Merry knew something was the matter with Hodge, and he divined what that something must be.
“You’re up late to-night, old man,” said Frank. “And you look tired. You should be in bed. You know how we have had the law laid down to us. Yale must win in all directions this spring. It is our last with her, and we must wind up and sever our connections in a blaze of glory. Sit down, Bart; you look tired.”
“I’m not,” Hodge growled.
“Something is the matter?”
“Perhaps so.”
“What?”
“You ought to know.”
Frank did know, but he pretended that he did not understand.
“Is it anything about the nine?”
“Look here, Merriwell,” said Hodge sharply, lifting his eyes and looking straight at Frank, “has it come to taking Morgan into the circle? You know what that man is. I do not deny that he is a rather clever athlete, or that he can play ball; but you cannot tame a snake enough to make it anything but a snake.[snake.]”