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 and foot to boot, her beloved "poet" wilder than his flowin' locks and rarin' to go as he glares homicide at the gay collegians, and Jim Barnaby's bein' pushed forward to do his stuff. Eva's a smart girl and she knows what's goin' to happen.

"Oh, they're going to fight!" she wails, turnin' to the others. "Won't somebody stop them?"

The football players looks uneasily away from her, but there was no answer. Eva was on a busy wire just then! Jim Barnaby glances at her and then at Kid Roberts. He smiles—a confident, sneerin' grin. His pals unloose the gloves from the prostrate mock orange, lace 'em on Barnaby, who's pulled off his sweater and is ready for business.

Without a instant's hesitation, Kid Roberts shot a hard left flush to the chin and Mr. Barnaby went down on his haunches. As his astonished friends gasped a surprised "Oh!" Eva hid behind a tree. His face a mass of amazement, Barnaby rose almost on the bounce and clinched, showin' by that and a few other things which come up later that the art of boxin' was no hidden mystery to him! Plenty heavier and younger than the Kid,—in wonderful condition from his football trainin' and as stout-hearted as I've seen 'em, James was far from a set-up, as he soon proved.

On the break, Kid Roberts, mad and therefore wild, missed a right hook, and Barnaby promptly stepped in with a sizzlin' uppercut which drove the Kid's head back like it was hinged to his neck. The college guys howled, "How d'ye like him, Mister Poet?" and danced