When the gong sounded next time Merriwell was up and met Galway in a twinkling. He lost no time in getting after the pugilist. Galway was wary at first, but Frank’s success in hitting him twice stung him to a pitch that led him to rush and lunge.
Merry met him and they clinched.
Again in the breakaway Frank soaked the bruiser on the jaw, and this time it made the man reel.
Following up, Frank put his left to Galway’s wind and his right to the fellow’s head.
Galway went down.
“Ah!” cried the spectators.
But it was not a knockout. The referee began to count, but Husker snarled for him to “dry up” and leaped to his feet.
“You fool!” he grated. “No man ever counted me out, an’ no man ever will!”
This bruiser had gladly taken upon his shoulders the task to “cut up” the supposed-to-be unsuspecting stranger. To him it was a pleasure in anticipation, and he had fully expected to make it a pleasure in execution. The fact that he was making a wretched mess of his wretched task bewildered while it enraged him. He saw before him the smiling, unmarked youth, wholly undisturbed and at his ease. Had that youth been a fighter with a reputation, Galway would have been prepared and would not have exposed himself with such disdain. Even now, after he had felt the force of Merriwell’s skill as a boxer, he could not comprehend that this youngster was his master.