“Perhaps you are right,” admitted Hodge; “but I don’t believe it. Let’s not talk of that.”
“That’s where you’re sensible, young feller,” whispered James the First to himself. “If you want to stand the least show, don’t get her to sizing you up alongside of Frank Merriwell, ’cause you ain’t in it for a minute. You’re a pretty good feller, but yo’ ain’t in his class, suh.”
“But I wrote—I wanted him to come, you know,” said Elsie, with some hesitation. “I suppose he was so busy he did not have time, but I’ll see him at the game this afternoon.”
“I don’t understand just what happened,” said Bart, “but a man—a big, red-headed fellow——”
“Regular darned old pirate!” was King Jimmy’s unspoken comment.
“——met him at the station when we arrived,” Hodge went on, “and gave him a letter. Frank read it, told us he must leave us for a while, jumped into a double team with the man, and was driven off. He didn’t tell a soul where he was going or anything about it. It’s rather queer, I think.”
Elsie looked suddenly worried.
“I’m afraid, Bart,” she said, “that something is wrong.”
“Wrong? Why? What can be wrong?”
“Well, I don’t just know, but my heart seems to tell me that Frank is in serious trouble.”