The Original © Gilbert Patten WNU Service CHAPTER VI—Continued ee he “There's a little grudge to be set- tled,” said the Chief Executioner, “and we don’t let chickens of that sort go to roost around this neck of the woods. Here are your mittens, Merriwell. Hold out your dainty hands and let them be slipped on.” ‘Wait a moment, me lad,” inter- posed Mulloy, who had felt a swift thrill of joy when he sensed what was going to take place. ‘‘How do we know the other pair's not loaded with railroad iron?” He was permitted to inspect both pairs, which he did carefully. “Um-m,”” he said, ‘‘they appear okay, but they're four-ouncers, and that makes it no boxing match.” “Who said anything about a box- ing match?’ laughed the Chief Exe- cutioner hoarsely. ‘It's going to be a fight to a finish.” “And I appoint myself referee,” said Justice. “The heck you do!’’ shot back the Chief Executioner. “I'm running this show. Back up and get out from underfoot.” But Justice stepped close to him and whispered something into his ear that brought about a surprising change in his attitude. ‘‘Oh, well,” he said, ‘‘now that's different. But we haven't time to burn, and it's got to be one round to a decision.” “Do you agree to that, Merri- well?” asked Justice. “I'll let Hodge settle the point,” answered Frank. “Aw, come on and let's go through with it,”” said Bart impa- tiently. “It's none of my doing, but I prefer it short and snappy." ‘““The innocent little lamb!" said Barney. “Wasn't it a shame to drag him out of his nice warm bed, all unsuspecting and unprepared! Me tender heart bleeds for him.” Hodge barked: “Your nose’ll bleed some day if you keep shooting your mouth off, Irish.” ‘““Now he's boiling,”" Mulloy whis- pered to Frank, ‘and that'll make him an easy set-up. Sail into him and knock him bow-legged."” The gloves had been fastened se- curely on Merriwell's hands, and Hodge was ready also. The referee had a few words to say before letting them go to it. He warned them against foul blows and stated that he would make them break whenever either one got to holding on to save himself. And he warned the masked spectators to keep back and be careful not to interfere in any way. “This is going to be absolutely on the level, “If either he declared. { wards he'll show his color. Are you ready?” word to mix it. that Frank sidestepped, but followed up as if bent on making it a short job. Both showed form. Neither was green at this sort of thing. They had been there before, more than once. But the eagerness of Hodge increased as Merry continued to “Do You Agree to That, Merri- well?” Asked Justice. elude him like a fading phantom, without attempting to return a blow for the storm that missed him by inches. The fellow just wouldn’t stay put long enough for Bart to land a punch. Justice had to do some pretty footwork himself to keep from get- ting tangled up with them. The masked boys began to laugh again. “Why, it's a sprint,” said cne of them. *“] came to see a scrap.” “Wait a bit,” suggested Mulloy. “Frankie's just letting you see how fast the lad can run. It's the best thing Hodge does.” Then there was an abrupt change. Quick as quicksilver, Merriwell came flashing in as’ his enemy slowed down a little, and looped over a swing to the jaw. It was almost a sleepmaker, but Hodge, reeling drunkenly, managed to keep his feet under him. He was dazed for the moment, but to the surprise of everybody Frank made no at- tempt to follow up. He waited, his hands dropped at his sides, for the bewildered fellow to recover. ‘Get in there, Hodge!’ barked the Chief Executioner, ‘Get in there and bat him balmy!” Bart pulled himself out of it. saw red now. Like a tiger, charged again. And now Merriwell met him, crouching a little. He parried and blocked a storm of blows. Then, with Hodge off balance, he let go the one-two for a double count. Hodge fell into a clinch and held on. “Break!” cried the referee, jump- ing to separate them. Just as they were pulled apart, Bart struck low with savage fury. Frank sank to the floor, his face twisted with pain. ‘““He’s down!" cried the Chief Ex- ecutioner. “Count him out, ref- eree!” But Justice thrust Hodge back. “You struck low in the break- away,” he said. “It's all over and you lose.” “Wait! It's not all over!” His face still twisted in a grimace of pain, Merriwell had lifted himself on to one knee. He was getting up. “This was to go to a finish and I'm not finished.” Indignation had choked Barney Mulloy dumb, but now he could speak again. ‘Atta old kid, Frank!" he cried. ‘‘He done you wrong, now pass him the cookies. Quit being soft. Go after that dirty bird and lay him in the shamrocks.” Frank's failure to follow up his first staggering blow had given his enemy time to recover. As soon as he could shake the bees out of his hair Hodge had realized that the fel- low he hated could lay one on with the driving force of a mule's hind leg. Realizing also that Merriwell's aversion to brawls and fighting was no proof that he was either afraid or unable to take care of himself in a scrap, Bart had felt a surge of min- gled fear and fury. He had berserk. Slowly Frank straightened up. A strange expression came into his face and chased away the grimace of pain. He was laughing! But it was not the false laugh of a fellow trying to bluff or hide lack of confi- dence. coolness of something well in hand He he “Turn him loose, Justice,” he said. ‘Let's get through with this "” “It's okay with me if that's the “Let's go.” Hodge did not try to rush Merri- well now. On guard, he met hirn with a caution born of a dream- dispelling experience now, that Frank was no such a push-over as he had imagined. He kept his head and waited for the breaks, and now Bart was bent on doing so himself. Merry. Now he was the one who pressed. With that deadly gleam of laughter lurking in his eyes, he fol- lowed up swiftly and persistently, giving his enemy no time to rest. As if reading Bart's mind, he seemed to know just what he would do. There was no getting away from him. There was no drawing him off balance. Try as he might, Hodge found himself always facing a foe who was set and ready for action. It was just a bit uncanny. It became too much for Bart. Something warned him that his wind wouldn't last, that he would be worn down in time by a fellow who was waiting for just that very thing to happen. stand up and take it. And then they began to boo him. And he had boasted to one of them of what he got a chance like this. Then he faltered for a single in- stant—and a snapping blow in the face stung him like the crack of a whip. After that he was like a lashed tiger, snarling as it leaped and clawed. There was a flash of light like a million exploding stars . . . Somebody was talking to him. Somebody was saying, ‘Are you all right, Hodge?" He heard it as he came up out of a black pit and a bright, gleaming flower opened as he rose. The gleaming flower was the light that flaoded the interior of the boathouse. He was stretched on the floor. The fellow who had asked him if he was all right was kneeling at his side and bending over him. Dark forms in the background looked like creatures from the blaek pit he had just been lifted out of. ““What—what’s the matter?” asked thickly, huskily. “I'm sorry,” said another voice, “but I had to do it.” That was Merriwell! Still naked to the waist, he stood looking down at Bart. There was no mark on he his face. and the gloves were gone from his hands. ‘““He—I—let me up,” said Hodge. “Let me get at him!” ‘But it's all over,” said the kneel- ing referee. ‘‘He handed it to you and I counted you out.” ‘“You—you counted me out? But I'm not out! I'm all right! Get out of my way and I'll" “You were listening to the birdies for more than two minutes.” Hodge had raised himself to a sit- ting position. ‘‘He never touched me! I—I slipped and fell.” “Just the same as if you'd met a ten-ton truck in a head-on collision. Get it through your nut that you were knocked out.” “Well—well, who are you? butted into this. Nobody you.” With a sweeping movement he batted off the mask worn by the fellow who had called himself Jus- 7 You asked S— rans “Drop Into My Office After You're Dressed, Merriwell.” tice. Then he gasped with surprise as he saw he had exposed the face “Oh!" he breathed. you, is it?" Perhaps the only other person who was not equally surprised was the Chief Executioner. “I had to he have blown “Why, “He'd adn't.”’ Frank laughed. “It's a great dis- appointment to the Grand Canyon," he said. “You might as well take your mask off “Why, the dirty thimbleriggers!” chuckled Barney Mulloy. “They're hastily. tox Jascomt stilts to look a cockroach Bascomb whirled on the Irish boy, | but found himself facing Merriwell, | who had slipped in between them. said Frank. Burrage pushed them apart. “If there's any more scrapping here | tonight I'm going to get into it my- | self,” he declared. ‘Cut it out and | keep your lips buttoned up about it. | If Dean Graves ever hears any- | thing—"' “You'll be in the soup yourself,” said Bascomb, ‘and you're Old Gravy's little darling. So take your two freshmen pets and warn them not to get loose lipped, in case | they may feel like doing a little | bragging." His desire to hush it up was nat- ural enough. Ridicule was about | the only thing that got under his | thick skin, and he knew how the | story would be relished and passed along if it ever got afloat. Walter. “You do yours.” his legs were still weak under him and his head was giddy. Realizing at last that impossible for him to stand up to Merriwell again if he had been given the chance, he let them re- felt utterly broken. “Where are my clothes?” he asked. “‘I've got to get out of here. I need air.” Again Merriwell was touched by that strange sympathy for the fel- low which he had felt in Snodd's grove when Bart came back after running away from Tad Jones’ dog. It was something Frank did not un- derstand himself. He opened his lips to speak, though he didn’t know what he could say. But Bascomb took Hodge by the arm and led him away. The days began to slide by like roller coasters. They were full days for Frank and Barney, who, heeding the ad- vice of Dean Graves and Walter Burrage, had slipped easily into the routine of the school. They were methodical in devoting the alloted hours to classes and studies, and this regularity and concentration set them free, without worry, for other things. It was easier for Frank to get past the dull spots in the curricu- lum, for he had learned the trick of making things seem easy by facing them without siirinking or delay. “Quicker done sooner mended” was a maxim his Uncle Asher had plant- ed well in his mind. It was one of the old saws that wise guys laughed at; wise guys who were not half as wise as they thought they were. Frank was brimming over with the joy of life, which is the natural heritage of healthy youth. The way he had figured it out, a sour fellow was sick, physically or mentally. That, perhaps, was the secret of his odd moments of sympathy for Hodge. Bart was an up-and-downer, ei- ther riding high or floundering in the ditch. There didn't seem to be Exciting going, perhaps, but pretty bumpy. Rooming with Merriwell and Mul. loy was just about the toughest thing he had bumped into, too. Especially so after Walter Burrage had gummed the works which had been oiled by Hugh Bascomb The set-up had been Bascomb’s, not Hodge's; but Bart had fallen into line full of confidence that he could job with Frank having to pull anything His foul blow had not been itated. It had been let loose unthinking rage, the most treacherous of masters. Grim and sullen, Hodge came and went. He spoke to Frank or Bar- ney only when he had to, which was seldom. Not for long could he nest with those birds. He would find a and he'd hop to it at the first chance. The school gymnasium was beau- tifully equipped, and Merriwell spent some time there daily, keep- ing himself fit. As a rule, he wound up with a sprint on the running track and a plunge into the swim- ming pool. One day a compact, sturdy, quiet man with quick .eyes spoke to him as he came, drip- ping, out of the pool. “I'm Tom Kane, the football coach,” said the man. “Drop into my office after you're dressed, Mer- riwell.” Well, it had come! Barney had told him he couldn't dodge it. So he faced the music without hesita- tion, as usual. (TO BE CONTINUED) so well do a neat shady premed Whatever the explanation may be, French names, many of them old French, and particularly nick- names, are undergoing an Ameri- canization process. This tendency is noticeable on the stage, in re- cent books, and particularly in real life, says a Paris correspondent in the New York Times. If a French boy's name is Richard, in all prob- ability he will be called Dick by his friends. Robert easily becomes Bob; Charles develops into Charley, and James into Jimmy. Although authentically at home in the French language, the same cannot be said for the English or American diminu- tives; they are distinctly non- French, yet they are gaining in- creasing popularity in France. Some of the youngsters baptized Jean sign their names John. Many a French girl christened Jeanne re- jects this name and adopts its Eng- lish or American translation, Jane, which is supposed to be very fash- jonable in France. Patrick is now being occasionally substituted for Patrice. : Among the girls, Edith—an im- gaining in popularity. also frequent, due to parental ad- miration, doubtless, for the Saint of Lisieux. Double names remain in demand: Marie-Rose, Marie-Lou- ise, Marie-Jose, Marie-Adelaide, Marie-Aime and Anne-Marie. Fur- ther names very much in vogue: Brigitte, Beatrice, Chantal, Denise, Odette, Agnes, Colette, Claude and Helene. Among other evidences of Amer- icanization one may note that Henri is often transformed into Henry. 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