“That’s where you make a mistake,” said a quiet voice, as Frank entered the office, limping the least bit. “We’re very anxious to get another game with you, Mr. Lawrence. We think we might reverse the result of to-day.”
Raybold’s eyes twinkled. He recognized Frank at once, but, having never met him, he did not speak. Lawrence shrugged his shoulders.
“It seems to me you ought to be satisfied, Merriwell,” he said. “You got your bumps to-day, didn’t you?”
“You certainly hit me enough,” confessed Frank.
“Still you are anxious for more. Some people never know when they’ve got enough.”
This kind of talk was most annoying, but Merriwell had perfect self-control.
“That’s right,” he acknowledged. “Perhaps I’m one of that kind.”
“Well, out of pity for you, we shouldn’t think of making another game with you, even if we had the opportunity.”
“Look here,” chipped in Raybold, a trifle warmly, “I believe you’re troubled with cold feet. That’s what’s the matter! You’re so pleased over this victory that you want to boast about it.”
This angered Lawrence, who declared that it was nothing to boast about and made a great deal of talk to that effect. When he had finished, Raybold said: