He was returning to his rooms between ten and eleven, when, as he came to a dark corner, a man suddenly stepped out and said: "Give us a light, young feller." "I have none," said Frank, attempting to pass.
"Den give us a match," demanded the man, blocking the road.
"As I do not smoke I never carry matches." "Well, den, I s'pose I'll have ter go wit'out er light, but--you'll take dat!" Like a flash the man struck straight and hard at the youth's face.

It was a wicked blow, delivered with marvelous swiftness, and must have knocked Frank down if it had landed.
But Merriwell had suspected all along that it was not a light the man was after, and he had been on the watch for just such a move as was made.

For all of the man's swiftness Frank dodged, and the blow passed over his shoulder.
When Frank ducked he also struck out with his left, which he planted in the pit of the assailant's stomach.
It was a heavy blow, and for a moment it rounded the man up.

Before the ruffian could recover he received a thump under the ear that made him see stars and sent him sprawling.
But the man had a hard head, and he hastily got upon his feet, uttering fierce words.

He expected to see the youth in full flight, and was astonished to perceive that Frank had not taken to his heels.
With a snarl of fury the wretch rushed at Merriwell.
Frank dodged again and came up under the man's arm, giving him another heavy blow.