Both lads were stripped to the waist. Merriwell was clean limbed, but muscular, while Browning was stocky and solid. The sophomore had gotten rid of his superfluous flesh in a wonderful manner, and he looked to be a hard man to tackle.
The gloves were put on, and then the rivals advanced and shook hands. An instant later they were at it, and the decisive struggle between them had begun.
Their movements were so rapid that it was difficult for the eyes of the eager spectators to follow them. Both got in some sharp blows, and the round ended with a clean knock-down for Browning, who planted a terrific blow between Merriwell's eyes and sent the freshman to the floor.
The sophs were jubilant and the freshmen were downcast. Merriwell simply laughed as he sat on Rattleton's knee.
"Whee jiz—I mean jee whiz!" spluttered Harry. "Are you going to let that fellow do you. The sophs will never get over it if you do. Hear 'em laugh!"
"Don't worry," smiled Frank. "This is the beginning. There must be an ending."
"Do him—do him, Bruce!" fiercely whispered Hartwick in the ear of his principal. "It's plain enough that you can."
"I think I can," said Bruce, confidently.
The sophs offered three to two on Browning, and many bets were made.
Then time was called and the rivals advanced once more.