Four times did Hawkins repeat this desperate attempt to crush the shoulders of the Yale man to the mat, and still there was not a sign that he had made any impression on that rigid form.
But, in his desperation, Hawkins relaxed his vigilance somewhat. There was a sudden writhing, turning movement. Hawkins’ hold was broken, and Merry had turned and partly risen, getting a grip on his opponent.
Frank’s movements were swift and sure, and he literally flung Hawkins across his back, the heels of the scar-faced youth seeming to whistle through the air overhead and coming down with a terrible thump upon the floor.
The shock was so great that Hawkins had no time to recover and “bridge” before Merry had driven his shoulders flat on the mat.
A great shout went up, for Merriwell had thus snatched victory from defeat and won the first fall.
“La, la!” said Jack Ready, as the sound subsided. “Wasn’t it just perfectly lovely?”
Frank rose to his feet, and Hawkins got up slowly. Both were breathing heavily, for the exertion had been terrific.
Frank showed no elation as he walked over to his side of the mat, but, despite his efforts to appear otherwise, Hawkins could not conceal his bitter disappointment.
Roland Packard tried to speak to the youth of the scarred face, but his lips were dry and parched, and no words came at his command.
“You did it!” said Hodge, in a low tone, looking into Merry’s flushed and dripping face.