The blow staggered Frank. It had come so suddenly that he was quite unprepared for it. His face became suddenly pale, save where Diamond's hand had struck, and there the crimson prints of four fingers came out quickly, like a danger signal.
With the utmost deliberation Merriwell removed his coat.
"Come, sir!" he said to Diamond as he passed coat and hat to a ready sophomore.
"I—I can't fight you that way!" protested the Virginian. "Bring the rapiers."
"This time I claim the right to name the weapons, and they will be bare fists."
"Right! right!" cried several voices. "You'll have to fight him that way, Diamond."
"I will fight him!" grated Jack, furiously. "It is the prize fighter's way, but I'll fight him, and I will lick him!"
He tore off his coat and flung it down. The boys quickly formed a ring, and the freshmen foes faced each other.
Then the door of the room where the other freshmen were confined was thrust open, and Harry Rattleton excitedly cried:
"Whee jiz—I mean jee whiz! what do you fellows think? Do you imagine we are going to stay penned in here while there is a scrap going on? Well, I guess not! We're coming out!"
Harry came with a rush, and the other freshmen followed at his heels, the party having been abandoned by the sophs who had been placed on guard over them.
"Hold on! hold on!" commanded Harry, forcing his way toward the fighters. "I am Merriwell's second, and I'm going to see fair play, you bet!"
"And I am Diamond's second," said Roland Ditson. "Just give me a chance in the ring there."
The appearance of the freshmen caused a brief delay. There was some talk about rules and rounds, and Diamond said:
"If I must fight with my fists, I'll fight as I please. I don't know about your rules, and there will be but one round—that will finish it."
"How does that suit you, Merriwell?" asked Tad Horner, who seemed to have assumed the position of referee.
"I am willing that Mr. Diamond should arrange that matter to suit himself."
"But there is to be no kicking," Tad Horner hastily put in.
"Certainly not," stiffly agreed the Southerner.
"All right. Shake hands."
Diamond placed both hands behind his back, and Merriwell laughed.
"Ready!" called Horner. "On guard! Now you're off!"
Barely had the words left the little referee's lips when—top, tap, slap!—Merriwell had struck Diamond three light blows with his open hand.
A gasp of astonishment came from the watching sophomores. Never had they seen three blows delivered in such lightning-like rapidity, but their ears had not fooled them, and they heard each blow distinctly.
Merriwell's guard was perfect, his pose was light and professional, and he suddenly seemed catlike on his feet.
Diamond was astonished, but only for an instant. The tapping blows started his blood, and he sprang toward his foe, striking out with his left and then with his right.
Merriwell did not attempt to guard, but he dodged both blows with ease, and then smiled sweetly into the face of the baffled Virginian.
"Oh, say!" chuckled Harry Rattleton, hugging himself in delighted anticipation, "just you fellows wait a minute! Diamond will think he has been struck by an earthquake!"
Bruce Browning, himself a scientific boxer, was watching every movement of the two freshmen. He turned to Puss Parker at his side and said:
"Merriwell handles himself like an old professional. By Jove! I believe there's good stuff in that fellow!"
"Diamond would like to kill Merriwell," said Parker. "You can see it in his face and eyes."
In truth there was a deadly look in the eyes of the pale-faced young Virginian. His lips were pressed together, and a hardening of the jaws told that his teeth were set. He was following Merriwell up, and the latter was avoiding him with ease. Plainly Diamond meant to corner the lad he hated and then force the fighting to a finish.
The rivals were nearly of a height and they wore built much alike, although Frank had slightly the better chest development.
Merriwell seemed to toy with Diamond, giving him several little pat-like blows on the breast and in the ribs. When the Virginian felt that he had Frank cornered he was astonished to see Merriwell slip under his arm and come up laughing behind him.
Merriwell's laughter filled Diamond's very soul with gall and wormwood.
"Wait!" he thought. "He laughs best who laughs last."
"Give it to him, Frank!" urged Rattleton. "You'll get out of wind dodging about, and then it will not be so easy to finish him off."
But Frank saw that in a scientific way Diamond was no match for him, and he disliked to strike the fellow. He regretted very much that the unfortunate affair had come about, and he felt that there could be no satisfaction in whipping the Southerner.
Merriwell hoped to toy with Diamond till the latter should see that his efforts were fruitless and give up in disgust.
But he did not yet recognize the kind of stuff of which John Diamond was built.
"Come! come!" impatiently called one of the spectators. "Quit ducking and dodging and get into the game."
"That's right! that's right!" chorused several. "This is no sport."
"And it's no six-day walking match," sneered Roland Ditson. "Merriwell seems afraid to stand up and face Diamond."
"Is that what you think?" Frank mentally exclaimed. "Well, I suppose I will have to hit him a few times, although it goes against my grain."
A moment later he dropped his hands by his side and took a step to meet the Virginian. It seemed like a great opportunity for Diamond, and he led off straight for Frank's face, striking with his left.
With a slight side movement of his head Frank avoided the blow, allowing his enemy's fist to pass over his shoulder. At the same time he cross countered with his right hand, cracking Jack a heavy one under the ear.
"Hooray!" cried Harry Rattleton in delight. "That was a corker! Bet Sparkler saw more stars than there are in the Wilky May—I mean Milky Way."
For a few minutes the fight was hot. Again and again Frank struck his enemy, but without putting his full strength into any of the blows, but it did not seem to have any effect on Diamond save to make him more fierce and determined.
"The Southerner's got some sand," commented Bruce Browning.
"That's right," nodded Puss Parker.
"He takes punishment well for a while, at least; but I don't believe he will hold out much longer. I think he is the kind of a fellow to go to pieces in an instant."
"You can't tell about that. I have a fancy that he's deceptive."
None of them, save Rattleton, possibly, knew that Merriwell was reserving any of his strength when he struck his foe.
The fellows who a short time before were the most indignant against the Southerner because he seemed determined to "blow" were now forced to admire his bulldog tenacity and sand.
Merriwell had no desire to severely injure Diamond, although he had felt some resentment toward the fellow for forcing him into a duel with rapiers.
To Frank it had seemed that the Virginian had no hesitation in taking advantage of an enemy, for Diamond must have presumed that Merriwell knew nothing of the art of fencing and swordplay.
But for this belief, Merriwell would have been inclined to keep on and tire his enemy out, without striking a single blow that could leave a mark.
But when Frank came to consider everything, he decided that it was no more than fair that he should give his persistent foe a certain amount of punishment.
Again and again Frank cross countered and upper-cut Diamond, and gradually he came to strike harder as the Virginian forced the fighting, without showing signs of letting up.
Bruises and swellings began to appear on Diamond's face. On one cheek Merriwell's knuckles cut through the skin, and the blood began to run, creeping down to his chin and dropping on the bosom of his white shirt.
Still, from the determination and fury with which he fought, it seemed that Diamond was utterly unconscious that he had been struck at all.
Jack did not consider how he had led Frank into a duel with rapiers without knowing whether the fellow he hated had ever taken a fencing lesson in all his life.
His one thought was that, being an expert boxer himself, Merriwell had forced him to a fist fight, believing it would be easy to dispose of him that way.
Diamond's hatred of Frank made him blind to the fact that he was in the least to blame, and filled him with a passionate belief that he could kill the smiling Northerner without a qualm of conscience—without a pang of remorse.
At last, disgusted with his non-success in striking Frank at all, he sprang forward suddenly and grappled with him.
Frank had been on the watch for that move.
Then the boys saw a pretty struggle for a moment, ending with Diamond being lifted and dropped heavily, squarely on his back.
Merriwell came down heavily on his persistent enemy.
Frank fell on Jack with the hope of knocking the wind out of the fellow and thus bringing the fight to a close.
For a few moments it seemed that he had succeeded.
Frank sprang up lightly, just as Tad Horner grappled him by the hair with both hands and yelled: "Break away!"
Roland Ditson was at Diamond's side in a twinkling.
"Come, come, old man!" he whispered; "get up and get into the game again! Don't let them count you out!"
But the Virginian was gasping for breath, and he did not seem to hear the words of his second.
"That settles it," said Puss Parker, promptly.
"Better wait and see," advised Bruce Browning. "Diamond may not give up when he gets his breath."
"It doesn't look as if he'd ever get his breath again."
Harry Rattleton was at Frank's side, swiftly saying:
"Why didn't you knock him out and show the fellows what you can do? You monkeyed with the goat too long. He's stuffy, and you had to settle him sometime. It didn't make a dit of bifference whether it was first or last."
"That's all right," smiled Frank. "He's got sand, and I hated to nail him hard. It seemed a shame to thump such a fellow and cover his face with decorations."
"Shame? shame?" spluttered Harry. "Why, didn't he force you into a duel with rapiers, or try to? and he is an expert! Say, what's the matter with you? If I'd been in your place I'd gone into him tooth and nail, and I wouldn't have left him in the shape of anything. Have you got a soft spot around you somewhere, Merriwell?"
"I admire sand, even if it is in an enemy."
"You take the cherry pie—yes, you take the whole bakery!"
Harry gazed at his roommate in wonder that was not entirely unmingled with pity and disgust. He could not understand Merriwell, and such generosity toward a persistent foe on the part of Frank seemed like weakness.
In the meantime Ditson had been urging Diamond to get up.
"They'll call the scrap finished if you don't get onto your pins in a jiffy," he warned. "Horner's got his watch in his hand."
Still the Virginian gasped for breath and seemed unable to lift a hand. If ever a fellow seemed done up, it was Diamond just then.
Roll Ditson ground his teeth in despair.
"Oh, Merriwell will think he is cock of the walk now!" he muttered. "He'll crow and strut! He's laughing over it now!"
"Wh-what's that?" gasped Diamond, trying to sit up.
"He is laughing at you," hurriedly whispered Ditson, lying glibly. "I just heard him tell Rattleton that he could have knocked the stuffing out of you in less than a quarter of a minute. He says you'll never dare face him again."
"Oh, he does! oh, he does!" came huskily from Diamond's lips. "Well, we'll see about that—we'll see!"
With Ditson's aid he got upon his feet. Then his breath and his strength seemed to come to him in a twinkling. With a backward snap of his arm he flung his second away. Then uttering a hoarse cry, he rushed like a mad bull at the lad he hated.
Diamond's recovery and the manner in which he resumed the fight caused general astonishment. Even Bruce Browning had come to think that the Virginian was "out."
Frank was taken by surprise. Before he could square away to meet his foe, Diamond struck him a terrific blow near the temple, knocking him into Rattleton's arms.
"Foul!" cried Harry, excitedly. "Horner hadn't given the word."
"Foul! foul!" came from all sides.
"There is no foul in this fight save when something is used besides fists," declared Merriwell as he staggered from his roommate's arms. "It's all right and it goes."
But he found that everything seemed swimming around him, and dark spots were pursuing each other before his eyes. The floor seemed to heave like the deck of a ship at sea. He put out his hand to grasp something, and then he was struck again.
Once more Rattleton's arms kept Frank from going down.
"This is no square deal!" Harry shouted. "By the poly hoker—I mean the holy poker! I'll take a hand in this myself!"
He would have released Merriwell and jumped into the ring, but Frank's strong fingers closed on his arm.
"Steady, old man!" came sharply from Merriwell's lips. "I am in this yet awhile. If Diamond finishes me he is to be let alone. The fellow that lays a hand on him is no friend of mine!"
"You give me cramps!" groaned Harry.
Instead of aiding in finishing Frank, Diamond's second blow seemed to straighten him up, as if it had cleared a fog from his brain. The spots disappeared before his eyes and things ceased to swim around him.
Into the ring to meet his foe sprang Frank, and, to the astonishment of everybody he still smiled.
At the same time, Merriwell knew he had toyed with Diamond too long. He realized that the Virginian's first blow had come within a hair of knocking him out, and he could still hear a faint, ringing and roaring in his head.
Frank saw that the only way he could end the fight was to finish his unrelenting and persistent foe.
Diamond fought like an infuriated tiger. Again and again Frank's fist cracked on his face, and still he did not falter, but continued to stand up and "take his medicine."
In less than a minute the Virginian was bleeding at the nose, and had received a blow in one of his eyes that was causing it to swell in a way that threatened to close it entirely.
The spectators were greatly excited, and not a few of them declared it was the most gamey fight they had ever witnessed.
The front of Diamond's shirt was stained with blood, and he presented a sorry aspect. His chest was heaving, but his uninjured eye glared with unabated fury and determination.
"Will he never give up?" muttered Harry Rattleton. "He's a regular hog! The fellow doesn't know when he has enough."
It was true Southern grit. It was the unyielding Southern spirit—the spirit that led the soldiers of the South to make one of the pluckiest struggles known in history.
While the fellow's grit had won Frank's admiration, still Merriwell had learned that it would not do to let up. The only way out of the fight was to end it, and he set about trying to accomplish that with as little delay as possible.
Once Diamond succeeded in getting in another blow, and it left a slight swelling over one of the other lad's eyes.
But Merriwell did not seem to know that he had been hit. He soon cracked the Virginian upon the uninjured eye, and that began to swell. In a few seconds it seemed that Diamond must soon go blind.
"Finish him, old man—finish him!" urged Harry.
Frank was looking for the chance, but it was some time before he found it. It came at last, and his left landed on the jaw beneath Diamond's ear.
Over went the Southerner, and he lay like a log where he fell.
At a glance, it was evident to all that he was knocked out.
The boys crowded around Merriwell, eager to congratulate him, but he thrust them back, saying:
"It's the first time in my life I ever did a thing of which I was ashamed! Look after him. I'm all right."
"Say!" exploded Harry Rattleton, "you make me sick! Didn't you have to do it?"
"I suppose so."
"Didn't he strike you foul twice?"
"He knows nothing of rules, and we were fighting by no rules, so there could be no foul."
"Oh, no! If he'd soaked you with a brick you'd said it was all right! I say, you make me sick! Wait till he gets a good chance to do you, and see how quick he will take it."
"He'll not be to blame if he tries to get square."
"Oh, go hoke your sed—I mean soak your head! I'll catch you some time when you are asleep and try to pound a little sense into you."
"Well, take care of Diamond," ordered Merriwell. "That last one I gave him was a beastly thump."
"Let the other fellows take care of him," said Harry. "We'll rub you down. You need it. Got any towels, Mr. Horner?"
"Guess we can find one or two," cheerfully answered Tad. "Come on, Merriwell. We'll fix you up."
Frank followed them into the room where the captured freshmen had been confined, and there they found running water, an old iron sink, a tin wash basin, and some towels.
The visitor was stripped and given a brisk and thorough rubbing and sponging by Harry and Tad.
Bruce Browning, with his mask still over his face, came loafing in and looked the stripped freshman over with a critical eye. He inspected Frank from all sides, poked him with his fingers, felt of his arms and legs, surveyed the muscles of his back and chest, and then stood off and took him all in at a glance.
"Humph!" he grunted.
Frank's delicate pink skin glowed, and he looked a perfect Apollo, with a splendid head poised upon a white, shapely neck. Never had he looked handsomer in all his life than he did at that moment, stripped to the buff, his brown hair frowsled, his body glowing from the rubbing.
"By Jove!" cried Tad Horner, who was sometimes called Baby, "he's a Jim Hickey—eh, old man?"
The interrogation was directed at Browning.
"Humph!" grunted Bruce, and then with his hands in his pockets he loafed out of the room.
Afterward it was reported that Browning said the freshman was the finest-put-up chap he had ever seen, but he didn't want to give him the swelled head by telling him so.
By the time Merriwell was well rubbed down one of the freshmen came in and reported that Diamond had come around all right.
"They're going to bring him in here and give him a rubbing," said the freshman.
Frank hastened to get into his clothes, in order that Diamond might have a chance. Rattleton had brushed the dirt and sawdust off those clothes, so they looked pretty well, and Merriwell showed no traces of what he had passed through when he stepped out of the little room.
Some of the boys were trying to induce Diamond to be rubbed down, but he objected, declaring he was going directly to his room. The blood had been washed from his face, and one or two cuts had been patched up with court-plaster, but his eyes were nearly closed, and he presented a pitiful appearance.
Frank hesitated a moment, and then he stepped up to his foe, saying in a manner most sincere:
"Old man, I am sorry this affair took place. I had the advantage, because I have taken boxing lessons, but you made a beautiful fight. I hold no hard feelings. Let's call it quits and shake."
He held out his hand.
Diamond's reply was to turn his back squarely on the proffered hand.
An additional flush arose to Merriwell's cheeks, and he dropped his hand by his side, turning away without another word.
A few moments later Diamond left the building, accompanied by a single companion, and that companion was not Roland Ditson.
Ditson remained behind, and he was among those who crowded about Frank Merriwell and offered congratulations.
"I was Diamond's second," said Roll, "but I am satisfied that the best man won. He is no match for you, Merriwell. I shouldn't have been his second, only he urged me to. I was glad to see you do him up."
He got hold of Frank's hand and held on, but received no friendly pressure in return. When he said he was glad that Merriwell did Diamond up Frank looked incredulous.
"As for me," said the victor, "I was sorry to have to do him up."
Somewhere about the place Rattleton had found an old floral decoration representing a harp. He brought it forward and presented it to Frank.
"Take it," he said. "You'll need it pretty soon. Your wings must be sprouting already!"
"What is it?" asked Frank.
"Why, can't you see? It's a harp."
"It looks to me like a blasted lyre," said Merriwell. "You'd better give it to Ditson."
Then everybody but Ditson laughed.
Diamond was in a wretched condition. Hunk Collins, his roommate, procured two slices of fresh beefsteak, and the Virginian had them bound over his eyes, while his face was bathed with soothing and healing lotions; but nothing could soothe his bruised and battered spirit, and Collins said he was kept awake all night by hearing Diamond grind his teeth at irregular intervals.
Even when he slept near morning the Southerner continued to grind his strong white teeth.
Collins was dropping off to sleep from sheer weariness when he awoke to find his roommate astride him and clutching him by the throat.
"This time I'll fix you!" mumbled Diamond, thickly. "I'll kill you, Merriwell—I'll kill you!"
Then he struck feeby at Collins, who rolled over and flung him off. They grappled, and it was a severe struggle before Diamond was flung down on the bed and held.
"What in thunder is the matter with you?" gasped Collins, whose hair was standing. "I'm not Merriwell! Have you gone daft?"
"Where are we?"
"Why, in our room, of course. Where did you think we were?"
"I didn't know. I was dreaming."
"Well, if you are going to be this way often, I'll have to take out a life insurance policy or quit you."
"Don't mind. I'll be all right in the morning. Oh, hang the luck!"
Then the passionate Southerner turned over with his face toward the wall. Collins smoked a cigarette to quiet his nerves, after which he got into bed once more. At intervals he could feel the bed shake, and he knew Diamond was shivering as if he had a chill.
In the morning Diamond was not all right. He was ill in bed, and it was necessary to call a physician, although he protested against it. His eyes were in wretched shape, but when the doctor questioned him, he persisted in saying he had injured them by falling downstairs.
Of course he could not appear at chapel or recitations, and he sent in an excuse.
Then Mr. Lovejoy came around to investigate.
Now, Mr. Lovejoy was most mild and lamblike in appearance, and one would have thought never in all his life had he indulged in anything that was not perfectly proper.
But appearances were deceptive in the case of Mr. Lovejoy. When a student at Yale he had made a record, but he had been fortunate, and he was never detected in anything the faculty could not approve. By those who knew him he was regarded as a terror, and by the faculty he was looked on as one of the most quiet and docile students in college.
When Cyrus Lovejoy became an instructor he did not forget the days when he had been a leader in scrapes of all sorts, and he was not inclined to be prying into the affairs of students under him. Not only that, but he could be blind to some things he accidentally discovered.
So when Mr. Lovejoy reported that John Diamond's eyes, being naturally weak, were inflamed by too close application to his studies, especially in the evening, no one thought of investigating further. The doctor, it was said, had forbidden Diamond to attempt to study for several days, and had ordered him to wear a bandage over his eyes.
Two or three evenings after the fight a party of freshmen gathered in Merriwell's room, for they were beginning to realize that Frank was likely to be a leader among them.
"I say, fellows," cried Dan Dorman, who was sitting on the sill of the open window, with a cigarette clinging to his lips, "do you know what Diamond is doing?"
"He's doing his best to cure those beautiful eyes of his," said Bandy Robinson.
"I'm giving it to you straight that he was out to-day and went down to the nearest gun store," declared Dorman. "Collins says he bought a Winchester rifle, a shotgun, two revolvers, a bowie knife, a slungshot, and a set of brass knuckles."
"Wo-o-oh!" groaned Dismal Jones. "Why didn't he purchase a cannon and start for some battlefield?"
"Look out, Merry," laughed Ned Stover. "He's after your scalp."
"He'll have to get a bigger outfit than that before he takes it," declared Harry Rattleton.
"How about it, Merry?" asked Bandy Robinson.
"I'll tell you, fellows," said Frank, who was not smoking. "Diamond is not the fellow to give up whipped very soon. I'm dead sure to hear from him again."
"He's a cad," growled Dismal Jones.
"I think you fellows judge him rather harshly," said Frank. "He is a Southerner, and he looks at many things differently than we do. From his standpoint he seems to be right."
"Well, he'll have to get those notions out of his head if he wants to stay in college," airily declared Dan Dorman. "Now, I came here with the idea of falling into the ways in vogue. Everything goes with me. That's the way to get along."
"I am not so sure of that," Merriwell returned. "A man must have some individuality. If you do everything everybody wants you to, it won't be long before they'll not want you to do anything."
"Oh, well, what's the use to be always hanging off and getting yourself disliked?"
"One extreme is as bad as the other. Now, I make allowances for Diamond, and I am not inclined to believe him such a bad fellow."
Harry Rattleton flung a book across the room.
"Oh, you give me the flubdubs!" he exploded. "Why, that fellow hates you, and he means to do you some time. Still you are soft enough to say he's not such a bad fellow! It's disgusting!"
"Time will tell," smiled Frank. "All of you fellows must admit that he has sand."
"Oh, a kind of bulldog stick-to-it-iveness," murmured Stover.
"I'll tell you one thing," said Bandy Robinson; "now that Diamond has not blowed, he's going to be backed by some of the leading sophs."
"Eh? What makes you think so?"
"Oh, I've got it straight. Browning has been to see him."
"No! Why, Browning is king of the sophs!"
"And he is jealous of Merriwell."
"Jealous?"
"Sure. He says Merry is altogether too 'soon' for a fresh, and he must be taken down. I tell you I've got it straight. He'll put up some kind of a game to enable Diamond to get square."
"Well, this is rather interesting," confessed Frank, showing that he was aroused. "I'll have to look out for Mr. Browning."
"He's a hard fellow to go against," solemnly said Dismal Jones. "He's a Le Boule man, and they say he may take his choice of the other big societies next year."
"Oh, what's that amount to?"
"It amounts to something here; but then he's a fighter, and he is authority on fighters and fighting."
"He is too fat to fight."
"They say he can train down in a week. He was the greatest freshman half-back ever known at Yale."
"Half-back—Browning a half-back! Oh, say, that fellow couldn't play football!"
"Not a great deal now, perhaps, but he could last year. He'd be on the regular team now, but his father swore to take him out of college if he didn't stop it. You see, Browning is not entirely to blame for his laziness. He inherits it from his father, and the old man will not allow him to lead in athletics, so whatever he does must be done secretly."
Frank was interested. He wondered how a fellow like Bruce Browning could come to be know as "king of the sophomores," unless such a title was applied to him in derision. Now he began to understand that Browning was something more than the lazy mischief planner that he had seemed.
Frank's interest in Browning grew.
"And you say he is backing Diamond?"
"That's the way it looks from the road."
"Well, Mr. Bruce Browning may need some attention. It is he who puts the sophs up to their jobs on us. We ought to put up a big one on him."
"That's right! that's right!"
"Merry," said Jones, "set the complicated machinery of your fertile brain to work and see what it will bring forth."
"That's right! that's right!"
"I'll have to take time to think it over."
"We have a few soph scalps," grinned Rattleton, pointing to a number of caps with which the walls were decorated, all of which had been snatched from the heads of sophomores. "Have the rest of you fellows done as well?"
"I have lost two," confessed Dan Dorman. "They seem to single me out as easy fruit."
"And haven't you made an attempt to get one in return?" asked Bandy Robinson.
"I haven't had a good chance."
"If you wait for a good chance you'll never get a scalp. You must snatch 'em whenever you can."
"By Jove!" laughed Frank, "this talk about scalps has given me an idea."
"Let's have it!" exclaimed several of the boys in unison.
"Not now," he said. "Wait till I have perfected it."
Roll Ditson strolled in, smoking a cigarette, and said:
"Hello, Merry! Hello, fellows! What's up? Council of war?"
"Just that," said Dan Dorman. "Merry is perfecting a scheme to put a horse on Browning."
"Eh? Browning? Great Scott! Is that so? He's a bad man to monkey with. Better let him alone, Merry."
Ditson had a patronizing way that was offensive to Frank, who had given him numberless digs; but he was too thick to tumble or he deliberately refused to take Merriwell's words as they were intended.
"You'll have to kick him before he knows he's not wanted," Rattleton had said.
"Thank you for your advice," said Frank, with mild sarcasm—"thank you exceedingly! Perhaps you are right."
"Oh, I know I am. I don't want to get the king after me, and I don't believe you care to have him on your trail. He is the most influential soph in college. Why, his name is on a table down at Morey's."
Ditson looked around as if his last statement had settled the question of Browning's vast superiority over all sophomores.
Morey's was the favorite resort of the students, and no freshman could enter there. It was an old frame house, with low-posted rooms, and there one could drink everything except beer. No beer could be had at Morey's.
Morey's was headquarters for the Society of the Cup. This cup had six handles and was kept in a locked closet. On the cup was engraved in large letters the word "Velvet," which is a well-known Yale drink, composed of champagne and Dublin stout, a drink that is mild and soft, but has a terrific "kick."
Besides the word "Velvet," a number of students' names were engraved on the cup, and no one whose name was not there could ask the proprietor to show the cup.
The marked tables were two round tables on which names of the frequenters of the place had been cut in the hard wood. One table had been filled with six hundred and seventy-five names and was suspended against the wall, where it would revolve, and the other tables were fast filling up.
Merriwell laughed at Ditson's statement.
"I don't see as it is such a wonderful thing for a soph to get his name on one of those tables," he said. "If you had said that Browning's name was on the cup, it would have seemed a matter of some consequence."
"It may be, for all I know. Sophs are not in the habit of telling us everything. Steer clear of Browning, Merry, old man."
"Thanks again! You have made me so nervous that I think I will take your advice."
"That's right, my boy—that's right," nodded Ditson, swelling with importance. "Always listen to your uncle, my lad, and you will never go wrong."
The other lads seemed rather disappointed, but Merriwell said nothing more of his scheme to get a "horse" on Browning—that is, he said nothing more that night.
It was singular how quickly Browning learned that Merriwell had contemplated working a job on him. It seemed an absolute certainty that some one of the party in Merriwell's room had gone forth and "blowed." Who had done so was a question.
As was the most natural thing, considering his dislike for the fellow, Frank felt that Roll Ditson was the telltale. Of this he had no proof, however, and he was too just to openly condemn a man without proof.
It was certain that Browning had learned all about it, for he sent word to Merriwell to go slow. At the same time, in all public places he avowed the utmost contempt and disregard for the freshman who had done up Diamond.
"The boy is altogether too new," Browning sneered. "What he needs is polishing off, and he is bound to get it."
Now, Frank had won admiration from the sophomores, and there were one or two who did not like Browning and would have given not a little to have seen him beaten at anything.
This being the case, it is not surprising that Merriwell received an anonymous note warning him to keep in his room on a certain evening and look out for squalls.
Frank knew Browning would not come alone, and he determined to be prepared. With this object in view, he gathered ten stout freshmen and had them come to his room early on the evening mentioned.
The curtains were drawn closely, and the arrivals were astonished to see a lot of Indian toggery piled up on tables and chairs, imitation buckskin suits, feathered headdresses, bows, arrows, tomahawks, and so forth. On Merriwell's table was a full supply of Indian red grease paint.
"Oh, say," gasped Ned Stover, his eyes bulging, "what's this—a powwow outfit?"
"This is the result of the idea you fellows gave me when you spoke of capturing scalps the other evening," laughed Frank. "Select your suits, gentlemen, and proceed to make up."
"Make up? What for?"
"Just you make up, and I will tell you what for afterward."
Merriwell's influence was sufficient to induce them to obey, and he aided them in the work.
"Blate grazes—I mean great blazes!" chuckled Rattleton, as he rubbed the war paint on his face. "Won't we make a bloodthirsty gang of roble ned men—er, noble red men!"
The boys aided each other, and Frank assisted them all.
"Aren't you going to make up, Merry?" asked Bandy Robinson.
"Not now. I am to be the decoy."
"The decoy? What's in the wind, anyway?"
"Well, I have it pretty straight that some sophs, led by Browning, are coming to take me out for an airing to-night."
"Eh? Take you out?"
"Yes."
"And he means to take them in," laughed Rattleton, arranging a war bonnet on his head.
"That's just it," nodded Frank. "If they come here, we'll be ready for them. If they do not come, we'll call on Mr. Browning."
"I'm afraid this is rather a serious matter," said Dismal Jones.
"Oh, don't begin to croak!" cried Rattleton. "Merriwell knows his business. Hurry up with your makeup. Can't tell how early the sophs will call."
So the boys hastened to complete their disguise, and a decidedly savage-looking band they were when all was completed. Frank surveyed them with satisfaction.
"Ah! my bold warriors!" he cried. "I am proud of you. To-night—to-night we deal the enemy a terrible and deadly blow."
"We're ready to hear what the layout is," eagerly said Ned Stover.
"Well, you are to retire to Robinson's room, which is exactly opposite this, and wait. I have two fellows outside to let me know when the enemy approaches and to take a hand in the game at the right time. When I whistle you are to make your way into this room if you have to break down the door. That's all."
The boys retired to Robinson's room, where they smoked and waited with great impatience.
Frank sat down and coolly went at his studies.
Nearly an hour passed, and then there was a sound of wheels outside. The sound stopped before the door.
A few moments later some one ascended the stairs and there came a knock on the door.
"Come in," called Frank.
The door opened, and Roll Ditson sauntered in, smoking the inevitable cigarette.
"Hello, Merry!" he cried, looking around. "All alone?"
"All alone, Ditson," yawned Frank. "It's beastly stupid but I am having a hard pull at my studies."
"Better come out with me and get a little air. It's stuffy here."
"Oh, you'll have to excuse me to-night. I don't believe I'll go out."
Ditson urged, but Frank persisted in refusing. Roll stopped near a table and picked up a stick of grease paint.
"Hello! what's this?" he exclaimed. "Aren't going into amateur theatricals, are you, Merry?"
"Oh, I don't know," smiled Frank. "I may do a turn."
Ditson looked at Merriwell curiously, as if in doubt concerning his sincerity, but Frank simply continued to smile.
"Indian red," said Roll, reading the lettering on the stick. "You don't mean to become a big chief, do you?"
"Perhaps so."
"Well, you are pretty sure to become a big chief here at Yale, old man," said Ditson, with apparent earnestness. "You will be a leader here some day."
"Think so?"
"Oh, I am dead sure of it."
"Thank you."
Merriwell yawned again.
"Oh, come on!" Ditson urged. "You're stupid from digging over those books. Come out and have a walk."
"No."
"You won't?"
"You'll have to excuse me to-night, Ditson."
"All right. But say, I came near forgetting something. As I came in, there was a fellow down to the door who said he wanted to see you."
"A fellow? Who was it?"
"Don't know. Some of the students, I think."
"Oh, if that is the case, go down and bring him up, Ditson. You can open the door and let him in without disturbing Mrs. Harrington."
"All right," nodded Roll. "Sorry you won't come out, old fel. You'll get grouchy. Good-night."
"Good-night."
Ditson went out, and Frank heard him descending the stairs.
"There'll be music in the air," muttered Merriwell as he again lay back in his chair, elevating his feet to the top of the table. "But the surprisers are liable to be surprised."
He heard the front door creak. Often he wondered why Mrs. Harrington did not grease the hinges.
Frank had good ears, and it was not long before he was sure he could hear rustlings and whisperings in the hall. Then one person seemed to ascend the stairs very slowly, but he made out that there were two or three others with that one, the others stepping as softly as possible.
Merriwell remained cool and apparently quite unaware that anything unusual was taking place.
The footsteps reached the head of the stairs and advanced to the door, on which there was a distinct knock.
"Come in!" Frank once more called.
The door was promptly flung open, and into the room strode a person who was wrapped in a big overcoat and wore a wide-brimmed hat slouched over his eyes. His face nearly to his eyes was covered with bushy whiskers.
"Hello!" exclaimed Frank, as if surprised. "Who are you?"
"'Sh!" hissed the stranger, with a warning gesture. "Are we alone?"
"Yes."
"Where is your roommate?"
"Out."
The fellow whistled sharply, and the next minute four masked lads appeared at the door and leaped into the room. One of them slammed the door shut and the others sprang at Frank.
Merriwell flung a book at the first one, and it struck the fellow's mask, tearing it from his face.
The well-known countenance of Bruce Browning was exposed!
"Good-evening, Browning!" cheerfully called the lively freshman as he darted behind the table. "I have been expecting a call from you."
"Grab him!" directed Browning. "Get hold of him!"
Frank was on the point of uttering a whistle, but it was not required, for the whistle that came from the lips of the disguised fellow had served as a signal to the painted braves.
There was a bang at the door, which flew open as if assaulted by a catapault, and into the room poured the disguised freshmen.
The Indians leaped upon the masked sophomores, and for a short time a very sharp struggle took place.
Bruce Browning did his best to escape from the room, but three of the savages laid hold of him, and he was finally subdued.
"Out of the house with them as soon as possible," ordered Frank. "Come on, two or three of you. We must nail the hack and the fellows outside."
Down to the door he led the way.
Mrs. Harrington came out into the hall, caught a glimpse of the painted faces, uttered a wild shriek of terror, and dodged back, slamming the door.
"All ready?" said Frank as he prepared to fling open the front door.
"All ready!" panted Harry Rattleton, close behind him.
"Don't let anybody get away," warned Merriwell. "I will look after the driver."
"Go ahead."
Creak! open swung the door, and out into the night leaped a youth who seemed to be hotly pursued by four painted and bloodthirsty-appearing redskins.
The hack was standing exactly as Frank expected it would be, and he was on the box with the driver at two springs.
"It's all right," he asserted. "We've got the fellow up there, though he did kick up some. A part of our gang was rigged up like Indians, and they nipped him all right."
"It's the divil's own set ye shtudints are!" muttered the driver. "Av ye hurry, Oi'll sthay to take him away; but Oi'll not remain here long, fer it's th' cops will be down on us roight away."
"We'll get away ahead of the cops, don't fear that," declared Frank. "They're bringing him downstairs now. We had to take two or three others with him; but well not bother with them long."
"Arrah! th' poor freshman!" said the driver. "Oi'd not loike to be in his place this noight!"
He was completely fooled, thinking all the time that Frank was one of the party he had brought there to capture the freshman.
As they rushed out Frank had seen a fellow standing near the open door of the hack, and that fellow had promptly taken to flight at sight of the Indians, two of whom pursued him hotly.
Frank hoped they would be able to overtake the fugitive, for if one of the party escaped he would report to the sophs, who were bound to make a big hustle to rescue their captured comrades.
The disguised freshmen came downstairs, bearing their captives, who were swiftly thrust into the hack, which was a big, roomy, old-fashioned affair.
As many of the freshmen as could do so piled inside and upon the hack, and then Frank gave the signal, the driver whipped up his horse and away they went.
"East Rock," said Frank.
"Eh?" exclaimed the driver. "Thot's not pwhere ye wur goin' in th' firrust place."
"We have changed the programme. East Rock is where we are bound for now."
"All roight, me b'y."
The triumphant freshmen felt like shouting and singing in jubilant mood. Indeed, Rattleton could not refrain from "letting off steam," as he called it, and he gave one wild howl of triumph that made the streets echo:
"'Umpty-eight! 'Umpty-eight!"
"Break it off!" sharply commanded Frank. "Want to let the sophs know we're up to something?"
"I don't care."
"They might raise a rescue party and follow us."
"But they wouldn't frop any chost—I mean chop any frost with us."
"Pwhat's thot?" came suspiciously from the driver. "An' is it not softmores ye are yersilves?"
"Of course we are," returned Harry, instantly.
"Thin pwhat fer do ye yell fer 'Umpty-eight?"
"Oh, it's a way we have. Don't mind it, but keep on driving if you want to retain your scalp, paleface. We are mighty bad Injuns!"
The driver knew how to pick out the darkest and most deserted streets. By the time the outskirts of the city were reached the freshmen were bubbling over.
Frank Merriwell improvised a stanza of a song, and in a few moments the entire band caught the words and the tune. As the hack rolled along toward East Rock the freshmen sang: