"Isn't Mr. Kramer the brute?" whispered Anstey indignantly.
"I'm not going to think of him, now," answered Plebe Prescott over
his shoulder. "I have all I can attend to at present."
"I'll get him now, Kramer," muttered Spurlock, as he rose. "Watch
me reduce that b.j. plebe to powder! I hope they have a spare cot
for him over at hospital."
Again the referee set them at it.
Mr. Spurlock encountered a mild surprise, for now Dick seemed
less inclined to trust to his nimble feet. He put up a stand-up front,
though several of Spurlock's sledge-hammer blows passed over
Dick's falling head.
Then the yearling began to fight lower.
The plebe put up a good series of counters, though he took another
bit of punishment in the short ribs, and began to back away.
Across the room, Mr. Spurlock began driving his victim, slowly
but systematically.
Dick retreated, putting up the best guard he could, dodging when
he had to.
But the yearling, full of the grim spirit of the thing, pursued
without undue haste, driving the plebe, a foot at a time, clean
across the room toward the opposite wall.
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