Referee, time-keeper and plebe principals laughed. Spurlock's seconds scowled.
But Dick generously drew back five or six feet, standing on the defensive until Mr. Spurlock leaped to his feet, ready to renew the combat.
Spurlock, however, had hurt one of his knees, in going down, just enough to interfere with his nimbleness of pursuit during the rest of the round. Time-keep Jennison soon ended that round.
"Mister," growled Yearling Kramer, turning around while Dick sat between his seconds being sponged and kneaded, "don't be so much of a coward! Don't run away and delay the finish. Stand up as if you had some manhood!"
"Thank you, sir," replied Dick coldly. "I'm managing my end of this fight."
"You b.j. little poltroon," snarled Kramer. "I'll call you out myself if you have the nerve to talk back!" hissed Kramer.
"Is licking cowards your specialty?" demanded Prescott coolly.
But that settled it, making a coming fight with Kramer an absolute necessity, now.
"Mr. Kramer," interrupted Mr. Edwards sternly, "this has gone far enough. You must stop hectoring that plebe, sir. He has all he can attend to as it is."
Kramer stopped, with a snap of the jaws. He didn't want to. But a hint, on a matter of etiquette, or the code, from the first class man, was as valid as a command. And Mr. Edwards had spoken in a tone that was authoritative enough.