Merriwell won a great burst of applause by the clever manner in which he had extricated himself from a position that seemed almost defenseless.
L’Estrange said nothing to his pupil, but their eyes met, and something in that glance stirred all the resentment in Darleton’s soul. It was a reproof. He saw that the fencing master was disappointed in him.
A concentrated fury took possession of Darleton. He went after Frank as if thirsting for his gore. The savageness of his attack would have overcome one less skillful and self-poised.
It did not overcome Frank. On the other hand, Merry turned his opponent’s fierceness to a disadvantage. He was not flustered or worried. He met every attack, and in rapid succession he began counting on the Midwestern man.
Darleton closed his lips and refused to acknowledge a touch.
Seeing this, L’Estrange finally began declaring each touch as two for the visitor.
The superiority of Merriwell was now apparent to every spectator who was not prejudiced, and round after round of applause greeted his beautiful work.
Darleton thrust furiously. Down went Frank, but he dropped lightly after having retreated. His right foot had made a long forward step, and barely two fingers of his left hand touched the floor. At the same moment he thrust and reached his opponent. In a twinkling he was erect and ready, if Darleton sought to secure a riposte.
From apprehension and fear Rattleton turned to delight and exultation.
“Frank is winning!” he exclaimed joyously. “He’s the best man!”