The president of the yearling class went back to acquaint Mr.
Butler with the outcome.
Until close of taps Greg practiced various blows, feints and dodges in foot work.
"You can't win, Greg," advised Anstey. "Of course that's out of the question. But, before you have to lose the count you want to make sure of giving Mr. Butler enough facial decorations to keep him satisfied for some time to come."
At taps the three tentmates lay down on their mattresses, Dick with an alarm clock close to his hand.
Cadets Prescott and Anstey were soon sound asleep. Greg, however, lay awake for a long time, thinking—thinking.
"If I had some of Dick's lightning speed, and his capacity for sailing in like a cyclonic fury," thought Greg. "Whew, but I wish I had always given more attention to boxing than I have done. I will after this."
Finally, Greg dozed off. The next he knew was when a brief, metallic "br-r-r-r?" sounded in the tent. In another instant Dick had the clock and was smothering the noise. Greg Holmes leaped up. It was the morning of his fight!
CHAPTER XV
GREG OVERHEARS A PRETTY GIRL'S TRIBUTE
In the tent it was still dark. It was at the fag-end of the night; the time which, as military commanders know, most tries men's bravery.