“No.”
“Something is the matter with you, and I fancy I know what it is.”
“Perhaps so.”
“I’ve come to talk it over——”
The dark-eyed lad cut him short with a gesture.
“Don’t!” he exclaimed hoarsely. “Talk of anything else—baseball, spring sports, the Southern trip, anything!”
“What is that you have in your hand?”
Almost rudely Bart pushed Frank aside and walked to a desk, into the drawer of which he thrust the photograph. But when he turned round he felt certain Merriwell knew it was a picture of Elsie and that he had been seen pressing that picture to his lips.
“Sit down,” he invited again, with a motion toward a chair.
Frank did so.