The Battleship Boys at Sea Part 32

"Yes, that is what I think. The boy has a steady eye, however. He seems a likely lad, but of course he can't win the match."

"Wasn't he up for something the other day?"

"No, that was his friend, Hickey. The latter got two days in the brig for a row with this same Kester. I heard the captain saying, this evening, that he doubted the boy's being to blame for that after all. He has heard something since about that affair."

"You aren't worrying about it, are you?" laughed his companion.

"Not particularly. I do not like to see injustice done, just the same. I should not be fit to be an officer if I felt otherwise. There comes the other one, now."

"The fellow Kester?"

"Yes."

Bill Kester was clad in a pair of short trunks and canvas shoes, with a red handkerchief about his neck. He hopped into the ring, taking his seat in a corner, having chosen the one that suited him best.

A moment later the referee that the men had chosen entered the ring.

"Davis!" he called sharply.

There was a movement outside the ring.

"Here," answered Dan, pausing in his conversation with a jackie.

"Get into the ring, if you are going to."

Dan climbed through the ropes, smiled and nodded to the referee, then stood awkwardly twirling his white cap.

"Take your corner."

The lad walked over and sat down. For the first time, he observed the scowling Bill Kester in the opposite corner, and Dan's eyes took on a gleam of amus.e.m.e.nt as he noted the strips of plaster on his opponent's nose, the swollen lips and discolored eyes.

"Are you going to fight in that costume?" demanded the referee of Dan.

"Certainly, unless there is objection."

"I know of none. Kester, do you object to Davis's boxing with his clothes on?"

Kester grinned and shook his head. Two pairs of gloves were pa.s.sed through the ropes to the referee, who examined them inside and out.

"Want to look at these, Bill?"

Bill did. He scrutinized them even more carefully than had the referee before pa.s.sing them back.

"Davis, look them over," said the referee, turning to the boy's corner.

"You say they are all right, do you not?"

"Of course."

"Then why should I look at them? I am willing to take your word, I guess."

Nods of approval followed this announcement.

"Put on your gloves."

Dan threw off his jacket, tossing it outside the ropes, turned up his trousers then sat down, extending his hands for the boxing gloves.

"The youngster either doesn't know what he is going up against, or else he has a lot of confidence in himself," muttered one of the officers on the bridge.

Both men tried their gloves by opening and closing their hands, after which they sat up, glancing at the referee expectantly.

"This is to be a fair battle, mates," began the referee. "The one who commits a foul loses the match, and maybe he might get worse if the foul is very foul. The rounds will be three minutes each, with a minute's wait between. No striking in the clinches, but either party is free to hit his opponent in the breakaway. Do you both understand?"

The men nodded.

"I guess that's about all, then. Are you ready?"

"Yes," answered Dan and Kester in chorus.

"Shake hands and begin."

Bill Kester bounded to the center of the ring, but Dan rose methodically. Stepping slowly forward he extended his glove, grasping the hand of his opponent. No sooner had the lad dropped the hand than Kester launched a terrific blow at the Battleship Boy's head. It missed by the narrowest margin. Dan felt the glove brush his cheek ever so lightly, but he had instinctively thrown his head to one side as he realized that it was coming his way, thereby escaping the blow.

He danced awkwardly back out of the way. Kester sprang after him, aiming blow after blow at the head of his slender antagonist. How they missed knocking the boy out the spectators were unable to say, but somehow the lad managed to escape being hit, though his awkwardness made them groan in sheer sympathy for him.

"It's a shame. The boy doesn't know how to fight," cried a voice.

"Let him alone. He's got to learn some time. One punch won't hurt him.

It will do him good."

Sam, however, shrewdly suspected the reason for his companion's poor showing. Dan was nervous. Sam knew that it was not because of the boy's fear of the man before him. It was rather the consciousness that so many eyes were fixed upon him. It was a case of real stage fright.

"I hope he gets over it before it is too late. Brace up, Dan! What's the matter with you, anyway?"

Dan heard the voice of his chum, but it sounded far away to him. He would have given almost anything could he, too, have been far away at that moment.

Bang!

The boy's head was suddenly jolted backwards. Dan seemed to have heard his neck crack. He wondered if it were broken. Kester had gotten through his guard, but the blow had landed on Davis's forehead. The boy sprang back, now, stepping about more quickly and skillfully, though his head swam dizzily. Bill made a rush at him. Escape seemed hopeless, for Dan was standing back against the ropes.

Dan suddenly ducked, however, under a powerful right-arm swing, and danced to the center of the ring, at which the crowd yelled and shouted their appreciation.

"That's the way to do it. Now hand him one!"

"Time!" called the referee. The round was ended. The men retired to their corners, where they were fanned and their faces bathed by their seconds.

"Do something this time," begged Sam. "You are not half boxing. What is the matter with you to-night?"