Part 33 (1/2)

The fourth and fifth rounds were filled with good, sharp, scientific work, but toward the close of the fifth both men seemed a trifle groggy.

Neither had a decided advantage.

”Dat Merriwell is a boid!” declared Buster Kelley enthusiastically.

”Why, dat chap could be der champeen of der woild if he went inter der business fer fair. Dat's on der level, too.”

Both lads were battered and bruised, and there was blood on their faces when they retired to their corners at the command from Horner.

”He's a nut,” confessed Frank. ”He has given me some soakers, and he takes his medicine as if he liked it.”

”You'll finish him next round, sure,” fluttered Harry. ”I shall buck the kickit--I mean kick the bucket if you don't.”

”How is it?” Hartwick eagerly asked as he wiped the blood from Browning's face. ”Can you finish him next round?”

”I shall try, but I don't believe the fellow can be licked unless he is killed. That's what I think of him.”

”Didn't I hear you say you knew a trick that would do him?”

”Yes, but it is not a square deal, although no referee could call it foul if this were a fight with bare fists. As it is, I'd have to get my glove off.”

”Do it! do it! You're a fool if you don't!”

”Then I'm a fool. That man has trusted this entire affair to our honor, and if I can't whip him fair I won't whip him at all.”

”You make me sick!” sneered Hartwick.

At the call the two men promptly faced each other for the final round.

At first they were a bit wary, but then, as if by mutual agreement, they went at each other like tigers. Blow followed blow, but it was plain that one man was getting quite as much as the other. Browning got in one of his terrific drives, but it was not a knockout, and Merriwell had the soph.o.m.ore up up against the rope three times.

”Time! Break away!” yelled Tad Horner, forcing himself over between the combatants. ”It's all over.”

”What's the decision?” shouted a dozen voices.

”A draw,” was the distinct answer. ”I declare it an even thing between them.”

There was a moment of silence, and then, bruised and smiling, Frank Merriwell tore off his glove and extended his hand. Off came Browning's glove, and he accepted the hand of the freshman.

CHAPTER XVII.

TALKING IT OVER.

Before night nearly every student knew that Merriwell and Browning had fought a six-round, hard-glove contest to a draw, and it was generally said that the decision was fair. Evan Hartwick seemed to be the only witness of the fight who was dissatisfied. Roland Ditson had not been invited to see it, but he expressed a belief that Browning would prove the better man in a fight to a finish.

Several weeks slipped by.

After the glove contest Browning had very little to say about the freshman leader. Whenever he did say anything, it was exactly what he thought, and it was noted that he admitted Merriwell to be a comer.

Evan Hartwick could not crush down his powerful dislike for Merriwell.