CHAPTER XVI.
TO BREAK AN ENEMY'S WRIST.
Buster Kelley was a character. Professor Kelley he called himself. Heclaimed to be a great pugilist, and he was forever telling of the men hehad put to sleep. But he couldn't produce the papers to show for it. Thepublic had to take his word, if they took anything.
In fact, he had never fought a battle in his life, unless it was with aboy half his size. He made a bluff, and it went. The youngsters who cameto Yale and desired to be instructed in the manly art were alwaysrecommended to Kelley.
To give Kelley his due, he was really a fairly good boxer, and he mighthave made a decent sort of a fight if he had possessed the courage toaccept a match and the self denial and energy to go through a regularcourse of training.
But Kelley was making an easy living "catching suckers," and there wasno real reason why he should go through the hardships of training andactually fighting so long as he could fool the youngsters who regardedhim as a one-time great and shining light of the prize ring.
He was too shrewd to stand up with any pupil who might get the best ofhim and permit that pupil to hammer away at him. He kept them at work oncertain kinds of blows, so he always knew exactly what was coming. Inthis manner of training them he never betrayed just how much he reallyknew about fighting.
Some of the young fellows who became Kelley's pupils were the sons ofwealthy parents, and then it happened that the professor worked hislittle game for all there was in it. He sold them "secrets," and theypaid dearly for what they learned. Some of the secrets were of no valueat all, and some were actually worth knowing.
It happened that he did know how to break a man's wrist in a very simplemanner, providing he could find just the right opportunity. It was asimple trick, but the opportunity to practice it could seldom be foundin a fight.
Kelley's eyes, which were somewhat bleary, bulged with greed as he sawBrowning count out the money.
"It's givin' yer der trick dirt cheap--see?" said the professor. "Inever sold it less dan twice dat ermount before. Dat's straight. I'llhave ter make yer promise not ter tell it ter der odder chaps before Iinstructs yer."
"If I buy it it is mine," said Bruce.
"Come off der roof! You enters inter an' agreement wid me dat yer don'tblow dis t'ing, ur I don't tell yer."
"What if I want to tell a particular friend?"
"Yer don't tell him. Dat's all. I had ter pay t'ree hunderd dollars terlearn dis, an' sign a 'greement dat I wouldn't give it erway. Jem Macetort me dis trick w'en I sparred wid him in Liverpool. He says ter me,says he: 'Buster, ye're a boid, dat's wot ye are. If you knowed dertrick of breakin' a bloke's wrist dere ain't no duffer in der woild datcan do yer. I'll show yer der crack fer sixty pound.' He wouldn't comedown a little bit, an' I paid him wot he asked. Since dat time I'veknocked roun' all over der woild, an' it's saved me life fife times. Datwas a cheap trick wot I got from old Jem, dat were. A dago pulled aknife on me oncet fer ter cut me wide open, but I broke der dago's wristquicker dan yer can spit."
"Well, here is your money, and now I want to know that trick."
"Yer 'grees not ter tell it ter anybody?"
"Yes, I agree."
"Dat settles it."
Kelley took the money and carefully stowed it away in his clothes.
"Strip up an' git inter yer trainin' rig," he directed.
Bruce went into the back room, and Buster poked himself in the ribswith his thumb, grinning and winking at his own reflection in thecracked mirror.
"Oh, say! but I'm a peach!" he told himself in a confidential whisper."If der college perfessers don't git arter me ergin I'll make meforchune right yere."
Kelley had originally hung out a sign and advertised to instruct younggentlemen in boxing, but the faculty had made it rather warm for him,and it was generally supposed that he had been forced to leave NewHaven. He had not left, but he had changed his quarters to the rooms henow occupied, one flight up at the back of a saloon.
In a short time Bruce called that he was ready, and the professorleisurely strolled into the back room, where there was a punching bag, astriking machine, all kinds of boxing gloves, and other paraphernaliasuch as a man in Kelley's business might need.
At one side of the room were several small closets, in which Kelley'spupils kept their training suits while they were not wearing them. Thedoor of one closet was open, and Browning's street clothes were hangingon some hooks inside.
Browning had got into trunks, stockings, and light, soft-bottomed shoes.He was stripped to the waist.
Buster walked around the lad, inspecting him with a critical eye,punching here and there with his fingers, feeling of certain musclesand 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 muscledat 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'ssee how yer work."
Browning went at the punching bag while the professor stood by andcalled the changes. He thumped it up against the ceiling and caught iton the rebound thirty times in succession, first with his right and thenwith his left. Then he went at it with both hands and fairly made ithum. Then, at the word, with remarkable swiftness, he gave it fist andelbow, first right and then left. Then he did some fancy work at acombination hit and butt.
By the time Buster called him off Browning was streaming withperspiration and breathing heavily.
"Dat's first rate," complimented the professor. "Yer does dat like yerwuz a perfessional."
"Great Scott!" gasped Bruce. "I'd never torture myself in this way if Ididn'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 disjoint. Wen I gits yer yere, yer works till yer t'rough--see? Dat's derway 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 ofpounds of force in each blow it received.
"Has any one beaten me yet?" he asked.
"Naw. Dere ain't nobody come within ninety pound of yer."
Bruce looked satisfied, but he made up his mind to raise his record ifpossible, and he succeeded in adding twelve pounds to it.
"Say!" exclaimed Buster, "if dat cove wot yer arter does you he's aboid!"
"That's just what he is," nodded Bruce, streaming with perspiration. "Heis 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 Ifind him with my left."
"Yer don't want ter t'ink dat. Yer wants ter t'ink yer goin' ter findhim anyhow. Dat's der way."
"I have thought so before, and I have discovered that he is awonderfully 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'dcharge a little somet'ing fer der use of der room, but dat wouldn't comeout of eder of youse, fer we'd make der fellers pay wot come in ter seeit."
"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 scrap here.
"
"Why not?"
"If one of dem freshies got injuries in dis place so bad it might gitout, an' dat would fix me."
"I don't intend to use it on him unless I have to. Go ahead and explainyour 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 onthe upper side of an enemy's wrist just back of the joint.
"Yer wants ter snap it like dis," Buster explained, illustrating with asharp, rebounding motion. "If yer strikes him right dere wid der cushionmeat 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 becareful 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, andthe king of the sophomores 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 nowthat I know it, I may get mad and do it in a huff, especially if I seeMerriwell is getting the best of me."
The more Browning thought the matter over the greater became his regretthat he had learned the trick of breaking an opponent's wrist. For allthat he had a strong feeling against Merriwell, he could see that theleader of the freshmen was square and manly, and he did not believeFrank would take an unfair advantage of a foe.
Bruce became quite unlike his old jovial self. He was strangely downcastand moody, and he saw that he was fast losing prestige with those whohad 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 andcarrying things on with such a high hand! When we were freshmen thesophomores had everything their own way. They Lambda Chied us till theybecame sick of it, and all our attempts to get even proved failures. Nowthe freshmen who are following the lead of this fellow Merriwell seem tothink that they are cocks 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."
"Oh, I don't believe he is such a bad fellow at heart, It wouldn't beright to injure him permanently."
"Wouldn't it? Give me the chance and see if I don't fix him."
Hartwick began to regard his roommate with disdain.
"For goodness' sake, don't get soft," he implored. "The fellows will sayyou are chicken-hearted, and that will settle your case. You'll neverget back to your old position if you once lose it."
"I'd rather be thought chicken-hearted than hold my position by dirtyplay."
Hartwick made no retort, but it was plain to see that he entertained adifferent view of a case like the one in question.
Browning worked like a beaver to get himself in shape for the comingstruggle, but he promised himself over and over that he would never dosuch a thing again. It was pride and hope that sustained him through hissevere course of training.
"No fresh mug can do youse now," Buster Kelley finally declared. "I'llput me dough on you, an' I'll win, too."
Bruce was really in very good form, and he felt that he stood more thanan even chance with Merriwell.
He had seen the freshman fight, however, and he realized that he wouldnot have a walkover.
The freshmen began to think that Browning feared to meet Merriwell, andthey openly told him as much. They taunted him to such an extent that itwas with the utmost difficulty he held himself in check till theexpiration of the time he had set for getting himself in condition.
"What if I should see the freshman getting the best of me and shouldbreak his wrist?" he thought. "I might make it appear to be an accident,but I would know better myself. I'd get the best of Merriwell, and thefellows would still hail me as King Browning, but I would be ashamed ofmyself all the while."
It was that thought which troubled him so much and made him appear sogrouchy.
"Browning is in a blue funk whenever he thinks of stacking up againstthe freshman," one sophomore confidentially told another. "I believe hehas lost his nerve."
"It looks that way," admitted the other.
Thus it came about that Bruce's appearance led his former admirers tomisjudge him, and he saw a growing coolness toward him.
"I'll meet Merriwell on the level," he finally decided, "and I will whiphim on the level or I'll not whip him at all."
Then he instructed Hartwick to carry a challenge to Frank.
"I will fight him with hard gloves," said Bruce.
He had decided that with a glove on his hand he could not easily performthe trick of breaking his enemy's wrist in case he was seized by animpulse to do so.
"Gloves?" cried Hartwick. "Why, man, why don't you challenge him to meetyou with bare fists?"
"Because I have decided that gloves are all right."
"The fellows will say you are afraid."
"Let them say so if they like," returned Bruce, but he winced a bit, asif a tender spot had been touched.
Hartwick did his test to induce his friend to challenge Merriwell to afight with bare fists, but Bruce had made up his mind and he wasobstinate.
So it came about that Hartwick carried the challenge just as Browningdesired, and it was promptly accepted. Merriwell was not a fellow whosought trouble, but he knew he must meet Browning or be called a coward,and he did not dally. He quietly told Hartwick that any arrangements Mr.Browning saw fit to make would be agreeable to him. In that way he putBrowning on his honor to give him a square deal.
The matter was kept very quiet. It was decided that the match shouldcome off in Kelley's back room, and a few of Merriwell's and Browning'sfriends should be invited. Bruce paid for the room and firmly "sat on"the professor's scheme to charge admission.
"This is no prize fight," he rather warmly declared. "We are not puttingourselves on exhibition, like two pugilists. It is a matter of honor."
"Well, if youse college chaps don't git der derndest ideas inter yernuts!" muttered Kelley, who could not understand Browning's view of anaffair of honor. "Youse takes der cream, dat's wot yer do!"
On Saturday afternoon one week after the rush at the park certainstudents might have been seen to stroll, one at a time, into the saloonover which were the headquarters of Professor Kelley. It was three inthe afternoon that about twenty lads were gathered in Buster'straining-room to witness the meeting between Merriwell and Browning.
Tad Horner was chosen referee.
"Look here," he said before the first round, "if any man here isn'tsatisfied with my decisions, let him meet me after the match is over,and I will satisfy him or fight him."
This was said in all earnestness, and it brought a round of applause andlaughter.
It was agreed that it should be a six-round contest, not more and noless, unless one side threw up the sponge or one of the men was knockedout.
Rattleton was Frank's second, and Hartwick represented Bruce. A regularring had been roped off, and the men entered from opposite sides at asignal. Much to his disgust, Kelley was not allowed to take any part inthe affair.
Both lads were stripped to the waist. Merriwell was clean limbed, butmuscular, while Browning was stocky and solid. The sophomore had gottenrid of his superfluous flesh in a wonderful manner, and he looked to bea hard man to tackle.
The gloves were put on, and then the rivals advanced and shook hands. Aninstant later they were at it, and the decisive struggle between themhad begun.
Their movements were so rapid that it was difficult for the eyes of theeager spectators to follow them. Both got in some sharp blows, and ther
ound ended with a clean knock-down for Browning, who planted a terrificblow between Merriwell's eyes and sent the freshman to the floor.
The sophs were jubilant and the freshmen were downcast. Merriwell simplylaughed as he sat on Rattleton's knee.
"Whee jiz--I mean jee whiz!" spluttered Harry. "Are you going to letthat fellow do you. The sophs will never get over it if you do. Hear 'emlaugh!"
"Don't worry," smiled Frank. "This is the beginning. There must be anending."
"Do him--do him, Bruce!" fiercely whispered Hartwick in the ear of hisprincipal. "It's plain enough that you can."
"I think I can," said Bruce, confidently.
The sophs offered three to two on Browning, and many bets were made.
Then time was called and the rivals advanced once more.
The second round was hotter than the first, if possible, and Merriwelldrew first blood by giving Browning a heavy one on the nose. It endedwith both sparring, and neither seeming to have a decided advantage.
Now the freshmen were encouraged, and they expressed their confidence intheir man. More bets were made, the sophomores still giving odds.
The third round filled the freshmen with delight, for Merriwell knockedBrowning off his feet twice, while he seemed to get no heavy blowshimself.
The sophs became quieter, and no money at odds was in sight. In fact,the freshmen tried to get even money, but could not.
The fourth and fifth rounds were filled with good, sharp, scientificwork, but toward the close of the fifth both men seemed a trifle groggy.Neither had a decided advantage.
"Dat Merriwell is a boid!" declared Buster Kelley enthusiastically."Why, dat chap could be der champeen of der woild if he went inter derbusiness fer fair. Dat's on der level, too."
Both lads were battered and bruised, and there was blood on their faceswhen they retired to their corners at the command from Horner.
"He's a nut," confessed Frank. "He has given me some soakers, and hetakes his medicine as if he liked it."
"You'll finish him next round, sure," fluttered Harry. "I shall buck thekickit--I mean kick the bucket if you don't."
"How is it?" Hartwick eagerly asked as he wiped the blood fromBrowning's face. "Can you finish him next round?"
"I shall try, but I don't believe the fellow can be licked unless he iskilled. That's what I think of him."
"Didn't I hear you say you knew a trick that would do him?"
"Yes, but it is not a square deal, although no referee could call itfoul if this were a fight with bare fists. As it is, I'd have to get myglove off."
"Do it! do it! You're a fool if you don't!"
"Then I'm a fool. That man has trusted this entire affair to our honor,and if I can't whip him fair I won't whip him at all."
"You make me sick!" sneered Hartwick.
At the call the two men promptly faced each other for the final round.At first they were a bit wary, but then, as if by mutual agreement, theywent at each other like tigers. Blow followed blow, but it was plainthat one man was getting quite as much as the other. Browning got in oneof his terrific drives, but it was not a knockout, and Merriwell had thesophomore up up against the rope three times.
"Time! Break away!" yelled Tad Horner, forcing himself over between thecombatants. "It's all over."
"What's the decision?" shouted a dozen voices.
"A draw," was the distinct answer. "I declare it an even thing betweenthem."
There was a moment of silence, and then, bruised and smiling, FrankMerriwell tore off his glove and extended his hand. Off came Browning'sglove, and he accepted the hand of the freshman.