“In a certain degree that is true. Yet I was ready to come in just then, having heard enough to put me onto your game. With Arnold out of the freshman boat, there will be no chance for such a fluke as was planned. With you out of the sophomore boat, you will win no unmerited glory.”
Snodgrass ground his teeth in fury. For the time his ambition to make the varsity was dished. But, thank goodness! Merriwell would not be in Yale next year, and then he would have his chance once more. With Merriwell away he would make the crew—he was confident of it. Surely he had reason enough to hate Merriwell, for had not Frank kept him from forging to the front?
But Merry, who had so many friends, was not afraid of making an enemy. The man who fears to make an enemy is not worthy to have friends. The man who fears to make an enemy seldom has friends who are stanch and true.
In a just cause Merry had never failed to make enemies, and he had made many of them in the past; but about him there was a particular something that finally won those enemies over to friends, even when he seemed careless, or undesirous of such a result.
“Now, as you both understand the terms on which I remain silent concerning this business,” said Frank, “I’ll bid you good night. I shall expect you to hand in your resignations by noon to-morrow.”
With clenched teeth, Snodgrass half-started, as if to leap at Frank’s back, Merry having turned carelessly away. But Frank, without so much as turning his head to glance back, said:
“Don’t try it, Snodgrass! I shall do you harm if you do!”
Then the muscles of the sophomore relaxed, and he settled back on his chair, glaring till the door had closed behind Frank.
For some moments the detected rascals were silent. Then Arnold ventured to look at the chin of his companion. That chin frightened him.
Snodgrass was a tempest of fury. He raved at Arnold and reviled him. He raved at himself. Then he fell to expressing himself concerning Frank Merriwell, and his words were lurid in the extreme.