“My name’s Merriwell,” said Frank.
“You don’t have to tell me that. Every man in college knows you. My name is Hooker—James Hooker. Perhaps,” he added, flushing, “perhaps you have heard of me?”
“Nothing much,” said Merry. “I saw you all alone on the fence as I passed along with some friends. You looked rather lonesome, and I don’t like to see anybody look that way, so I came back to jolly you up a little, if I could.”
“That was good of you! I appreciate it, Mr. Merriwell, I assure you, but—but——”
“But what?”
Hooker was greatly confused, but he seemed to force himself to say:
“Perhaps you’d better make some inquiries about me before you permit yourself to be seen with me in such a public place as this.”
It was plain he said this with a great effort, and Frank’s sympathy for him redoubled.
“Why should I do that?” exclaimed Merry. “I am not in the habit of judging my friends by the estimation made of them by others.”
“Your friends!”