"Now, then, mister, keep your eyes on my humorous face!"
It was the next evening, over behind the old government hospital.
Midshipman Quimby had just stepped forward, from the hands of his seconds, two men of the third class.
"I can't keep my eyes away from that face, and my hands are aching to follow the same route, sir," grimaced Dalzell.
He, too, had just stepped forward from the preliminary care of Dave and of Rollins, for that latter fourth class man was as anxious to see this fight as he had been the other one.
"Stop your talk, mister," commanded Midshipman Ferris, of the second class, who was present to officiate as referee. "On the field you talk with your hands. Don't be touge all the time, or you'll soon have a long fight calendar."
"Very good, sir," nodded Dan, his manner suddenly most respectful—as far as appearance went.
Dave Darrin did not by any means approve his chum's conduct of the night before, but Dave was on hand as second, just the same, and earnestly hoping that Dan might get at least his share of the honors in the event that was now to be "pulled off."
"Gentlemen," began Mr. Ferris, in the monotonous way of referees, "this fight is to be to a finish, without gloves. Hand-shaking will be dispensed with. Are you ready?"
"Ready!" assented both.