"Are you ready, gentlemen?" inquired Mr. Edwards, while Mr.
Jennison drew out a watch that had served at many a cadet fight.
"Ready, sir," replied Spurlock. "Ready, sir," added Prescott. "This fight," announced the referee, "is to be to a finish. The rounds will last two minutes each, with a minute's rest between. Queensbury rules will be followed as far as they can be made to apply. This being a bare-knuckle fight for a matter of principle, the combatants will not shake hands."
There was an impressive pause, the referee turning to look at each fighter in turn.
Spurlock stood at ease, his arms folded over his chest, a grin on his face.
Plebe Prescott looked less confident. He stood with his fists clenched at his sides.
"Time!" called Mr. Edwards.
Spurlock unfolded his arms, throwing them in an attitude of semi-defense, as he coolly looked his opponent over.
Dick Prescott, on the other hand, threw his left foot forward, planting it firmly though lightly. His left arm raked outward, while his right fist came to a guard over his heart region.
"I suppose I've got to start this, as well as end it," jeered Mr. Spurlock. He made a sudden leap forward, throwing his offense low. Dick's left shot out to counter. Then Spurlock drove in, but Prescott got away by nimble dodging. Each man had now turned; the seconds jumped nimbly around, the referee following, while Jennison, his gaze mostly on the watch, jumped nimbly into a corner that he judged would not be used by the fighters.
"This isn't a sprint," sneered Spurlock, as he followed nimble Plebe Prescott around, Dick doing some saving dodging, ducking and sidestepping.