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Rh himself was caught by a strong pair of arms and down he went.

Some one struck a match. It went out at once. But in the brief spurt of light those around had caught a glimpse of a battle royal on the floor.

The sophomores had withdrawn from the fight and had retreated into the hall, but Hart, blind with rage, was grappling with one who had been reckoned only a few years before as the strongest man in Princeton.

A second match was struck and the drop light held in L. Putney Betts's trembling hands was lit. Straining like two fighting bulls were the proctor and the ex-deputy-sheriff, trying to roll from under the table.

"Who are you?" asked Hart, unclasping his fingers to get a stronger grip upon his opponent's collar.

"I am the proctor of the college," panted Matt, whose years told upon him.

"I don't care if you are the President," said Hart, "let go of me or I'll choke your throat."

At last they parted cautiously, and getting to their feet stood looking at one another. The crowd in the hall whispered excitedly.

"What is your name?" panted Matt.