Frank closed and locked the door.
“Strip down and make ready,” he said grimly. “I’m going to brush up and get in condition, and you are the victim.”
“I’m happy to be the victim now,” declared Bart; “in case Mr. Darleton is the victim later.”
Something more than an hour later the comrades were resting after a bath and rub down. Bart’s eyes shone and his dark, handsome face wore an expression of great satisfaction.
“You may be rusty, Merry,” he observed; “but I fail to see it. I swear you fenced better to-day than ever before in all your life.”
“You think so, Bart; but I can’t believe that. A man can’t be at his best at fencing, any more than at billiards, unless he is in constant practice.”
“Oh, I know I’ve gone back; but you have not. I’ll wager my life you can give Fred Darleton all he is looking for.”
“It would be a pleasure to me,” confessed Frank. “Somehow he irritated me strangely.”
“I’d never supposed it by your manner.”
“If I had lost my temper I should have been defeated. Mr. Darleton has a temper, and I shall count on it leading to his downfall, in case we meet.”