The poor showing of the club team, the short time in which to make a winner out of it, the good work of Gold Hill under Guffey—all these things Merry considered well; and, in the final summing up, they merely spurred him to fresh endeavors. He was out for Gold Hill’s scalp, and he was going to get it.
That night, in a most peculiar way, some more disturbing details were brought home to him. It was about one in the morning when he heard a pebble rattle against the window of his room. He got up, lifted the window cautiously, and looked out into the dark.
“It’s Bleeker,” came a low voice, “Bleeker, of Gold Hill. Don’t give me away, Merriwell, but come down. I’ve something I want to tell you.”
[CHAPTER XXXIX.]
GOOD INTENTIONS.
Clancy occupied the room with Merriwell. The latter, in order to make as little noise as possible, slipped on his shoes but made no attempt to get out of his pajamas and into his clothes. Softly opening the hall door, he stepped out into the dimly lit corridor, descended the stairs, and got clear of the hotel without arousing any one.
“This way, Merriwell,” said Bleeker, in a low tone, appearing suddenly out of the shadows and moving off toward the rear of the building.
Frank followed him, and they presently halted at a board fence.
“I reckon we can talk here,” observed Bleeker, “without any one getting next to what we say.”
“This is quite a surprise party, Bleeker,” said Frank. “I don’t often have a friend steal in on me like a thief in the night, just to make a sociable call.”