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

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more they were at it, toe to toe, hands moving slightly, light on their feet, ready to dodge or spring, ready to strike or guard. Blows came, one landing on Merriwell's cheek, and another on his shoulder; but more than twenty were dodged or guarded, and Bascomb was struck twice for every blow he gave.

      Frank was watching for that left hand body blow, and it came at last, just when Bascomb thought it must count.

      In that case Bascomb deceived himself.

      The blow was struck swiftly enough, but Frank stopped it with a right hand guard, and, with his left, countered heavily on Bascomb's mouth, sending the big fellow's head back.

      Bascomb was surprised, and he showed it. He was also thoroughly angered, and he proceeded to "wade into" Merriwell like a cyclone.

      On the other hand, Merriwell was cool as ice, and he made every blow count something, for even when they failed to land they kept the big fellow busy.

      Time after time Bascomb rushed in, but Merriwell was light as a feather on his feet, and he danced nimbly about, tapping the other fellow now here, now there, smiling sweetly all the while, and showing a skill that was very baffling to Bascomb.

      "Hang him!" thought the big fellow. "He is a regular jumping jack. If I don't land a blow on him pretty quick, I am going to clinch."

      This he soon did, catching Frank for the cross-buttock throw.

      For a moment it looked as if Merriwell would be flung heavily, and Hodge drew his breath through his teeth with a hissing sound that turned to a sigh of relief as he saw his friend thrust forward his right foot between Bascomb's, break his wrist clear and catch the big fellow behind the left knee with his left hand, while he brought his right arm up over Bascomb's shoulder, and pressed his hand over Bascomb's face, snapping his head back and hurling him off sideways.

      This was done quickly and scientifically, and it convinced Hodge that Bascomb could not work the cross-buttock on Merriwell.

      Hugh Bascomb was disgusted and infuriated by his failure. He had counted on having a soft thing, and he was actually getting the worst of the encounter.

      Time was called, and a breathing spell taken.

      Then they went at it again, and this time both worked savagely, their movements being swift and telling.

      Watching this battle, Paul Rains began to believe that he was not yet quite Merriwell's match at boxing.

      "But I am a better man than he is at most anything else," thought the fellow.

      Smack! smack! smack!

      Merriwell was following Bascomb up like a tiger, and the big fellow was forced to give ground. Again and again Frank hammered the desperate plebe, getting few blows in return and seeming to mind none of them no more than drops of rain.

      Bascomb's face wore the look of an enraged bull. Suddenly, with a quick side motion, he snapped off the glove on his left hand.

      Then, with his bare first, he struck straight and hard at Frank Merriwell's face!

      CHAPTER XVIII.

       RAINS' CHALLENGE.

       Table of Contents

      Bascomb's movement had been noted by the spectators, and a cry of astonishment and warning broke from many lips.

      "Look out!" shouted Bart Hodge.

      Frank had seen the movement, and he needed no warning.

      Like a flash, he ducked to the right, and Bascomb's bare fist missed his face and shot over his shoulder.

      At the same instant Frank countered with his left, striking the big fellow on the chin, and hurling him backward with force enough to send him reeling.

      Leaping forward, Merriwell followed up his advantage, and Bascomb received two terrible blows, one of which knocked him down as if he had been struck by a cannon ball.

      Then Frank flung off both his gloves, his face flushed, and his eyes flashing, as he exclaimed:

      "Two can play at your game, fellow! If you want to try a round with uncovered knuckles, pick yourself up and come on!"

      Snarling like a wounded dog, Bascomb scrambled to his feet; but here the spectators surged between the two, Rains catching hold of the big plebe, while Hodge grasped Merriwell.

      "Easy, Frank!" warned Bart. "Are you crazy? You know what it will mean if you fight in the gym. Rhynas has noticed it now—he's coming."

      "Confound that fellow!" muttered Frank. "I don't often get started this way, but it was such a dirty trick that——"

      "Never mind, now. Keep still, or Rhynas will hear."

      "Let me get at him!" Bascomb had snarled. "I will beat the life out of him!"

      "Stop! stop!" said Rains, swiftly. "You are making a fool of yourself! You can't fight here!"

      "Can't I? Well——"

      "No, it is against the rules. If you press this, you will be expelled, for the affair will be investigated, and it will be proved that you bared your hand, and Merriwell was forced to do so to defend himself."

      "Oh, I could hammer him!"

      "Well, there is plenty of time. Steady, now! Here is the professor. He has scented a row. Can't you play cool, and pretend it was a joke? Quick!"

      Then Frank was surprised to see Bascomb come forward, laughing in a sickly way, as he said:

      "You're pretty flip with your hands, Merriwell, and that's right. I hope you won't lay up anything against me because I lost my glove. I was so excited that I didn't know it was gone."

      It was on Frank's tongue to give Bascomb the lie, but, for once in his life, Hodge was the cooler of the two, and he warned his friend by a soft pressure on the arm.

      Then, seeing Professor Rhynas listening, with a dark look on his face, Frank laughed, and retorted:

      "I don't mind a little thing like that, Bascomb, as long as you didn't strike me. I rather think I held my own with you, and so we will drop it."

      "Yes," said Bascomb, "we will drop it—for the present."

      The way he spoke the words seemed to indicate that, though they might let it drop for the present, the affair was not settled between them, by any means.

      Rhynas now demanded to know the cause of the excitement, and he was told that Bascomb had knocked his glove off, and then, in his excitement, had struck a blow.

      The professor looked blacker than ever.

      "Such a thing is not possible," he declared. "This is no resort for fighters. If you fellows have any differences to settle, settle them elsewhere. I propose to run this department so there can be no slurs cast upon it, and I will not have fighting, quarreling or loud talking here."

      The professor was very strict, and they knew he meant every word he spoke, so they did their best to pacify him with smooth words and apologies.

      The man, however, was too shrewd to be deceived, and he knew very well that the two boxers had come very near fighting in the gymnasium while he was present. However, he could do nothing but warn them, which he did, and then went about his affairs.

      The spectators of the little bout had been given something to talk about, for, up to that moment, they had not dreamed there was any one in the academy who could stand up before Bascomb's "wicked left" and not be unmercifully hammered.

      Merriwell had been touched very few times with Bascomb's left, for he had constantly been on the guard for any blow that might come from that point, and he had thumped the big plebe most aggravatingly all through the affair.

      But, what was most significant, after Bascomb had flung off one glove and struck at Frank with his bare fist,

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