I don't know about your rules, and there will be but one round--that will finish it." "How does that suit you, Merriwell ?" asked Tad Horner, who seemed to have assumed the position of referee.
"I am willing that Mr.Diamond should arrange that matter to suit 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.
"Oh, say!" chuckled Harry Rattleton, hugging himself in delighted anticipation, "just you fellows wait a minute! Diamond will think he has been struck by an earthquake!" Bruce Browning, himself a scientific boxer, was watching every movement of the two freshmen.