THE BOXING BOUT.
In Maplewood Jack Cole had a reputation as a fighter. In fact, the
village boys regarded him as a wonder. At one time he had whipped three
of them in a square fight, and it was said that nothing ever hurt him.
He seemed to be able to stand punishment without feeling it.
Although old John Cole was a man of some means, he was ignorant and
extremely offensive in his ways. Old John believed his son a wonder. It
was his conviction that no one of Jack’s age could get the best of him.
This being the case, the old man had fretted and fumed over the result
of his son’s early encounter with the Merriwell crowd in Maplewood. The
fact that Jack had come from that encounter with a beautiful black eye,
and that neither Dick nor any of his friends had shown visible marks of
the conflict, was quite enough to cause the boy’s father to long for a
time when his son could obtain revenge. He had repeatedly said that some
day Jack would “take the starch out of that Merriwell feller.”
The man looked grimly confident as Jack donned the gloves.
“Sail right in, boy,” he said in a low tone, as he fastened the gloves
on young Cole’s hands. “Jest knock him silly. If you ever land good and
fair with your left, he’ll know something has struck him, you bate!”
Jack was full of confidence as he stepped out to face Dick. He put up
his hands after his own fashion, yet the guard was not a bad one.
“They’re off!” cried Ted Smart. “Will some one please lend me a
handkerchief to dry my tears!”
At first Dick worked cautiously, with the object of finding out just how
skillful his antagonist really was. He came forward lightly, feinted,
moved swiftly to the right, and thus circled round young Cole.
Cole was quick enough in his movements; but kept his face toward Dick
and gave no good opening for a blow. At the same time he followed young
Merriwell up in a deliberate manner, evidently watching for an opening
himself.
“Don’t fool with him, Jack!” cried old John. “Jest pitch right in and
soak him hard!”
“Yes; pitch right in, Jack!” urged Ted Smart. “I’d love to see you soak
him hard! It would do me no end of good to see you soak him hard! Please
soak him hard!”
“Dern his picter! he’ll get all that’s coming to him when he tries it!”
declared Obediah Tubbs. “He’ll find Dick ain’t no easy mark same as
Jolliby is.”
“Who’s an easy mum-mum-mum-mark?” exclaimed Jolliby hotly. “You didn’t
fuf-fuf-fuf-find it so easy.”
“Shut up, both of you!” growled big Bob Singleton. “You’ve played your
part as clowns; now watch the heavy men.”
After a few moments Cole began to press Dick harder and harder. The fact
that young Merriwell continued to avoid him by swift footwork convinced
Jack that his antagonist was afraid.
“Why don’t yer stand up and spar right?” he demanded, at last. “Be you
trying to wind me? Is that your game? Well, I guess I can stand it as
long as you can. I’ll git at yer before I’m done.”
“That’s the talk, my boy!” cried old John. “When you do git at him jest
let him know it.”
“Oh, he’ll know it, all right,” grinned the Maplewood boy.
Then, to his surprise, Dick suddenly came in on him, feinted with his
right, jabbed quick with his left, and got away.
The blow had landed on Cole’s chin, knocking his teeth together and
setting his head back.
“Too bad! too bad!” sobbed Smart. “I hate to see it!”
“Don’t let him hit yer that way!” shouted old John, in angered
astonishment.
“He done it when I wasn’t watching,” asserted Jack. “He can’t do it
again.”
Barely had he made this statement when Dick once more sprang forward,
dodged to one side, ducked and avoided Cole’s blow, ending by smashing
the Maplewood lad full and hard in the short ribs. He was away like a
flash, and had not been touched.
Now Jack Cole was aroused in earnest. He followed Merriwell up and
struck two or three blows, which would have been decidedly effective had
they landed. They were either dodged or parried by Dick.
“If he ever plants one of them it’ll be all over,” asserted the boy’s
father.
When Cole retreated he found Dick after him. There was an exchange of
blows at short range, and Merriwell hit his antagonist at least three
times. As he got away, Cole tapped him lightly on the cheek.
Although Merriwell’s dark eyes were flashing, there was a smile on his
lips.
“Why don’t you corner him, Jack?” shouted the old man, as he clawed at
his whiskers. “Git him inter a corner and then thump him.”
Henry Duncan, together with some of the club members, watched the
encounter. They knew Cole’s reputation in Maplewood, and Duncan feared
at the outset that he would prove too much for Merriwell.
“He’s a strapping, raw-boned fellow,” said Duncan. “If he ever lands a
fair swing on Merriwell I’m afraid that will end the whole business.”
“I understand that Cole encourages his son in his fighting
inclinations,” said William Drake.
“Quite true! quite true!” nodded Eustace Smiley. “It’s reported around
Maplewood that Jack Cole aspires to become a pugilist. He thinks he can
make a record in the ring when he gets old enough.”
“I am almost sorry we permitted this,” said Duncan in a low tone. “When
I told the boys to make themselves at home I hardly fancied anything
like this would occur. An ordinary boxing bout is harmless enough, but
this seems to be an encounter for blood.”
“Two to one,” remarked Drake, “this is Hammerswell’s work. It’s my idea
he put the Cole boy up to it, with the notion that Merriwell might be
knocked out and injured so that he would be unable to do his best in the
ball game to-day.”
Brad Buckhart heard some of this talk, and at once he stepped over to
the men.
“Don’t you worry any at all about my pard,” he said. “He’s just fooling
with that chap now. He hasn’t tried to hit him yet. Dick has touched him
a few times just to get him started.”
“There he goes!” again palpitated Smiley. “My gracious! that boy’s quick
as a cat on his feet!”
Again Dick had closed in on Cole, struck him several light blows, and
escaped without a return.
“He doesn’t seem to have much force in his blows,” observed William
Drake. “Apparently he can hit Cole almost at will, but he can’t hurt
him.”
“Wait some,” advised Brad. “He hasn’t made up his mind to do any damage
yet. He’s enjoying this little racket a whole lot.”
“But while he fools with Cole,” said Duncan, “he is exposing himself to
a blow that might put him out. Those are hard gloves, and a good jolt
with them will count almost as much as a blow with the bare fist.”
Buckhart remained undisturbed and confident, repeating his assurance
that Dick could take care of himself. At length Cole became exasperated
at Dick’s success in closing with him and getting away without harm.
“Now you’re doing it, Jack!” shouted his father, as the Maplewood boy
followed Merriwell up with a rush and succeeded in landing a spent blow.
“Keep him going, son, keep him going!”
Of a sudden young Merriwell stopped and met his antagonist as the fellow
came on. Parrying two blows, Dick struck once with a swinging upward
movement that actually lifted Cole off his feet and dropped him to the
floor.
Old John gave a gasp of astonishment. With the exception of Smart,
Dick’s friends laughed. Ted pretended to shed tears.
Jack Cole came up with a spring, and lost no time in getting at it
again.
And now Henry Duncan noted that, although Cole was breathing quite
heavily, Merriwell seemed perfectly fresh and unwinded.
“Your friend has the staying power,” he remarked to Brad.
The Texan smiled.
“You bet your boots!” he nodded. “That’s the way he wins out. He never
quits.”
By this time old John Cole was greatly excited. He pranced this way and
that, calling to his son and urging him on.
“Never touched yer, boy!” he shouted. “He can’t jar you that way!”
Faster and more furious became the encounter. Cole swung repeatedly with
his left, trying to get in a telling blow. Once he brushed Dick’s cheek,
and once he landed on Merriwell’s chest. In return he was hit
repeatedly, but did not seem to mind it.
“I will git yer before I’m done!” he hissed. “I’ll put yer out of
business!”
Dick saw vindictiveness in his opponent’s eyes, and detected hatred in
the intonation of Cole’s voice.
Up to this point Merriwell had shown his skill as a boxer, without
attempting to do his enemy any serious injury. He now saw that Cole
would not recognize the fact that he was outpointed unless compelled to
do so by a fair knock-out.
Dick now played for Jack’s wind, and several times he landed hard on the
pit of his stomach.
Enraged by his failure to get in an effective blow, Cole grappled and
sought to throw Merriwell. In a moment his feet were snapped into the
air, and he was lifted and tossed across Dick’s hip, being sent
sprawling fifteen feet away.
“If he tries to turn this into a wrestling match, my pard will certain
show him some tricks at that,” laughed Buckhart.
With his eyes glaring and his teeth set, Jack Cole scrambled up and
dashed at Merriwell.
Dick sidestepped and struck a blow that stopped the other lad in his
tracks.
“Give him the grand coup, partner!” exclaimed Buckhart. “You can do it.”
Indeed, Dick might have finished the encounter then and there, for Cole
had dropped his hands and was quite unguarded. Merriwell did make a move
to deliver the blow, but restrained himself.
“Perhaps he’s going to call it off,” he said.
“Not by a jugful!” roared old John. “Git ter going there, Jack!”
Seeming to recover in a moment, Cole accepted this advice, and again
pitched into Dick.
During the next few moments the boxing was so swift that the eye
followed the blows with difficulty. Once Dick was struck, but he
recovered quickly, and a moment later delivered a blow that started the
blood from his opponent’s nose.
Cole did not mind a little blood. In fact, it seemed to make a fury of
him, and he launched himself at Dick, striking right and left with
sledge-hammer force.
“We ought to stop it, gentlemen—we ought to stop it!” palpitated Eustace
Smiley.
“It will be all over in a minute,” declared Buckhart. “Don’t worry about
it.”
He was right, for Dick found his opening and gave Cole a solar-plexus
blow that again stopped the fellow short. Then Merriwell swung on Jack’s
jaw and the boy went “down and out.”
Old John could scarcely believe the evidence of his eyes. As he stooped
over his son, he continued urging him to get up and resume the fighting.
Jack tried to rise, but his strength was gone, and everything seemed to
swing about him.
“Git up, boy—git up!” snarled old John. “You can do him yit!”
“I—I can’t!” weakly, whispered the defeated chap. “No—use—dad!”
Then he dropped back and lay sprawled out on the floor.
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