Pike writhed and flounced,
kicking and struggling, but all without avail. That viselike grip grew
tighter and tighter. The pain seemed unbearable. He gurgled and choked,
and his lungs seemed to be bursting. He could not breathe, and his brain
began to reel.
"Give in?" Frank asked.
"Don't k-k-k-ill me!" Pike gasped, as the grip on his throat relaxed.
"You deserve it, you scoundrel!"
Frank took his knee from Pike's breast, removed the choking hand, and
flung Pike from him.
"Now get up!" he commanded. "Get up before I am tempted to kick you
across the campus!"
Pike shuffled and evaded, as his breath came back.
"I thought you were Badger, and I was just playing a little joke on
you!" he whined.
"Get up!" Frank exclaimed.
Pike struggled up, and Merriwell jerked him toward the nearest light. He
saw the "make-up," and recognized the clothes as some he had seen on the
Kansan.
"What were you up to?" he demanded, with threatening emphasis. He saw
forms moving in the campus, and he did not want to tarry with Pike.
"Just a little sport!" Pike whined. He was completely crushed.
"You lie, Donald Pike! You had some object. I can almost guess what it
was. You imitated Badger's voice and way of speaking, when you jumped on
me. You are wearing Badger's clothing.
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