LITMIR.BIZ

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in sports and athletics, and he confided to Frank that he was bound to make a try for both the baseball and football teams. He had brought a set of boxing gloves, foils, and a number of sporting pictures. The foils were crossed above the mantel and the pictures were hung about the walls, but he insisted on putting on the gloves with Frank before hanging them up where they would be ornamental.

      "I've taken twenty lessons, old man," he said, "and I want to point you a few shows—I mean show you a few points. We'll practice every day, and I'll bet in less than ten weeks I'll have you so you'll be able to hold your own with any fellow of your age and weight. Ever had the gloves on?"

      "A few times," answered Frank, with a quiet smile.

      "That's all the better. I won't have to show you how to start in. Here, here—that hand goes on the other glove—I mean that glove goes on the other hand. That's the way. Now we're off. Left forward foot—er, left foot forward. Hold your guard this way. Now hit me if you can."

      Almost like a flash of lightning Frank's glove shot out, and he caused the glove to snap on Harry's nose.

      "Whee jiz—I mean jee whiz!" gasped the astonished boy from Ohio. "You're quick! But it was an accident; you can't do it again."

      He had scarcely uttered the words before Frank feinted and then shot in a sharp one under Harry's uplifted guard.

      "Great Scott! You do know some tricks! I'll bet you think you can box! Well, I'll have to drive that head out of your notion—I mean that notion out of your head. Look out for me now! I'm coming!"

      Then Harry Rattleton sailed into Frank and met with the greatest surprise of his life, for he found he could not touch Merriwell, and he was beaten and hammered and battered about the room till he finally felt himself slugged under the ear and sent flying over a chair, to land in a heap in one corner of the room. He sat up and held his gloved hand to his ear, which was ringing with a hundred clanging bells, while he stared astounded at his roommate.

      "Wow!" he gurgled. "What have I been up against? Are you a prize fighter in disguise?"

      That experience was enough to satisfy him that Frank Merriwell knew a great deal more than he did about boxing.

      As Frank sat by his window listening to the singing, on the evening that this story opens, he was wondering where Harry could be, for his roommate had been away since shortly after supper.

      Frank knew the merry singers were sophomores, the malicious and unrelenting foes of all freshmen. He would have given not a little had he been able to join them in their songs, but he knew that was not to be thought of for a moment.

      As he continued to listen, a clear tenor voice struck into that most beautiful of college songs when heard from a distance:

      "When the matin bell is ringing,

       U-ra-li-o, U-ra-li-o,

       From my rushy pallet springing,

       U-ra-li-o, U-ra-li-o,

       Fresh as the morning light forth I sally,

       With my sickle bright thro' the valley,

       To my dear one gayly singing,

       U-ra-li-o, U-ra-li-o."

      Then seven or eight strong musical young voices came in on the warbling chorus, and the boy at the window listened enchanted and enraptured, feeling the subtle charm of it all and blessing fortune that he was a youth and a student at Yale.

      The charm of the new life he had entered upon was strong, and it was weaving its spell about him—the spell which makes old Yale so dear to all who are fortunate enough to claim her as their alma mater. He continued to listen, eagerly drinking in the rest of the song as it came through the clear evening air:

      "When the day is closing o'er us,

       U-ra-li-o, U-ra-li-o,

       And the landscape fades before us,

       U-ra-li-o, U-ra-li-o,

       When our merry men quit their mowing,

       And along the glen horns are blowing,

       Sweetly then we'll raise the chorus,

       U-ra-li-o, U-ra-li-o."

      The warbling song died out in the distance, there was a rush of feet outside the door, and Harry, breathless and excited, came bursting into the room.

      "I say, old man," he cried, "what do I think?"

      "Really, I don't know," laughed Frank. "What do you think?"

      "I—I mean wh-what do you think?" spluttered Harry.

      "Why, I think a great many things. What's up, anyway?"

      "You know Diamond?"

      "The fellow they call Jack?"

      "Yes."

      "I should say so! It was his bull pup that chewed a piece out of the leg of my trousers. I kicked the dog downstairs, and Diamond came near having a fit over it. He's got a peppery temper, and he was ready to murder me. I reckon he thought I should have taken off my trousers and given them to the dog to chew."

      "He's a Southerner—from Virginia. He's a dangerous chap, Frank—just as lief eat as fight—I mean fight as eat. He's been in town to-night, drinking beer with the boys, and he's in a mighty ugly mood. He says you insulted him."

      "Is that so?"

      "It's just so, and he's going to dallenge you to a chewel—I mean challenge you to a duel."

      Frank whistled softly, elevating his brows a bit.

      "What sort of a duel?" he asked.

      "Why, a regular duel with deadly weapons. He's awfully in earnest, Frank, and he means to kill you if you don't apologize. All the fellows are backing him; they think you will not fight."

      "Is that so? Looking for me to show the white feather, are they? Well, I like that!"

      "But you can't fight him! I tell you he's a fire eater! I've heard that his father killed a man in a duel."

      "And that makes the son dangerous! No, Harry, I can't afford to—What's all that racket?"

      The sound of voices and of many feet ascending the stairs could be heard. Harry turned pale.

      "They're coming, Frank!" he exclaimed. "It's the whole gang, and Diamond is with them. He means to force you to fight or squeal!"

      CHAPTER II.

       CHALLENGED AND HAZED.

       Table of Contents

      The voices were hushed, the feet halted in the hall, and then there was a sharp knock on the door.

      Before Harry could reach the door Frank called out:

      "Come in."

      Open flew the door, and there stood the tall, straight, dark-eyed Southerner, with half a dozen other fellows behind him.

      "Mr. Merriwell," said Diamond, stiffly, "I have called to see you on a very important matter, sir."

      "Walk right in," invited Frank, rising to receive them. "Bring your friends in. State your business, Mr. Diamond."

      The party came trooping in, and Frank was not a little astonished to observe among them Bruce Browning, a big, strong, lazy sophomore, a fellow who was known to be a great hand to plan deviltry which was usually carried into execution by his friends. As for Browning, he was not given to exerting himself when he could avoid it.

      That a soph should associate with a party of freshmen seemed but a little short of marvelous, and Frank instantly scented "a job." Believing he had been singled out for the party to "jolly," his blood was up in a moment, and he resolved to show them that he was not "easy."

      Jack Diamond drew himself up, his eyes fastened threateningly

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