Fairport was angry enough over the success of Merriwell in making such a remarkable run through a broken field.
Hal Darrell had withdrawn a little by himself, where he was watching the play. At this moment he heard a voice behind him saying:
"Don’t make a show of yourself, Darrell. Are you silly enough to think Merriwell will give you a show as a sub? Then you ought to go ’way back and sit down!"
Hal whirled as if struck. Somehow, Jabez Lynch had penetrated within the ropes and joined the substitutes near the side-line. Hal was white with anger.
"Don’t speak to me!" he panted. "You cowardly dog! You’re a disgrace to the academy! You hired those thugs to do me up, like the whelp you are!"
"It’s a lie!" returned Lynch. "That’s one of Merriwell’s stories, and my word is as good as his. Why didn’t he produce the thugs? Why didn’t he bring them forward as evidence against me? He couldn’t do it, though he made a bluff at it. If you were attacked at all, it was done by somebody who wanted to rob you; but I’m not inclined to believe you were attacked."
"Go on! Get away from here!" grated Hal. "You’re a coward, or you’d been on hand to fight me, as you agreed."
"I’ve explained why I failed to get there, and——"
"Lied! You might have been there, but you did not come. You are branded as a coward for failing. The best thing you can do, Lynch, is to leave Fardale. You haven’t a friend here, and you’ll be kicked out before the end of this term if you get your just dues."
Then Hal disdainfully turned his back on Jabez.