"Oh, I don't believe he is such a bad fellow at heart, It wouldn't be right to injure him permanently."

"Wouldn't it? Give me the chance and see if I don't fix him."

Hartwick began to regard his roommate with disdain.

"For goodness' sake, don't get soft," he implored. "The fellows will say you are chicken-hearted, and that will settle your case. You'll never get back to your old position if you once lose it."

"I'd rather be thought chicken-hearted than hold my position by dirty play."

Hartwick made no retort, but it was plain to see that he entertained a different view of a case like the one in question.

Browning worked like a beaver to get himself in shape for the coming struggle, but he promised himself over and over that he would never do such a thing again. It was pride and hope that sustained him through his severe course of training.

"No fresh mug can do youse now," Buster Kelley finally declared. "I'll put me dough on you, an' I'll win, too."

Bruce was really in very good form, and he felt that he stood more than an even chance with Merriwell.

He had seen the freshman fight, however, and he realized that he would not have a walkover.

The freshmen began to think that Browning feared to meet Merriwell, and they openly told him as much. They taunted him to such an extent that it was with the utmost difficulty he held himself in check till the expiration of the time he had set for getting himself in condition.

"What if I should see the freshman getting the best of me and should break his wrist?" he thought. "I might make it appear to be an accident, but I would know better myself. I'd get the best of Merriwell, and the fellows would still hail me as King Browning, but I would be ashamed of myself all the while."

It was that thought which troubled him so much and made him appear so grouchy.

"Browning is in a blue funk whenever he thinks of stacking up against the freshman," one soph.o.m.ore confidentially told another. "I believe he has lost his nerve."

"It looks that way," admitted the other.

Thus it came about that Bruce's appearance led his former admirers to misjudge him, and he saw a growing coolness toward him.

"I'll meet Merriwell on the level," he finally decided, "and I will whip him on the level or I'll not whip him at all."

Then he instructed Hartwick to carry a challenge to Frank.

"I will fight him with hard gloves," said Bruce.

He had decided that with a glove on his hand he could not easily perform the trick of breaking his enemy's wrist in case he was seized by an impulse to do so.

"Gloves?" cried Hartwick. "Why, man, why don't you challenge him to meet you with bare fists?"

"Because I have decided that gloves are all right."

"The fellows will say you are afraid."

"Let them say so if they like," returned Bruce, but he winced a bit, as if a tender spot had been touched.

Hartwick did his test to induce his friend to challenge Merriwell to a fight with bare fists, but Bruce had made up his mind and he was obstinate.

So it came about that Hartwick carried the challenge just as Browning desired, and it was promptly accepted. Merriwell was not a fellow who sought trouble, but he knew he must meet Browning or be called a coward, and he did not dally. He quietly told Hartwick that any arrangements Mr.

Browning saw fit to make would be agreeable to him. In that way he put Browning on his honor to give him a square deal.

The matter was kept very quiet. It was decided that the match should come off in Kelley's back room, and a few of Merriwell's and Browning's friends should be invited. Bruce paid for the room and firmly "sat on"

the professor's scheme to charge admission.

"This is no prize fight," he rather warmly declared. "We are not putting ourselves on exhibition, like two pugilists. It is a matter of honor."

"Well, if youse college chaps don't git der derndest ideas inter yer nuts!" muttered Kelley, who could not understand Browning's view of an affair of honor. "Youse takes der cream, dat's wot yer do!"

On Sat.u.r.day afternoon one week after the rush at the park certain students might have been seen to stroll, one at a time, into the saloon over which were the headquarters of Professor Kelley. It was three in the afternoon that about twenty lads were gathered in Buster's training-room to witness the meeting between Merriwell and Browning.

Tad Horner was chosen referee.

"Look here," he said before the first round, "if any man here isn't satisfied with my decisions, let him meet me after the match is over, and I will satisfy him or fight him."

This was said in all earnestness, and it brought a round of applause and laughter.

It was agreed that it should be a six-round contest, not more and no less, unless one side threw up the sponge or one of the men was knocked out.

Rattleton was Frank's second, and Hartwick represented Bruce. A regular ring had been roped off, and the men entered from opposite sides at a signal. Much to his disgust, Kelley was not allowed to take any part in the affair.

Both lads were stripped to the waist. Merriwell was clean limbed, but muscular, while Browning was stocky and solid. The soph.o.m.ore had gotten rid of his superfluous flesh in a wonderful manner, and he looked to be a hard man to tackle.

The gloves were put on, and then the rivals advanced and shook hands. An instant later they were at it, and the decisive struggle between them had begun.

Their movements were so rapid that it was difficult for the eyes of the eager spectators to follow them. Both got in some sharp blows, and the round ended with a clean knock-down for Browning, who planted a terrific blow between Merriwell's eyes and sent the freshman to the floor.

The sophs were jubilant and the freshmen were downcast. Merriwell simply laughed as he sat on Rattleton's knee.

"Whee jiz--I mean jee whiz!" spluttered Harry. "Are you going to let that fellow do you. The sophs will never get over it if you do. Hear 'em laugh!"

"Don't worry," smiled Frank. "This is the beginning. There must be an ending."

"Do him--do him, Bruce!" fiercely whispered Hartwick in the ear of his princ.i.p.al. "It's plain enough that you can."

"I think I can," said Bruce, confidently.

The sophs offered three to two on Browning, and many bets were made.

Then time was called and the rivals advanced once more.

The second round was hotter than the first, if possible, and Merriwell drew first blood by giving Browning a heavy one on the nose. It ended with both sparring, and neither seeming to have a decided advantage.

Now the freshmen were encouraged, and they expressed their confidence in their man. More bets were made, the soph.o.m.ores still giving odds.

The third round filled the freshmen with delight, for Merriwell knocked Browning off his feet twice, while he seemed to get no heavy blows himself.

The sophs became quieter, and no money at odds was in sight. In fact, the freshmen tried to get even money, but could not.