“Here he is, Moran,” chuckled the reckless boy. “Here’s the proud and mighty Mr. Merriwell. He is very quiet now.”
“He seems to be,” said Moran.
“He is the chap who gave you those marks. Take it out of him if you want to, I don’t care.”
“Why, I can’t do that when he is tied and helpless,” said Moran.
“Can’t you? Well, now that’s funny. I thought you were just fierce to get at him? I thought you were just palpitating to hammer him?”
“Not this way,” said Chet’s companion, shaking his head.
“What if I order you to?” asked Arlington.
“It won’t do you any good,” grimly answered the young bruiser. “I fights square when I fights, and I don’t punch up any man who can’t punch back.”
“Ho! ho! ho!” laughed Chet. “All right. You will enjoy my little picnic with him. What do you think of a chap who thinks he is better than other people because he doesn’t drink, or smoke, or swear, or have any bad habits? He’s never tasted of liquor, and boasts of it. Well, he will get a taste to-night. You bet your life! Within an hour he will be drunk as a fool. Where’s Lazaro?”
“Here, sir,” answered a voice, and Lazaro appeared.