“It’ll be only a minute. You must go. Ready, Merriwell. Out here. Go on, now. Bow—bow when they applaud.”
Frank was pushed out, and he found himself before a crowd that seemed beside itself with enthusiasm. Such cheering he had never before heard in a theater. He bowed and walked across.
Then Dunton came out. There was moderate applause, and a few hisses, but it was plain that Merriwell was the one who had won the house.
Behind the curtain Havener stopped them both.
“I don’t understand it now,” he declared. “Why, that was more like a real duel than anything else! One time I was actually scared, for I thought it was a trifle too realistic. In fact, I don’t think it will do for you to go at it like that every time, for you might make a slip that would result in a dangerous wound. I noticed Dunton made some pretty nasty thrusts.”
Again Dunton tried to get away, for he fancied Merriwell would tell Havener everything.
“It looked worse than it really was, I fancy,” smiled Frank. “Mr. Dunton was very easy with me, and all his thrusts were easily avoided.”
Dunton felt like wilting.
“What is the matter, Dunton?” asked Havener.
“I tell you I am ill!” snapped the fellow. “Can’t you see it? My nerves—are all—unstrung!”