There were screams in the hall, hoarse shouts and the rush of feet.
“A fight! a fight!”
That was the cry.
“Mike will kill ther kid!” shouted a voice.
Diamond came lunging out of the dressing room, eager to stand by Merriwell. He sought to get at the ruffian, but he was grabbed by the other red-shirted fellow, and a voice jabbered:
“You no do dat! I take de han’ in dis. Levi Pombere he look out for you. How you to like dat?”
Then he struck Diamond with his fist.
It was the French Canadian, who was evidently a friend of the big man who was trying to smash Merry.
By this time Diamond was like a wildcat. He went at the fellow with such fury that the “Canuck” fell back, vainly trying to defend himself from the shower of blows which stung his face, beat on his eyes, flattened his nose and bewildered him generally.
Diamond followed up every advantage. Never in all his life had he fought with such frenzy. The Canadian could not stop him, and soon the fellow’s face was cut and bleeding in several places. Then Jack knocked him down, waited for him to get up, and knocked him down again. The astounded and damaged man, who had fancied he was dealing with a boy he could handle easily, scrambled on his hands and knees toward the stairs, reached the head and rolled clean to the bottom.