“Davis, look them over,” said the referee, turning to the boy’s corner. “You say they are all right, do you not?” “Of course.” “Then why should I look at them? I am willing to take your word, I guess.” Nods of approval followed this announcement. “Put on your gloves.” Dan threw off his jacket, tossing it outside the ropes, turned up his trousers then sat down, extending his hands for the boxing gloves. “The youngster either doesn’t know what he is going up against, or else he has a lot of confidence in himself,” muttered one of the officers on the bridge. Both men tried their gloves by opening and closing their hands, after which they sat up, glancing at the referee expectantly. “This is to be a fair battle, mates,” began the referee. “The one who commits a foul loses the match, and maybe he might get worse if the foul is very foul. The rounds will be three minutes each, with a minute’s wait between. No striking in the clinches, but either party is free to hit his opponent in the breakaway. Do you both understand?” The men nodded. “I guess that’s about all, then. Are you ready?” “Yes,” answered Dan and Kester in chorus. “Shake hands and begin.” Bill Kester bounded to the center of the ring, but Dan rose methodically. Stepping slowly forward he extended his glove, grasping the hand of his opponent. No sooner had the lad dropped the hand than Kester launched a terrific blow at the Battleship Boy’s head. It missed by the narrowest margin. Dan felt the glove brush his cheek ever so lightly, but he had instinctively thrown his head to one side as he realized that it was coming his way, thereby escaping the blow. He danced awkwardly back out of the way. Kester sprang after him, aiming blow after blow at the head of his slender antagonist. How they missed knocking the boy out the spectators were unable to say, but somehow the lad managed to escape being hit, though his awkwardness made them groan in sheer sympathy for him. “It’s a shame. The boy doesn’t know how to fight,” cried a voice. “Let him alone. He’s got to learn some time. One punch won’t hurt him. It will do him good.” Sam, however, shrewdly suspected the reason for his companion’s poor showing. Dan was nervous. Sam knew that it was not because of the boy’s fear of the man before him. It was rather the consciousness that so many eyes were fixed upon him. It was a case of real stage fright. “I hope he gets over it before it is too late. Brace up, Dan! What’s the matter with you, anyway?” Dan heard the voice of his chum, but it sounded far away to him. He would have given almost anything could he, too, have been far away at that moment. Bang!