Frank Merriwell at Yale Part 31

Buster walked around the lad, inspecting him with a critical eye, punching here and there with his fingers, feeling of certain muscles and some points where there seemed to be a superabundance of flesh.

"Well, say!" cried the professor. "I'd like ter know wot yer kickin'

erbout! I never seen a feller work off fat no faster dan wot youse has, an' dat's on der dead. Why, w'en yer comes yere yer didn't have a muscle dat weren't buried in fat, an' now dey're comin' out hard all over yer.

You'd kick ef yer wuz playin' football!"

"That's all right," said Bruce, rather impatiently. "I know what I want, and I am paying you to give it to me. Go ahead."

"Don't be so touchy," scowled Kelley. "Tackle der bag a while, an' let's see how yer work."

Browning went at the punching bag while the professor stood by and called the changes. He thumped it up against the ceiling and caught it on the rebound thirty times in succession, first with his right and then with his left. Then he went at it with both hands and fairly made it hum. Then, at the word, with remarkable swiftness, he gave it fist and elbow, first right and then left. Then he did some fancy work at a combination hit and b.u.t.t.

By the time Buster called him off Browning was streaming with perspiration and breathing heavily.

"Dat's first rate," complimented the professor. "Yer does dat like yer wuz a perfessional."

"Great Scott!" gasped Bruce. "I'd never torture myself in this way if I didn't have to! It is awful!"

He looked around for a chair, but Buster grinned and said:

"Dat's right, set right down--nit. Youse don't do dat no more in dis joint. Wen I gits yer yere, yer works till yer t'rough--see? Dat's der way ter pull der meat off er man."

"Well, what's next?"

"See if yer can raise yer record anoder pound on der striker."

Bruce went at the striking machine, which registered the exact number of pounds of force in each blow it received.

"Has any one beaten me yet?" he asked.

"Naw. Dere ain't n.o.body come within ninety pound of yer."

Bruce looked satisfied, but he made up his mind to raise his record if possible, and he succeeded in adding twelve pounds to it.

"Say!" exclaimed Buster, "if dat cove wot yer arter does you he's a boid!"

"That's just what he is," nodded Bruce, streaming with perspiration. "He is a bad man to go against."

"If yer ever gits at him wid dat left ye'll knock him out, sure."

"He is like a panther on his feet, and I shall be in great luck if I find him with my left."

"Yer don't want ter t'ink dat. Yer wants ter t'ink yer goin' ter find him anyhow. Dat's der way."

"I have thought so before, and I have discovered that he is a wonderfully hard man to find."

"Wen yer goin' ter fight him?"

"I am going to try to make him meet me one week from to-day."

"Where?"

"I don't know yet."

"Is he a squealer?"

"I don't believe you could drag anything out of him with horses."

"If dat's right yer might make it yere, an' it could be kept quiet. I'd charge a little somet'ing fer der use of der room, but dat wouldn't come out of eder of youse, fer we'd make der fellers pay wot come in ter see it."

"We'll see about that," said Bruce. "But now I want to know that trick."

"Oh, yes. I near fergot dat."

"Well, I didn't."

"Say, if yer use dat on him I don't t'ink we can have der sc.r.a.p here."

"Why not?"

"If one of dem fres.h.i.+es got injuries in dis place so bad it might git out, an' dat would fix me."

"I don't intend to use it on him unless I have to. Go ahead and explain your trick. If it isn't straight I want my money back."

"Dere won't be any money back, fer der trick is all right, all right.

Now stan' up here an' I'll show yer how it's did."

Kelley then showed Bruce how to bring the edge of his open hand down on the upper side of an enemy's wrist just back of the joint.

"Yer wants ter snap it like dis," Buster explained, ill.u.s.trating with a sharp, rebounding motion. "If yer strikes him right dere wid der cus.h.i.+on meat on der lower edge of yer hand an' snaps yer hand erway like dis, it's dead sure ter break der bone. Jes' try it on yer own wrist, but be careful not ter try it too hard."

Bruce did as directed, and he found that he hurt himself severely, although he struck a very light blow.

"Dat's ter trick," said Kelley, "an' it's a dandy. Don't yer ever use it 'less yer dead sure yer wants ter break der odder feller's wrist."

Then the professor called up a colored boy, who rubbed Bruce down, and the king of the soph.o.m.ores finally departed.

As he walked back toward his room in the dusk of early evening, Browning began to feel sorry that he had learned the trick at all.

"It would be a dirty game to play on Merriwell," he muttered, "but now that I know it, I may get mad and do it in a huff, especially if I see Merriwell is getting the best of me."

The more Browning thought the matter over the greater became his regret that he had learned the trick of breaking an opponent's wrist. For all that he had a strong feeling against Merriwell, he could see that the leader of the freshmen was square and manly, and he did not believe Frank would take an unfair advantage of a foe.

Bruce became quite unlike his old jovial self. He was strangely downcast and moody, and he saw that he was fast losing prestige with those who had once regarded him as their leader.

Hartwick, Browning's roommate, was more bitter against Merriwell.

"The confounded upstart!" he would growl. "Think of his coming here and carrying things on with such a high hand! When we were freshmen the soph.o.m.ores had everything their own way. They Lambda Chied us till they became sick of it, and all our attempts to get even proved failures. Now the freshmen who are following the lead of this fellow Merriwell seem to think that they are c.o.c.ks of the walk. I tell you what it is, Bruce, you must do that fellow, and you must do him so he will stay done."