So it came about that Hartwick carried the challenge just as Browning desired, and it was promptly accepted.  Merriwell was not a fellow who sought trouble, but he knew he must meet Browning or be called a coward, and he did not dally.  He quietly told Hartwick that any arrangements Mr. Browning saw fit to make would be agreeable to him.  In that way he put Browning on his honor to give him a square deal.

The matter was kept very quiet.  It was decided that the match should come off in Kelley’s back room, and a few of Merriwell’s and Browning’s friends should be invited.  Bruce paid for the room and firmly “sat on” the professor’s scheme to charge admission.

“This is no prize fight,” he rather warmly declared.  “We are not putting ourselves on exhibition, like two pugilists.  It is a matter of honor.”

“Well, if youse college chaps don’t git der derndest ideas inter yer nuts!” muttered Kelley, who could not understand Browning’s view of an affair of honor.  “Youse takes der cream, dat’s wot yer do!”

On Saturday afternoon one week after the rush at the park certain students might have been seen to stroll, one at a time, into the saloon over which were the headquarters of Professor Kelley.  It was three in the afternoon that about twenty lads were gathered in Buster’s training-room to witness the meeting between Merriwell and Browning.

Tad Horner was chosen referee.

“Look here,” he said before the first round, “if any man here isn’t satisfied with my decisions, let him meet me after the match is over, and I will satisfy him or fight him.”

This was said in all earnestness, and it brought a round of applause and laughter.

It was agreed that it should be a six-round contest, not more and no less, unless one side threw up the sponge or one of the men was knocked out.

Rattleton was Frank’s second, and Hartwick represented Bruce.  A regular ring had been roped off, and the men entered from opposite sides at a signal.  Much to his disgust, Kelley was not allowed to take any part in the affair.

Both lads were stripped to the waist.  Merriwell was clean limbed, but muscular, while Browning was stocky and solid.  The sophomore had gotten rid of his superfluous flesh in a wonderful manner, and he looked to be a hard man to tackle.

The gloves were put on, and then the rivals advanced and shook hands.  An instant later they were at it, and the decisive struggle between them had begun.

Their movements were so rapid that it was difficult for the eyes of the eager spectators to follow them.  Both got in some sharp blows, and the round ended with a clean knock-down for Browning, who planted a terrific blow between Merriwell’s eyes and sent the freshman to the floor.

The sophs were jubilant and the freshmen were downcast.  Merriwell simply laughed as he sat on Rattleton’s knee.

“Whee jiz—­I mean jee whiz!” spluttered Harry.  “Are you going to let that fellow do you.  The sophs will never get over it if you do.  Hear ’em laugh!”