In neither struggle had he obtained an advantage through his own unaided efforts, and in this last affair he had felt that he was losing his wind, while Merriwell seemed as fresh as ever till he was thrown by a third party.
"That's where I am not yet his match," Bruce soberly decided.

"If I were fortunate enough to land a knockout blow with my left at the outset I'd finish him easily; but if he should play me and keep out of my reach he might get me winded so he could finally get the best of it.

I must work off more flesh." Having arrived at this conclusion, Browning was decidedly glad that his friends had kept him from closing in on Merriwell and forcing a fight on the ball field.
"Another week will do it," Bruce thought.

"No matter what is said, I'll not meet that fellow till I am his match--till I am more than his match, for I must do him.

If I do not my days as king of the sophs are numbered.