By such tokens as these, Frank and his friends soon discovered that they were not without secret good wishers, though none of the latter dared come into the open.
“Talk about a scared town!” laughed Clancy, munching an apple vigorously. “Looks like your friend Carson had this place buffaloed for sure, Chip!”
“Well, there’s good reason for it,” explained Spaulding. “The colonel owns the bank here, and pretty near half the farms and orchards around. If he said to smash a merchant, that merchant would be apt to smash. I know, because he’s done it before this, and he’d do it again.”
“It’s a pretty poor kind of influence to hold over people,” declared Frank. “I’d hate to walk down the street and know that nine out of ten people hated me in their hearts.”
“The colonel doesn’t know it. He’s got too much vanity. And he wouldn’t care very much if he did realize it, I guess.”
“Somebody ought to l-l-lam him good,” piped Chub. “I’d l-l-like to see him run out of town!”
“Maybe you will some day,” growled McCarthy ominously.
“Don’t forget your promise,” said Frank, in a low voice.
“No danger o’ that, Merriwell. I filed them spikes o’ mine, though.”
“See here, Dan, I don’t want to have any of that work——”