"You'd better put that hand to work, instead of going round trying to scare people with it," he said stingingly. "I will put it to work. SO!" Wh-oo-oo-f! The fist fairly whistled as it shot out with the force of a torpedo speeding on its destructive way. But Ned was not in its path. Thrown off his balance by the boy's quick avoidance of the sledge-hammer blow, Kennell stumbled forward. Quick as a whip snap, Ned stepped under his guard and planted a crushing blow in the fighter's ribs. But delivered as it was, with the full force of the Dreadnought Boy's well-trained muscle, it seemed hardly to sway the bullock-like frame of the ship's blusterer. "I've got the fight of my life on my hands," was Ned's quick thought, as Kennell, recovering himself, prepared, with a confident grin, to annihilate his young opponent. CHAPTER XVII. JIU-JITSU VS. MUSCLE. All else forgotten now, Ned fought warily. Time and again Kennell rushed at him, apparently trying to end the battle in a hurry. But every time he rained his blows on thin air. Ned, perceiving that his only chance lay in tiring the man out, had early decided to adopt cautious tactics. While avoiding the terrific rushes of his opponent, however, he still managed once in a while to land an effective blow. On Kennell's seasoned body, however, they seemed to have but little effect. The jackies groaned in sympathy for the lad as he put up his plucky and skillful defense. It was clear that they believed that the battle would be simply a question of a few minutes, unless it was cut short by the arrival of an officer. As the petty officers were at dinner, however, and the commissioned dignitaries were enjoying a smoke aft, there seemed little likelihood of any interference before the contest was ended. The men were fighting in the shelter of the turret, so from the bridge nothing of what was transpiring was visible to the navigating officers or the quartermasters. "You young hound, I'm going to kill you!" hissed Kennell, white with rage, as, for the twentieth time one of his terrific swings met thin air. "Catch me first!" mocked Ned, skipping backward with agile footwork. Kennell, who was breathing heavily, seemed fairly to spring at the lad as he spoke, but Ned nimbly sidestepped, and Kennell went careening ahead like a man shot out of a suddenly checked auto. "Keep your wind to fight with!" advised Ned jeeringly. But, alas for his confidence, as he spoke his foot caught on a deck ring he had not observed, and he fell backward, sprawling. He was up in a breath, but Kennell, with a roar of triumph, was on him in a flash. The bluejacket's great arms, hairy as a bear's, shot out and encircled Ned in a grip that threatened to crush his ribs in. It was a lock grip. Ned, as the breath was slowly crushed out of his body, felt as if the fight had ended. He saw defeat, utter and absolute, staring before him.