"He is a regular jumping jack.

If I don't land a blow on him pretty quick, I am going to clinch." This he soon did, catching Frank for the cross-buttock throw.
For a moment it looked as if Merriwell would be flung heavily, and Hodge drew his breath through his teeth with a hissing sound that turned to a sigh of relief as he saw his friend thrust forward his right foot between Bascomb's, break his wrist clear and catch the big fellow behind the left knee with his left hand, while he brought his right arm up over Bascomb's shoulder, and pressed his hand over Bascomb's face, snapping his head back and hurling him off sideways.
This was done quickly and scientifically, and it convinced Hodge that Bascomb could not work the cross-buttock on Merriwell.
Hugh Bascomb was disgusted and infuriated by his failure.

He had counted on having a soft thing, and he was actually getting the worst of the encounter.
Time was called, and a breathing spell taken.
Then they went at it again, and this time both worked savagely, their movements being swift and telling.
Watching this battle, Paul Rains began to believe that he was not yet quite Merriwell's match at boxing.
"But I am a better man than he is at most anything else," thought the fellow.
Smack! smack! smack! Merriwell was following Bascomb up like a tiger, and the big fellow was forced to give ground.

Again and again Frank hammered the desperate plebe, getting few blows in return and seeming to mind none of them no more than drops of rain.
Bascomb's face wore the look of an enraged bull.

Suddenly, with a quick side motion, he snapped off the glove on his left hand.
Then, with his bare first, he struck straight and hard at Frank Merriwell's face!.