"My compliments to Mr. Spurlock, and I will meet him—here in barracks, to-night, I hope. Mr. Holmes has consented to act as one of my seconds."
"Very good, sir," nodded Yearling Kramer stiffly. "Mr. Holmes, will you step out and discuss the matter with me now?"
"Yes, sir," responded Greg. He was gone ten minutes. When he returned Greg announced:
"There's an extra room on the top floor of the next subdivision. The fight will take place there at nine to-night. Mr. Anstey has agreed to help look after your interests."
"All right, and thank you, old fellow," nodded Dick, as he turned to pick up a book.
Greg gulped and quivered behind his chum's back.
"He doesn't seem excited, but I know that I am," muttered Cadet Holmes. "The dear old fellow won't lose anything through nervousness, anyway."
Dick went through his studies and recitations as usual that day. If the stiff ordeal of the coming night carried any twinges for him, it wasn't noticeable in his demeanor. Yet Dick knew that the news had gotten thoroughly about among the cadets. He saw many of the new plebes gazing at him wonderingly.
When they returned from supper that night and reached their room, Greg was manifestly nervous—nervous enough for the pair of them, in fact.
"Dick, do you—do you expect to win?" asked Greg at last.