CHAPTER XLI.
BIRDS OF A FEATHER.
Reynolds and Bascomb came from dinner arm in arm.
"Your time has come to knock out this fellow Merriwell, Hugh," declared the big fellow's sporty companion.

"You'll have to do it." "It looks that way," admitted Bascomb, but there was something ludicrously dubious in both his face and voice.
"Looks that way!" exclaimed Rupert, in a fiery manner.

"Of course it looks that way.

There's nothing else to be done, and I should think you'd be well satisfied with the opportunity." "But I am not sure I can do it," confessed the bully, hesitatingly.
"Do it! Why, you ought to do it with one hand tied behind your back." But Bascomb was not so easily reassured.
"I have boxed with him," said the big fellow, "and I know he is not easy fruit for anybody." "You boxed in the gym ?" "Yes." "And there it was necessary to conform to certain rules." "Of course." "That wasn't much like a genuine fight." "I know it; but I found it impossible to hit him a soaker with my left.
He is up to all the tricks." "That's all right.

Fight him in the evening, where you are not liable to be interrupted till you have finished him.