THE FINISH.
Diamond's recovery and the manner in which he resumed the fight caused
general astonishment. Even Bruce Browning had come to think that the
Virginian was "out."
Frank was taken by surprise. Before he could square away to meet his
foe, Diamond struck him a terrific blow near the temple, knocking him
into Rattleton's arms.
"Foul!" cried Harry, excitedly. "Horner hadn't given the word."
"Foul! foul!" came from all sides.
"There is no foul in this fight save when something is used besides
fists," declared Merriwell as he staggered from his roommate's arms.
"It's all right and it goes."
But he found that everything seemed swimming around him, and dark spots
were pursuing each other before his eyes. The floor seemed to heave like
the deck of a ship at sea. He put out his hand to grasp something, and
then he was struck again.
Once more Rattleton's arms kept Frank from going down.
"This is no square deal!" Harry shouted. "By the poly hoker--I mean the
holy poker! I'll take a hand in this myself!"
He would have released Merriwell and jumped into the ring, but Frank's
strong fingers closed on his arm.
"Steady, old man!" came sharply from Merriwell's lips. "I am in this yet
awhile. If Diamond finishes me he is to be let alone. The fellow that
lays a hand on him is no friend of mine!"
"You give me cramps!" groaned Harry.
Instead of aiding in finishing Frank, Diamond's second blow seemed to
straighten him up, as if it had cleared a fog from his brain. The spots
disappeared before his eyes and things ceased to swim around him.
Into the ring to meet his foe sprang Frank, and, to the astonishment of
everybody he still smiled.
At the same time, Merriwell knew he had toyed with Diamond too long. He
realized that the Virginian's first blow had come within a hair of
knocking him out, and he could still hear a faint, ringing and roaring
in his head.
Frank saw that the only way he could end the fight was to finish his
unrelenting and persistent foe.
Diamond fought like an infuriated tiger. Again and again Frank's fist
cracked on his face, and still he did not falter, but continued to
stand up and "take his medicine."
In less than a minute the Virginian was bleeding at the nose, and had
received a blow in one of his eyes that was causing it to swell in a way
that threatened to close it entirely.
The spectators were greatly excited, and not a few of them declared it
was the most gamey fight they had ever witnessed.
The front of Diamond's shirt was stained with blood, and he presented a
sorry aspect. His chest was heaving, but his uninjured eye glared with
unabated fury and determination.
"Will he never give up?" muttered Harry Rattleton. "He's a regular hog!
The fellow doesn't know when he has enough."
It was true Southern grit. It was the unyielding Southern spirit--the
spirit that led the soldiers of the South to make one of the pluckiest
struggles known in history.
While the fellow's grit had won Frank's admiration, still Merriwell had
learned that it would not do to let up. The only way out of the fight
was to end it, and he set about trying to accomplish that with as little
delay as possible.
Once Diamond succeeded in getting in another blow, and it left a slight
swelling over one of the other lad's eyes.
But Merriwell did not seem to know that he had been hit. He soon cracked
the Virginian upon the uninjured eye, and that began to swell. In a few
seconds it seemed that Diamond must soon go blind.
"Finish him, old man--finish him!" urged Harry.
Frank was looking for the chance, but it was some time before he found
it. It came at last, and his left landed on the jaw beneath Diamond's
ear.
Over went the Southerner, and he lay like a log where he fell.
At a glance, it was evident to all that he was knocked out.
The boys crowded around Merriwell, eager to congratulate him, but he
thrust them back, saying:
"It's the first time in my life I ever did a thing of which I was
ashamed! Look after him. I'm all right."
"Say!" exploded Harry Rattleton, "you make me sick! Didn't you have to
do it?"
"I suppose so."
"Didn't he strike you foul twice?"
"He knows nothing of rules, and we were fighting by no rules, so there
could be no foul."
"Oh, no! If he'd soaked you with a brick you'd said it was all right! I
say, you make me sick! Wait till he gets a good chance to do you, and
see how quick he will take it."
"He'll not be to blame if he tries to get square."
"Oh, go hoke your sed--I mean soak your head! I'll catch you some time
when you are asleep and try to pound a little sense into you."
"Well, take care of Diamond," ordered Merriwell. "That last one I gave
him was a beastly thump."
"Let the other fellows take care of him," said Harry. "We'll rub you
down. You need it. Got any towels, Mr. Horner?"
"Guess we can find one or two," cheerfully answered Tad. "Come on,
Merriwell. We'll fix you up."
Frank followed them into the room where the captured freshmen had been
confined, and there they found running water, an old iron sink, a tin
wash basin, and some towels.
The visitor was stripped and given a brisk and thorough rubbing and
sponging by Harry and Tad.
Bruce Browning, with his mask still over his face, came loafing in and
looked the stripped freshman over with a critical eye. He inspected
Frank from all sides, poked him with his fingers, felt of his arms and
legs, surveyed the muscles of his back and chest, and then stood off and
took him all in at a glance.
"Humph!" he grunted.
Frank's delicate pink skin glowed, and he looked a perfect Apollo, with
a splendid head poised upon a white, shapely neck. Never had he looked
handsomer in all his life than he did at that moment, stripped to the
buff, his brown hair frowsled, his body glowing from the rubbing.
"By Jove!" cried Tad Horner, who was sometimes called Baby, "he's a Jim
Hickey--eh, old man?"
The interrogation was directed at Browning.
"Humph!" grunted Bruce, and then with his hands in his pockets he loafed
out of the room.
Afterward it was reported that Browning said the freshman was the
finest-put-up chap he had ever seen, but he didn't want to give him the
swelled head by telling him so.
By the time Merriwell was well rubbed down one of the freshmen came in
and reported that Diamond had come around all right.
"They're going to bring him in here and give him a rubbing," said the
freshman.
Frank hastened to get into his clothes, in order that Diamond might have
a chance. Rattleton had brushed the dirt and sawdust off those clothes,
so they looked pretty well, and Merriwell showed no traces of what he
had passed through when he stepped out of the little room.
Some of the boys were trying to induce Diamond to be rubbed down, but he
objected, declaring he was going directly to his room. The blood had
been washed from his face, and one or two cuts had been patched up with
court-plaster, but his eyes were nearly closed, and he presented a
pitiful appearance.
Frank hesitated a moment, and then he stepped up to his foe, saying in a
manner most sincere:
"Old man, I am sorry this affair took place. I had the advantage,
because I have taken boxing lessons, but you made a beautiful fight. I
hold no hard feelings. Let's call it quits and shake."
He held out his hand.
Diamond's reply was to turn his back squarely on the proffered hand.
An additional flush arose to Merriwell's cheeks, and he dropped his hand
by his side, turning away without another word.
A few moments later Diamond left the building, accompanied by a single
companion, and that companion was not Roland Ditson.
Ditson remained behind, and he was among those who crowded about Frank
Merriwell and offered congratulations.
"I was Diamond's second," said Roll, "but I am satisfied that the best
man won. He is no match for you, Merriwell. I shouldn't have been his
second, only he urged me to. I was glad to see you do him up."
He got hold of Frank's hand and held on, but received no friendly
pressure in return. When he said he was glad that Merriwell did Diamond
up Frank looked incredulous.
"As for me," said the victor, "I was sorry to have to do him up."
Somewhere about the place Rattleton had found an old floral decoration
representing a harp. He brought it forward and presented it to Frank.
"Take it," he said. "You'll need it pretty soon. Your wings must be
sprouting already!"
"What is it?" asked Frank.
"Why, can't you see? It's a harp."
"It looks to me like a blasted lyre," said Merriwell. "You'd better give
it to Ditson."
Then everybody but Ditson laughed.