"You think you will not be bothered by me," he said, his voice smooth and soft, "but you deceive yourself. You have taken a fancy to bother me, to revile me behind my back, even to make false statements concerning me, for you have said that I sought your position on the crew and obtained it by underhand means. In the presence of these witnesses you have stated that I am a most bungling wrestler. That is something you cannot deny."
"I do not wish to deny it. You are not a wrestler—you know nothing of the art."
"And you claim to be a wrestler?"
"Yes, I can wrestle."
"Then, here and now, I challenge you to wrestle me at side-holds, catch-as-you-can and arm's end, the winner of two out of three falls to be acknowledged the best man, and Hugh Heffiner to be the judge. If you refuse to wrestle, I will brand you as a blower and a braggart—a fellow not fit to be accepted in the society of gentlemen. Your answer, Flemming—your answer!"
CHAPTER XIII.
THE WRESTLING MATCH.
Flemming turned pale and trembled with suppressed passion, while his hands were clinched, and he glared at Merriwell as if he longed to strike the lad who had dared face him and fling such an insulting challenge in his teeth.