h bare fists. As it is, I'd have to get my
glove off."

"Do it! do it! You're a fool if you don't!"

"Then I'm a fool. That man has trusted this entire affair to our honor,
and if I can't whip him fair I won't whip him at all."

"You make me sick!" sneered Hartwick.

At the call the two men promptly faced each other for the final round.
At first they were a bit wary, but then, as if by mutual agreement, they
went at each other like tigers. Blow followed blow, but it was plain
that one man was getting quite as much as the other. Browning got in one
of his terrific drives, but it was not a knockout, and Merriwell had the
sophomore up up against the rope three times.

"Time! Break away!" yelled Tad Horner, forcing himself over between the
combatants. "It's all over."

"What's the decision?" shouted a dozen voices.

"A draw," was the distinct answer. "I declare it an even thing between
them."

There was a moment of silence, and then, bruised and smiling, Frank
Merriwell tore off his glove and extended his hand. Off came Browning's
glove, and he accepted the hand of the freshman.

CHAPTER XVII.

TALKING IT OVER.

Before night nearly every student knew that Merriwell and Browning had
fought a six-round, hard-glove contest to a draw, and it was generally
said that the decision was fair. Evan Hartwick seemed to be the only
witness of the fight who was dissatisfied. Roland Ditson had not been
invited to see it, but he expressed a belief that Browning would prove
the better man in a fight to a finish.

Several weeks slipped by.

After the glove contest Browning had very little to say about the
freshman leader. Whenever he did say anything, it was exactly what he
thought, and it was noted that he admitted Merriwell to be a comer.

Evan Hartwick could not crush down his powerful dislike for Merriwell.
He admitted to Bruce that he felt an almost irresistible desire to
strike the cool freshman whenever they met.

"I wouldn't advise you to do it, my boy," lazily smiled Browning, who
was growing fat again, now that he was no longer in training. "He is a
bad man to hit."

"It depends on what he is hit with," returned Hartwick, grimly. "You
made a fool of yourself when you failed to break his wrist, after paying
twenty-five toadskins to learn the trick. That would have made you the
victor."

"And it would have made me feel like a contemptible sneak. I have been
well satisfied with myself that I did not try