It was the fight between North and Cap Smith—the fight which was the inevitable outcome of the interference when the bully was mistreating little Harvey. The contest took place where all such affairs were “pulled off,” if I may use such a term, in a well-secluded spot back of the baseball grandstand. “Watch his left!” was the further advice of Bill, who was acting as second, gave to his brother, while Mersfeld sarcastically cut in with: “Look out for biting in the clinches, North.” It was a useless insult, for Cap never answered it. Narrowly he watched his opponent, looking into his eyes, and trying to guess, by close observations of those organs, how the lead would be. Out shot North’s left, after a weak feint with his right. Cap was not deceived. Cleverly he blocked the blow and countered with his left. His aim was a bit short, but it caught North over the eye, too lightly to raise a mark, however. The fight was now on, and for a time blows were delivered with such rapidity that the onlookers were in doubt as to who was having the best of it. It was give and take, yet it was not brutal. For the lads were both healthy and strong, and the soft gloves which the Seniors had insisted that they wear, precluded any serious damage to either. Nor were they scientific enough to do any material harm, for though they had both taken boxing lessons, they were far from being in the class with pugilists. North half turned, made a feint as though to drive his right into Cap’s face, quickly shifted, and shot out his left. “Wow!” cried Mersfeld in anticipation of what was about to happen to the youth against whom he bore a grudge. But it was the unexpected which took place, for North in making the shift had left himself unguarded for one fatal moment. In shot the ready left of Cap Smith, straight from the shoulder, with all the steam behind it which our hero could muster, and North was neatly bowled over, bleeding slightly from the nose. “First blood for us!” called Bill shrilly. “Well, you needn’t shout over it, and bring McNibb here!” grumbled Mersfeld, as he hurried to his fallen champion. “I—I’m all right!” gasped North. “My—my foot slipped on the grass.” “Like fun!” retorted Pete. “You’ll have some more of those ‘slips’ before it’s over.” “That’ll do,” spoke Ward quietly. He looked at his classmate. “Time,” called Merton, for North had been attended by his second, while Bill looked after Cap, who was in no way distressed. “Don’t hurry to finish him,” whispered Bill, as Cap arose from his knee to go forward. “You can do him.” “I don’t know about that,” was the cautious reply. “He has a strong right, and guards pretty well. I just managed to get in.” “Don’t let him get you that way again,” advised Mersfeld to his friend. “It’s too risky.” “I won’t, if I can help it.” They were at it again, hammer and tongs, giving and taking. Several body blows were exchanged, making both lads grunt, but doing no damage.