“He’s the feller!” palpitated Cole. “You’ve got the boxing gloves right here. Now, jest let him put them on with my boy, and I’ll bet ten cents that Jack will knock the stuffing out of him inside of two minutes.”
“That’s right, dad,” said Jack. “If he ain’t afraid of me he’ll put ’em on.”
“Step right up,” invited Dick. “I can’t refuse to accept such a challenge, even if you knock me out in less than one minute. I’ll have to put the gloves on with you.”
CHAPTER XI
THE BOXING BOUT.
In Maplewood Jack Cole had a reputation as a fighter. In fact, the village boys regarded him as a wonder. At one time he had whipped three of them in a square fight, and it was said that nothing ever hurt him. He seemed to be able to stand punishment without feeling it.
Although old John Cole was a man of some means, he was ignorant and extremely offensive in his ways. Old John believed his son a wonder. It was his conviction that no one of Jack’s age could get the best of him.
This being the case, the old man had fretted and fumed over the result of his son’s early encounter with the Merriwell crowd in Maplewood. The fact that Jack had come from that encounter with a beautiful black eye, and that neither Dick nor any of his friends had shown visible marks of the conflict, was quite enough to cause the boy’s father to long for a time when his son could obtain revenge. He had repeatedly said that some day Jack would “take the starch out of that Merriwell feller.”
The man looked grimly confident as Jack donned the gloves.
“Sail right in, boy,” he said in a low tone, as he fastened the gloves on young Cole’s hands. “Jest knock him silly. If you ever land good and fair with your left, he’ll know something has struck him, you bate!”