This was something more than Frank could stand, and he had the stout man by the collar in a moment.
“Swallow your words!” he said, as he gave the man a shake. “Take them back!”
“Never! It’s true!”
Then Frank Merriwell gave that corpulent party such a shaking that it took the wind out of Hazen and made him limp as a rag.
“Sus-sus-stop it!” he spluttered. “How dare you lay hands on me?”
“How dare you offer me money to throw this game!” exclaimed Merry indignantly. “What you need is a first-class thrashing!”
“That’s the stuff!” roared the crowd. “Give it to him, Merriwell!”
An officer appeared, and Hazen was ordered back to the bleachers. He retired, his face purple with anger, while he muttered beneath his breath.
This little incident seemed to turn the sympathy of a great portion of the audience toward Merriwell. Somebody shouted: