The blow sounded clear and solid, and it sent Husker Galway reeling.
“Oh!” cried half the spectators.
Merriwell followed the bruiser up with such swiftness that Galway was given no time to recover. Again Merry hit him—again and again, knocking him onto the ropes.
Fred Fillmore gasped with unspeakable amazement, while Tom Hackett’s eyes threatened to pop out of their sockets.
No one could have been more astonished than Galway. He was surprised because the youth had been able to hit him at all, and he was still more surprised by the “steam” behind those blows.
“Yah! yah! yah!” laughed Black Tom. “I done thought it was bery strange dat gemman got so full on what he was drinkin’.”
Galway recovered and rose from the ropes. His eyes glared and his face had the ugly look of a man infuriated to the point of some black deed.
“So you can hit?” he snarled, as he danced away. “Come again! Try it some more!”
Merry accepted the invitation, but the pugilist was on guard now, and it was not so easy to hit him. Besides that, Galway did some leading himself, and Frank had to look out for himself. The slugger reached Frank’s chin, but Merry had leaped back, and the blow was light.