A light of joy leaped into the old redskin’s beady black eyes.
“The Great Spirit is good!” he said. “Shangowah he like to see young Joe and Injun Heart play again, but he no expect to have the chance.”
After a time the two Indians departed, young Joe having delightedly agreed to take part in the baseball game.
Even as the redskins were departing a tall, lank, insipid-looking young man in flannels detached himself from a group of guests and approached Merriwell’s party.
“I—I say, m’friends,” he drawled, “don’t you really think it’s rawther outré—rawther bad taste, you understand? You should realize that there are ladies and gentlemen here. You should understand that bringing such offensive persons onto this veranda is deucedly distasteful.”
Dick smilingly faced the fellow and took his measure.
“I don’t think,” he said, “I’ve ever been introduced to you.”
“Quite unnecessary—quite. My name is Archie Ling.”
“Ting-a-ling-ling,” chirped Tommy.
Mr. Ling gave the little chap a look intended to be crushing.