“Who’s Mr. Muldoon?” demanded Cunningham.
“You’re Mr. Muldoon,” explained Ditson, with a crafty smile. “That’s so he will not get onto your real name at once. He’s posted, and he may have heard of you, or your brother. Best not to wake up his suspicions too quick.”
“S’pose that’s right,” nodded the giant, as he thrust the letter into his pocket. “Seems to me I’ve heard of a strong man by the name of Muldoon.”
“There is such a man—William Muldoon, and he’s a wonder.”
“Then I’m his brother, an’ I can throw Willie four times out of five, with one hand tied behind me. Mr. Frank Merriwell will think so when I lay fingers on him.”
Again Roland warned the confident ruffian not to underestimate Merriwell’s prowess.
“If you do, he’ll surprise you, just as true as you live. He is a wonder.”
“That’s all right,” grinned Cunningham. “I know all about them kind of wonders. Where’s yoah money, suh?”
Ditson produced a roll of bills, the sight of which caused the eyes of the rascal to glitter and his fingers to twitch. In that moment it is likely he was tempted to snatch the whole amount, run for it, and let Frank Merriwell go his way.
“Here’s twenty-five,” said Roland, stripping off two tens and a five and handing them over. “I’ll give you the rest to-night after you have done the job. When the train comes in all you have to do is go right in among the Yale men and ask for Merriwell. They’ll point him out to you. Give him the letter and get him into your wagon as soon as you can. After that it’s for you to make sure he doesn’t show up again till after the ball-game is over.”