Frank twisted and squirmed. For some seconds a furious struggle took place on that stage, but Harris managed to keep Merriwell from breaking the choking grip of the unknown, and those small, strong hands were crushing the life and energy out of the young magician.
"Oh, we've got you!" exulted Frank's old Yale enemy. "You can't do it, Merriwell! You came here just in time to run your head into this trap!"
Frank could make no reply, for his tongue was protruding from his mouth. In his ears there was a roaring sound, and colored lights seemed bursting and changing before his eyes.
Frank knew the venom of Harris—knew the fellow was a brute who would hesitate at nothing to satisfy his evil desire for revenge. Alone he could have handled the young ruffian easily, but the attack from behind conquered him.
He wavered, swayed, and would have fallen. They dragged him to a chair.
"Ropes!" cried Harris. "Bring them quick! We'll tie him."
The other hustled away and quickly returned. Then the two tied the unfortunate magician to the chair.
"Something for a gag," called Harris.
The other looked about, but could not find anything that suited Sport.