Presently the Yale man strolled over to his side.
“Nice links you have here,” he commented.
Stovebridge nodded silently without taking his eyes from the players.
“You have a car, haven’t you,” Dick went on casually.
The other’s shoulders moved a little.
“Yes,” he answered. “Racing roadster—sixty horse-power.”
There was a curious glitter in Dick Merriwell’s dark eyes.
“Dark red, isn’t she?” he queried.
Stovebridge hesitated for an instant.
“Ye-s.”