“I believe I’ll have to kill him yet!” he snarled, as he turned away.
He walked blindly into the rail beyond which the spectators were slowly filing out from the enclosure. Some of them stared at him wonderingly, noting his wildly glaring eyes and hearing his incoherent mutterings.
“What ails that chap?” said a man.
“Gone bughouse,” intimated another. “Who is he?”
“Don’t know. Saw him with that pretty girl who ran out on the field when Merriwell was hurt.”
“He’s a Fardale boy?”
“Yes.”
“Must be crazy with joy. Can’t blame him after seeing his team win in that way.”
Chester crawled under the rail and bumped against a man.
“Get out of the way, you old fool!” he snarled.