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

Neither had a decided advantage.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You make me sick!" sneered Hartwick.

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER XVII.

TALKING IT OVER.

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

Several weeks slipped by.

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

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

He admitted to Bruce that he felt an almost irresistible desire to strike the cool freshman whenever they met.

"I wouldn't advise you to do it, my boy," lazily smiled Browning, who was growing fat again, now that he was no longer in training. "He is a bad man to hit."

"It depends on what he is. .h.i.t with," returned Hartwick, grimly. "You made a fool of yourself when you failed to break his wrist, after paying twenty-five toadskins to learn the trick. That would have made you the victor."

"And it would have made me feel like a contemptible sneak. I have been well satisfied with myself that I did not try the trick. It is a good thing to know, but it should be used on no one but a ruffian."

"It's surprising to me how soft you're getting. This Merriwell is dangerous in many directions, and his career would have been stopped short if you had broken his wrist. He has shown that he is a baseball pitcher, but no man can pitch with a broken wrist. He is one of the best freshmen half-backs ever seen at Yale, according to the general acknowledgment. And now he is pulling an oar and coaching the freshmen crew at the same time--something never attempted before--something said to be impossible. Where would he be if you had broken his wrist?"

"He could coach the freshmen just the same, and the very fact that he can do all these things makes me well satisfied that I did not fix him so he couldn't."

"Wait! wait! What if the freshmen beat us out at Lake Saltonstall? What if they come out ahead of us?"

"They won't."

"I know the fellows are saying they will not, but I tell you this Merriwell is full of tricks, and there is no telling what he may do with the fresh crew. He is working them secretly, and our spies report that he seems to know his business."

"Well, if he makes them winners he will deserve the credit he will receive. But he can't do it. No man can coach a crew and pull an oar at the same time. The very fact that he is attempting such a thing shows he isn't in the game."

"Don't be so sure. They say he has a subst.i.tute who takes his place in the boat sometimes, and that gives him a chance to see just how the crew is working."

"Rats! Who ever heard of such a thing! Merriwell is all right, but he doesn't know anything about rowing. He may think he knows, but he is fooling himself."

"Well, we will have to wait and see about that."

"I really believe you are afraid of Merriwell. Why--ha! ha! ha!--you are the only one who has an idea the freshmen will be in the race at all."

"I know it, but few have had any idea that the freshmen could do any of the things they have done. They have fooled us right along, and--"

"Oh, say! Give me a cigarette and let's drop it. From the way you talk I should say you would make a good sporting editor for a Sunday-school paper."

"That's all right," muttered Hartwick, sulkily, as he tossed Bruce a package of Turkish cigarettes. "Wait and see if I am not right."

After this Bruce went about telling all the soph.o.m.ores what Hartwick thought, and urging them to "jolly him" whenever they could get a chance. As a result Evan was kept in hot water the most of the time, but he persisted in claiming that the freshmen were bound to give them a surprise.

One evening a jolly party gathered in Browning and Hartwick's rooms.

Cigarettes were pa.s.sed around, and soon the smoke was thick enough to cut with a knife.

"How are the eggs down where you are taking your meals now, Horner?"

asked Puss Parker.

"Oh, they are birds!" chirped little Tad, who was perched on the back of a chair, with his cap on the side of his head.

This produced a general laugh, and Parker said:

"Speaking of birds makes me think that riches hath wings. I dropped seventy-five in that little game last night."