“I think I’ll drink gin, too,” he said. “Make my chaser the same.”
One of the students whispered to a companion.
“Hodge has to do everything just the same as Merriwell does it.”
“If they stick to gin, we’ll soak them both for keeps,” the other whispered back.
The waiter disappeared, but soon returned with the bottle of Old Tom and the glasses.
As Frank poured a goodly drink Fillmore started up the song “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow,” in which several of the others followed.
Hackett rose, holding his glass of beer aloft.
“Here’s to Frank Merriwell!” he cried. “Frank Merriwell, a star of the first magnitude. May that star never grow dim.”
“Thank you,” bowed Merry smilingly. “You are exceedingly kind. Here is to you all, gentlemen. May you never be disappointed—unless you deserve to be.”
They drank. Merry tossed off his drink at a gulp, barely wetted his lips with the “chaser,” then tossed the remaining contents of the glass over his shoulder and the rail of the veranda.