Dick saw vindictiveness in his opponent’s eyes, and detected hatred in the intonation of Cole’s voice.
Up to this point Merriwell had shown his skill as a boxer, without attempting to do his enemy any serious injury. He now saw that Cole would not recognize the fact that he was outpointed unless compelled to do so by a fair knock-out.
Dick now played for Jack’s wind, and several times he landed hard on the pit of his stomach.
Enraged by his failure to get in an effective blow, Cole grappled and sought to throw Merriwell. In a moment his feet were snapped into the air, and he was lifted and tossed across Dick’s hip, being sent sprawling fifteen feet away.
“If he tries to turn this into a wrestling match, my pard will certain show him some tricks at that,” laughed Buckhart.
With his eyes glaring and his teeth set, Jack Cole scrambled up and dashed at Merriwell.
Dick sidestepped and struck a blow that stopped the other lad in his tracks.
“Give him the grand coup, partner!” exclaimed Buckhart. “You can do it.”
Indeed, Dick might have finished the encounter then and there, for Cole had dropped his hands and was quite unguarded. Merriwell did make a move to deliver the blow, but restrained himself.
“Perhaps he’s going to call it off,” he said.