“Time!  Break away!” yelled Tad Horner, forcing himself over between the combatants.  “It’s all over.”

“What’s the decision?” shouted a dozen voices.

“A draw,” was the distinct answer.  “I declare it an even thing between them.”

There was a moment of silence, and then, bruised and smiling, Frank Merriwell tore off his glove and extended his hand.  Off came Browning’s glove, and he accepted the hand of the freshman.

CHAPTER XVII.

Talking it over.

Before night nearly every student knew that Merriwell and Browning had fought a six-round, hard-glove contest to a draw, and it was generally said that the decision was fair.  Evan Hartwick seemed to be the only witness of the fight who was dissatisfied.  Roland Ditson had not been invited to see it, but he expressed a belief that Browning would prove the better man in a fight to a finish.

Several weeks slipped by.

After the glove contest Browning had very little to say about the freshman leader.  Whenever he did say anything, it was exactly what he thought, and it was noted that he admitted Merriwell to be a comer.

Evan Hartwick could not crush down his powerful dislike for Merriwell.  He admitted to Bruce that he felt an almost irresistible desire to strike the cool freshman whenever they met.

“I wouldn’t advise you to do it, my boy,” lazily smiled Browning, who was growing fat again, now that he was no longer in training.  “He is a bad man to hit.”

“It depends on what he is hit with,” returned Hartwick, grimly.  “You made a fool of yourself when you failed to break his wrist, after paying twenty-five toadskins to learn the trick.  That would have made you the victor.”

“And it would have made me feel like a contemptible sneak.  I have been well satisfied with myself that I did not try the trick.  It is a good thing to know, but it should be used on no one but a ruffian.”

“It’s surprising to me how soft you’re getting.  This Merriwell is dangerous in many directions, and his career would have been stopped short if you had broken his wrist.  He has shown that he is a baseball pitcher, but no man can pitch with a broken wrist.  He is one of the best freshmen half-backs ever seen at Yale, according to the general acknowledgment.  And now he is pulling an oar and coaching the freshmen crew at the same time—­something never attempted before—­something said to be impossible.  Where would he be if you had broken his wrist?”

“He could coach the freshmen just the same, and the very fact that he can do all these things makes me well satisfied that I did not fix him so he couldn’t.”

“Wait! wait!  What if the freshmen beat us out at Lake Saltonstall?  What if they come out ahead of us?”

“They won’t.”

“I know the fellows are saying they will not, but I tell you this Merriwell is full of tricks, and there is no telling what he may do with the fresh crew.  He is working them secretly, and our spies report that he seems to know his business.”