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Dave Darrin's Second Year at Annapolis, a novel by H. Irving Hancock |
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Chapter 18. Fighting The Famous Double Battle |
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_ CHAPTER XVIII. FIGHTING THE FAMOUS DOUBLE BATTLE "It wasn't fair," hissed Midshipman Page hotly. "It was by a mighty small margin, anyway," quivered Farley. "I don't feel whipped yet," remarked Dave quietly. "Oh, well, Darry," urged Farley, "don't feel humiliated over being thrashed by such a human mountain of a top classer." Dave, whose chest had been heaving, and whose lungs had been taking in great gulps of air, suddenly pushed his second gently away. "Mr. Treadwell, sir, will you come over here a moment?" he called. "And also the officials of the fight?" Treadwell, with a self-satisfied leer on his face, stepped away from his seconds coming jauntily over. Midshipman Edgerton and Wheeler followed in some wonder. "Mr. Treadwell," began Dave, looking full into the eyes of his late antagonist, "I have no fault, sir, to find with your style of fighting. You behaved fairly at every point." "Thank you, sir," interjected the big midshipman grimly. "The verdict was also fair enough," Dave continued, "for I am aware that I took a hair's-breadth more than the count. Still, I do not feel, Mr. Treadwell, that the result was decisive. Therefore I have to ask of you the favor of another early meeting, for a more definite try-out." Treadwell gasped. So did his recent seconds and the late officials of the fight. Even Farley's jaw dropped just a trifle, but Page's face flushed with new-found pleasure. "Another fight, sir?" demanded Midshipman Treadwell. "Yes, sir," replied Darrin quietly. "Oh, very well," agreed Treadwell, nonchalantly. "At any time that you wish, Mr. Darrin--any time." "How would fifteen minutes from now do?" demanded Dave, smiling coolly. Treadwell fairly gasped, though only from sheer astonishment. "Why, if your seconds and the officials think that fair to you, Mr. Darrin," replied Treadwell in another moment, "I am sure that I have no objection to remaining around here a little longer." "Do you insist on calling for the second fight within fifteen minutes, Mr. Darrin?" asked Second Classman Edgerton. "For my own part, I do," replied Dave quietly; "I leave the decision to Mr. Treadwell's courtesy." "Well, of all the freaks!" muttered Mr. Wheeler, as the two fight officials walked aside to discuss the matter. "Darry," demanded the agitated Farley, "are you plumb, clean crazy?" "Do you know what we're fighting about, Farley, old man?" asked Dave very quietly. "No; of course not." "It's a personal matter." "O-oh!" "It's a matter in which I can't accept an imitation whipping." "But surely you don't expect to whip Treadwell in your present condition?" "I very likely shall get a thorough trouncing," smiled Darrin. "It's madness," broke in Page worriedly. "I told you it was a personal matter," laughed Dave softly. "I shan't mind getting whacked if it is done up in good shape. It's only this near-whipping to which I object." "Well--great Scott!" gasped Page. "Hush!" warned Farley. "Here comes Edgerton." Midshipman Edgerton, looking very much puzzled, stepped over to Dave Darrin's corner. "Darrin," began the referee in a friendly tone, "Tread doesn't like the idea of fighting you again to-night." "Didn't he say he would?" demanded Darrin. "Yes; but of course, but--" "I hold him to his word, Mr. Edgerton." "But of all the crazy--" "I have my own reasons, sir," Darrin interposed quietly. "I think it very likely, too, that Mr. Treadwell will comprehend my reasons." "But he doesn't like the idea of fighting an already half-whipped man." "Will it get on his nerves and unsteady him?" asked Dave ironically. "Are you bound to fight to-night, Mr. Darrin?" "I am, sir." "Then I suppose it goes--it has to," assented Midshipman Edgerton moodily. "But of all the irrational--" "Just what I said, sir," nodded Page. "I shall be ready, sir, when the fifteen minutes are up," continued Dave. "But I am certain that I shall need all the time until then for getting myself into first-class condition." "Darry is a fool--and a wonder!" ejaculated Edgerton under his breath, as he walked away. "I'm sorry, Darry," murmured Farley mournfully, "but--well, beat your way to it!" "I intend to," retorted Dave doggedly. Rubbed down by his seconds, Dave drew on his blouse, without a shirt. Quitting the others, Dave walked briskly back and forth. At last he broke into a jog-trot. At last he halted, inflating and emptying his lungs with vigorous breathing. "I feel just about as good as ever," he declared, nodding cheerily to his seconds. "Get off that blouse, then," ordered Midshipman Farley, after a glance at his watch. "We've two minutes left out of the fifteen." "I'll go forward at the scratch, then," nodded Dave. Treadwell, in the meantime, had pulled on his outer clothing and had stood moodily by, watching Dave's more workmanlike preparations with a disdainful smile. "I'll get the fellow going quickly this time," Mr. Treadwell told Conners. "As soon as I get him going I'll dive in with a punch that will wind up the matter in short order. I've planned to do considerable reviewing of navigation to-night." "I hope you have your wish," murmured Conners. "What do you mean?" "Just what I said." "Do you think I'm going to have any trouble whatever about finishing up that touge youngster!" demanded Tread well sarcastically. "No; I don't imagine you will. But at the same time, Tread, I tell you I don't care about having enemies among fellows who come back as swiftly, strongly and as much like a bulldog as Darry does." Seeing Dave pull off his blouse, Treadwell slowly removed his own clothing above the waist. "Rub me down along the arms a bit," said Midshipman Treadwell, after he had exercised his arms a moment. "I reckon we'd better," nodded Conners. "You must have got stiff from standing still after the late mix-up." "No kinks but what will iron out at once," chuckled Treadwell. "I'll show you as soon as I get in action." His two seconds rubbed him down loyally. "Are you ready, gentlemen?" called Midshipman Edgerton. Both men stepped quickly forward, but all of the onlookers thought they saw rather more spring in Dave Darrin than in his more bulky opponent. The preliminaries were announced in a few words. Of course, there was no handshaking. "Time!" sounded the call. Dave Darrin quickly proved to be so full of vigor that Treadwell lay back on the defensive after the first two or three passes. Dave followed him right up with vim. Yet, for the first forty seconds of the round no real damage was done on either side. Then: Bump! "O-o-oh!" That cry came simultaneously from Treadwell and from all the spectators. Dave's right fist had landed crushingly on the top classman's left eye, almost instantly closing that organ. Darrin leaped nimbly back, both from a chivalrous impulse to give Treadwell a chance to recover his steadiness and to save himself from any sudden rush and clinch by his big opponent. But Treadwell, standing with his guard up, showed no inclination to follow the one who had just given him such punishment. "Mix it up, gentlemen--mix it!" called Midshipman Edgerton impatiently. At that command from the referee Dave Darrin sprang forward. Treadwell seemed wholly on the defensive now, though he struck as heavily as ever. Toward the end of the round Treadwell, having gotten over the worst of the stinging from his eye, once more tried to rush matters. Whenever the big fellow's undamaged eye caught sight of the cool, hostile smile on Darrin's face, Treadwell muttered savage words. Some hard body blows were parried and others exchanged. Both men were panting somewhat when the call of time closed the first round. "Darry, you nervy little rascal, waltz in and put that other eye up in black clothes!" begged Page ecstatically, as he and Farley worked over their principal. Dave was ready quite twenty seconds before the call of time for the second round. Treadwell, however, took his full time in responding. At the last moment he took another dab with the wet sponge against his swollen left eye. "Time!" With a suppressed yell Treadwell rushed at his opponent. Dave had to sidestep to his own right, out of range of Treadwell, to save himself. Then at it they went, all around the ring. Darrin had determined to keep himself out of the way of those sledge-hammer fists until he saw his own clear opening. Four or five times Treadwell landed heavily on Darrin's ribs. The younger, smaller midshipman was getting seriously winded, but all the time he fought to save himself and to get that one opening. It came. Pound! Darrin's hard-clenched left fist dropped in on Treadwell's right eye. This time there was no exclamation from the bruised one. Alert Dave was careful to give him no chance. Within a second after that eye-closer landed Darrin struck with his right, landing on the jaw bone under Treadwell's ear. Down in a heap sank the top classman. He was unconscious before his body struck the ground. Wheeler counted off the seconds. "--ten!" Still Mr. Treadwell lay motionless. "Do your best for him, gentlemen," begged Referee Edgerton, turning to the first classman's seconds. "Mr. Darrin wins the second fight." Dave, a satisfied look on his face, stepped back to his seconds. This time he did not require as much attention. Within five minutes he was dressed. By this time Mr. Treadwell, under the ministrations of his seconds and of the late officials, was just coming back to consciousness. "Something happened, eh?" asked the top classman drowsily. "Rather!" murmured Mr. Edgerton dryly. "Did I--did I--lose the fight?" "You did," Edgerton assented. "But don't let that disturb you. You went down before the best man in the Naval Academy." Treadwell sighed gloomily. It was a hard blow to his pride--much harder than any that Dave had landed on his head. "Mr. Treadwell," inquired Dave, stepping over, "we are comrades, even if we had a slight disagreement. Do you care to shake hands?" "Help me to my feet," urged the first classman, who was sitting up. His seconds complied. Then Midshipman Treadwell held out his hand. "Here's my hand," he said rather thickly. "And I apologize, too, Mr. Darrin." "Then say no more about it, please," begged Dave, as their hands met in a strong clasp. None of the others present had the least idea of the provocation of this strange, spirited double fight. All, however, were glad to see the difficulty mended. Then Dave and his seconds, leaving the field first, made their way back to Bancroft Hall. Farley and Page went straight to their own room. "How did it come out?" demanded Dan Dalzell eagerly, as soon as his chum entered their quarters. Dropping into a chair, Dave told the story of the double fight briefly. He told it modestly, too, but Dan could imagine what his chum omitted. "David, little giant," exclaimed Dalzell, leaping about him, "that fight will become historic here! Oh, how I regret having missed it. Don't you ever dare to leave me out again!" "It wasn't such a much," smiled Dave rather wearily, as he went over to his study desk. "Perhaps it's indiscreet, even of a chum," rambled on Dalzell, "but what--" "What was the fight all about?" laughed Dave softly. "Yes; I suppose you have a right to know that, Danny boy. But you must never repeat it to any one. Treadwell wanted to dance with Belle at the hop, but she had already noticed him, and declared she didn't want to dance with him. Of course that settled it. But Treadwell accused me of not having asked Belle." "The nerve !" ejaculated Dan in disgust. "And then he accused me of lying when I declared I had done my best for him," continued Dave. "I feel that I'd like to fight the fellow myself!" declared Dan Dalzell hotly. "Oh, no, you don't; for Treadwell apologized to-night, and we have shaken hands. We're all comrades, you know, Danny boy." * * * * * Unknown to any of the parties to the fight, there had been spectators of the spirited double battle. Two men, a sailor and a marine, noting groups of midshipmen going toward the historic battle ground of midshipmen, had hidden themselves near-by in order "to see the fun." These two enlisted men of the Navy had been spectators and auditors of all that had taken place. Not until the last midshipman had left the ground did the sailor and marine emerge from their hiding place. "Well, of all the game fights!" muttered the marine. "Me? I'm hoping that some day I fight under that gallant middy," cried the sailor. "Who is this Mr. Darrin?" asked the marine, as the pair strolled away. "He's a youngster--third classman. But he's one of the chaps who, on the cruise, last summer, went over into a gale after another middy--Darrin and his chum did it." "There must be fine stuff in Mr. Darrin," murmured the marine. "Couldn't you see that much just now?" demanded the sailor, who took the remark as almost a personal affront, "My hat's off to Mr. Darrin. He's one of our future admirals. If I round out my days in the service it will be the height of my ambition to have him for my admiral. And a mighty sea-going officer he'll be, at that!" In their enthusiasm over the spectacle they had seen, the sailor and the marine talked rather too much. They were still talking over the battle as they strolled slowly past one of the great, darkened buildings. In the shadow of this building, not far away, stood an officer whom neither of the enlisted men of the Navy saw; else they would have saluted him. That officer, Lieutenant Willow, U.S. Navy, listened with a good deal of interest. Mr. Willow was one of those officers who are known as duty-mad. He gathered that there had been a fight, so he deemed it his duty to report the fact at once to the discipline officer in charge over at Bancroft Hall. Regretting the necessity, yet full of the idea of doing his duty, Lieutenant Willow wended his way promptly towards the office of the officer in charge. _ |
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