In the morning Diamond was not all right.  He was ill in bed, and it was necessary to call a physician, although he protested against it.  His eyes were in wretched shape, but when the doctor questioned him, he persisted in saying he had injured them by falling downstairs.

Of course he could not appear at chapel or recitations, and he sent in an excuse.

Then Mr. Lovejoy came around to investigate.

Now, Mr. Lovejoy was most mild and lamblike in appearance, and one would have thought never in all his life had he indulged in anything that was not perfectly proper.

But appearances were deceptive in the case of Mr. Lovejoy.  When a student at Yale he had made a record, but he had been fortunate, and he was never detected in anything the faculty could not approve.  By those who knew him he was regarded as a terror, and by the faculty he was looked on as one of the most quiet and docile students in college.

When Cyrus Lovejoy became an instructor he did not forget the days when he had been a leader in scrapes of all sorts, and he was not inclined to be prying into the affairs of students under him.  Not only that, but he could be blind to some things he accidentally discovered.

So when Mr. Lovejoy reported that John Diamond’s eyes, being naturally weak, were inflamed by too close application to his studies, especially in the evening, no one thought of investigating further.  The doctor, it was said, had forbidden Diamond to attempt to study for several days, and had ordered him to wear a bandage over his eyes.

Two or three evenings after the fight a party of freshmen gathered in Merriwell’s room, for they were beginning to realize that Frank was likely to be a leader among them.

“I say, fellows,” cried Dan Dorman, who was sitting on the sill of the open window, with a cigarette clinging to his lips, “do you know what Diamond is doing?”

“He’s doing his best to cure those beautiful eyes of his,” said Bandy Robinson.

“I’m giving it to you straight that he was out to-day and went down to the nearest gun store,” declared Dorman.  “Collins says he bought a Winchester rifle, a shotgun, two revolvers, a bowie knife, a slungshot, and a set of brass knuckles.”

“Wo-o-oh!” groaned Dismal Jones.  “Why didn’t he purchase a cannon and start for some battlefield?”

“Look out, Merry,” laughed Ned Stover.  “He’s after your scalp.”

“He’ll have to get a bigger outfit than that before he takes it,” declared Harry Rattleton.

“How about it, Merry?” asked Bandy Robinson.

“I’ll tell you, fellows,” said Frank, who was not smoking.  “Diamond is not the fellow to give up whipped very soon.  I’m dead sure to hear from him again.”

“He’s a cad,” growled Dismal Jones.

“I think you fellows judge him rather harshly,” said Frank.  “He is a Southerner, and he looks at many things differently than we do.  From his standpoint he seems to be right.”