“Eet is true.”
“Well, that’s just about the sort I took him to be!” cried Darleton angrily. “He’s a great case of bluff! He’s a bag of wind! He’s a quitter! He knew I’d defeat him. Now, what are we going to do?”
“Zere is nothing we can do,” answered the fencing master regretfully.
“And our go was to be the feature to-night. Every one will be disappointed. It’s a shame. Besides that, Marlowe had no right not to give me a chance to show him up. I meant to put it all over him, the slob!”
Darleton’s chagrin over his lost opportunity to “put it all over” the other fellow seemed to lead him into a complete loss of temper, and he indulged in language which on any occasion he would have condemned in another.
Suddenly his eyes fell on Frank Merriwell, and a peculiar expression came to his face.
“Why, here is the great athlete who fancies he is something of a fencer,” he said. “Good evening, Mr. Merriwell. I suppose you came to see me outpoint Marlowe? Well, you will be disappointed, I regret to say.”
Hodge was near, and the words and manner of Darleton had caused him to bridle until he was on the point of exploding.
“I regret very much,” said Merry quietly, “that we shall not have the pleasure of witnessing the fencing bout between you and Mr. Marlowe, sir.”
He was calm, polite, and reserved.