Barney and Hans dashed into their room, and tore themselves out of their clothes, which, however, they took care to hang in order on the pegs placed along the partition that divided one end of the room into two alcoves.
Long practice enabled them to undress with great swiftness.
By the time taps began to sound they were ready to jump into their beds.
Barney quickly extinguished the light, but Hans lost no time in getting under the blankets, while the Irish lad made a leap to do so.
Then came a cry of astonishment and fear from Hans.
"Shimminy Gristmas!" exclaimed the Dutch boy. "Vot dot vos I touch me to, ain'd id?"
"Shut up!" growled Barney. "Bad cess to yez! do yez phwant th' officer av th' guarrud doon on us! Kape shtill, ur——"
"Wa-ow!" howled Hans, uttering a wild shriek of pain and terror. "I vos caught in der ped my leg by! Dunder und blitzens! I vos bit mit der toe on!"
"Begorra! ye hiv gone crazy, ye son av a Dutch chazemaker! Kape shtill thot howlin', ur——"
Then Barney's tone suddenly changed, and he let out a yell that would have awakened Rip Van Winkle from his long nap.
"Saints defind me! I'm bitten in siventane different places intoirely! Wurra! wurra! Musha! musha! Th' bed is full av crawling crathers!"
"Cendibedes!" howled Hans.
"Cintipades!" shrieked Barney.
Out of the beds they scrambled in hot haste, and to each one six or eight of the crawfish were clinging.
"Wao-w!" roared Hans.
"Whoop!" bellowed Barney.
"I peen kilt alretty yet!" shrieked the Dutch boy. "I peen bit all ofer py does cendibedes!"
"Begorra! there's a bushel av th' craythers hangin' to me!" shouted the Irish lad. "Oi'm a dead b'y intoirely!"
"Hel-lup! hel-lup!" howled Hans, dismally.
Out into the center of the room danced the two boys, fighting, clawing, striking at various parts of their bodies, where the crawfish persistently clung. They collided, and both sat down heavily on the floor.
"It's kilt we are!" moaned Barney.
"Dot peen near knockin' mine prains oud alretty yet!" declared Hans.
"Loight th' lamp!!
"Hel-lup! hel-lup! hel-lup!"
In some way they scrambled to their feet, and both lunged for the door, which they beat upon with their fists, as if they would tear it down.
"Docther!" bellowed Barney.
"Toctor!" screamed Hans.
"Will yez get away fram thot dure, so Oi can open it?"
"Ged avay dot toor from mineself!" flung back the Dutch boy. "I ged me to dot toor first, und I peen der first von oud!"
"Oh, ye will, will yez! We'll see about thot!"
Biff! smack! thud! thump! The two frantic boys were hammering each other in the darkness of their room, while the listening jokers were convulsed with merriment.
The uproar had aroused that entire section of the academy. The sentinel came down the corridor at the double quick, just as Frank Merriwell, partly dressed, leaped out of his room and flung himself against the door of the room from which the racket issued.
Other boys came swarming into the corridor, and the excitement was intense.
Merriwell burst into the room, and, a moment later, dragged out Hans and Barney into the lighted corridor.
The crawfish were still clinging comfortably to various portions of the garments in which the two lads had gone to bed. Seeing the creatures, Hans uttered a howl of agony louder than any that had yet issued from his throat.
"Cendibedes!" he wailed. "I vos a tead boy! I vos peen bit in more as nine huntred und sefenteen blaces alretty yet! Vere vos dot toctor?"
"They're centipades sure!" groaned Barney. "An Oi didn't belave there wur such craythers! Ouch! ouch! How they boight! Take 'em off!"
But the two lads danced, kicked and beat about them with their arms so that no one could remove the crawfish.
The boys who were witnesses of this "circus," nearly choked with laughter. Sammy Smiles had a fit, and rolled on the floor, clinging to his sides.
All the while Frank was apparently making desperate efforts to quiet the boys and remove the crawfish, but, at the same time he was saying just loud enough for them to hear:
"The bite is deadly poison! The only antidote is equal parts of new milk and vinegar taken internally. About a gallon should be absorbed, while a chemically prepared poultice of H2O,tempus fugit, andaqua purashould be applied to each and every bite."
"Bring' on yer new milk and vinegar, begorra!" roared the Irish boy, wildly. "It's a barrel ur two Oi'll drink av th' sthuff!"
"Somepody dose boultices make britty queek alretty!" shouted Hans. "I vant dwo huntred und elefen for dose bites vot I haf all ofer mein body on!"
"Keep still!" ordered the sentinel. "Stand still while those crawfish are removed."
"You peen bitten all der dime dose cendibedes py, und I pet me my poots you don'd keep very sdill yet avile! We-e-eow! Dey vos eadin' me ub alretty yet!"
"Get away wid yez, ye spalpane!" shouted Barney, and one of his wildly waving fists struck the sentinel between the eyes and knocked him over instantly.
"Remember it is vinegar and milk that you want, and you must have it," shouted Frank, in the Irish lad's ear. "Every second you delay about procuring it makes your chances all the more desperate."
"Begorra! Oi'll hiv it directly, av there's anything av th' sort in th' ranch!"
Then Barney made a break for the stairs, with Hans a close second, and the boys could not resist the temptation to rush after them.
Never before had there been such an uproar heard in Fardale Academy, and the commotion had brought Professor Gunn and his two principal assistants, Professor Jenks and Professor Scotch, from their rooms on the floor below the "Cockloft."
"What can be the meaning of this outrageous hub-bub?" cried Professor Jenks, who, on account of his exceeding height, was known as "High Jinks."
"Goodness knows!" exclaimed Professor Gunn, peering over his spectacles in a horrified way at his companions. "It must be a mutiny——"
"Or a murder!" chattered Professor Scotch, who was a very small man, and was generally known as "Hot Scotch," because of his fiery red hair and peppery temper.
"Let us proceed together to investigate," came resolutely from Professor Gunn's lips.
"All right," said High Jinks, bravely. "Lead the way, sir."
"Be cautious, gentlemen—be cautious!" urged Hot Scotch, his face pale and his teeth rattling together. "Such dreadful shrieks have never before assailed my ears—never! They are certainly cries of mortal agony!"
"Oh, you can go to your room, and lock yourself in, if you are afraid!" came scornfully from the tall professor's lips.
"Who's afraid!" bristled the little man, instantly. "You will find I am not afraid of you, sir! I am ready to——"
"Gentlemen! gentlemen, silence!" came commandingly from Professor Gunn's lips. "I will not have this unseemly bickering! If you are ready, come on."
So they moved toward the stairs, High Jinks resolutely keeping by Professor Gunn's side, while Hot Scotch lingered a little in the rear, clinging to the tail of the head professor's coat.
Just as they reached the foot of the stairs and were about to ascend, feet were heard rushing along the corridor above, and then Barney Mulloy came plunging down the stairs, with Hans Dunnerwust riding astride his neck, both in their nightclothes, with a few crawfish still clinging to them.
The three professors were unable to get out of the way, so the frantic boys plunged straight into them, and all fell in a struggling, squirming mass on the floor.
At the head of the stairs swarmed the plebes, who were convulsed with laughter.
"Oh! oh! oh!" gasped Sammy Smiles, clinging to his sides. "Somebody please do something to stop me from laughing! Ha! ha! ha! If I don't stop soon, I'll die! Oh, dear! oh, dear! I am sore all over!"
"Help!" cried Professor Gunn.
The boys on the floor below the Cockloft were out by this time, and they were enjoying the spectacle quite as much as the plebes above.
Frank had rushed into his room, and he came forth with a bag that contained something that moved and snarled. Reaching the head of the stairs, he quickly opened the mouth of the bag and extracted two cats. He had slipped on a pair of heavy gloves, and he succeeded in holding the cats securely, while he said to Ned Gray:
"Quick—take the string that held the mouth of the bag—tie their tails together! Lively!"
Ned caught up the string, and worked swiftly, tying the cats' tails tightly together.
When this was accomplished, Frank gave the felines a fling toward the group at the foot of the stairs.
The cats struck one on either side of Professor Gunn's neck, and, as their tails were tied together, they hung there, but not quietly.
With wild howls of agony, they began clawing each other, incidentally, by way of diversion, socking their claws into the professor's face now and then, and ripping up a few furrows in that gentleman's countenance.
Professor Gunn howled louder than the cats, and tried to fling them off; but they clung to him as if they loved him, and continued to shower marks of affection upon him.
"Great Scott!" gasped Ned Gray. "If it is ever found out that you were at the bottom of this, Merriwell, you will be expelled sure!"
"Then I shall perish in a good cause," laughed Frank. "Fun is better than medicine, and we were beginning to stagnate."
"Help!" cried Professor Gunn, in tones of deep anguish. "Take these beasts away! They are devouring me!"
"Meow! me-e-eow! S'pt! s'pt! Me-e-e-e-ow!" howled the cats, as they continued to scratch the professor's face till it began to look like the colored map of a country that had been disturbed by a violent earthquake.
Somehow Hot Scotch had gotten into a wrangle with High Jinks, whom he was holding down and punching vigorously.
"Hit me in the ribs, will ye! Pound me in the eye, will ye? Tackle me when down, will ye? Well, I've got a score against you, and I'll settle it now!"
"Take him off!" squealed Jenks, thrashing about with his long legs. "Save me! save me!"
Having untangled themselves from the mass and become freed of the crawfish in the struggle, Hans and Barney sat on the floor and stared in astonishment at the spectacle. The sight was too much for the risibilities of the Irish boy, and he forgot that he had been severely bitten by "centipades."
"Begorra! Dutchy, this is a roight loively avening, Oi do belave," he chuckled. "Will yez look at this fer a racket, Oi dunno! Hurro! Sail in, b'ys!"
"Vell, I don't efer seen der peat uf dot!" gasped Hans, his eyes bulging. "Uf dot don't peen a recular fight, I vos an oysder!"
"Now, boys, it's time to take a hand," said Frank Merriwell. "Be lively! Gather up the crawfish, and throw 'em out of the windows. Work quick! Here, Windsor, dispose of this bag!"
His words put the cadets in motion. Down the stairs he ran, and quickly gathered up every crawfish he could find, while others followed his example. Then, leaving the boys to take care of the cats and separate the fighting professors, he bounded up the stairs and hurried to the room occupied by Barney and Hans, where he removed every crawfish he could find in the beds or upon the floor. He worked with great swiftness, and accomplished all this in a very few seconds.
In the meantime, some of the boys who had been in the joke from the start, took hold and aided Frank to clear out all signs of the crawfish, while others hastened to Professor Gunn's assistance, and pulled off the cats, removing the string from their tails.
Barney and Hans were beginning to call for the doctor again, declaring they had been bitten by "centibedes," or "cintipades," and Professor Gunn was glaring over a handkerchief held to his bleeding face, while High Jinks and Hot Scotch stood apart and glowered at each other, ready to resume hostilities at the slightest provocation.
Lieutenant Gordan was on hand, looking very stern, and asking a few very pointed questions. He fully understood a practical joke had been perpetrated, and woe to the perpetrator if the lieutenant found proof against him. Gordan was stern and as unwavering as the hills in the discharge of his duty.
But the lieutenant found five very excited and incoherent persons in the group that had assembled at the foot of the stairs. Professors Jenks and Scotch would not say much of anything, only mutter and glare daggers at each other, while Professor Gunn was too furious and too confused to tell anything straight. Barney and Hans declared over and over that they had been bitten by "centipedes," and showed the wounds. The jumbled story told by them puzzled the lieutenant more than anything else.
Having been released, the cats had taken flight.
Lieutenant Gordan did not say much, but the expression on his face told that he meant to investigate the affair thoroughly. The time, however, was not suitable for an investigation, and so he ordered everybody to their rooms. Barney called for a drink of milk and vinegar, but the lieutenant assured him that he was not in danger of dying immediately if he did not obtain what he desired, so both the Irish lad and the Dutch boy were sent to their rooms, like the others.
In a brief time silence settled over the academy, and no one could have fancied there had been such an uproar there a short while before.
In the morning, Bartley said to Frank.
"What in the world has got into you, old man? You are full of the Old Harry, lately. You will have this academy turned bottom up, if you keep on."
Frank smiled.
"We've got to have something to break the monotony," he said. "A fellow gets tired of plugging away at his studies all the time."
"That's so," admitted Bart, who was a dark-faced, reserved sort of boy; "but such tricks as you perpetrated last night are dangerous."
"How?"
"What if Lieutenant Gordan finds out you were at the bottom of it? You know what will happen."
"Sure!"
"Well, you are taking big chances for a little fun."
"A little fun!" echoed Frank. "Didn't you consider that something more than a little fun last night? It struck me as a roaring farce."
A faint trace of a smile came to Hodge's dark face.
"You enjoy anything of the kind far more than I do, Merriwell," he said. "I like fun of a different sort."
"Well, I fancy you will acknowledge I take some interest in other sports, Bart?"
"That's all right, Frank; you are the leader of our class in everything, because you are a natural leader. But you have a dangerous rival."
"Think so?"
"I know it. There is a fellow in this school who is aiming to stand at the head in athletics. Up to a few weeks ago he remained in the background, so that little or no notice was taken of him; but he is coming to the front now, and I believe he means to give you a hot race for first position. He has even declared openly that he is a pitcher, and means to make a try for a position on the team."
"That's all right, Bart. I am not hoggish enough to want all the honors, and, if we play as much ball as we intend to next spring and summer, we'll need another pitcher. I can't do all the twirling."
"But he says he will not play under you as captain of the team."
"Ha! That is interesting! Now you are waking me up. I suppose the fellow you speak of is Paul Rains?"
"Yes, he is the one."
"Then Rains is something of an enemy, as well as a rival. Well, we'll see who is the better man."
The short, dark days of winter had brought about changes in Fardale Academy. Drills had been discontinued, and, except for weekly inspections and occasional guard duty, there were no formations under arms. The hours for study were longer, as also were the lessons. Some of the plebes were negligent and regardless of the fact that the January examinations were close at hand, while others were "boning" steadily, doing their level best to stand well in their classes.
For all of his mischievous disposition, Frank was studying enough to hold his own in his class, and he was looked on favorably by his instructors. He was magnetic, and had a winning way, so that he made many friends, always among the better class at the school. No one, either man or boy, is ever popular without having enemies, and this was true of Frank; but his enemies were those who were jealous of him, or those with whom he did not care to associate, for the best of reasons.
Hodge was not a fellow to make friends, being haughty and proud, and Merriwell obtained many enemies because he roomed with Bart, and seemed to stand up for the fellow.
The friendship of the two lads was rather remarkable, considering how they had once been enemies, and how Hodge had worked hard to injure Frank.
Among the plebes there were a few who stood head and shoulders above their companions in athletics. Hodge went in for fencing, and Professor Rhynas declared he would make a master of the foil. Hugh Bascomb, with a pugilist's thick neck and round head, was spending all his spare time boxing, and it was said that he could strike a blow that would stagger an ox. His admirers declared it was a beautiful sight to see him hammer the punching-bag, and they assured him over and over that he was certain to make another Sullivan. Naturally, this gave Bascomb the "swelled head," and he got an idea into his brain that he was really cut out for a fighter, and that nobody in Fardale could stand up before him for four rounds.
Day after day Barney Mulloy took a long pull at the rowing machine. Ned Gray spent his spare time on the horizontal bars or the trapeze, and Hans Dunnerwust tried his hand at everything, making sport for the spectators.
Among the plebes there were two lads who seemed all-round athletes. They were Paul Rains and Frank Merriwell.
Paul did not like Frank. In fact, he was envious of Merriwell's popularity, although he did his best to keep the fact concealed. Being a sly, secretive person, it was but natural that Rains should come to be considered as modest and unassuming. In truth, he was not modest at all, for, in his secret heart, there was nothing that any one else could do that he did not believe he could do. And so, while appearing to be very modest, he was really intensely egotistical.
Rains had not been given much attention for a time after he entered the academy, but his athletic abilities, for he was really a capable fellow, although his capabilities were limited, were bringing him into notice.
Jolly, open as the day, Frank did not know what it was to be crafty or secretive. He had a way of saying things he thought, and he did not understand people who kept their fancies and ambitious desires bottled up.
Hodge had not been the first to give Frank a hint that he had a rival in Rains, but he was the first to tell him that Rains had declared he would not play on the ball team if Merriwell was captain.
Frank remembered that, and he wondered what Rains could have against him. Frank was never able to understand one fellow despising another because the other was popular, for it was natural for him to wish everybody good luck and success, and he always rejoiced in the success of any fellow he knew, providing, of course, that the success was of the right sort.
Lieutenant Gordan made a rigid investigation of the racket caused by the "centipedes," but he failed to fasten the blame firmly on any one. Not one of the boys who knew the facts would expose Merriwell, and both Barney and Hans, discovering their wounds were not fatal, grinned and declared they were not sure there had been anything in their beds, but they thought they had felt something.
Professor Gunn was very indignant to think the culprits could not be discovered.
"It is a disgrace to the school!" he told Lieutenant Gordan. "Just look at my face, sir! I am a picture!"
The lieutenant did not crack a smile.
"You have no one but yourself to blame for your condition, sir," he said.
"Eh? eh? How's that? how's that?" sputtered Professor Gunn. "I don't think I understand you, sir."
"Then I will make it clear. If you had remained in your room, as you should when the disturbance occurred, you would not have received those injuries."
"But, sir—but I am the principal of this school. It is my place——"
"It is your place to keep in your room, sir, when there is an outbreak like the one under discussion, and allow me to straighten matters out. If you had done so, I might be able to get at the bottom of this affair and discover the guilty jokers; as it is, you and your associates complicated matters so that I do not seem able to do much of anything."
Having spoken thus plainly, Lieutenant Gordan turned on his heel, and left the professor in anything but a pleasant frame of mind.
It was a day or two after the occurrence of the "great centipede joke," as the crawfish affair came to be termed, that Paul Rains and Hugh Bascomb were having a bout with the gloves in the gymnasium. Quite a number of spectators had gathered, and Frank Merriwell sauntered up and joined the group.
Professor Rhynas was giving his attention to another department of the gymnasium, and he had left Bascomb to meet all comers and "give them points."
Bascomb was not finding it a very easy thing to give Rains many points, although he believed he could knock the fellow down any time he wished to do so by simply letting drive one of his sledgehammer blows.
But Bascomb had not thought of striking Rains with all his strength. He had discovered that Rains disliked Merriwell, and that was enough to establish a bond of friendship between the big plebe and the lad with whom he was boxing.
Bascomb hated Frank, but he feared him at the same time.
"Nobody seems able to get the best of that fellow," he had thought a hundred times. "It seems to be bad luck to go against him, and so I am going to keep away from him in the future. Poor Gage! Merriwell was bad medicine for him."
Bascomb was a coward, but he could hate intensely in his two-faced, treacherous way.
The moment Merriwell joined the group, Bascomb noted it.
"He's watching Rains," mentally decided the big plebe. "He wants to see what the fellow is made of."
Rains seemed aware that Merriwell was a spectator, for he braced up and gave Bascomb a merry go for a few minutes, forcing the big fellow back, and seeming to tap him with ease and skill whenever and wherever he chose.
When this little flurry was over, Rains threw off his gloves, and declared he had had enough.
"So have I," said Bascomb, with a grin. "You're the best man I've put the mittens on with yet. I believe there is a fellow not more than a hundred miles from here that thinks he is some one with gloves, but you can do him dead easy. More than that, I think he knows it, and I don't believe he has the nerve to stand up and face you for a whirl."
"Oh, I don't want to box with any one," said Rains. "Keep still, Bascomb."
"You may not want to box, but you can down Frank Merriwell just the same," declared the big plebe.
A moment of silence followed Bascomb's distinctly-spoken words, and the eyes of nearly every one were turned on Merriwell, to whose face the hot color slowly mounted.
"What's the matter with you, Bascomb?" he finally asked. "What do you want to draw me into this affair for? I don't know as I have any desire to put on the gloves with Rains."
The big fellow grinned in a way that was distinctly insulting.
"I don't think you have," he said. "You wouldn't cut any ice with him."
"You may be right; but I don't quite understand how you know, as I have never stood up with you."
"Oh, that wasn't necessary; I've seen you spar, and I have your gage. You don't run in the class with Rains."
At this juncture Rains made a move as if he would quiet Bascomb, but the big fellow quickly went on:
"I'm not going to keep still any longer. You're too modest, Rains. You keep in the background, and let fellows like Merriwell take the lead in everything, when you should be a leader. You are a better all-round man than Merriwell any day, and you can knock corners off him any time he has nerve enough to put on the mitts with you. He's a dandy to push himself to the front, but——"
That was a little more than Frank could stand. The jolly look had vanished from his face, and he faced Bascomb, saying sharply:
"Look here, my friend, I reckon you are saying one word for Rains and two for yourself. I haven't mixed up with you for reasons that you very well understand, but I don't propose to take much of your talk. If there is any difference between Mr. Rains and myself, we will settle it at another time; but if you want to get a rap at me, now is the accepted occasion, and I will put on the gloves with you."
Bascomb had not been looking for this, and he was taken aback for a moment. Still, although he knew Merriwell was a far better all-round athlete, he believed he could more than match him in boxing, so he eagerly accepted the opportunity.
"I'm your man," he said. "Peel off and get into gear. It won't take me long to show you there are a few things you do not know."
He laughed in a disagreeable way, and Hodge, who had overheard all, bit his lips to repress an outburst of anger.
"The sneak!" whispered Bart to Frank, as the latter stepped aside to take off his coat and vest. "He means to use his sledgehammer blow on you. He won't box for points, but he will try to soak you. Look out for him."
"I am not afraid of him."
"That's all right; but you know he has been practicing that blow, and they say it is terrible. He is cut out for a prizefighter, and is no fit boxing antagonist for a gentleman."
"I shall look out for his 'wicked left,' as I have heard the boys call it."
"He wants to provoke you into a fight with himself or Rains."
"I thought as much; but he may change his mind after we spar, if he does not catch me foul by an accident."
"He is tricky."
"I will watch out for his tricks."
"Look out for his cross-buttock. He's stout as a moose, and he will give you a nasty fall."
For all of his warning words, Bart had great confidence in Frank. They had fought once, shortly after coming to Fardale, and Hodge had found Merriwell more than his match then. Since that time, Frank had missed no opportunity to pick up points in boxing, and his advancement had been great.
Still there was a chance that, by some accident, Bascomb might land once with that "wicked left," or might seek to injure Merriwell by a fall, if he found that he was matched in every other way, so Bart was on hand with his words of warning.
It did not take Frank long to get ready, and it was not long before the two boys faced each other, adjusting the gloves upon their hands. Then they came up to the scratch, and the word was given that started the contest.
Bascomb started in at once with a series of false motions intended to confuse Merriwell, but they simply brought a faint smile to Frank's face, and he remained as placid as ever until——
Just as Bascomb had decided to rush, Merriwell rushed. There was a flashing of their gloves. The big fellow struck twice, and both blows were met by a ready guard.
Biff! biff! biff! First with the right, and then twice with the left Frank struck the big plebe. None of them were heavy blows, but they all stung, and the angry blood surged to Bascomb's face, as he saw Merriwell leap back beyond his reach, laughing a bit.
"Mosquito bites!" said Bascomb, derisively.
"But they count."
"Who cares. I will more than square that in a minute."
"All right; I am waiting."
Once more they were at it, toe to toe, hands moving slightly, light on their feet, ready to dodge or spring, ready to strike or guard. Blows came, one landing on Merriwell's cheek, and another on his shoulder; but more than twenty were dodged or guarded, and Bascomb was struck twice for every blow he gave.
Frank was watching for that left hand body blow, and it came at last, just when Bascomb thought it must count.
In that case Bascomb deceived himself.
The blow was struck swiftly enough, but Frank stopped it with a right hand guard, and, with his left, countered heavily on Bascomb's mouth, sending the big fellow's head back.
Bascomb was surprised, and he showed it. He was also thoroughly angered, and he proceeded to "wade into" Merriwell like a cyclone.
On the other hand, Merriwell was cool as ice, and he made every blow count something, for even when they failed to land they kept the big fellow busy.
Time after time Bascomb rushed in, but Merriwell was light as a feather on his feet, and he danced nimbly about, tapping the other fellow now here, now there, smiling sweetly all the while, and showing a skill that was very baffling to Bascomb.
"Hang him!" thought the big fellow. "He is a regular jumping jack. If I don't land a blow on him pretty quick, I am going to clinch."
This he soon did, catching Frank for the cross-buttock throw.
For a moment it looked as if Merriwell would be flung heavily, and Hodge drew his breath through his teeth with a hissing sound that turned to a sigh of relief as he saw his friend thrust forward his right foot between Bascomb's, break his wrist clear and catch the big fellow behind the left knee with his left hand, while he brought his right arm up over Bascomb's shoulder, and pressed his hand over Bascomb's face, snapping his head back and hurling him off sideways.
This was done quickly and scientifically, and it convinced Hodge that Bascomb could not work the cross-buttock on Merriwell.
Hugh Bascomb was disgusted and infuriated by his failure. He had counted on having a soft thing, and he was actually getting the worst of the encounter.
Time was called, and a breathing spell taken.
Then they went at it again, and this time both worked savagely, their movements being swift and telling.
Watching this battle, Paul Rains began to believe that he was not yet quite Merriwell's match at boxing.
"But I am a better man than he is at most anything else," thought the fellow.
Smack! smack! smack!
Merriwell was following Bascomb up like a tiger, and the big fellow was forced to give ground. Again and again Frank hammered the desperate plebe, getting few blows in return and seeming to mind none of them no more than drops of rain.
Bascomb's face wore the look of an enraged bull. Suddenly, with a quick side motion, he snapped off the glove on his left hand.
Then, with his bare first, he struck straight and hard at Frank Merriwell's face!
Bascomb's movement had been noted by the spectators, and a cry of astonishment and warning broke from many lips.
"Look out!" shouted Bart Hodge.
Frank had seen the movement, and he needed no warning.
Like a flash, he ducked to the right, and Bascomb's bare fist missed his face and shot over his shoulder.
At the same instant Frank countered with his left, striking the big fellow on the chin, and hurling him backward with force enough to send him reeling.
Leaping forward, Merriwell followed up his advantage, and Bascomb received two terrible blows, one of which knocked him down as if he had been struck by a cannon ball.
Then Frank flung off both his gloves, his face flushed, and his eyes flashing, as he exclaimed:
"Two can play at your game, fellow! If you want to try a round with uncovered knuckles, pick yourself up and come on!"
Snarling like a wounded dog, Bascomb scrambled to his feet; but here the spectators surged between the two, Rains catching hold of the big plebe, while Hodge grasped Merriwell.
"Easy, Frank!" warned Bart. "Are you crazy? You know what it will mean if you fight in the gym. Rhynas has noticed it now—he's coming."
"Confound that fellow!" muttered Frank. "I don't often get started this way, but it was such a dirty trick that——"
"Never mind, now. Keep still, or Rhynas will hear."
"Let me get at him!" Bascomb had snarled. "I will beat the life out of him!"
"Stop! stop!" said Rains, swiftly. "You are making a fool of yourself! You can't fight here!"
"Can't I? Well——"
"No, it is against the rules. If you press this, you will be expelled, for the affair will be investigated, and it will be proved that you bared your hand, and Merriwell was forced to do so to defend himself."
"Oh, I could hammer him!"
"Well, there is plenty of time. Steady, now! Here is the professor. He has scented a row. Can't you play cool, and pretend it was a joke? Quick!"
Then Frank was surprised to see Bascomb come forward, laughing in a sickly way, as he said:
"You're pretty flip with your hands, Merriwell, and that's right. I hope you won't lay up anything against me because I lost my glove. I was so excited that I didn't know it was gone."
It was on Frank's tongue to give Bascomb the lie, but, for once in his life, Hodge was the cooler of the two, and he warned his friend by a soft pressure on the arm.
Then, seeing Professor Rhynas listening, with a dark look on his face, Frank laughed, and retorted:
"I don't mind a little thing like that, Bascomb, as long as you didn't strike me. I rather think I held my own with you, and so we will drop it."
"Yes," said Bascomb, "we will drop it—for the present."
The way he spoke the words seemed to indicate that, though they might let it drop for the present, the affair was not settled between them, by any means.
Rhynas now demanded to know the cause of the excitement, and he was told that Bascomb had knocked his glove off, and then, in his excitement, had struck a blow.
The professor looked blacker than ever.
"Such a thing is not possible," he declared. "This is no resort for fighters. If you fellows have any differences to settle, settle them elsewhere. I propose to run this department so there can be no slurs cast upon it, and I will not have fighting, quarreling or loud talking here."
The professor was very strict, and they knew he meant every word he spoke, so they did their best to pacify him with smooth words and apologies.
The man, however, was too shrewd to be deceived, and he knew very well that the two boxers had come very near fighting in the gymnasium while he was present. However, he could do nothing but warn them, which he did, and then went about his affairs.
The spectators of the little bout had been given something to talk about, for, up to that moment, they had not dreamed there was any one in the academy who could stand up before Bascomb's "wicked left" and not be unmercifully hammered.
Merriwell had been touched very few times with Bascomb's left, for he had constantly been on the guard for any blow that might come from that point, and he had thumped the big plebe most aggravatingly all through the affair.
But, what was most significant, after Bascomb had flung off one glove and struck at Frank with his bare fist, the smaller and more supple lad had sailed in and shown that he could put pounds into his blows, for he had driven Bascomb back and knocked him down.
This feat had caused Paul Rains to gasp with astonishment, and, in his heart, he was forced to acknowledge that he doubted if he were yet a match for Merriwell.
Hodge alone, of them all, had believed all along that Frank was more than a match for Bascomb.
Now the spectators began to realize that Merriwell was not given to boasting or "showing off," for he had made no pretense to be the champion boxer, and he had allowed them to think Bascomb was more than a match for anybody in the academy.
When forced to meet some one in a contest that should be a test of skill, Frank had chosen to meet Bascomb, which showed he had been confident in himself all along, for all that he had not thrust himself forward.
In his heart, Rains was very sore, for he had just met Bascomb, and, while he had made a good display, the big fellow had shown that he was the superior.
"Merriwell is putting me in the shade without running up against me at all," thought Paul. "I have lost ground with the fellows right here. How can I recover?"
It did not take him long to decide that he must go against Merriwell in some kind of a contest—and beat him.
"You are very clever with the gloves, Merriwell," said Rains, stepping forward, and speaking placidly; "but I would like to see what you can do jumping."
"Is that a challenge?" asked Frank, quietly.
"If you wish to regard it as such."
"Oh, I am not anxious; I simply wanted to know just what you meant it for."
"Then let it go as a challenge."
"For what—high jump, or broad jump?"
"Both."
"That's the talk!" laughed one of the spectators. "Now we will have more sport!"
"All right," laughed Frank. "I will go you, though I have not been doing much jumping lately, and I am not in my best form."
"That will sound all right if you beat," said Rains; "but it will not do for an excuse if you lose."
"All right; let it go. I won't try to make any other excuse in case you are the victor."
In a mass the boys surged toward a piece of ground just outside of the gymnasium adapted to jumping.
"What shall it be first?" asked Frank, as he stood at the edge of the long strip of turf.
"Running long jump," decided Rains.
"That's agreeable. You challenged, and I presume we are to take turns for three jumps, the one who makes the best leap out of the number is the winner?"
"That's all right."
Hodge spoke up quickly:
"What do you mean by taking turns? Is one to jump three times, and then the other jump three times?"
"No, I mean for us to alternate," explained Frank. "First one jumps, and then the other."
Hodge nodded his satisfaction.
"That is fair, and it is much better than the other way," he declared.
The rivals made preparations for the contest. By lot it fell to Rains to lead off.
Rains was smiling and confident.
"If there is anything I can do, I can jump," he told Bascomb, in an aside. "I will beat him by a foot, at the very least."
"I hope you will beat him by a yard!" muttered the big fellow, sullenly. "I want to see him taken down. He has been a leader long enough."
"Oh, I will manage to win some of his glory away from him before the spring campaign opens," said Rains, confidently. "Don't you worry about that; but," he added, swiftly, "don't repeat my words to anybody. I am not going to boast, but I am going to do something. That's the proper way."
"Sure," nodded Bascomb. "I guess you can do it, too."
In his heart, however, Bascomb did not feel at all sure that Rains would prove the victor in the jumping contest.
"Merriwell is the hardest fellow to beat that I ever saw," he told himself. "It doesn't seem possible to down him, and keep him down. If one seems to get the best of him for a bit, he bobs up serenely directly, and comes out on top. It is just his luck!"
If Bascomb had said it was just Merriwell's pluck he would have hit the truth, for Frank, besides being physically capable, was endowed with any amount of determination, having a never-say-die spirit that would not give up as long as there was a ghost of a chance left to pull out a winner.
In the words of the boys, "Merriwell was no quitter."
"Ready," called the fellow who had been chosen for referee. "Rains will set the stint."