In Maplewood Jack Cole had a reputation as a fighter. In fact, the village boys regarded him as a wonder. At one time he had whipped three of them in a square fight, and it was said that nothing ever hurt him. He seemed to be able to stand punishment without feeling it. Although old John Cole was a man of some means, he was ignorant and extremely offensive in his ways. Old John believed his son a wonder. It was his conviction that no one of Jack’s age could get the best of him.
This being the case, the old man had fretted and fumed over the result of his son’s early encounter with the Merriwell crowd in Maplewood. The fact that Jack had come from that encounter with a beautiful black eye, and that neither Dick nor any of his friends had shown visible marks of the conflict, was quite enough to cause the boy’s father to long for a time when his son could obtain revenge. He had repeatedly said that some day Jack would “take the starch out of that Merriwell feller.”
The man looked grimly confident as Jack donned the gloves.
“Sail right in, boy,” he said in a low tone, as he fastened the gloves on young Cole’s hands. “Jest knock him silly. If you ever land good and fair with your left, he’ll know something has struck him, you bate!”
Jack was full of confidence as he stepped out to face Dick. He put up his hands after his own fashion, yet the guard was not a bad one.
“They’re off!” cried Ted Smart. “Will some one please lend me a handkerchief to dry my tears!”
At first Dick worked cautiously, with the object of finding out just how skillful his antagonist really was. He came forward lightly, feinted, moved swiftly to the right, and thus circled round young Cole.
Cole was quick enough in his movements; but kept his face toward Dick and gave no good opening for a blow. At the same time he followed young Merriwell up in a deliberate manner, evidently watching for an opening himself.
“Don’t fool with him, Jack!” cried old John. “Jest pitch right in and soak him hard!”
“Yes; pitch right in, Jack!” urged Ted Smart. “I’d love to see you soak him hard! It would do me no end of good to see you soak him hard! Please soak him hard!”
“Dern his picter! he’ll get all that’s coming to him when he tries it!” declared Obediah Tubbs. “He’ll find Dick ain’t no easy mark same as Jolliby is.”
“Who’s an easy mum-mum-mum-mark?” exclaimed Jolliby hotly. “You didn’t fuf-fuf-fuf-find it so easy.”
“Shut up, both of you!” growled big Bob Singleton. “You’ve played your part as clowns; now watch the heavy men.”
After a few moments Cole began to press Dick harder and harder. The fact that young Merriwell continued to avoid him by swift footwork convinced Jack that his antagonist was afraid.
“Why don’t yer stand up and spar right?” he demanded, at last. “Be you trying to wind me? Is that your game? Well, I guess I can stand it as long as you can. I’ll git at yer before I’m done.”
“That’s the talk, my boy!” cried old John. “When you do git at him jest let him know it.”
“Oh, he’ll know it, all right,” grinned the Maplewood boy.
Then, to his surprise, Dick suddenly came in on him, feinted with his right, jabbed quick with his left, and got away.
The blow had landed on Cole’s chin, knocking his teeth together and setting his head back.
“Too bad! too bad!” sobbed Smart. “I hate to see it!”
“Don’t let him hit yer that way!” shouted old John, in angered astonishment.
“He done it when I wasn’t watching,” asserted Jack. “He can’t do it again.”
Barely had he made this statement when Dick once more sprang forward, dodged to one side, ducked and avoided Cole’s blow, ending by smashing the Maplewood lad full and hard in the short ribs. He was away like a flash, and had not been touched.
Now Jack Cole was aroused in earnest. He followed Merriwell up and struck two or three blows, which would have been decidedly effective had they landed. They were either dodged or parried by Dick.
“If he ever plants one of them it’ll be all over,” asserted the boy’s father.
When Cole retreated he found Dick after him. There was an exchange of blows at short range, and Merriwell hit his antagonist at least three times. As he got away, Cole tapped him lightly on the cheek.
Although Merriwell’s dark eyes were flashing, there was a smile on his lips.
“Why don’t you corner him, Jack?” shouted the old man, as he clawed at his whiskers. “Git him inter a corner and then thump him.”
Henry Duncan, together with some of the club members, watched the encounter. They knew Cole’s reputation in Maplewood, and Duncan feared at the outset that he would prove too much for Merriwell.
“He’s a strapping, raw-boned fellow,” said Duncan. “If he ever lands a fair swing on Merriwell I’m afraid that will end the whole business.”
“I understand that Cole encourages his son in his fighting inclinations,” said William Drake.
“Quite true! quite true!” nodded Eustace Smiley. “It’s reported around Maplewood that Jack Cole aspires to become a pugilist. He thinks he can make a record in the ring when he gets old enough.”
“I am almost sorry we permitted this,” said Duncan in a low tone. “When I told the boys to make themselves at home I hardly fancied anything like this would occur. An ordinary boxing bout is harmless enough, but this seems to be an encounter for blood.”
“Two to one,” remarked Drake, “............