study this big fellow carefully before doing more than keep on the defensive.
Now footwork was one of the fighting tricks for which Darry was famous.
Yet he had too much courage to rely wholly upon it.
Five times Treadwell swung at his smaller opponent, but each time Dave was somewhere else.
Despite his greater size, Treadwell was himself nimble and an adept at footwork.
Finding it hard, however, to get about as quickly as his smaller opponent, the first classman soon went in for close, in-body fighting, following Dave, half-cornering him, and forcing him to stand and take it.
Two or three body blows Dave succeeded in parrying so that they glanced, doing him little harm.
Then there came an almost crunching sound.

Treadwell's right fist had landed, almost dazing the youngster with its weight against his nose.
There was a swift, free rush of the red.

Darrin had yielded up "first blood" in the fight.
"I've got to dodge more, and not let myself be cornered," Darrin told himself, keeping his fists busy in warding off blows.
Then, of a sudden, Dave turned on the aggressive.