“I’m afraid to, with my bad eye.”
“That’s so. Well, use your own judgment.”
But the next round was the last, and the end came most unexpectedly. North led with his right, intending to try once more his feinting, shifting tactics. But he made a miscalculation. Cap blocked with his left, and sending in a cross-counter with his right caught North on the side of the head.
Down went the bully like a log, not badly hurt, but stunned enough to make him take the count. There was no chance to allow the fatal ten seconds to elapse, however, for, from the crowd that surrounded the two contestants came the cry:
“Here comes Prexy!”
“Skip! Here’s Dr. Burton!”
“Come on, Cap! Get into your coat—never mind your shirt—out this way!” cried Bill, Pete and Whistle-Breeches in the same breath.
Cap looked afar, and saw the figure of the venerable president bearing down on them. The head of Westfield school was eagerly perusing one book, and had another under his arm.
Cap hurriedly dressed as best he could. He saw North slowly rising, assisted by his friends. Cap started toward him.
“Where you going?” demanded Bill.