A few of the reckless ones ventured to bet that Merriwell would last a whole round, getting even money on it. Two to one was offered that he would not last two rounds, and ten to one that he would throw up the sponge before three rounds were over. Some of the boys seemed to have an idea that Husker would play with Frank for the first round, give him a cutting up in the second, and then, if Merry stood up for any more, proceed to put him out in the third. One, who seemed well loaded with beer, staggered forward and clasped Merriwell round the neck, earnestly entreating him not to box. “I’m ’shamed, old fel,” said the maudlin chap. “’Tain’t right! It’s shame! You dunno w’atcher up against. You’re a good fellow, but Husker is a slugger. He’s offended; he’s dangerous. I’m gentleman. Don’t like to see him do you this way. Put on y’r coat an’ come have a drink with me.” “Get out of the way, Ludley!” cried another. “You’ve got a peach! Go lie down somewhere!” Ludley waved the other off with a hand that was limp at the wrist. “Lemme ’lone,” he said stiffly. “I’m friend to Merriwell. He’s good chap. Whatcher want? Want to see him hurt? He’s fine-lookin’ chap. I hate to see fine-lookin’ chap like him hurt, I do.” “You are very—hic!—kind, sir,” said Frank. “I appreciate your extreme kindness, but I think I can—hic!—I can take care of myself. Don’t worry ’bout me.” “Course he kin take care of hisself,” said Galway. “Go jump off the earth, little boy.” Ludley shed tears. “He’s our ghest,” he murmured thickly. “’Tain’t right, boys—’tain’t right! You may think it’s joke, but I shay it’s shame.” “Why doesn’t some one smother that fool?” growled Tom Hackett. “He always was an ass!” Frank put Ludley aside and finished making ready. Some one found him a pair of rubber-soled shoes, and these he put on. Then they brought the gloves. Instead of boxing gloves, such as are generally used for sparring, they were six-ouncers, the kind used in many prize fights. “Hum!” said Merry, as he gravely surveyed the pair handed him. “Aren’t these a trifle light for a friendly go?” “Oh, they’re all right!” exclaimed several of the students. “We box with them here.” “If that is so,” said Merry, “I’ll raise—hic!—no further objection.” Black Tom came unsteadily feeling his way out into the shed. He scratched his woolly head and gazed in a dazed way at Galway and then at Frank. Suddenly he began to laugh. “When yo’ gwine teh ordah another round, gemmans?” he asked. “I’ll drink de chasers. Yah! yah! yah!” Some one threw a wooden dumb-bell at Tom, and it struck him on the head, bounding off. “G’way dar!” cried the colored man indignantly. “Stop frowin’ dem peanut shells dis way!” Hodge aroused himself and tied on Frank’s gloves. As he did so, he found an opportunity to whisper: “They all think we’re both loaded, Merry. This big bruiser thinks so, too. When you undeceive him you want to do it by wading into him and finishing the scrap.”