"Mr.
Spurlock is at least fifteen pounds heavier than you. He has had a
year more of West Point gym work than you've had and he has the
reputation of being pretty nearly the yearling champion in the
ring."
"Of course I shall be thrashed," admitted Dick doggedly.
"However, that probably won't do me any permanent harm.
Besides, Greg, it's certain that I'll have to fight some yearling
sooner or later, so I may as well take the dose now. Every plebe, I
reckon, has to have one fight, anyway, with a yearling. It's a part of
the system here, from all I can hear."
Rap-tap sounded at the door.
"Come in," called Dick, but the door opened just as he was calling.
Mr. Kramer, of the yearling class, stepped inside.
"Mr. Spurlock requests me to inform Mr. Prescott that he demands
a fight, at as early a moment as possible."
"My compliments to Mr. Spurlock, and I will meet him--here in
barracks, to-night, I hope. Mr. Holmes has consented to act as one
of my seconds."
"Very good, sir," nodded Yearling Kramer stiffly. "Mr. Holmes,
will you step out and discuss the matter with me now?"
"Yes, sir," responded Greg.
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