In his present condition any sort of a wild scheme seemed feasible to Arlington.
“You ought to have it in for him, Tom,” he said, nodding at Moran. “You bear marks of his knuckles on your mug now.”
“That’s right!” growled the young bruiser; “but you told me he was easy!”
“Ought to have been easy for you. You ought to do him up without half trying. Wait till we get him on the yacht. Then you can thump him if you want to. Then you can get square with him. What do you say?”
“Go ahead,” said Moran. “Give me the chance.”
“I’ll fix it,” averred Chet. “I’ll soak him if it is the last thing I ever do around here! Might as well get out of this old town, anyway! Got to leave this rotten old school! When I do leave I want to have Merriwell fixed so he can’t hold up his head again and say he don’t drink and don’t smoke. If it wasn’t for Tony we’d be all right. I can depend on the rest of the crew. Where’s Lazaro? He is my right-hand man. He ought to be here now. Where is he?”
No one seemed to know.
“Told him to be here,” Chet mumbled, dropping his cigarette and looking around in vain for it.
While he was searching for the cigarette a slim, dark-faced man entered and approached the table.
“Here comes Tony,” said one of the sailors.