Body blows, however, were not as effective as they should have been, on account of the fellow's clothing, and Merriwell quickly decided to waste no more energy in that manner.
The man turned, and went for Frank again. This time the boy did not try to get out of the way, but he met his antagonist squarely, and gave him a heavy one in the other eye.
"That ought to make them mates," said Frank, with a laugh. "You won't know yourself when you look in the glass to-morrow morning. Perhaps it'll teach
you better than to try any of your rackets on a boy. You can't always tell what you are getting up against."
The man's teeth could be heard grinding together. He was so furious that he quite lost his head. Then Frank sailed in to finish the affair as soon as possible.
Grody held his breath, nearly bursting with astonishment and admiration.
"Oh, say!" he chuckled. "I never saw a youngster what were that fellow's match! He's hot stuff!"
The hostler could scarcely believe it possible that Merriwell was giving the scoundrel a first-class whipping, but this became more and more evident with each passing moment.
In fact, Frank was struck just once during the entire encounter, and that was a glancing blow on the forehead, which he scarcely noticed. He thumped the rascal to his heart's satisfaction, and then knocked him flat with a round-arm swing that landed on the jaw.
The ruffian lay on the floor and groaned. When he started to get up Merriwell exclaimed: