"Take your places, gentlemen," ordered the referee quickly. "Are you ready, gentlemen?" "Yes," came from both principals. "Time!" Both men had their guards up. As the word left the referee's lips each tried two or three passes which the other blocked. Midshipman Pennington was trying to take his opponent's "measure." Then Dave ducked, darted, dodged and wheeled about. Pennington had to follow him, and it made the latter angry. "Stand up and fight, can't you," hissed Pen. "Silence during the rounds, Mr. Pennington," admonished the referee quietly. "Let the officials do all the talking that may be necessary." Dave, as he dodged again, and came up unscathed, grinned broadly over this rebuke. That grin made Pen angrier than anything else could have done. "I'll wipe that grin off his face!" muttered Pennington angrily. And this very thing Pennington tried hard to do. He was quick on his own feet, and for a few seconds he followed the dodging Darrin about, raining in blows that required all of Dave's adroitness to escape. Dave's very success, however, made his opponent all the angrier. From annoyance, followed by excessive irritation, Pennington went into almost blind rage--and the man who does that, anywhere in life, must always pay for it. Suddenly Dave swung his right in on the point of Pen's chin with a force that jolted the larger midshipman. As part of the same movement, Darrin's left crashed against Pennington's nose. Then, out of chivalry, Dave dropped back, to give Pen a few moments, in case he needed them, to get his wits back. "Time!" roared Dawley, and Pennington's seconds pounced upon him and bore him away to his corner. "Now I know how that fellow Darrin wins his fights," growled Pennington in an undertone. "He keeps on running away until he has the other man gasping for breath. Then Darrin jumps in and wins." "The method doesn't much matter," commented Briggs dryly, as he and Decker worked over their man. "It's the result that counts. Rush Darry into a tight corner, Pen, and then slam him hard and sufficiently." "Thanks, fellows; now I'm all right for the second round." muttered Midshipman Pennington. In a few seconds more Dave and his opponent were hard at work. Dave still used his footwork, and most cleverly. Yet, wherever he went, Pen followed him nimbly. It didn't look so one sided now. Then Pennington, at last, managed to deliver one blow on Darrin's right short ribs. It took a lot of Dave's spare wind; he raced about, seeking to regain his wind before allowing close quarters. But at last Pennington closed in again, and, after a swift feint, tried to land the same short-rib blow. Darrin was watching, and blocked. Then, his temples reddening with anger, Dave swung in a huge one that crashed in under Pennington's right ear. "Time!" shouted Dawley, just as Pen went to the floor in a heap. That saved the larger midshipman from having to take the count. His seconds had him ready at the call for the third round.