Diamond’s anger got the best of him.  He strode forward, looked straight into Frank’s eyes, and panted: 

“I hate you, sir!  I could kill you!”

And then, before he realized what he was doing, he struck Merriwell a sharp blow on the cheek with his open hand.

CHAPTER IV.

The fight.

The blow staggered Frank.  It had come so suddenly that he was quite unprepared for it.  His face became suddenly pale, save where Diamond’s hand had struck, and there the crimson prints of four fingers came out quickly, like a danger signal.

With the utmost deliberation Merriwell removed his coat.

“Come, sir!” he said to Diamond as he passed coat and hat to a ready sophomore.

“I—­I can’t fight you that way!” protested the Virginian.  “Bring the rapiers.”

“This time I claim the right to name the weapons, and they will be bare fists.”

“Right! right!” cried several voices.  “You’ll have to fight him that way, Diamond.”

“I will fight him!” grated Jack, furiously.  “It is the prize fighter’s way, but I’ll fight him, and I will lick him!”

He tore off his coat and flung it down.  The boys quickly formed a ring, and the freshmen foes faced each other.

Then the door of the room where the other freshmen were confined was thrust open, and Harry Rattleton excitedly cried: 

“Whee jiz—­I mean jee whiz! what do you fellows think?  Do you imagine we are going to stay penned in here while there is a scrap going on?  Well, I guess not!  We’re coming out!”

Harry came with a rush, and the other freshmen followed at his heels, the party having been abandoned by the sophs who had been placed on guard over them.

“Hold on! hold on!” commanded Harry, forcing his way toward the fighters.  “I am Merriwell’s second, and I’m going to see fair play, you bet!”

“And I am Diamond’s second,” said Roland Ditson.  “Just give me a chance in the ring there.”

The appearance of the freshmen caused a brief delay.  There was some talk about rules and rounds, and Diamond said: 

“If I must fight with my fists, I’ll fight as I please.  I don’t know about your rules, and there will be but one round—­that will finish it.”

“How does that suit you, Merriwell?” asked Tad Horner, who seemed to have assumed the position of referee.

“I am willing that Mr. Diamond should arrange that matter to suit himself.”

“But there is to be no kicking,” Tad Horner hastily put in.

“Certainly not,” stiffly agreed the Southerner.

“All right.  Shake hands.”

Diamond placed both hands behind his back, and Merriwell laughed.

“Ready!” called Horner.  “On guard!  Now you’re off!”

Barely had the words left the little referee’s lips when—­top, tap, slap!—­Merriwell had struck Diamond three light blows with his open hand.