CHAPTER XX—AT SPRINGBROOK FARM
Then Kenneth St. Ives introduced his father and Mr. Harry Harden. To avoid an introduction, Stephen Fenton had turned his horse about, and was staring sullenly in the opposite direction.
“Mr. Merriwell,” said Preston St. Ives, dismounting to take Frank’s hand, “I owe you much for your daring service to my daughter. I shall always feel that I am indebted to you.”
Harden dismounted, and talked with Iva, while Fenton glared at them in a side-long manner, chewing the ends of his black mustache and scowling fiercely.
Within a very few moments Preston St. Ives found out that Frank and Barney were on their way to New York, and that they were closely followed by a party of friends.
“New York is a long distance away,” smiled the father of the girl Frank had rescued. “At most, you would not think of proceeding farther than Philadelphia to-night.”
“We intended to stop there,” said Frank.
“But there is no reason why you should be in a great hurry,” said St. Ives, “and so you must stop at Springbrook Farm to-night.”
“Springbrook Farm?”
“That is our country place,” Kenneth hastily explained. “It is a roomy, old-fashioned place, and there will be plenty of room for you all. You can’t refuse, Mr. Merriwell!”