The hot blood rushed into Merry’s face and he shot an indignant glance at the colonel. What was the use of the Gold Hill nabob coming out to Dolliver’s to talk such stuff to the Ophir coach?
“How did you get any information about that game, colonel?” he demanded. “No one was allowed on the grounds except our men. I can’t believe that our fellows would talk about what happened last Saturday afternoon.”
“Ordinary loyalty would keep them from doing that, eh?”
“Sure it would. Who told you all that, sir?”
“That’s immaterial, just now. I am not here to twit you about your team’s shortcomings, Merriwell. I have simply recited what came to me as facts, and I want you to say whether or not the facts are true. A good deal hangs upon that point—more than you even dream of.”
There was a depth of earnestness in the colonel’s voice which filled Frank with wonder. What in blazes was he trying to get at, anyhow?
“Why, yes,” said Frank, “Harry did interfere a little with the quarter, and Mayburn was off in his work.”
“Doolittle wasn’t very good, either, was he?”
“Not very.”
The colonel drew a long breath and puffed silently at his cigar for a few moments.