"He's in good enough shape now," declared the self-appointed referee. "The point is that Mr. Bayliss hasn't any liking for boxing. He's the kind of young man that finds croquet strenuous enough!" The four recent combatants now had some repairing to do. Dick and Dave were attended by their own friends. The farmer offered to help Bert Dodge ease his bruises. Greg made a tender of his services to Bayliss, but was gruffly repulsed. "Everything is over," called the farmer at last. "I must wake up my horses and get on to Gridley. Young gentlemen, I'm much obliged for the rest that my horses have had, and also for my entertainment. Dodge, I don't believe you're really worth an ounce of soda crackers, but I realize that you don't feel as bright as usual, so I'm going to help you get the tires on your car." Reaching up, the farmer untied one end of the line on which the tires hung. Letting the tubes fall at his feet. The man then drew a card out of his pocket and handed it to Reade. "That will tell you who I am, if you ever want to find me," suggested the farmer. "George Simpson," said Tom, reading the card. "Mr. Simpson, we're certainly glad of having had the pleasure of meeting you." Reade thereupon gravely introduced the other members of Dick & Co. "Glad to have met you, boys," said Simpson, picking up the tires. "Now, come along, Dodge and Bayliss, if you want my help, for I really must be moving." "This hasn't been such a dull evening, after all," jovially commented Tom Reade, after the late visitors had vanished into the darkness surrounding the camp. "I'm sorry for the fighting, though," mused Dick aloud. "I don't enjoy anything that makes bad blood, or more bad blood, between human beings." "You couldn't do anything else but fight," retorted Greg sharply. "That's the only reason why I fought," Prescott rejoined. Half or three quarters of an hour later two resonant honks sounded from the red Smattach automobile up at the roadside. Dick & Co. rightly judged that Simpson had taken this means of signaling them that the Smattach car was ready to go on its way again. "What's the matter with Mr. Simpson?" Tom demanded at the top of his voice. From the throats of all of Dick & Co. came the ready response! "He's all right!" Honk! honk! honk! Mr. Simpson had heard this tribute to himself. Then the chugging of a starting car was heard. The noise soon sounded fainter, then died away. "That's the last of the firm of Dodge and Bayliss for this season!" chuckled Dave Darrin. In this conclusion, however, it was wholly probable that Darry was wrong. He would have been sure of it, himself, had he been privileged to hear the talk of Bert Dodge and his companion as the enraged and humiliated pair drove swiftly over the rough road on their way back to Gridley. "I can't think of anything bad enough to call Dick Prescott," growled Bert, who sat at the steering wheel. "Don't try to," grumbled Bayliss. "It would poison your mind."