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Updated: June 17, 2025
"He doesn't understand how to stand at attention when he is honored by a yearling's visit." "Teach him if you find that he's intelligent enough," advised Yearling Pratt. "Turn down that mattress, mister," commanded Mr. Judson, pointing to Dick Prescott's iron cot. Bert made the mistake of looking first at Cadet Prescott for permission. "Now, mister, what makes you hesitate!" fumed Mr. Judson.
He leaped about, harassing his opponent, then sent in a well-calculated blow that closed the yearling's other eye. Butler reeled. It looked as though he must go down. Greg, unwilling to take any unfair advantage, paused a second. Then, realizing that Mr. Butler was keeping his feet, Cadet Holmes leaped in, feinting blow after blow with such speed that the yearling was dazed.
"Remember the moves we planned last night," had been Dick's last whispered words. On Butler's face rested a broad grin. He pranced about lightly, swinging his hardmuscled arms. He intended to start with a bit of easy nonsense, putting Holmes off his guard. Then the yearling's plan was to make the affair a lesson in scientific mauling.
"Have you found any b.j. beasts among the new plebes, Briggsy!" Dick wanted to know. "Plenty of 'em," responded Briggs with enthusiasm. "Any that were b.j.-er than Mr. Briggs?" inquired Greg. A shade annoyance crossed the new yearling's face. "I never was b.j., was I?" he murmured. "Think!" returned Dick dryly. "However, you're Briggs, now, with all my heart -no longer 'mister."
As the yearling fought back furiously the blood spurted from his nose. Then, just before time was called, Greg got his left eye too much in line with the yearling's right fist. Dazed, Cadet Holmes was saved only by the word from the time-keeper. Had the round lasted fifteen seconds more Mr. Butler would have had the plebe out.
A blow set the yearling's nose to bleeding afresh. Then bang! went the other eye closed. The upper class men gasped with astonishment, for Spurlock was now getting into bad shape. He was all but dazed, in fact; and had twenty-five seconds yet to go in the round. Then, as much in mercy as for anything else, Dick Prescott dropped his left against the yearling's jawbone.
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