“You know your agreement when I hired you. You were not to drink while on the drive.”
“A man has ter have something somtimes when he gets wet through,” half growled the foreman.
“That argument may go in the spring time, when the water is cold, but it is summer now, and it will not hold. It’s plain you have been on a tear. Who did you fight with?”
“Oh, a gang pitched onter me an’ Pombere last night. There was about twenty of ’em, and we was thumped pritty hard, but——”
Sullivan stopped short, muttering an oath, for at that juncture Frank Merriwell appeared in the doorway, looking as fresh as a morning-glory.
Forest saw Sullivan staring toward the door, his face working with fury, and he turned about.
Frank came down the steps.
“Curse ye!” snarled Sullivan.
To Forest’s astonishment, he saw that his foreman was about to make a dash at Merry, his fists clinched, his whole appearance indicating great rage.
Fred caught Sullivan by the arm, crying: