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.

A gasp of astonishment came from the watching sophomores. Never had they
seen three blows delivered in such lightning-like rapidity, but their
ears had not fooled them, and they heard each blow distinctly.

Merriwell's guard was perfect, his pose was light and professional, and
he suddenly seemed catlike on his feet.

Diamond was astonished, but only for an instant. The tapping blows
started his blood, and he sprang toward his foe, striking out with his
left and then with his right.

Merriwell did not attempt to guard, but he dodged both blows with ease,
and then smiled sweetly into the face of the baffled Virginian.