A yell went up from the boys.
Frank laughed and bowed.
“Why don’t ye come down here to live?” piped a little fellow. “Then Belfast could git inter the league an’ beat anything on top of the earth.”
“Clear out, you young rascals!” cried Howard Dustan. “Don’t you know better than to block the way!”
He started to drive them back, but Frank quickly interfered.
“That’s all right, Dustan,” he said. “They are not in my way. Let them alone.”
“That’s him!” shrilled a youngster with a freckled face. “That’s jest like Frank Merriwell. He don’t never try ter crowd nobody off’n the earth.”
Frank passed through the crowd, and, accompanied by Dustan, walked along the main street. It did not seem so remarkable that the town of Camden had given him so much attention, but he was surprised when he found himself regarded with equal interest in Belfast. Men turned to look at him, and pretty girls gave him curious and admiring glances as they passed.
As they turned from the main street toward the steamboat wharf, Dustan said:
“Here is the Windsor Hotel. We will meet here this evening at seven o’clock for the run down to Northport. It is not far, but we can spend a pleasant evening at Northport and start back by ten o’clock. Bring any of your friends who wish to come. We’ll try to make it pleasant for you.”