Uttering a snarl of joy, the last thug sprang in. This was his chance. He would get the best of this remarkable college man now. He would upset him, jump on him with both feet, half-kill him! Then, when the others sat up and took notice of things, he would say: “Behold, I did it!” or words to that effect.
It was a real pleasant dream, but it proved to be nothing but a dream. He did not even hit Merriwell, who dodged, leaped up, closed in, and kicked him reeling.
It was amazing how the Yale man could follow up an advantage. As that fellow staggered, he went in on him, deliberately selected the knock-out spot, and let him have it.
That ended the fight, for the fifth one of the gang joined his weary friends on the ground.
Frank stood in the midst of his fallen assailants, looking about.
Two men came rushing up through the darkness. They were Starbright and Hodge, who had decided to walk in from the field, and happened to be coming along behind him. They had heard the sounds of battle as they approached, and fancying Frank might be in it, rushed forward to offer assistance.
“Merry,” cried Bart, “is that you?”
“Yes,” said Frank, in a calm, undisturbed tone, “I think it is.”
“You—you’ve been attacked?” palpitated the giant freshman, who accompanied Hodge.
“Something of the kind happened,” admitted Merry.