THE FIGHT.
“What are you going to do, Manton?” sternly demanded Fuller, stepping
forward.
“I’m going to put a few dents in the face of that chap!” was the
savage answer. “He may be able to bowl and throw people round with his
Japanese tricks; but we’ll soon see if he can fight!”
“There’ll be no fight!” exclaimed Fuller. “You got what was coming, for
you tried to impose on him. You have only yourself to blame.”
“Mr. Fuller,” said Merry, in the quietest manner imaginable, “in case
Mr. Manton insists, I trust you will not interfere. It seems to me that
he is determined to force a personal encounter upon me, and we may as
well get at it without delay.”
His fighting blood was up at last, and still he smiled. Bart Hodge was
the only one who realized how dangerous Merriwell really was when he
smiled in that manner.
“It will disgrace the club!” exclaimed Fuller.
“No need for it to be generally known if Mr. Manton will step down here
a short distance behind the trees.”
“I’ll step anywhere you say,” panted the pugilist; “but don’t you try
to run away!”
“You don’t know him!” muttered Hodge, whose eyes were gleaming. “You’ll
be better acquainted with him in a short time.”
Fuller was regretful, but he finally agreed to let Merry and Manton
settle the trouble if they would retire to the spot designated by Frank.
They did so, the witnesses accompanying them. Frost urged Manton on.
“Smash his face!” hissed he. “Spoil his beauty! You’ve got to do it!”
“Leave it to me!” growled the pugilist. “If I don’t beat him up I’ll
commit suicide!”
On their way to the spot Frank stripped off his coat and vest and
removed his collar and necktie, giving these articles to Bart.
Fuller tried to apologize to Merry, but Frank checked him.
“You’re not in the least to blame,” he said. “You can’t be responsible
for the behavior of every member of the club.”
“Manton will be expelled.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t do that! Don’t do it on my account. I can look out for
myself.”
“He’s a great fighter. He was the champion boxer at Yale in his day.”
“Don’t worry, Fuller. I’ll try to take care of myself.”
The moment they reached the spot chosen Manton advanced on Merry.
There were no preliminaries and no delay. They were at it in a hurry,
crouching, sparring, circling, seeking an opening. No rules had been
mentioned. It was a fight to the finish in such a manner as they chose.
Manton feinted with his right and tried for Frank’s jaw with his left.
The blow was parried, and Merry came back with a cross counter that
landed and staggered his enemy.
Frost ground his white teeth together and swore.
“Get at him, you fool!” he snapped.
Manton responded by coming back at Merry and landing a body blow; but
for this he received one on the mouth that split his lip and loosened a
tooth or two.
The fight grew faster and more furious. They came together and Manton
clinched, but Merry uppercut him and forced him to break. As he leaped
away he was touched lightly by Frank, who followed him closely.
Hodge was standing with his hands in his pockets, watching every move.
“Give him a little more jujutsu, Frank,” he advised.
But Merriwell shook his head. He had seen opportunities to practice
the Japanese tricks on Manton, but was resolved to give the fellow his
medicine in his own way. Manton considered himself a fine boxer, as, in
truth, he was. To defeat him at his own game, and do it twice in one
day, ought to settle his hash.
Manton side-stepped skillfully as he got away from Frank, then came
under Merry’s guard and delivered another body blow, seeking for the
solar plexus.
“That’s his game!” muttered Hodge. “Look out for it, Merry. It’s
dangerous.”
Frank was quick to discover that his enemy was working to get a heavy
one into his wind, and after that he guarded the spot with greater care.
Time after time the pugilist tried to get another one in on Frank’s
body. In fact, Frank led him into making these attempts, and each time
he punished the fellow by cutting up his face.
In a few moments Manton was bruised and bleeding, but he seemed just as
fierce and determined as when he began.
“He’s a hog for punishment,” decided Hodge.
Dent Frost was quivering with excitement.
“Manton will be a sight, no matter how it ends,” he thought. “Merriwell
is marking him all up! I don’t believe he’s touched Merriwell’s face.”
Then he uttered an exclamation of delight, for his friend had blocked a
lead and landed on Frank’s forehead, sending his head back.
“That’s the way!” he hissed. “A little lower and Merriwell would have a
fine black eye to care for.”
Fuller looked on with his blood stirred, although he was very sorry
that the affair had occurred. It was a savage fight, and soon both
men began to show the strain, although Manton was breathing much more
heavily.
Frank’s lips were pressed together, but his face wore that same smile.
It enraged the gentleman pugilist, who was determined to “knock the
smile off.”
Manton came in with a rush, and Frank went under his arm, rising and
turning in time to get in a blow.
This very thing was repeated a few moments later.
Then they grappled again, and Manton succeeded in blocking as Frank
sought to uppercut him as before.
“No you don’t!” he panted. “You can’t do that all the time!”
Merry smashed him on the kidneys, making him wince a little.
Then Manton sought to get in a blow in the break away, but it was
blocked.
Manton’s eyes were beginning to puff up, his nose was bleeding and his
lips cut. Blood stained his white shirt.
“He’ll be a spectacle to-morrow,” thought Hodge.
Dent Frost was looking for his friend to get in the “wallop” that would
settle the fight. Three times Manton had tried for it and missed.
Again he tried, and missed.
Merriwell came back with a blow that sent him to the ground.
He rose at once.
Frank permitted him to get onto his feet. In fact, Merry waited until
Manton resumed the attack.
“It can’t last much longer,” said Bert Fuller.
Frank seemed seeking another opening. In a few seconds he found it and
his fist shot out.
Smack! The blow landed squarely. Manton went to the turf. He rose
more slowly, but he forced himself to get up, although the ground was
unsteady beneath his feet.
“He’s done for!” groaned Frost, as he saw his friend stagger.
He leaped in and caught Manton by the arm.
“Quit it!” he said. “You’re out!”
“You lie!” snarled the gentleman pugilist, flinging Dent off and
seeming as steady as ever. “I’ve just begun to fight!”
Once more Frank waited until his enemy closed in. Then he took his time
and knocked the fellow down for the finish.
Manton lay still a moment, tried to rise, struggled to his elbow and
fell back.
“He’s out!” cried Frost huskily, as he lifted Manton’s head.