“Don’t dare threaten me, young man!” snarled Darius, shaking his cane at Frank. “If you do, I’ll give you a good caning, and that is what you deserve!”
“Go!”
“I will not be driven out in——”
Frank grasped the man by the collar and marched him out in a hurry, despite his endeavors to break away.
“Here! here!” cried Dyke, springing on Frank. “Stop that!”
Merry turned and grappled with the younger rascal. He laughed as he swung Dyke off his feet, having grasped him by the collar and the seat of the trousers.
Wildly flourishing his cane, Darius Conrad was hurrying in at the door just as his son came sailing out, having been hurled by the muscular arms of Frank Merriwell.
The young man struck his father fairly amidships, and over they went together, rolling down the steps to the ground.
For the first time in a week, Toots doubled up and shouted with laughter.
“Good-day, gentlemen,” said Frank, gently, as he closed the door.