“During the football game. I got into the play and secured the note in a scrimmage.”
“Merriwell,” said Darrel, with deep feeling, “you’re a loyal friend, if a fellow ever had one.”
“It’s something I wouldn’t have done unless it seemed best,” answered Merriwell, “and I wouldn’t have done it, Darrel, if I had thought there was the slightest doubt that it’s not what Hotchkiss said.”
“Hasn’t it anything to do with me, or—or that trouble with the colonel?”
“I don’t know what the letter contains. I have brought it to you, Darrel, and you can read it. If it hasn’t any bearing on you, I’m going to take it back to Lenning and tell him how I got it.”
Clancy and Ballard were about to cry out against such a proceeding, but there was a look in their chum’s face which assured them that he had made up his mind as to the course he should follow, and would keep to it if the circumstances warranted.
“Let’s see the letter, Chip,” said Darrel huskily.
Merriwell removed the soiled and crumpled paper from his pocket and silently handed it to Darrel. The latter’s hand trembled as he took the folded scrap and slowly opened it. His eyes widened as he read the note’s contents; and then, when he had finished, his hand dropped nervelessly at his side and he stared at Merriwell with wide eyes.
“What is it?” asked Merry. “Has it anything to do with you?”
“Yes,” was the muffled response, “and with you, too. Read it. I think you have a perfect right to do so, Chip.”