This was a glorious battle and a glorious victory; but, unfortunately for the feelings of the revengeful Snodgrass, he knew it could happen only in his mind. He knew that he was no match for Merriwell, and it made him grind his teeth with fury. He even thought of sand-bags, brass knuckles, clubs, and such things.
He didn’t wish to kill Merriwell; not at all. The desire to do so may have possessed him, but fear of the consequences was enough to make him cast such a thought aside at once. He wanted simply to have the satisfaction of maiming and hurting Frank. Oh, it would be great to do him up so he could not get out to the ball-ground! In that case, of course, he would be unable to coach the freshmen.
Arnold was frightened when Snodgrass imparted his desires. He feared that Ben might be foolish enough to set out to do the trick, taking him along as a witness. He expostulated with Snodgrass.
“Forget it!” he said. “Other fellows have tried to do Merriwell like that, and they’ve always got it in the neck themselves. You can’t get even with him that way.”
“I can and will!” grated the vindictive sophomore.
“You’ll get the worst thrashing you ever had.”
“Don’t you think it. I’ll not do the job myself. I can find a way.”
Then Snodgrass proceeded to the loafing-place of a certain gang of young thugs. Buster Bill, the leader of the gang, had “done time,” and, taken all together, the thugs were a disgrace to the college city.
Snodgrass put on his old clothes, and away he went to the vicinity of the wharves. Down there, near where he knew Buster Bill hung out, he collared a street urchin and questioned him.
At first the boy didn’t know anything that Snodgrass wanted to know. He would not answer questions. He bawled: “Leggo, you big slob! Watcher think ye’re doin’, anyhow?” But Snodgrass persevered.