One of Hammond’s followers, seeing that, in spite of the lightness of his manner, Frank Merriwell meant to fight, caught Hammond by the shoulders and drew him back.
“Let me at him!” cried Hammond, becoming furious in an instant, and making a seeming attempt to break away from his friend. “Let me go, I tell you! I’ll pound the face off him!”
“Let him go, as he is so anxious!” laughed Merriwell. “I’m willing he shall begin the pounding at once.”
At this, another of Hammond’s friends took hold of him, not liking the looks of Merriwell’s backers, and the two began to force the enraged lad through the screen of bushes in the direction of the invisible camp.
“Here is his violin,” said Merriwell, tossing it after them. “I am sorry I ran into it, and am willing to do whatever is fair. When he is in the same frame of mind, let him come down to the hotel at the village, and we will try to talk the thing over amicably. I will be his friend, if he will let me; or his enemy, if he prefers it that way!”
CHAPTER II—THE LAKE LILY ATHLETIC CLUB
Frank Merriwell’s party was scarcely installed in the Blue Ridge Hotel when two visitors were announced. They proved to be a delegation from the Lake Lily Athletic Club.
“We heard of your arrival only a little while ago, and we came straight up,” said one, speaking to Merriwell, who had risen from his piazza chair to greet them. “My name is Septimus Colson—Sep for short—and this is my friend, Philip Tetlow.”
“I am very glad to meet you, Mr. Colson—and you, Mr. Tetlow,” answered Merriwell, who then proceeded to introduce himself and his friends to the callers.
Colson and Tetlow were sunburned youths of seventeen or eighteen—keen-looking, intelligent fellows, attired in outing suits.