Ferris looked at Quimby's seconds. They shook their head.
"I award the fight to Mister Dalzell," declared Midshipman Ferris.
"Oh, give it to Mr. Quimby, if you don't mind, sir," begged Dan.
"He got the game, and might as well have the name along with it."
"Mister, don't be touge all the time," cried Mr. Ferris sharply.
"I don't mean to be, sir," replied Dan quite meekly. "What I meant to convey, sir, is that I don't care anything about winning fights. The decision, sir, is of very little importance to me. I don't fight because I like it, but merely because I need the exercise. A fight about once a week will be very much to my liking, sir."
"You'll get it, undoubtedly," replied Midshipman Ferris dryly.
"Whee, won't it be great!" chuckled Dan, in an undertone, as he stepped over to his seconds. "Give me that towel, Dave. I can rub myself off."
While Dan was dressing, and Quimby was doing the same, one of the seconds of the youngster class came over, accompanied by the timekeeper.
"Mister, you really do fight as though you enjoyed it," remarked the latter.
"But I don't," denied Dan. "I'm willing to do it, though, to keep myself in condition. Say once a week, except in really hot weather. A little game like this tones up the liver so that I can almost feel it dancing inside of me."