“Merriwell has a beautiful bun on,” he muttered. “He’ll be a cinch for Husker. And Husker has taken the tip from me to cut him up and give him a black eye or two. Ha! ha! Won’t he be a pretty bird to take back to Inza! She’ll admire him, I don’t think!”
“Wish Hodge was going to get his medicine at the same time,” growled Hackett.
“Why don’t you pick a fuss with him and do him up?”
“What are you thinking of? Didn’t we bring him out here? We’ll have to play the sympathetic. We must make them both believe we’re very sorry over it.”
“You’re right, Tom. We’ve got to keep clear of the blame.”
Husker Galway stripped down in a hurry, flinging off his clothes with the exception of such garments as were absolutely necessary to cover his nakedness.
Merriwell was more deliberate. He moved with a certain slowness and strained precision, as if he was doing everything with a great effort to appear cool and sober.
Hodge looked on indifferently, as if he took very little interest in the affair.
The students joyously selected a referee and timekeeper. They decided that the bout should be pulled off in rounds of three minutes each, although many were inclined to believe that the first round would be more than enough to end it.
A few of the reckless ones ventured to bet that Merriwell would last a whole round, getting even money on it. Two to one was offered that he would not last two rounds, and ten to one that he would throw up the sponge before three rounds were over.