Bart returned to the veranda.
Some one else ordered a round of drinks.
Frank and Bart took the same as before, while the others drank beer.
Black Tom carried away two “chasers” on his tray, but the moment he was inside and out of sight, he drank both, tossing one down after the other and smacking his lips.
“Dem chaps is slick,” he said. “Plain wattah makes a fine chaser fo’ gin. Yah! yah! Dis is a snap fo’ Tom!”
Cigarettes were passed round by two of the college lads.
Frank and Bart politely declined. Fillmore took one.
“Don’t you smoke, Merriwell?” he asked.
“Never.”