Bayliss, breathing hard, did not answer.
"What you need here," declared the farmer, stepping forward and puffing slowly at his pipe, "is a referee. I'll take the job. Bayliss, if you believe that you can do anything more, then the place for you is on your feet. I'll give you until I count five."
Deliberately the farmer counted, but Bayliss remained on his knees.
"Bayliss loses," announced the farmer. "Not that I believe he ever had much in the fighting line to lose, but he loses."
"I'll wait five minutes for him," offered Darry. "By that time he'll be in shape to go on again."
"He's in good enough shape now," declared the self-appointed referee.
"The point is that Mr. Bayliss hasn't any liking for boxing.
He's the kind of young man that finds croquet strenuous enough!"
The four recent combatants now had some repairing to do. Dick and Dave were attended by their own friends. The farmer offered to help Bert Dodge ease his bruises. Greg made a tender of his services to Bayliss, but was gruffly repulsed.
"Everything is over," called the farmer at last. "I must wake up my horses and get on to Gridley. Young gentlemen, I'm much obliged for the rest that my horses have had, and also for my entertainment. Dodge, I don't believe you're really worth an ounce of soda crackers, but I realize that you don't feel as bright as usual, so I'm going to help you get the tires on your car."
Reaching up, the farmer untied one end of the line on which the tires hung. Letting the tubes fall at his feet. The man then drew a card out of his pocket and handed it to Reade.
"That will tell you who I am, if you ever want to find me," suggested the farmer.