“Thank you very much. You have relieved my mind.” Dan made his way back to the forecastle where he found Sam waiting for him. “Well, how about it?” “It’s all right. I will meet him if the terms are satisfactory. Will you be my second, Sam?” “Of course. You do not have to ask that. I’ll go consult Kester’s seconds now.” Later on Sam rejoined his companion. “How is it going to be carried off?” questioned Dan. “The men are going to pick out a referee. You and Kester are to box with eight ounce gloves until the referee stops you, or either of you decide you have had enough. You will get a fair show, the boys say. They won’t stand for Bill’s punishing you brutally. They admire your pluck in meeting him. If you could thrash him, Dan Davis, I’d be willing to go to the brig again, and feed on bread and water for a month.” “I’m lucky if I do not get there myself,” grinned Dan. “When is it to take place?” “At seven bells this evening, half-past seven. There goes the bugle. We must get at our painting again.” CHAPTER XVII—PROVING HIS COURAGE The day continued rough, and, there being no further hope of planting a mine field, the work of cleaning ship was proceeded with. All hands forward were discussing the coming battle—the evening’s fun. They knew they would have it. None, however, doubted that Kester, in a regular match, would prove too much for his young adversary, Kester being the hero of so many successful battles. Those who had seen Dan handle the bully on the forecastle, however, predicted that the Battleship Boy would give a good account of himself, though they agreed that Kester was much the stronger man, and the more experienced of the two. As for Dan Davis, he appeared not to be troubling himself in the least about the coming battle. He went about his work cheerfully, ate his usual supper and, while the smoke lamp was lighted after supper, wandered about the forecastle chatting with his shipmates happily, without once referring to the coming contest. At a little after seven o’clock three jackies began stretching a rope about a portion of the deck on the starboard side, while two others were rigging some electric lights over the spot. Dan paused with hands behind his back, watching the work curiously. “You had better get ready,” suggested a tar. “The thing comes off sharp at seven bells.” “I have nothing to get ready.” “You want to put on your fighting togs, don’t you?” “What fighting togs?” “Your trunks.” “No. I’ll box as I am. I don’t have to go in like a professional pugilist.” “You’ll be at a disadvantage, then.” “That will be my lookout, thank you.”