They were at it again instantly, but both seemed more on the alert, more skilful, more determined.
Franks turned two lightning thrusts, and with the second one he countered so swiftly that the eye could hardly follow his movement.
And he counted fairly!
“Honors are even,” said the stranger. “Now look out for yourself.”
He became a perfect whirlwind. Round and round Frank he worked, striving to find an opening, but obtaining none, for all of his great skill. The work of Merriwell was quite as amazing as that of Hawkins.
Then came the moment when Hawkins dropped to the floor again and made that thrust.
Merriwell had seemed waiting for that very moment. With a long leap to the left he was out of the way. The moment his feet touched the floor he flung himself forward. Hawkins was recovering with an upward and backward spring as Merriwell dropped, using the same thrust, and counted beautifully.
Frank’s friends could not keep still, and there was a volley of hand-clapping.
“Try Merry’s tricks, will you?” muttered Hodge, his eyes glittering. “Well, he’ll show you how he meets his own style of fighting. How do you like it?”
These words were not intended for the ears of Hawkins, but Packard heard them and cursed inwardly.