"Remember, then, that skeeters are dodgers."
"I'll saw him off, this time," grumbled the big fellow.
The call of time brought both men forward.
But Dick, the same quiet smile on his face, had planned new tactics with Furlong during that minute's rest.
Now, Dick struck Dennison, not very heavily, on the right shoulder.
The next time it was a tap on the right chest.
Dennison strove to resent these indignities, but Prescott had a definite plan of sustained assault, and the big fellow could not read it in advance.
Twice Dick got caught by swings, though he was not sadly troubled. He was lanching in, lightly, all over the less vital parts on his man now. It did Dennison no harm, but the impudence of it stung the big fellow.
"Time!"
"That's the b.j.-est skeeter I ever saw," grinned Nelson, as he sprayed water over Dennison's biceps.
"You quit, Nelse!"