"If you're determined to fight," rejoined Hepson, who was the only first classman present, "then we don't want to stop the fight. We'll stay and see it pulled off fairly. But, Dalzell, do you really want to fight?" "I didn't want to," Dan answered. "But, now that Mr. Jetson has started it, it must go on until he's satisfied. Up with your hands, sir, and when you start in, I'll answer you." The visitors skipped back, in order to leave the combatants plenty of room for footwork. Since Jetson had heard definite announcement of the fact that he could not hope to be called to the Navy eleven, his inward flame of passion had burned up high. He was now ready to fight with all the force that there was in him. In the first few seconds his assault was so resolute that Dalzell was forced to give ground. As he slowly retreated and shifted, Jetson drove in more impetuously than ever. Midshipman Dan found himself at last in a position of advantage. "Now, hammer him, Danny boy!" advised; Farley, breathing deeply. "Silence among the spectators," warned Hepson in a low, stern voice. "Absolutely fair play, gentlemen, to both contestants!" Again the showering exchange of blows. Jetson, after his late rapid expenditure of force and nerve-energy, was now just the least bit confused. Dan landed on one ear, and then against his enemy's chin. Both were hard, dazing blows, though neither left a mark. Then an uppercut and Dalzell landed on Jetson's jugular. With, a gasp the fellow went down to the floor. "One, two, three, four--" Hepson began counting. "Don't bother with the count," begged Dalzell "I'll give him all the time he wants to get to his feet." Rap-tap-tap-tap! came a banging summons on the door, followed by Midshipman Joyce's voice demanding: "Are you in, Danny boy?" Swift as a flash Hepson and Farley leaped forward, fairly snatching Jetson, who was still half dazed, to his feet. In the same instant Page called out cheerily: "Come in under full steam, whatever craft is outside!" "Brace up? Jetson! Don't look silly or dazed,", warned Hepson, in a stern whisper. "That rap was the signal of the approach of the O.C." Farley was industriously brushing the signs of dust from Jetson's uniform. "I tell you, fellows," boomed Hepson's tranquil, earnest voice, "we've got to hustle every minute of practice time. Nothing else will give us a chance to win." "We haven't even a chance if Darry isn't soon back on the gridiron," argued Farley. "Oh, he'll be all right soon," broke in Dan Dalzell eagerly. Joyce had already stepped into the room, leaving the door open. Now, as though by instinct, the midshipmen seemed aware that the O.C., who to-day happened to be Lieutenant Cotton, U.S.N., was standing in front of the doorway gazing in. Instantly the middies came to the position of attention, looking straight ahead of them. "Good evening, gentlemen," greeted the O.C. "Is anything unusual going on?"