BURT L. STANDISH Ultimate Collection: 24 Action Thrillers in One Volume (Illustrated) - Burt L. Standish

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sir—but I am the principal of this school. It is my place——"

      "It is your place to keep in your room, sir, when there is an outbreak like the one under discussion, and allow me to straighten matters out. If you had done so, I might be able to get at the bottom of this affair and discover the guilty jokers; as it is, you and your associates complicated matters so that I do not seem able to do much of anything."

      Having spoken thus plainly, Lieutenant Gordan turned on his heel, and left the professor in anything but a pleasant frame of mind.

      It was a day or two after the occurrence of the "great centipede joke," as the crawfish affair came to be termed, that Paul Rains and Hugh Bascomb were having a bout with the gloves in the gymnasium. Quite a number of spectators had gathered, and Frank Merriwell sauntered up and joined the group.

      Professor Rhynas was giving his attention to another department of the gymnasium, and he had left Bascomb to meet all comers and "give them points."

      Bascomb was not finding it a very easy thing to give Rains many points, although he believed he could knock the fellow down any time he wished to do so by simply letting drive one of his sledgehammer blows.

      But Bascomb had not thought of striking Rains with all his strength. He had discovered that Rains disliked Merriwell, and that was enough to establish a bond of friendship between the big plebe and the lad with whom he was boxing.

      Bascomb hated Frank, but he feared him at the same time.

      "Nobody seems able to get the best of that fellow," he had thought a hundred times. "It seems to be bad luck to go against him, and so I am going to keep away from him in the future. Poor Gage! Merriwell was bad medicine for him."

      Bascomb was a coward, but he could hate intensely in his two-faced, treacherous way.

      The moment Merriwell joined the group, Bascomb noted it.

      "He's watching Rains," mentally decided the big plebe. "He wants to see what the fellow is made of."

      Rains seemed aware that Merriwell was a spectator, for he braced up and gave Bascomb a merry go for a few minutes, forcing the big fellow back, and seeming to tap him with ease and skill whenever and wherever he chose.

      When this little flurry was over, Rains threw off his gloves, and declared he had had enough.

      "So have I," said Bascomb, with a grin. "You're the best man I've put the mittens on with yet. I believe there is a fellow not more than a hundred miles from here that thinks he is some one with gloves, but you can do him dead easy. More than that, I think he knows it, and I don't believe he has the nerve to stand up and face you for a whirl."

      "Oh, I don't want to box with any one," said Rains. "Keep still, Bascomb."

      "You may not want to box, but you can down Frank Merriwell just the same," declared the big plebe.

      CHAPTER XVII.

       THE BULLY'S MATCH.

       Table of Contents

      A moment of silence followed Bascomb's distinctly-spoken words, and the eyes of nearly every one were turned on Merriwell, to whose face the hot color slowly mounted.

      "What's the matter with you, Bascomb?" he finally asked. "What do you want to draw me into this affair for? I don't know as I have any desire to put on the gloves with Rains."

      The big fellow grinned in a way that was distinctly insulting.

      "I don't think you have," he said. "You wouldn't cut any ice with him."

      "You may be right; but I don't quite understand how you know, as I have never stood up with you."

      "Oh, that wasn't necessary; I've seen you spar, and I have your gage. You don't run in the class with Rains."

      At this juncture Rains made a move as if he would quiet Bascomb, but the big fellow quickly went on:

      "I'm not going to keep still any longer. You're too modest, Rains. You keep in the background, and let fellows like Merriwell take the lead in everything, when you should be a leader. You are a better all-round man than Merriwell any day, and you can knock corners off him any time he has nerve enough to put on the mitts with you. He's a dandy to push himself to the front, but——"

      That was a little more than Frank could stand. The jolly look had vanished from his face, and he faced Bascomb, saying sharply:

      "Look here, my friend, I reckon you are saying one word for Rains and two for yourself. I haven't mixed up with you for reasons that you very well understand, but I don't propose to take much of your talk. If there is any difference between Mr. Rains and myself, we will settle it at another time; but if you want to get a rap at me, now is the accepted occasion, and I will put on the gloves with you."

      Bascomb had not been looking for this, and he was taken aback for a moment. Still, although he knew Merriwell was a far better all-round athlete, he believed he could more than match him in boxing, so he eagerly accepted the opportunity.

      "I'm your man," he said. "Peel off and get into gear. It won't take me long to show you there are a few things you do not know."

      He laughed in a disagreeable way, and Hodge, who had overheard all, bit his lips to repress an outburst of anger.

      "The sneak!" whispered Bart to Frank, as the latter stepped aside to take off his coat and vest. "He means to use his sledgehammer blow on you. He won't box for points, but he will try to soak you. Look out for him."

      "I am not afraid of him."

      "That's all right; but you know he has been practicing that blow, and they say it is terrible. He is cut out for a prizefighter, and is no fit boxing antagonist for a gentleman."

      "I shall look out for his 'wicked left,' as I have heard the boys call it."

      "He wants to provoke you into a fight with himself or Rains."

      "I thought as much; but he may change his mind after we spar, if he does not catch me foul by an accident."

      "He is tricky."

      "I will watch out for his tricks."

      "Look out for his cross-buttock. He's stout as a moose, and he will give you a nasty fall."

      For all of his warning words, Bart had great confidence in Frank. They had fought once, shortly after coming to Fardale, and Hodge had found Merriwell more than his match then. Since that time, Frank had missed no opportunity to pick up points in boxing, and his advancement had been great.

      Still there was a chance that, by some accident, Bascomb might land once with that "wicked left," or might seek to injure Merriwell by a fall, if he found that he was matched in every other way, so Bart was on hand with his words of warning.

      It did not take Frank long to get ready, and it was not long before the two boys faced each other, adjusting the gloves upon their hands. Then they came up to the scratch, and the word was given that started the contest.

      Bascomb started in at once with a series of false motions intended to confuse Merriwell, but they simply brought a faint smile to Frank's face, and he remained as placid as ever until——

      Just as Bascomb had decided to rush, Merriwell rushed. There was a flashing of their gloves. The big fellow struck twice, and both blows were met by a ready guard.

      Biff! biff! biff! First with the right, and then twice with the left Frank struck the big plebe. None of them were heavy blows, but they all stung, and the angry blood surged to Bascomb's face, as he saw Merriwell leap back beyond his reach, laughing a bit.

      "Mosquito bites!" said Bascomb, derisively.

      "But they count."

      "Who cares. I will more than square that in a minute."

      "All right; I am waiting."

      Once

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