“Quite a little.”
“Almost every night, hasn’t he?” Dick persisted.
“Well—yes,” Hollister acknowledged. “This week, that is.”
There was silence for a few moments, which was broken by Merriwell.
“I’m not much on knocking a man, Bob,” he said quietly; “but if I were you I wouldn’t trust Blake too far. I know of one or two things he’s done which weren’t quite——Well, you wouldn’t have done them yourself, old fellow.”
Without waiting for a reply, he dropped Bob’s arm and walked quickly away, leaving Hollister more of a prey to doubt and suspicions than he had been before.
He knew that Merriwell was a man who almost never said anything against a fellow student. If he did not like a man, or disapproved of him for any reason, he had as little to do with him as possible, but his lips were generally sealed. If he could not say anything good of a fellow, he preferred keeping silent.
It was only on very rare occasions when something important was at stake that he gave an adverse opinion of a man, and, consequently, the few words he had just uttered concerning Blake were especially significant. They must have some foundation or Merriwell would never have given voice to them.
Hollister’s mind was in a turmoil. Unwilling to believe the worst of Blake, it was impossible not to realize that there must be something underhand about him or two such fellows as Merriwell and Hildebrand would never have said what they had against him.
Bewildered and sick at heart, Bob made his way slowly to his rooms. Jim had gone out for the evening, so that he was alone, and, having tossed hat and overcoat aside, he dropped down in a chair.