“Here he is, fellows! We won’t have to go to his room for him. It’s a streak of luck.”
Harry’s heart gave a thump as he recognized Merriwell’s voice. He looked up, and saw three fellows before him. They were Merry, Hodge and Browning.
“Come,” said Frank, locking arms with Harry. “We had started out to have a little feed when I thought of you, and we turned back to get you, if you have not eaten.”
At first Harry thought he would lie—thought he would say he had just eaten, so he might get away. But when he tried to say so, the words stuck in his throat. So Merry had thought of him, and they were coming to hunt him up and take him out. He choked, and there was a blurr before his eyes.
“You are very good,” he said, weakly, “but——”
“There is no but about it,” said Frank, in his hearty, whole-souled manner. “If you have not eaten, you must come along and have a square feed; if you have eaten, you must come along just the same and watch us fill our sacks. Line up, fellows, and close in on him.”
Hodge took Rattleton’s arm, and Browning fell in behind, lazily observing:
“He’s in for it now. Escape is impossible.”
So they bore him away to a first-class restaurant, where they had a little private dining room all to themselves, and Merriwell ordered an elaborate spread, and they pitched into the food and ate like the hearty, hungry fellows they were.
As he ate, Harry’s heart warmed. Frank was jollier than ever before. He laughed and joked, he told stories that caused the others to shout with laughter. He was the prince of good fellows, that was sure. Still, Harry could not help thinking what a shame it was that he had been trapped.