Fred growled something under his breath.
"Are you coming back to the ring?" demanded the referee.
Ripley hesitated. The yellow streak was strong in him, but he dreaded letting the others see it.
"I'd rather finish this up some other day," he proposed.
"You know you can't do that," retorted Thompson, disgustedly. "You either have to come up to the scratch, or admit yourself beaten."
"Admit myself beaten—-by that mucker?" gasped Ripley, turning livid.
"Then come up at the call of time," directed Thompson, and strode back to the battle ground.
The timekeeper called. Dick Prescott returned to his ground. Ripley stood back, leaning against a tree. He tried hard to look dignified, but one glance at his nose and eyes was enough to spoil the effect.
"Coming, Ripley?" demanded Thompson.
"Brace up, man, unless you want to admit your thrashing," urged
Ted Butler.