In less than twenty seconds the spectators, who kept back as well as possible, had seen something they never beheld before. They saw two beardless lads fighting with deadly weapons and using skill that was marvelous.
It took Jack Diamond far less than twenty seconds to discover that Frank Merriwell was a swordsman of astonishing skill. He had expected to toy with the Northerner, but he found himself engaged with one who met every stroke like a professional.
A great feeling of relief came over Harry Rattleton.
"Whee jiz!" he muttered. "Merry is a cooler at it! I believe he's Diamond's match!"
With Diamond astonishment gave way to fury. Was it possible that this fellow was to get the best of him at everything? He fought savagely, and Ditson turned white as a ghost when he saw the Virginian making mad thrusts at the breast of the lad he hated.
"He's forgotten his promise—he's forgotten!" huskily whispered Ditson. "What if he should run Merriwell through the body?"
Then came a cry of anger from Diamond and a cry of surprise and relief from the spectators.
Frank Merriwell, with that peculiar twisting movement of his wrist, had torn the rapier from the Virginian's hand.
The blade fell clanging to the floor, and Merriwell stepped back, with the point of his rapier lowered.
Snarling savagely, Diamond made a catlike spring and snatched up the weapon he had lost.