“Go order lunch, fellows,” he said. “I’m going to bring Browning back.”
“Don’t be fool enough to chase after him!” advised the Virginian.
But Frank would not listen, and away he started after the big Yale man, who was striding along as if he had an important engagement to keep. It was near the obelisk that stands by the beautiful fountain in the Place de la Concorde that Frank overtook his college chum. Bruce had paused a moment in the midst of this most beautiful square in the whole world, probably, utterly unaware that he had been followed, when Merry came up, and put a hand on his shoulder.
“Come, old man,” said Frank; “come back to the hotel, and have lunch with us.”
Browning wheeled about, and scowled at Merry.
“Who are you addressing?” he growled, like an angry dog.
“Oh, come!” exclaimed Merry; “drop it! Don’t take a joke from a friend to heart in this manner.”
“Friend!” rumbled the big fellow, with scorn and contempt. “Do you call yourself my friend? Bah!”
Merriwell was astonished more than ever, but he was not willing to think Bruce in earnest.
“Of course I call myself your friend!” he exclaimed. “Are you going to get sore over a harmless joke?”