CHAPTER XXIII.AT THE ROAD HOUSE.

CHAPTER XXIII.AT THE ROAD HOUSE.Frank and Bart found their new acquaintances inclined to be a roistering set. This seemed quite unaccountable as far as Branch was concerned. To Merriwell the fellow from Connecticut seemed like almost anything other than a roisterer.Frank talked with Branch about the game, and the Hopkins manager agreed that, unless something unexpected prevented, he would try to arrange it. He displayed a great amount of cordiality, but he chucklingly assured Merriwell that Hopkins would have a snap.“We’ll take chances on that,” said Frank.Terms were agreed upon. This was not difficult, as both managers knew the sport might not turn out a large crowd, and Frank was not inclined to be exacting. He was willing to play for pleasure, even if it cost him something.“You see,” he said, “I’m pretty near the end of my sporting trip. I shall leave for Old Mexico in the latter part of July.”“You’re choosing a hot season for such a trip, aren’t you?”“Well, it’s necessary. But you know they have all sorts of climates in Mexico. In some localities they have delightful weather the whole year round. Indeed, there are places where they never have such hot weather as you experience here. Baltimore is a fine place to bake in summer.”“Oh, Connecticut is good enough for me, then,” grinned Branch. “We’ve had some mighty hot weather already.”Fillmore and some others joined them.“Well, have you two fixed it all up?” asked Fred.“As far as possible, I think,” nodded Frank.“I guess it’s just the same as fixed,” said Branch.“And the game——”“We’ll pull it off if the committee don’t kick up on us.”“Good enough! I’ve called a waiter, and he’s bringing us a round of drinks. Shall we have them here?”“That suits me,” nodded Branch.Frank and Bart exchanged glances.A moment later a colored waiter appeared with a huge tray that was loaded with brimming glasses of beer.“I didn’t ask you what you would have, Merriwell,” explained Fillmore. “I knew you were a good fellow, and, of course, you’ll drink the same as the rest of us.”“I’m very sorry——” began Merry.“Oh, come, come!” cried several. “You’re with us, Merriwell! Of course you are!”“But I don’t drink beer,” said Frank quietly.“Why not?”“It isn’t good for me.”“Oh, rats! It’s good for any man!”“Do you mean to say you won’t drink anything, Merriwell, old man?” asked Fillmore, as if greatly disappointed.“You may bring me some gin,” he finally said.“Ah-ha!” they cried. “That’s the talk! We knew he was a good fellow.”Merry turned to the waiter.“Bring me some Old Tom in a bottle,” he said. “I’ll take plain water for a chaser; no ginger ale or anything of that sort.”Instantly Hodge took the cue.“I think I’ll drink gin, too,” he said. “Make my chaser the same.”One of the students whispered to a companion.“Hodge has to do everything just the same as Merriwell does it.”“If they stick to gin, we’ll soak them both for keeps,” the other whispered back.The waiter disappeared, but soon returned with the bottle of Old Tom and the glasses.As Frank poured a goodly drink Fillmore started up the song “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow,” in which several of the others followed.Hackett rose, holding his glass of beer aloft.“Here’s to Frank Merriwell!” he cried. “Frank Merriwell, a star of the first magnitude. May that star never grow dim.”“Thank you,” bowed Merry smilingly. “You are exceedingly kind. Here is to you all, gentlemen. May you never be disappointed—unless you deserve to be.”They drank. Merry tossed off his drink at a gulp, barely wetted his lips with the “chaser,” then tossed the remaining contents of the glass over his shoulder and the rail of the veranda.Hodge made a wry face and did not touch his “chaser,” which was carried away by the waiter.Bart excused himself and followed the waiter inside.“Here, Tom,” he softly called.“Yes, sar,” said the waiter, pausing.Bart whispered something in his ear, at the same time slipping a dollar into his hand.The black fellow looked surprised and then grinned in a knowing manner.“Yes, sir! Thank yo’, sar!” he exclaimed. “I’ll look out fo’ it, sar—’deed I will. Don’t yo’ worry ’bout that.”Saying which, he took the glass left by Hodge from the tray and drained its contents.“I’ll drink all yo’ chasers, sar,” chuckled the colored man.Bart returned to the veranda.Some one else ordered a round of drinks.Frank and Bart took the same as before, while the others drank beer.Black Tom carried away two “chasers” on his tray, but the moment he was inside and out of sight, he drank both, tossing one down after the other and smacking his lips.“Dem chaps is slick,” he said. “Plain wattah makes a fine chaser fo’ gin. Yah! yah! Dis is a snap fo’ Tom!”Cigarettes were passed round by two of the college lads.Frank and Bart politely declined. Fillmore took one.“Don’t you smoke, Merriwell?” he asked.“Never.”“Why is that—on account of your wind?”“That is one reason.”“Well, I don’t smoke much myself. We’re not supposed to smoke at all, but a cigarette now and then never hurts me.”“Possibly not.”“Do you think it does?”“I can’t say. You may not have a taste for them, but you can cultivate the habit.”“Oh, that’s right; but when I find the habit growing on me I’ll stop altogether.”“It’s easy to say so.”“But not easy to do, I presume you mean. I never smoke unless I drink something. Two beers make me feel like it. You might join us for once.”“Wouldn’t think of torturing myself. I dislike cigarettes. It’s a cultivated taste, you know. I confess that one of those things would be certain to make my head feel bad, and it might upset my stomach.”“Well, you’re queer!” cried Dick Whisper. “A chap who’s knocked around as much as you have generally smokes.”“Most of them do,” acknowledged Frank.Bart also declined, and again one of the students reminded a companion that Hodge was bound to imitate Merriwell.“Have a drink on me,” invited Frank. “It’s my turn.”They protested, declaring he was their guest and could not buy. But he insisted. He even threatened to stop and take no more drinks unless permitted to order. This brought them round and they gave in.Black Tom was grinning in a manner that exposed every tooth in his head when he appeared with the drinks.“Heah yo’ is, gemmans,” he said, with unusual freedom. “I hope yo’ ’s habin’ a good time. Make yo’se’fs right at home. Anything else I can bring yo’, gemmans?”Fillmore glared at him.“What’s the matter with you, you black rascal?” he cried. “You act like you’ve been drinking yourself.”“Oh, no, sar! Nebber, sar! Boss don’ ’low me to drink when I’m on duty, sar. I’s just pleased to see yo’ enjoyin’ yo’se’fs. Yah! yah! yah!”“Get out, you grinning monkey!”“Yes, sar! yes, sar!”But Tom waited in the background until the round had been disposed of, when he gathered up the glasses, carefully taking the “chasers” left by Frank and Bart.“When yo’ wants me again I’ll be at yoah disposal, gemmans,” he said, as he departed, giggling queerly.The next time Black Tom appeared with an order he caught his toe on the doorsill just as he was coming out onto the veranda.“Oh, Lordy!” he gasped.Sprawling he went, with a great crash, beer and splintered glasses flying in all directions and bespattering some of the students.“Oh, Lordy!” repeated the colored man, as he sat up and gazed around, his eyes rolling queerly and a look on his face that made the spectators roar.“I’s a-gwine ter git the old Sachet fer this!” he declared.“What’s the matter with you, you blundering, black scoundrel?” demanded Fillmore. “Never saw you act so oddly.”“Somefin’ sholy moved just as I was a-gwine teh step frough the do’,” declared Tom, as he gathered himself up unsteadily. “Whoa, dar! It moved ag’in! Is de groun’ shakin’ ur nuffin’?”“He’s drunk!” declared Dick Whisper. “Hastings will give it to you, Tom.”“Dat’s right, he will. He’ll be hoppin’ mad about de smash. But de flo’ gave de funniest wiggle. Yah! yah! yah! It done tickle mah foot.”Then the negro went off into a spasm of laughter.“You’ll lose your place if you don’t brace up, Tom,” said Fillmore. “Here comes Mr. Hastings now.”“Oh, Lordy!” gasped the colored man, his manner changing with astonishing suddenness. “I’s do’ fo’!”He made a scramble to gather up the waiter and some of the partly smashed glasses.Suddenly he stopped.“Yo’ ’s foolin’ me,” he said, with a grin. “De boss is done gone fo’ de day. Said he wouldn’t be back till to-morrer mawnin’.”“That explains your condition,” said Hackett. “Go bring those drinks and clean up here, you tippling dog.”“Don’t yo’ be so pussunal, sar!” objected Tom, swaying a bit and looking offended. “I nebber done yo’ no injury ner nuffin’. I’s sho’ sorry I spilled de drinks. I’ll have them teh pay fo’, ’sides payin’ fo’ the glasses I smashed. But I don’ like teh be called nuffin’disgraceful. I allus tries teh treat averybody right, an’ it ain’t——”“Oh, cut it out!” interrupted one of the collegians. “You’re all right, Tom, when you are all right. Better bring that beer in steins after this. They won’t break so easy.”Tom departed, stepping gingerly and lifting his feet very high. In a short time he returned with the drinks. Then he hastened to wipe up and sweep up the pieces of broken glass.The boys began to sing, “When Good Fellows Get Together.” They seemed to be feeling very well indeed. Merriwell and Hodge joined in, apparently feeling quite as well as any of them.In the midst of the singing Fillmore found a chance to whisper in Hackett’s ear:“Merriwell is pretty well loaded now. Look at him. I don’t believe he can stand much, and he’s drinking gin as if it were water.”“Oh, we’ll have him finished pretty soon,” answered Hackett. “I want to soak Hodge just as much, but I think he can stand more than Merriwell.”A man appeared and informed them that they could not sit on the veranda and sing in that manner.“What are you tryin’ to do?” he growled. “Want to queer the place? There’s people goin’ by on the road. Come inside, all of yer.”“We resent that language, Morrisy!” exclaimed Fillmore haughtily, as he rose. “Speak to us in the proper manner to address gentlemen.”“That’s right!” said Frank, also rising, and seeming a bit unsteady. “That’s no way to talk.”“Oh, don’t all you chaps go to gettin’ on your high horses!” cried Morrisy. “You know me, an’ I know you. If I’ve said anything you don’t like, I apolergize; but you’ll have to caper inside if you want any more drinks.”“Do you positively refuse to serve anything more out here?” asked Fillmore.“Sure thing.”“Then, as you have apologized, we’ll come in. Come on, fellows.”They all filed in and found seats round some tables in a cool and airy room. As another round of drinks was being served a man with huge shoulders and a thick neck came sauntering into the room, his derby hat cocked over one eye and a cigar canted upward in one corner of his mouth.“Here’s Husker!” was the cry. “Hello, Galway, old slugger! Come have a drink with us!”The newcomer paused and surveyed the party critically.“Well, now, you’re a hot bunch, ain’t yer!” he said. “You’re certainly goin’ it some. Tryin’ ter drownd yerselves wid beer, hey?”Fillmore hastened to Husker Galway and shook hands with him. Others rose and greeted him in a similar manner. In the pugilist’s ear Fillmore whispered:“I’m going to give you a knockdown to the chap I phoned you about. Get him into a bout and mark him up as much as you can. Give him a black eye or two, if possible.”“Does he t’ink he can scrap?”“He thinks he can do anything and everything.”“I’ll take some of der wind outer him in a hurry,” promised Galway.“This is our boxing instructor, Husker Galway, Mr. Merriwell,” said Fillmore, introducing them.“’Waryer!” said Husker, seizing Frank’s hand.For some reason Merry had prepared for just what followed. Something warned him that the pugilist would try to give him a grip that would make him wince, and therefore Frank proceeded to get the hold that he desired. When Galway tried to crush his fingers, Merry proceeded smilingly to close on the fighter’s hand with a grip of iron.“Delighted to meet you, Mr. Galway,” he said, with that pleasant smile. “It really gives me great pleasure.”He gave the pugilist a grip that might have crushed the bones in another man’s hand. At first Galway pretended not to notice it, but in a moment he tried to tear his hand away, the look on his face showing that he was in pain.“Wot in howlin’ thunder you tryin’ ter do?” he snarled. “Leggo! Leggo of that fist!”“I beg your pardon!” said Merry, in apparent surprise, as Husker seemed on the point of hitting him. “Evidently you—hic!—you don’t belong to my lodge.”All the blood seemed squeezed from Galway’s hand.“Dat’s the fin I broke on Pug Curran,” said the pugilist, by way of explanation. “Was yer tryin’ ter finish it fer me?”Fillmore and the others were surprised, for they had seen the man cause dozens of people to wilt and begwhile pretending to shake hands with them in an ordinary manner. The fact that Frank had checkmated the move and caused Galway to squeal was most astonishing to them.Galway grew angry.“You’re too fresh, dat’s wot’s der matter wid youse!” he said, glaring at Merry. “You oughter have some of it taken outer yer!”“Why, didn’t I—hic!—didn’t I beg your pardon?” said the young man, in surprise.“Better beg it ag’in,” growled the bruiser.“Oh, very well!” exclaimed Merry hastily. “I’ll do it!”Husker fancied Frank was frightened.Fillmore fancied Frank was drunk. He gave the pugilist a signal, and the latter grew more arrogant.“Wot you need is a little t’umpin’,” he said. “I’d like ter put on der gloves wid youse an’ take some of der freshness outer yer.”“Would you?”“You bet!”“I’d rather not. I’ve heard about you.”“Oh, I didn’t suppose you’d have der nerve. It wouldn’t really hurt yer none, but it would do yer good. Der gloves are like cushions. A jab in der jaw is like a caress.”“Put them on with him, Merriwell!” cried Fillmore.Taking the cue from their leader, the other students urged him to do so.“Don’t be frightened,” said one.“We’ve all been through the mill,” declared another.“You ought to stand what we can.”“I’ve heard you know how to box.”“Oh, go ahead! go ahead!”Frank saw through the game now. For some moments he pretended to be anxious to keep out of it; but finally, of a sudden, with seeming drunken courage, he announced that he would put on the gloves with Galway.The students shouted joyously.“Now we’ll see some fun!” they cried.They did!But it was not just the kind of fun they expected.One of the rooms in the huge shed back of the road house was fitted up in a manner that plainly betokened the use to which it had been put more than once.In the centre of the room was a spare platform. On four sides were seats. At the four corners of the open platform were stakes. The platform was inclosed by ropes.Here more than one stiff fight had been pulled off as a boxing bout.Hastings, the proprietor of the place, had no license to run affairs of the sort, but he had a pull with the police, and he had never been molested.Men from Johns Hopkins, the Baltimore Medical College and sometimes youngsters from the City College frequented the place and witnessed the “mills” which took place there.Of course Hastings had not escaped criticism. There had been complaints against him, but through it all he kept at his business and raked in the money the youngsters spent.The boys followed Husker Galway and Merriwellout into the shed. Fillmore was in high spirits. He locked arms with Tom Hackett and chuckled softly over the affair.“Merriwell has a beautiful bun on,” he muttered. “He’ll be a cinch for Husker. And Husker has taken the tip from me to cut him up and give him a black eye or two. Ha! ha! Won’t he be a pretty bird to take back to Inza! She’ll admire him, I don’t think!”“Wish Hodge was going to get his medicine at the same time,” growled Hackett.“Why don’t you pick a fuss with him and do him up?”“What are you thinking of? Didn’t we bring him out here? We’ll have to play the sympathetic. We must make them both believe we’re very sorry over it.”“You’re right, Tom. We’ve got to keep clear of the blame.”Husker Galway stripped down in a hurry, flinging off his clothes with the exception of such garments as were absolutely necessary to cover his nakedness.Merriwell was more deliberate. He moved with a certain slowness and strained precision, as if he was doing everything with a great effort to appear cool and sober.Hodge looked on indifferently, as if he took very little interest in the affair.The students joyously selected a referee and timekeeper. They decided that the bout should be pulled off in rounds of three minutes each, although many were inclined to believe that the first round would be more than enough to end it.A few of the reckless ones ventured to bet that Merriwellwould last a whole round, getting even money on it. Two to one was offered that he would not last two rounds, and ten to one that he would throw up the sponge before three rounds were over.Some of the boys seemed to have an idea that Husker would play with Frank for the first round, give him a cutting up in the second, and then, if Merry stood up for any more, proceed to put him out in the third.One, who seemed well loaded with beer, staggered forward and clasped Merriwell round the neck, earnestly entreating him not to box.“I’m ’shamed, old fel,” said the maudlin chap. “’Tain’t right! It’s shame! You dunno w’atcher up against. You’re a good fellow, but Husker is a slugger. He’s offended; he’s dangerous. I’m gentleman. Don’t like to see him do you this way. Put on y’r coat an’ come have a drink with me.”“Get out of the way, Ludley!” cried another. “You’ve got a peach! Go lie down somewhere!”Ludley waved the other off with a hand that was limp at the wrist.“Lemme ’lone,” he said stiffly. “I’m friend to Merriwell. He’s good chap. Whatcher want? Want to see him hurt? He’s fine-lookin’ chap. I hate to see fine-lookin’ chap like him hurt, I do.”“You are very—hic!—kind, sir,” said Frank. “I appreciate your extreme kindness, but I think I can—hic!—I can take care of myself. Don’t worry ’bout me.”“Course he kin take care of hisself,” said Galway. “Go jump off the earth, little boy.”Ludley shed tears.“He’s our ghest,” he murmured thickly. “’Tain’t right, boys—’tain’t right! You may think it’s joke, but I shay it’s shame.”“Why doesn’t some one smother that fool?” growled Tom Hackett. “He always was an ass!”Frank put Ludley aside and finished making ready. Some one found him a pair of rubber-soled shoes, and these he put on.Then they brought the gloves.Instead of boxing gloves, such as are generally used for sparring, they were six-ouncers, the kind used in many prize fights.“Hum!” said Merry, as he gravely surveyed the pair handed him. “Aren’t these a trifle light for a friendly go?”“Oh, they’re all right!” exclaimed several of the students. “We box with them here.”“If that is so,” said Merry, “I’ll raise—hic!—no further objection.”Black Tom came unsteadily feeling his way out into the shed. He scratched his woolly head and gazed in a dazed way at Galway and then at Frank.Suddenly he began to laugh.“When yo’ gwine teh ordah another round, gemmans?” he asked. “I’ll drink de chasers. Yah! yah! yah!”Some one threw a wooden dumb-bell at Tom, and it struck him on the head, bounding off.“G’way dar!” cried the colored man indignantly. “Stop frowin’ dem peanut shells dis way!”Hodge aroused himself and tied on Frank’s gloves. As he did so, he found an opportunity to whisper:“They all think we’re both loaded, Merry. This big bruiser thinks so, too. When you undeceive him you want to do it by wading into him and finishing the scrap.”“Come on!” cried Galway. “It takes you a long time ter git inter gear.”“Don’t be impatient, my friend,” said Merry, floppily waving one of the gloves at the bruiser. “We’ve got all the—hic!—all the afternoon.”“Dat’ll give yer a long time ter sleep,” said Husker.“Gentlemen,” called the student who had appointed himself as referee, “in the main bout to-day we have the great Husker Galway, heavyweight champion of the Pimlico Road.”He waved his hand toward Galway.“His opponent is Frank Merriwell, all-round champion at anything and everything.”A wave toward Merry.“The fight will be in three-minute rounds, with half-minute intermissions, both men to defend themselves in the breakaway. They will fight to a finish.”“Hoop-la! Yow! Yow!” yelled the students. “’Rah for Darby, the referee!”The timekeeper had his watch in his hand. Suddenly he struck the gong that hung suspended at one side of the raised platform.Galway strode forward to the centre of the ring.Merry advanced with a shuffling, unsteady step.“It’s a shame to take the money!” muttered Fillmore.“Why, the fellow is all in now! Husker can put him out with one punch.”“Sure he can,” agreed Hackett.“But he won’t.”“Why not?”“He knows I want him to cut the fellow up, and he’ll try to let Merriwell keep on his feet while he chops his face to pieces. I wonder if Inza will kiss him when she sees him to-night! Bet he’ll feel so sore he’ll drink like a fish after this is over. We must be careful not to let him get so drunk he can’t show up before Inza.”Galway and Merry reached forth their hands and their gloves touched. Then they assumed the position of “on guard.”Merry put up his hands rather awkwardly.Galway grinned.“It’s too bad, boy,” he sneered; “but you’d be a plum pudding for any sixteen-year-old kid in Baltimore.”Saying which he reached over and tapped Merry lightly on the nose.

CHAPTER XXIII.AT THE ROAD HOUSE.Frank and Bart found their new acquaintances inclined to be a roistering set. This seemed quite unaccountable as far as Branch was concerned. To Merriwell the fellow from Connecticut seemed like almost anything other than a roisterer.Frank talked with Branch about the game, and the Hopkins manager agreed that, unless something unexpected prevented, he would try to arrange it. He displayed a great amount of cordiality, but he chucklingly assured Merriwell that Hopkins would have a snap.“We’ll take chances on that,” said Frank.Terms were agreed upon. This was not difficult, as both managers knew the sport might not turn out a large crowd, and Frank was not inclined to be exacting. He was willing to play for pleasure, even if it cost him something.“You see,” he said, “I’m pretty near the end of my sporting trip. I shall leave for Old Mexico in the latter part of July.”“You’re choosing a hot season for such a trip, aren’t you?”“Well, it’s necessary. But you know they have all sorts of climates in Mexico. In some localities they have delightful weather the whole year round. Indeed, there are places where they never have such hot weather as you experience here. Baltimore is a fine place to bake in summer.”“Oh, Connecticut is good enough for me, then,” grinned Branch. “We’ve had some mighty hot weather already.”Fillmore and some others joined them.“Well, have you two fixed it all up?” asked Fred.“As far as possible, I think,” nodded Frank.“I guess it’s just the same as fixed,” said Branch.“And the game——”“We’ll pull it off if the committee don’t kick up on us.”“Good enough! I’ve called a waiter, and he’s bringing us a round of drinks. Shall we have them here?”“That suits me,” nodded Branch.Frank and Bart exchanged glances.A moment later a colored waiter appeared with a huge tray that was loaded with brimming glasses of beer.“I didn’t ask you what you would have, Merriwell,” explained Fillmore. “I knew you were a good fellow, and, of course, you’ll drink the same as the rest of us.”“I’m very sorry——” began Merry.“Oh, come, come!” cried several. “You’re with us, Merriwell! Of course you are!”“But I don’t drink beer,” said Frank quietly.“Why not?”“It isn’t good for me.”“Oh, rats! It’s good for any man!”“Do you mean to say you won’t drink anything, Merriwell, old man?” asked Fillmore, as if greatly disappointed.“You may bring me some gin,” he finally said.“Ah-ha!” they cried. “That’s the talk! We knew he was a good fellow.”Merry turned to the waiter.“Bring me some Old Tom in a bottle,” he said. “I’ll take plain water for a chaser; no ginger ale or anything of that sort.”Instantly Hodge took the cue.“I think I’ll drink gin, too,” he said. “Make my chaser the same.”One of the students whispered to a companion.“Hodge has to do everything just the same as Merriwell does it.”“If they stick to gin, we’ll soak them both for keeps,” the other whispered back.The waiter disappeared, but soon returned with the bottle of Old Tom and the glasses.As Frank poured a goodly drink Fillmore started up the song “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow,” in which several of the others followed.Hackett rose, holding his glass of beer aloft.“Here’s to Frank Merriwell!” he cried. “Frank Merriwell, a star of the first magnitude. May that star never grow dim.”“Thank you,” bowed Merry smilingly. “You are exceedingly kind. Here is to you all, gentlemen. May you never be disappointed—unless you deserve to be.”They drank. Merry tossed off his drink at a gulp, barely wetted his lips with the “chaser,” then tossed the remaining contents of the glass over his shoulder and the rail of the veranda.Hodge made a wry face and did not touch his “chaser,” which was carried away by the waiter.Bart excused himself and followed the waiter inside.“Here, Tom,” he softly called.“Yes, sar,” said the waiter, pausing.Bart whispered something in his ear, at the same time slipping a dollar into his hand.The black fellow looked surprised and then grinned in a knowing manner.“Yes, sir! Thank yo’, sar!” he exclaimed. “I’ll look out fo’ it, sar—’deed I will. Don’t yo’ worry ’bout that.”Saying which, he took the glass left by Hodge from the tray and drained its contents.“I’ll drink all yo’ chasers, sar,” chuckled the colored man.Bart returned to the veranda.Some one else ordered a round of drinks.Frank and Bart took the same as before, while the others drank beer.Black Tom carried away two “chasers” on his tray, but the moment he was inside and out of sight, he drank both, tossing one down after the other and smacking his lips.“Dem chaps is slick,” he said. “Plain wattah makes a fine chaser fo’ gin. Yah! yah! Dis is a snap fo’ Tom!”Cigarettes were passed round by two of the college lads.Frank and Bart politely declined. Fillmore took one.“Don’t you smoke, Merriwell?” he asked.“Never.”“Why is that—on account of your wind?”“That is one reason.”“Well, I don’t smoke much myself. We’re not supposed to smoke at all, but a cigarette now and then never hurts me.”“Possibly not.”“Do you think it does?”“I can’t say. You may not have a taste for them, but you can cultivate the habit.”“Oh, that’s right; but when I find the habit growing on me I’ll stop altogether.”“It’s easy to say so.”“But not easy to do, I presume you mean. I never smoke unless I drink something. Two beers make me feel like it. You might join us for once.”“Wouldn’t think of torturing myself. I dislike cigarettes. It’s a cultivated taste, you know. I confess that one of those things would be certain to make my head feel bad, and it might upset my stomach.”“Well, you’re queer!” cried Dick Whisper. “A chap who’s knocked around as much as you have generally smokes.”“Most of them do,” acknowledged Frank.Bart also declined, and again one of the students reminded a companion that Hodge was bound to imitate Merriwell.“Have a drink on me,” invited Frank. “It’s my turn.”They protested, declaring he was their guest and could not buy. But he insisted. He even threatened to stop and take no more drinks unless permitted to order. This brought them round and they gave in.Black Tom was grinning in a manner that exposed every tooth in his head when he appeared with the drinks.“Heah yo’ is, gemmans,” he said, with unusual freedom. “I hope yo’ ’s habin’ a good time. Make yo’se’fs right at home. Anything else I can bring yo’, gemmans?”Fillmore glared at him.“What’s the matter with you, you black rascal?” he cried. “You act like you’ve been drinking yourself.”“Oh, no, sar! Nebber, sar! Boss don’ ’low me to drink when I’m on duty, sar. I’s just pleased to see yo’ enjoyin’ yo’se’fs. Yah! yah! yah!”“Get out, you grinning monkey!”“Yes, sar! yes, sar!”But Tom waited in the background until the round had been disposed of, when he gathered up the glasses, carefully taking the “chasers” left by Frank and Bart.“When yo’ wants me again I’ll be at yoah disposal, gemmans,” he said, as he departed, giggling queerly.The next time Black Tom appeared with an order he caught his toe on the doorsill just as he was coming out onto the veranda.“Oh, Lordy!” he gasped.Sprawling he went, with a great crash, beer and splintered glasses flying in all directions and bespattering some of the students.“Oh, Lordy!” repeated the colored man, as he sat up and gazed around, his eyes rolling queerly and a look on his face that made the spectators roar.“I’s a-gwine ter git the old Sachet fer this!” he declared.“What’s the matter with you, you blundering, black scoundrel?” demanded Fillmore. “Never saw you act so oddly.”“Somefin’ sholy moved just as I was a-gwine teh step frough the do’,” declared Tom, as he gathered himself up unsteadily. “Whoa, dar! It moved ag’in! Is de groun’ shakin’ ur nuffin’?”“He’s drunk!” declared Dick Whisper. “Hastings will give it to you, Tom.”“Dat’s right, he will. He’ll be hoppin’ mad about de smash. But de flo’ gave de funniest wiggle. Yah! yah! yah! It done tickle mah foot.”Then the negro went off into a spasm of laughter.“You’ll lose your place if you don’t brace up, Tom,” said Fillmore. “Here comes Mr. Hastings now.”“Oh, Lordy!” gasped the colored man, his manner changing with astonishing suddenness. “I’s do’ fo’!”He made a scramble to gather up the waiter and some of the partly smashed glasses.Suddenly he stopped.“Yo’ ’s foolin’ me,” he said, with a grin. “De boss is done gone fo’ de day. Said he wouldn’t be back till to-morrer mawnin’.”“That explains your condition,” said Hackett. “Go bring those drinks and clean up here, you tippling dog.”“Don’t yo’ be so pussunal, sar!” objected Tom, swaying a bit and looking offended. “I nebber done yo’ no injury ner nuffin’. I’s sho’ sorry I spilled de drinks. I’ll have them teh pay fo’, ’sides payin’ fo’ the glasses I smashed. But I don’ like teh be called nuffin’disgraceful. I allus tries teh treat averybody right, an’ it ain’t——”“Oh, cut it out!” interrupted one of the collegians. “You’re all right, Tom, when you are all right. Better bring that beer in steins after this. They won’t break so easy.”Tom departed, stepping gingerly and lifting his feet very high. In a short time he returned with the drinks. Then he hastened to wipe up and sweep up the pieces of broken glass.The boys began to sing, “When Good Fellows Get Together.” They seemed to be feeling very well indeed. Merriwell and Hodge joined in, apparently feeling quite as well as any of them.In the midst of the singing Fillmore found a chance to whisper in Hackett’s ear:“Merriwell is pretty well loaded now. Look at him. I don’t believe he can stand much, and he’s drinking gin as if it were water.”“Oh, we’ll have him finished pretty soon,” answered Hackett. “I want to soak Hodge just as much, but I think he can stand more than Merriwell.”A man appeared and informed them that they could not sit on the veranda and sing in that manner.“What are you tryin’ to do?” he growled. “Want to queer the place? There’s people goin’ by on the road. Come inside, all of yer.”“We resent that language, Morrisy!” exclaimed Fillmore haughtily, as he rose. “Speak to us in the proper manner to address gentlemen.”“That’s right!” said Frank, also rising, and seeming a bit unsteady. “That’s no way to talk.”“Oh, don’t all you chaps go to gettin’ on your high horses!” cried Morrisy. “You know me, an’ I know you. If I’ve said anything you don’t like, I apolergize; but you’ll have to caper inside if you want any more drinks.”“Do you positively refuse to serve anything more out here?” asked Fillmore.“Sure thing.”“Then, as you have apologized, we’ll come in. Come on, fellows.”They all filed in and found seats round some tables in a cool and airy room. As another round of drinks was being served a man with huge shoulders and a thick neck came sauntering into the room, his derby hat cocked over one eye and a cigar canted upward in one corner of his mouth.“Here’s Husker!” was the cry. “Hello, Galway, old slugger! Come have a drink with us!”The newcomer paused and surveyed the party critically.“Well, now, you’re a hot bunch, ain’t yer!” he said. “You’re certainly goin’ it some. Tryin’ ter drownd yerselves wid beer, hey?”Fillmore hastened to Husker Galway and shook hands with him. Others rose and greeted him in a similar manner. In the pugilist’s ear Fillmore whispered:“I’m going to give you a knockdown to the chap I phoned you about. Get him into a bout and mark him up as much as you can. Give him a black eye or two, if possible.”“Does he t’ink he can scrap?”“He thinks he can do anything and everything.”“I’ll take some of der wind outer him in a hurry,” promised Galway.“This is our boxing instructor, Husker Galway, Mr. Merriwell,” said Fillmore, introducing them.“’Waryer!” said Husker, seizing Frank’s hand.For some reason Merry had prepared for just what followed. Something warned him that the pugilist would try to give him a grip that would make him wince, and therefore Frank proceeded to get the hold that he desired. When Galway tried to crush his fingers, Merry proceeded smilingly to close on the fighter’s hand with a grip of iron.“Delighted to meet you, Mr. Galway,” he said, with that pleasant smile. “It really gives me great pleasure.”He gave the pugilist a grip that might have crushed the bones in another man’s hand. At first Galway pretended not to notice it, but in a moment he tried to tear his hand away, the look on his face showing that he was in pain.“Wot in howlin’ thunder you tryin’ ter do?” he snarled. “Leggo! Leggo of that fist!”“I beg your pardon!” said Merry, in apparent surprise, as Husker seemed on the point of hitting him. “Evidently you—hic!—you don’t belong to my lodge.”All the blood seemed squeezed from Galway’s hand.“Dat’s the fin I broke on Pug Curran,” said the pugilist, by way of explanation. “Was yer tryin’ ter finish it fer me?”Fillmore and the others were surprised, for they had seen the man cause dozens of people to wilt and begwhile pretending to shake hands with them in an ordinary manner. The fact that Frank had checkmated the move and caused Galway to squeal was most astonishing to them.Galway grew angry.“You’re too fresh, dat’s wot’s der matter wid youse!” he said, glaring at Merry. “You oughter have some of it taken outer yer!”“Why, didn’t I—hic!—didn’t I beg your pardon?” said the young man, in surprise.“Better beg it ag’in,” growled the bruiser.“Oh, very well!” exclaimed Merry hastily. “I’ll do it!”Husker fancied Frank was frightened.Fillmore fancied Frank was drunk. He gave the pugilist a signal, and the latter grew more arrogant.“Wot you need is a little t’umpin’,” he said. “I’d like ter put on der gloves wid youse an’ take some of der freshness outer yer.”“Would you?”“You bet!”“I’d rather not. I’ve heard about you.”“Oh, I didn’t suppose you’d have der nerve. It wouldn’t really hurt yer none, but it would do yer good. Der gloves are like cushions. A jab in der jaw is like a caress.”“Put them on with him, Merriwell!” cried Fillmore.Taking the cue from their leader, the other students urged him to do so.“Don’t be frightened,” said one.“We’ve all been through the mill,” declared another.“You ought to stand what we can.”“I’ve heard you know how to box.”“Oh, go ahead! go ahead!”Frank saw through the game now. For some moments he pretended to be anxious to keep out of it; but finally, of a sudden, with seeming drunken courage, he announced that he would put on the gloves with Galway.The students shouted joyously.“Now we’ll see some fun!” they cried.They did!But it was not just the kind of fun they expected.One of the rooms in the huge shed back of the road house was fitted up in a manner that plainly betokened the use to which it had been put more than once.In the centre of the room was a spare platform. On four sides were seats. At the four corners of the open platform were stakes. The platform was inclosed by ropes.Here more than one stiff fight had been pulled off as a boxing bout.Hastings, the proprietor of the place, had no license to run affairs of the sort, but he had a pull with the police, and he had never been molested.Men from Johns Hopkins, the Baltimore Medical College and sometimes youngsters from the City College frequented the place and witnessed the “mills” which took place there.Of course Hastings had not escaped criticism. There had been complaints against him, but through it all he kept at his business and raked in the money the youngsters spent.The boys followed Husker Galway and Merriwellout into the shed. Fillmore was in high spirits. He locked arms with Tom Hackett and chuckled softly over the affair.“Merriwell has a beautiful bun on,” he muttered. “He’ll be a cinch for Husker. And Husker has taken the tip from me to cut him up and give him a black eye or two. Ha! ha! Won’t he be a pretty bird to take back to Inza! She’ll admire him, I don’t think!”“Wish Hodge was going to get his medicine at the same time,” growled Hackett.“Why don’t you pick a fuss with him and do him up?”“What are you thinking of? Didn’t we bring him out here? We’ll have to play the sympathetic. We must make them both believe we’re very sorry over it.”“You’re right, Tom. We’ve got to keep clear of the blame.”Husker Galway stripped down in a hurry, flinging off his clothes with the exception of such garments as were absolutely necessary to cover his nakedness.Merriwell was more deliberate. He moved with a certain slowness and strained precision, as if he was doing everything with a great effort to appear cool and sober.Hodge looked on indifferently, as if he took very little interest in the affair.The students joyously selected a referee and timekeeper. They decided that the bout should be pulled off in rounds of three minutes each, although many were inclined to believe that the first round would be more than enough to end it.A few of the reckless ones ventured to bet that Merriwellwould last a whole round, getting even money on it. Two to one was offered that he would not last two rounds, and ten to one that he would throw up the sponge before three rounds were over.Some of the boys seemed to have an idea that Husker would play with Frank for the first round, give him a cutting up in the second, and then, if Merry stood up for any more, proceed to put him out in the third.One, who seemed well loaded with beer, staggered forward and clasped Merriwell round the neck, earnestly entreating him not to box.“I’m ’shamed, old fel,” said the maudlin chap. “’Tain’t right! It’s shame! You dunno w’atcher up against. You’re a good fellow, but Husker is a slugger. He’s offended; he’s dangerous. I’m gentleman. Don’t like to see him do you this way. Put on y’r coat an’ come have a drink with me.”“Get out of the way, Ludley!” cried another. “You’ve got a peach! Go lie down somewhere!”Ludley waved the other off with a hand that was limp at the wrist.“Lemme ’lone,” he said stiffly. “I’m friend to Merriwell. He’s good chap. Whatcher want? Want to see him hurt? He’s fine-lookin’ chap. I hate to see fine-lookin’ chap like him hurt, I do.”“You are very—hic!—kind, sir,” said Frank. “I appreciate your extreme kindness, but I think I can—hic!—I can take care of myself. Don’t worry ’bout me.”“Course he kin take care of hisself,” said Galway. “Go jump off the earth, little boy.”Ludley shed tears.“He’s our ghest,” he murmured thickly. “’Tain’t right, boys—’tain’t right! You may think it’s joke, but I shay it’s shame.”“Why doesn’t some one smother that fool?” growled Tom Hackett. “He always was an ass!”Frank put Ludley aside and finished making ready. Some one found him a pair of rubber-soled shoes, and these he put on.Then they brought the gloves.Instead of boxing gloves, such as are generally used for sparring, they were six-ouncers, the kind used in many prize fights.“Hum!” said Merry, as he gravely surveyed the pair handed him. “Aren’t these a trifle light for a friendly go?”“Oh, they’re all right!” exclaimed several of the students. “We box with them here.”“If that is so,” said Merry, “I’ll raise—hic!—no further objection.”Black Tom came unsteadily feeling his way out into the shed. He scratched his woolly head and gazed in a dazed way at Galway and then at Frank.Suddenly he began to laugh.“When yo’ gwine teh ordah another round, gemmans?” he asked. “I’ll drink de chasers. Yah! yah! yah!”Some one threw a wooden dumb-bell at Tom, and it struck him on the head, bounding off.“G’way dar!” cried the colored man indignantly. “Stop frowin’ dem peanut shells dis way!”Hodge aroused himself and tied on Frank’s gloves. As he did so, he found an opportunity to whisper:“They all think we’re both loaded, Merry. This big bruiser thinks so, too. When you undeceive him you want to do it by wading into him and finishing the scrap.”“Come on!” cried Galway. “It takes you a long time ter git inter gear.”“Don’t be impatient, my friend,” said Merry, floppily waving one of the gloves at the bruiser. “We’ve got all the—hic!—all the afternoon.”“Dat’ll give yer a long time ter sleep,” said Husker.“Gentlemen,” called the student who had appointed himself as referee, “in the main bout to-day we have the great Husker Galway, heavyweight champion of the Pimlico Road.”He waved his hand toward Galway.“His opponent is Frank Merriwell, all-round champion at anything and everything.”A wave toward Merry.“The fight will be in three-minute rounds, with half-minute intermissions, both men to defend themselves in the breakaway. They will fight to a finish.”“Hoop-la! Yow! Yow!” yelled the students. “’Rah for Darby, the referee!”The timekeeper had his watch in his hand. Suddenly he struck the gong that hung suspended at one side of the raised platform.Galway strode forward to the centre of the ring.Merry advanced with a shuffling, unsteady step.“It’s a shame to take the money!” muttered Fillmore.“Why, the fellow is all in now! Husker can put him out with one punch.”“Sure he can,” agreed Hackett.“But he won’t.”“Why not?”“He knows I want him to cut the fellow up, and he’ll try to let Merriwell keep on his feet while he chops his face to pieces. I wonder if Inza will kiss him when she sees him to-night! Bet he’ll feel so sore he’ll drink like a fish after this is over. We must be careful not to let him get so drunk he can’t show up before Inza.”Galway and Merry reached forth their hands and their gloves touched. Then they assumed the position of “on guard.”Merry put up his hands rather awkwardly.Galway grinned.“It’s too bad, boy,” he sneered; “but you’d be a plum pudding for any sixteen-year-old kid in Baltimore.”Saying which he reached over and tapped Merry lightly on the nose.

Frank and Bart found their new acquaintances inclined to be a roistering set. This seemed quite unaccountable as far as Branch was concerned. To Merriwell the fellow from Connecticut seemed like almost anything other than a roisterer.

Frank talked with Branch about the game, and the Hopkins manager agreed that, unless something unexpected prevented, he would try to arrange it. He displayed a great amount of cordiality, but he chucklingly assured Merriwell that Hopkins would have a snap.

“We’ll take chances on that,” said Frank.

Terms were agreed upon. This was not difficult, as both managers knew the sport might not turn out a large crowd, and Frank was not inclined to be exacting. He was willing to play for pleasure, even if it cost him something.

“You see,” he said, “I’m pretty near the end of my sporting trip. I shall leave for Old Mexico in the latter part of July.”

“You’re choosing a hot season for such a trip, aren’t you?”

“Well, it’s necessary. But you know they have all sorts of climates in Mexico. In some localities they have delightful weather the whole year round. Indeed, there are places where they never have such hot weather as you experience here. Baltimore is a fine place to bake in summer.”

“Oh, Connecticut is good enough for me, then,” grinned Branch. “We’ve had some mighty hot weather already.”

Fillmore and some others joined them.

“Well, have you two fixed it all up?” asked Fred.

“As far as possible, I think,” nodded Frank.

“I guess it’s just the same as fixed,” said Branch.

“And the game——”

“We’ll pull it off if the committee don’t kick up on us.”

“Good enough! I’ve called a waiter, and he’s bringing us a round of drinks. Shall we have them here?”

“That suits me,” nodded Branch.

Frank and Bart exchanged glances.

A moment later a colored waiter appeared with a huge tray that was loaded with brimming glasses of beer.

“I didn’t ask you what you would have, Merriwell,” explained Fillmore. “I knew you were a good fellow, and, of course, you’ll drink the same as the rest of us.”

“I’m very sorry——” began Merry.

“Oh, come, come!” cried several. “You’re with us, Merriwell! Of course you are!”

“But I don’t drink beer,” said Frank quietly.

“Why not?”

“It isn’t good for me.”

“Oh, rats! It’s good for any man!”

“Do you mean to say you won’t drink anything, Merriwell, old man?” asked Fillmore, as if greatly disappointed.

“You may bring me some gin,” he finally said.

“Ah-ha!” they cried. “That’s the talk! We knew he was a good fellow.”

Merry turned to the waiter.

“Bring me some Old Tom in a bottle,” he said. “I’ll take plain water for a chaser; no ginger ale or anything of that sort.”

Instantly Hodge took the cue.

“I think I’ll drink gin, too,” he said. “Make my chaser the same.”

One of the students whispered to a companion.

“Hodge has to do everything just the same as Merriwell does it.”

“If they stick to gin, we’ll soak them both for keeps,” the other whispered back.

The waiter disappeared, but soon returned with the bottle of Old Tom and the glasses.

As Frank poured a goodly drink Fillmore started up the song “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow,” in which several of the others followed.

Hackett rose, holding his glass of beer aloft.

“Here’s to Frank Merriwell!” he cried. “Frank Merriwell, a star of the first magnitude. May that star never grow dim.”

“Thank you,” bowed Merry smilingly. “You are exceedingly kind. Here is to you all, gentlemen. May you never be disappointed—unless you deserve to be.”

They drank. Merry tossed off his drink at a gulp, barely wetted his lips with the “chaser,” then tossed the remaining contents of the glass over his shoulder and the rail of the veranda.

Hodge made a wry face and did not touch his “chaser,” which was carried away by the waiter.

Bart excused himself and followed the waiter inside.

“Here, Tom,” he softly called.

“Yes, sar,” said the waiter, pausing.

Bart whispered something in his ear, at the same time slipping a dollar into his hand.

The black fellow looked surprised and then grinned in a knowing manner.

“Yes, sir! Thank yo’, sar!” he exclaimed. “I’ll look out fo’ it, sar—’deed I will. Don’t yo’ worry ’bout that.”

Saying which, he took the glass left by Hodge from the tray and drained its contents.

“I’ll drink all yo’ chasers, sar,” chuckled the colored man.

Bart returned to the veranda.

Some one else ordered a round of drinks.

Frank and Bart took the same as before, while the others drank beer.

Black Tom carried away two “chasers” on his tray, but the moment he was inside and out of sight, he drank both, tossing one down after the other and smacking his lips.

“Dem chaps is slick,” he said. “Plain wattah makes a fine chaser fo’ gin. Yah! yah! Dis is a snap fo’ Tom!”

Cigarettes were passed round by two of the college lads.

Frank and Bart politely declined. Fillmore took one.

“Don’t you smoke, Merriwell?” he asked.

“Never.”

“Why is that—on account of your wind?”

“That is one reason.”

“Well, I don’t smoke much myself. We’re not supposed to smoke at all, but a cigarette now and then never hurts me.”

“Possibly not.”

“Do you think it does?”

“I can’t say. You may not have a taste for them, but you can cultivate the habit.”

“Oh, that’s right; but when I find the habit growing on me I’ll stop altogether.”

“It’s easy to say so.”

“But not easy to do, I presume you mean. I never smoke unless I drink something. Two beers make me feel like it. You might join us for once.”

“Wouldn’t think of torturing myself. I dislike cigarettes. It’s a cultivated taste, you know. I confess that one of those things would be certain to make my head feel bad, and it might upset my stomach.”

“Well, you’re queer!” cried Dick Whisper. “A chap who’s knocked around as much as you have generally smokes.”

“Most of them do,” acknowledged Frank.

Bart also declined, and again one of the students reminded a companion that Hodge was bound to imitate Merriwell.

“Have a drink on me,” invited Frank. “It’s my turn.”

They protested, declaring he was their guest and could not buy. But he insisted. He even threatened to stop and take no more drinks unless permitted to order. This brought them round and they gave in.

Black Tom was grinning in a manner that exposed every tooth in his head when he appeared with the drinks.

“Heah yo’ is, gemmans,” he said, with unusual freedom. “I hope yo’ ’s habin’ a good time. Make yo’se’fs right at home. Anything else I can bring yo’, gemmans?”

Fillmore glared at him.

“What’s the matter with you, you black rascal?” he cried. “You act like you’ve been drinking yourself.”

“Oh, no, sar! Nebber, sar! Boss don’ ’low me to drink when I’m on duty, sar. I’s just pleased to see yo’ enjoyin’ yo’se’fs. Yah! yah! yah!”

“Get out, you grinning monkey!”

“Yes, sar! yes, sar!”

But Tom waited in the background until the round had been disposed of, when he gathered up the glasses, carefully taking the “chasers” left by Frank and Bart.

“When yo’ wants me again I’ll be at yoah disposal, gemmans,” he said, as he departed, giggling queerly.

The next time Black Tom appeared with an order he caught his toe on the doorsill just as he was coming out onto the veranda.

“Oh, Lordy!” he gasped.

Sprawling he went, with a great crash, beer and splintered glasses flying in all directions and bespattering some of the students.

“Oh, Lordy!” repeated the colored man, as he sat up and gazed around, his eyes rolling queerly and a look on his face that made the spectators roar.

“I’s a-gwine ter git the old Sachet fer this!” he declared.

“What’s the matter with you, you blundering, black scoundrel?” demanded Fillmore. “Never saw you act so oddly.”

“Somefin’ sholy moved just as I was a-gwine teh step frough the do’,” declared Tom, as he gathered himself up unsteadily. “Whoa, dar! It moved ag’in! Is de groun’ shakin’ ur nuffin’?”

“He’s drunk!” declared Dick Whisper. “Hastings will give it to you, Tom.”

“Dat’s right, he will. He’ll be hoppin’ mad about de smash. But de flo’ gave de funniest wiggle. Yah! yah! yah! It done tickle mah foot.”

Then the negro went off into a spasm of laughter.

“You’ll lose your place if you don’t brace up, Tom,” said Fillmore. “Here comes Mr. Hastings now.”

“Oh, Lordy!” gasped the colored man, his manner changing with astonishing suddenness. “I’s do’ fo’!”

He made a scramble to gather up the waiter and some of the partly smashed glasses.

Suddenly he stopped.

“Yo’ ’s foolin’ me,” he said, with a grin. “De boss is done gone fo’ de day. Said he wouldn’t be back till to-morrer mawnin’.”

“That explains your condition,” said Hackett. “Go bring those drinks and clean up here, you tippling dog.”

“Don’t yo’ be so pussunal, sar!” objected Tom, swaying a bit and looking offended. “I nebber done yo’ no injury ner nuffin’. I’s sho’ sorry I spilled de drinks. I’ll have them teh pay fo’, ’sides payin’ fo’ the glasses I smashed. But I don’ like teh be called nuffin’disgraceful. I allus tries teh treat averybody right, an’ it ain’t——”

“Oh, cut it out!” interrupted one of the collegians. “You’re all right, Tom, when you are all right. Better bring that beer in steins after this. They won’t break so easy.”

Tom departed, stepping gingerly and lifting his feet very high. In a short time he returned with the drinks. Then he hastened to wipe up and sweep up the pieces of broken glass.

The boys began to sing, “When Good Fellows Get Together.” They seemed to be feeling very well indeed. Merriwell and Hodge joined in, apparently feeling quite as well as any of them.

In the midst of the singing Fillmore found a chance to whisper in Hackett’s ear:

“Merriwell is pretty well loaded now. Look at him. I don’t believe he can stand much, and he’s drinking gin as if it were water.”

“Oh, we’ll have him finished pretty soon,” answered Hackett. “I want to soak Hodge just as much, but I think he can stand more than Merriwell.”

A man appeared and informed them that they could not sit on the veranda and sing in that manner.

“What are you tryin’ to do?” he growled. “Want to queer the place? There’s people goin’ by on the road. Come inside, all of yer.”

“We resent that language, Morrisy!” exclaimed Fillmore haughtily, as he rose. “Speak to us in the proper manner to address gentlemen.”

“That’s right!” said Frank, also rising, and seeming a bit unsteady. “That’s no way to talk.”

“Oh, don’t all you chaps go to gettin’ on your high horses!” cried Morrisy. “You know me, an’ I know you. If I’ve said anything you don’t like, I apolergize; but you’ll have to caper inside if you want any more drinks.”

“Do you positively refuse to serve anything more out here?” asked Fillmore.

“Sure thing.”

“Then, as you have apologized, we’ll come in. Come on, fellows.”

They all filed in and found seats round some tables in a cool and airy room. As another round of drinks was being served a man with huge shoulders and a thick neck came sauntering into the room, his derby hat cocked over one eye and a cigar canted upward in one corner of his mouth.

“Here’s Husker!” was the cry. “Hello, Galway, old slugger! Come have a drink with us!”

The newcomer paused and surveyed the party critically.

“Well, now, you’re a hot bunch, ain’t yer!” he said. “You’re certainly goin’ it some. Tryin’ ter drownd yerselves wid beer, hey?”

Fillmore hastened to Husker Galway and shook hands with him. Others rose and greeted him in a similar manner. In the pugilist’s ear Fillmore whispered:

“I’m going to give you a knockdown to the chap I phoned you about. Get him into a bout and mark him up as much as you can. Give him a black eye or two, if possible.”

“Does he t’ink he can scrap?”

“He thinks he can do anything and everything.”

“I’ll take some of der wind outer him in a hurry,” promised Galway.

“This is our boxing instructor, Husker Galway, Mr. Merriwell,” said Fillmore, introducing them.

“’Waryer!” said Husker, seizing Frank’s hand.

For some reason Merry had prepared for just what followed. Something warned him that the pugilist would try to give him a grip that would make him wince, and therefore Frank proceeded to get the hold that he desired. When Galway tried to crush his fingers, Merry proceeded smilingly to close on the fighter’s hand with a grip of iron.

“Delighted to meet you, Mr. Galway,” he said, with that pleasant smile. “It really gives me great pleasure.”

He gave the pugilist a grip that might have crushed the bones in another man’s hand. At first Galway pretended not to notice it, but in a moment he tried to tear his hand away, the look on his face showing that he was in pain.

“Wot in howlin’ thunder you tryin’ ter do?” he snarled. “Leggo! Leggo of that fist!”

“I beg your pardon!” said Merry, in apparent surprise, as Husker seemed on the point of hitting him. “Evidently you—hic!—you don’t belong to my lodge.”

All the blood seemed squeezed from Galway’s hand.

“Dat’s the fin I broke on Pug Curran,” said the pugilist, by way of explanation. “Was yer tryin’ ter finish it fer me?”

Fillmore and the others were surprised, for they had seen the man cause dozens of people to wilt and begwhile pretending to shake hands with them in an ordinary manner. The fact that Frank had checkmated the move and caused Galway to squeal was most astonishing to them.

Galway grew angry.

“You’re too fresh, dat’s wot’s der matter wid youse!” he said, glaring at Merry. “You oughter have some of it taken outer yer!”

“Why, didn’t I—hic!—didn’t I beg your pardon?” said the young man, in surprise.

“Better beg it ag’in,” growled the bruiser.

“Oh, very well!” exclaimed Merry hastily. “I’ll do it!”

Husker fancied Frank was frightened.

Fillmore fancied Frank was drunk. He gave the pugilist a signal, and the latter grew more arrogant.

“Wot you need is a little t’umpin’,” he said. “I’d like ter put on der gloves wid youse an’ take some of der freshness outer yer.”

“Would you?”

“You bet!”

“I’d rather not. I’ve heard about you.”

“Oh, I didn’t suppose you’d have der nerve. It wouldn’t really hurt yer none, but it would do yer good. Der gloves are like cushions. A jab in der jaw is like a caress.”

“Put them on with him, Merriwell!” cried Fillmore.

Taking the cue from their leader, the other students urged him to do so.

“Don’t be frightened,” said one.

“We’ve all been through the mill,” declared another.

“You ought to stand what we can.”

“I’ve heard you know how to box.”

“Oh, go ahead! go ahead!”

Frank saw through the game now. For some moments he pretended to be anxious to keep out of it; but finally, of a sudden, with seeming drunken courage, he announced that he would put on the gloves with Galway.

The students shouted joyously.

“Now we’ll see some fun!” they cried.

They did!

But it was not just the kind of fun they expected.

One of the rooms in the huge shed back of the road house was fitted up in a manner that plainly betokened the use to which it had been put more than once.

In the centre of the room was a spare platform. On four sides were seats. At the four corners of the open platform were stakes. The platform was inclosed by ropes.

Here more than one stiff fight had been pulled off as a boxing bout.

Hastings, the proprietor of the place, had no license to run affairs of the sort, but he had a pull with the police, and he had never been molested.

Men from Johns Hopkins, the Baltimore Medical College and sometimes youngsters from the City College frequented the place and witnessed the “mills” which took place there.

Of course Hastings had not escaped criticism. There had been complaints against him, but through it all he kept at his business and raked in the money the youngsters spent.

The boys followed Husker Galway and Merriwellout into the shed. Fillmore was in high spirits. He locked arms with Tom Hackett and chuckled softly over the affair.

“Merriwell has a beautiful bun on,” he muttered. “He’ll be a cinch for Husker. And Husker has taken the tip from me to cut him up and give him a black eye or two. Ha! ha! Won’t he be a pretty bird to take back to Inza! She’ll admire him, I don’t think!”

“Wish Hodge was going to get his medicine at the same time,” growled Hackett.

“Why don’t you pick a fuss with him and do him up?”

“What are you thinking of? Didn’t we bring him out here? We’ll have to play the sympathetic. We must make them both believe we’re very sorry over it.”

“You’re right, Tom. We’ve got to keep clear of the blame.”

Husker Galway stripped down in a hurry, flinging off his clothes with the exception of such garments as were absolutely necessary to cover his nakedness.

Merriwell was more deliberate. He moved with a certain slowness and strained precision, as if he was doing everything with a great effort to appear cool and sober.

Hodge looked on indifferently, as if he took very little interest in the affair.

The students joyously selected a referee and timekeeper. They decided that the bout should be pulled off in rounds of three minutes each, although many were inclined to believe that the first round would be more than enough to end it.

A few of the reckless ones ventured to bet that Merriwellwould last a whole round, getting even money on it. Two to one was offered that he would not last two rounds, and ten to one that he would throw up the sponge before three rounds were over.

Some of the boys seemed to have an idea that Husker would play with Frank for the first round, give him a cutting up in the second, and then, if Merry stood up for any more, proceed to put him out in the third.

One, who seemed well loaded with beer, staggered forward and clasped Merriwell round the neck, earnestly entreating him not to box.

“I’m ’shamed, old fel,” said the maudlin chap. “’Tain’t right! It’s shame! You dunno w’atcher up against. You’re a good fellow, but Husker is a slugger. He’s offended; he’s dangerous. I’m gentleman. Don’t like to see him do you this way. Put on y’r coat an’ come have a drink with me.”

“Get out of the way, Ludley!” cried another. “You’ve got a peach! Go lie down somewhere!”

Ludley waved the other off with a hand that was limp at the wrist.

“Lemme ’lone,” he said stiffly. “I’m friend to Merriwell. He’s good chap. Whatcher want? Want to see him hurt? He’s fine-lookin’ chap. I hate to see fine-lookin’ chap like him hurt, I do.”

“You are very—hic!—kind, sir,” said Frank. “I appreciate your extreme kindness, but I think I can—hic!—I can take care of myself. Don’t worry ’bout me.”

“Course he kin take care of hisself,” said Galway. “Go jump off the earth, little boy.”

Ludley shed tears.

“He’s our ghest,” he murmured thickly. “’Tain’t right, boys—’tain’t right! You may think it’s joke, but I shay it’s shame.”

“Why doesn’t some one smother that fool?” growled Tom Hackett. “He always was an ass!”

Frank put Ludley aside and finished making ready. Some one found him a pair of rubber-soled shoes, and these he put on.

Then they brought the gloves.

Instead of boxing gloves, such as are generally used for sparring, they were six-ouncers, the kind used in many prize fights.

“Hum!” said Merry, as he gravely surveyed the pair handed him. “Aren’t these a trifle light for a friendly go?”

“Oh, they’re all right!” exclaimed several of the students. “We box with them here.”

“If that is so,” said Merry, “I’ll raise—hic!—no further objection.”

Black Tom came unsteadily feeling his way out into the shed. He scratched his woolly head and gazed in a dazed way at Galway and then at Frank.

Suddenly he began to laugh.

“When yo’ gwine teh ordah another round, gemmans?” he asked. “I’ll drink de chasers. Yah! yah! yah!”

Some one threw a wooden dumb-bell at Tom, and it struck him on the head, bounding off.

“G’way dar!” cried the colored man indignantly. “Stop frowin’ dem peanut shells dis way!”

Hodge aroused himself and tied on Frank’s gloves. As he did so, he found an opportunity to whisper:

“They all think we’re both loaded, Merry. This big bruiser thinks so, too. When you undeceive him you want to do it by wading into him and finishing the scrap.”

“Come on!” cried Galway. “It takes you a long time ter git inter gear.”

“Don’t be impatient, my friend,” said Merry, floppily waving one of the gloves at the bruiser. “We’ve got all the—hic!—all the afternoon.”

“Dat’ll give yer a long time ter sleep,” said Husker.

“Gentlemen,” called the student who had appointed himself as referee, “in the main bout to-day we have the great Husker Galway, heavyweight champion of the Pimlico Road.”

He waved his hand toward Galway.

“His opponent is Frank Merriwell, all-round champion at anything and everything.”

A wave toward Merry.

“The fight will be in three-minute rounds, with half-minute intermissions, both men to defend themselves in the breakaway. They will fight to a finish.”

“Hoop-la! Yow! Yow!” yelled the students. “’Rah for Darby, the referee!”

The timekeeper had his watch in his hand. Suddenly he struck the gong that hung suspended at one side of the raised platform.

Galway strode forward to the centre of the ring.

Merry advanced with a shuffling, unsteady step.

“It’s a shame to take the money!” muttered Fillmore.“Why, the fellow is all in now! Husker can put him out with one punch.”

“Sure he can,” agreed Hackett.

“But he won’t.”

“Why not?”

“He knows I want him to cut the fellow up, and he’ll try to let Merriwell keep on his feet while he chops his face to pieces. I wonder if Inza will kiss him when she sees him to-night! Bet he’ll feel so sore he’ll drink like a fish after this is over. We must be careful not to let him get so drunk he can’t show up before Inza.”

Galway and Merry reached forth their hands and their gloves touched. Then they assumed the position of “on guard.”

Merry put up his hands rather awkwardly.

Galway grinned.

“It’s too bad, boy,” he sneered; “but you’d be a plum pudding for any sixteen-year-old kid in Baltimore.”

Saying which he reached over and tapped Merry lightly on the nose.

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