Open flew the door, and there stood the tall, straight, dark-eyed Southerner, with half a dozen other fellows behind him.
"Mr. Merriwell," said Diamond, stiffly, "I have called to see you on a very important matter, sir."
"Walk right in," invited Frank, rising to receive them. "Bring your friends in. State your business, Mr. Diamond."
The party came trooping in, and Frank was not a little astonished to observe among them Bruce Browning, a big, strong, lazy sophomore, a fellow who was known to be a great hand to plan deviltry which was usually carried into execution by his friends. As for Browning, he was not given to exerting himself when he could avoid it.
That a soph should associate with a party of freshmen seemed but a little short of marvelous, and Frank instantly scented "a job." Believing he had been singled out for the party to "jolly," his blood was up in a moment, and he resolved to show them that he was not "easy."
Jack Diamond drew himself up, his eyes fastened threateningly on Frank, and said:
"Sir, you had the impudence to kick my dog, and when I remonstrated with you, you insulted me. I demand an apology before these gentlemen."
Frank held himself in check; he appeared as cool as an iceberg.
"Sir," he said, "your confounded dog spoiled a pair of ten-dollar trousers for me, and I demand another pair—or satisfaction."
Harry Rattleton caught his breath. Was Merriwell crazy? He started forward, as if to intervene, but Diamond, his eyes blazing, motioned him back.