The second round was hotter than the first, if possible, and Merriwell drew first blood by giving Browning a heavy one on the nose. It ended with both sparring, and neither seeming to have a decided advantage.
Now the freshmen were encouraged, and they expressed their confidence in their man. More bets were made, the sophomores still giving odds.
The third round filled the freshmen with delight, for Merriwell knocked Browning off his feet twice, while he seemed to get no heavy blows himself.
The sophs became quieter, and no money at odds was in sight. In fact, the freshmen tried to get even money, but could not.
The fourth and fifth rounds were filled with good, sharp, scientific work, but toward the close of the fifth both men seemed a trifle groggy. Neither had a decided advantage.
"Dat Merriwell is a boid!" declared Buster Kelley enthusiastically. "Why, dat chap could be der champeen of der woild if he went inter der business fer fair. Dat's on der level, too."
Both lads were battered and bruised, and there was blood on their faces when they retired to their corners at the command from Horner.
"He's a nut," confessed Frank. "He has given me some soakers, and he takes his medicine as if he liked it."
"You'll finish him next round, sure," fluttered Harry. "I shall buck the kickit—I mean kick the bucket if you don't."
"How is it?" Hartwick eagerly asked as he wiped the blood from Browning's face. "Can you finish him next round?"