Dave followed him right up with vim.
Yet, for the first forty seconds of the round no real damage was done on either side.

Then: Bump! "O-o-oh!" That cry came simultaneously from Treadwell and from all the spectators.
Dave's right fist had landed crushingly on the top classman's left eye, almost instantly closing that organ.
Darrin leaped nimbly back, both from a chivalrous impulse to give Treadwell a chance to recover his steadiness and to save himself from any sudden rush and clinch by his big opponent.
But Treadwell, standing with his guard up, showed no inclination to follow the one who had just given him such punishment.
"Mix it up, gentlemen--mix it!" called Midshipman Edgerton impatiently.
At that command from the referee Dave Darrin sprang forward.
Treadwell seemed wholly on the defensive now, though he struck as heavily as ever.

Toward the end of the round Treadwell, having gotten over the worst of the stinging from his eye, once more tried to rush matters.
Whenever the big fellow's undamaged eye caught sight of the cool, hostile smile on Darrin's face, Treadwell muttered savage words.
Some hard body blows were parried and others exchanged.
Both men were panting somewhat when the call of time closed the first round.
"Darry, you nervy little rascal, waltz in and put that other eye up in black clothes!" begged Page ecstatically, as he and Farley worked over their principal.
Dave was ready quite twenty seconds before the call of time for the second round.
Treadwell, however, took his full time in responding.

At the last moment he took another dab with the wet sponge against his swollen left eye.
"Time!" With a suppressed yell Treadwell rushed at his opponent.

Dave had to sidestep to his own right, out of range of Treadwell, to save himself.
Then at it they went, all around the ring.