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.
Mr.Jennison began to count while Kramer lay on the floor, stirring uneasily, yet not seeming to comprehend his seconds' warnings.
"-- eight, nine, ten!" finished Mr.Jennison, then put the watch in his pocket.
"The fight is awarded to Mr.Prescott, and it isn't nine thirty yet," announced Mr.Edwards.
Dick's jubilant seconds sponged him, rubbed him down, kneaded his muscles and joyously assisted him in dressing.
Kramer, coming to presently, but with a face that Anstey said "made him think of the Dismal Swamp," was assisted downstairs by his seconds, and taken to the cadet hospital.
With the exception of the two yearlings whom Cadet Prescott had thrashed to a finish, all who had taken any part in the fights were in their beds, and lights out, when the subdivision inspectors flashed their bull's-eye lanterns into the room a moment after taps had sounded.
For the honor of the class another yearling, Garston, forced a dispute within a few days, and Prescott had his third fight on his hands.