But now this last blow had utterly unnerved him. It was so totally unexpected and had come at a time when he had at last begun to see light through the dark clouds, that it was no wonder he was discouraged. There seemed to be no way by which he could come out ahead this time, and he sat there in the big leather chair, a feeling of hopeless failure in his heart.
Dick Merriwell was not so easily downed. He snatched out his watch and, with a swift glance at it, sprang to his feet.
“Come on, old fellow,” he said incisively. “We haven’t got a minute to lose.”
Demarest stood up slowly, instinctively. His eyes were puzzled.
“What——” he began.
Dick caught him by the arm and drew him toward the door.
“Hustle!” he cried. “Don’t stop to argue!”
“But where——”
“The printer’s!” broke in Merriwell. “We’ve got to get those bills done to-night!”
By this time they were outside the hotel and hurrying down the street. Though he did not quite see what his new friend had in mind, Demarest was unconsciously heartened by the Yale man’s decisive manner, and hope began to dawn again in his breast.