“Sure.”
“Well, I’ve changed my mind. If you were fighting an enemy like Harris or Brattle, it would be different. By the way, where is Brattle?”
“You tell.”
“He has disappeared.”
“Completely.”
“Perhaps he is connected with the very ones who are doing their best to snuff you out.”
“Not likely. They would not trust him.”
“And yet he may have aided to throw suspicion on you.”
“It is possible, but does not seem probable.”
Frank Merriwell sipped his lemonade, which had been served, seeming cool and unconcerned, as if deadly danger had never visited him in all his life. The black-face comedians had retired, and there was a sudden burst of applause, as a popular chanteuse appeared. She began to sing, and the young Americans resumed their conversation.