“He’ll be there; and I can promise you that, on the day of the game, there’ll be a big attendance from these diggings. But don’t you let Gold Hill down you!”
“We’re going to do our best, Burke,” laughed Merriwell. “Where is Lenning?”
“Lenning?” the super echoed, giving Frank a quick glance, and then shifting his gaze to the general manager.
“Merriwell,” Mr. Bradlaugh explained passively, “has chosen Lenning for one of his players.”
It seemed, for a moment, as though Burke was going to voice a protest of his own against the availability of Lenning. He thought better of it, however.
“Lenning ought to be at the bunk house now,” said he. “He’s still the night watchman, you know, and doesn’t go on duty until seven-thirty.”
“You go over to the bunk house, Merriwell, and talk with him,” suggested Mr. Bradlaugh. “I’ll stay here with Burke.”
Frank was glad that he was to be alone when he talked with Lenning. In a private interview there would be less restraint, and a freer expression of views and motives, than could have been the case if the general manager or the superintendent had been present.
Lenning was found sitting on a bench in the shadow of the bunk-house wall. His back was against the wall and his eyes were turned upward, staring into vacancy. Evidently he was in a thoughtful mood, and gave no heed to Frank when he came around the corner of the bunk house.
At a little distance, Frank halted. The friendly shout which was on his lips was smothered, and he stood silently at gaze for a few moments studying the form on the bench.