After leaving the girls at the tennis ground, Charlie and the others proceeded directly to the club. There they found a number of fellows assembled, waiting to see Hegner put Burk through his daily course.
Burk was there, a tall, thin fellow, with short-cropped hair and a bullet-head. There was nothing attractive about his face, and there was something vicious in his little eyes.
At a glance, Frank saw that the fellow selected to represent the Fairmounts had many of the characteristics of the professional prize fighter. He was hard and sinewy, quick in his movements, had a big knotty fist, and looked as if he could stand any amount of punishment. Blows would have very little effect on him, unless they were delivered with skill sufficient to knock him out.
Creighton introduced Burk to the boys, and Frank talked with the fellow. It did not take Merry long to find out that, although Burk had a father who was wealthy and moved in good society, the son belonged to that class of boys who never advance beyond a certain limit, no matter how much they may be pushed. He had no fine sensibilities, and was coarse-grained in everything.
“What do you think of him?” asked Charlie Creighton, as they moved away, after Frank had chatted with the young pugilist.
“Well, you know I have not had sufficient time to form a settled opinion,” answered Merry, evasively.
“Come off!” exclaimed Creighton, quickly. “I know you, and I know you have sized him up. What do you think of him?”
“To be honest, Charlie, I am astonished to find him a member of this club.”
“Eh? Oh, I know what you mean; but Hank is all right, and his dad cuts a figure in this town.”
“I presume he got in on his dad’s reputation?”