"Keep your eye peeled, Frank," he advised. "You know what Rabig is and the way he feels toward you. This is just a scheme of his to get even. He isn't coming up here for a friendly bout. He wants to show you up and knock you out if he can." "Oh, I don't know," said Frank, unconcernedly. "But if he tries on anything like that I'll give him all he's looking for." Rabig's second, Werner, one of the few friends he had in the regiment and who like himself was suspected of pro-German leanings, or at least lukewarmness in the service, took a long time in putting on his principal's gloves, and Bart, who was watching him with the eye of a hawk, stepped across the platform to witness the operation. "Let me look at those gloves," he demanded. "What's the matter with them?" growled Werner. "This is the matter with them," said Bart, as he pointed to the part just above where the knuckles came and where the stuffing of the glove had been kneaded aside so that a blow given would be almost like one with the bare fist. "None of that skin-tight business here," said Bart. He pounded the glove until it was normal and then handed it back, not going to his own corner, however, until they had been fastened on Rabig's hands to his own satisfaction. "That cur can't play fair in anything," he remarked to Frank as he came back. The bell rang and the men came from their corners toward the center of the platform. Frank extended his hand in the customary greeting but Rabig refused to take it. There was a stir in the audience. "Looks like a grudge fight," remarked one, with quickened interest. "It does on Rabig's part," assented his neighbor. "But if it comes to that I'm betting on Sheldon to trim him." The boxers sparred for a moment, Frank cool and smiling, Rabig surly and furious. Then Frank found an opening and landed a deft uppercut that shook Rabig from head to foot. He rushed at Frank like a mad bull but Frank cleverly side-stepped and countered with a left to the ear. Of the two Rabig was the heavier and in Camport had won a reputation as a rough and tumble fighter. Stung by Frank's cleverly planted blows, he threw what little science he had to the winds and the next minute the two were at it, hammer and tongs. "I'll do you!" Rabig panted, as he slugged right and left, vainly endeavoring to get through Frank's guard. "Go as far as you like," retorted the latter, emphasizing the retort with a left jab that nearly lifted Rabig off his feet. The bell that announced the end of the round found Rabig winded by his furious endeavors. But Frank, though breathing a little heavily, was serene and confident, as he returned to his corner. "I told you he was in dead earnest," said Bart, as his principal sat down on his stool for a minute's rest. "Look out for fouls, Frank. He'll do anything to down you."