“This is merely the beginning,” he said, though there was a trace of bitter disappointment in his voice and manner. “I shall defeat you, Merriwell, in the next two matches. I have no doubt of it.”
“La, la!” said Jack Ready. “How nice a fellow must feel when he owns such a large stock of conceit! But let’s possess our souls in patience, and see how he will feel when the little circus is over.”
CHAPTER XXVIII.
HAWKINS CRIES “ENOUGH.”
If possible, Roland Packard was more disappointed in the result of the fencing-bout than was Brian Hawkins. At least, the youth of the scarred face was able to better repress and hide his feelings. Packard’s face was white and drawn, lines of anger and disappointment marking it plainly.
“It’s always the way!” he thought. “Now I know Satan helps that fellow Merriwell!”
Hodge came forward, speaking to Packard.
“Mr. Merriwell will permit you to name the style of wrestling,[wrestling,]” he said.
“Allow us a few moments,” bowed Packard, attempting to be coolly polite.
“Certainly,” said Hodge, with something like a grim smile playing about his mouth.
Packard stepped over to Hawkins, who was standing with folded arms at one side of the mat. After a brief conference between them, Packard came back to Bart, observing: