Bang! Kramer's right eye was half closed just as Cadet Jennison
called the end of the first round.
"Great Scott, but that little fellow is a canned hurricane!" muttered
Devine, as he wrung out cloths in cold water and applied then to
Kramer's swelling eye. "Old man, you want to swing one blow
down on the top of his head, and crush him, if you want to save
your personal appearance."
"Won't I?" grunted Kramer. "Just watch me. I won't murder the
plebe, but I've stood all the fooling I'm going to."
As the combatants rushed at each other again Kramer struck out
two or three times; then clinched to save himself.
"Break away, there!" admonished Edwards sternly. "Get off!"
Again in that round Kramer clinched, despite the referee's sternest
orders.
"That's no way to meet a plebe, Mr. Kramer," cried Edwards
disgustedly.
After the second get-away Dick fairly danced around his man. A
blow on the nose brought Kramer's blood. Then his left eye went
all but shut. At that the yearling spun dizzily. Dick drove a light
blow in behind his man's ear. Down went Spurlock's "avenger"
sprawling on the floor.
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