Hegner’s eyes narrowed, and he surveyed Hodge with the same insolent air with which he had regarded Frank Merriwell.
“I presume you box some, sir?” he asked.
“Not much, but I have friends who are able to put up quite a little go.”
Charlie Creighton interposed laughingly, and introduced Hegner and Hodge. Bart bowed stiffly, but did not offer his hand, while Hegner nodded as if he had rheumatism in his neck. Then Diamond was introduced.
“Do you put on the gloves?” Hegner asked of the Virginian, in a blunt way.
“Not often,” was the answer, as Jack’s cheeks glowed a bit. “Never had them on in my life till I went to Yale and ran up against Merriwell. Southerners, sir, have a way of settling differences with other weapons than their fists.”
“Oh!”
Jack bit his lip, for there was a hidden sneer in that simple exclamation. For a moment he felt like challenging Hegner on the spot, but remembered that he was in the North, where such things did not “go.”
Hegner turned to Frank, whom he again surveyed from head to feet.
“From what Mr. Diamond says, I infer that you are something of a boxer,” he observed.