“Onslaw will be in the game, too.”
“So Merriwell says, but we’re not sure of it. I hope he is! It would delight me to get even with both chaps in one day. Yes, we’ll have to give Merriwell the game.”
“Let’s drink another and get back before we’re missed.”
Their faces were flushed and their tongues thick. Already they had taken as much as they could stand, but the time had passed when they could gauge their capacity. Once more they drank whisky, and both staggered a little as they left the bar.
They met the students, accompanied by Merriwell, Hodge, and Galway, coming from the shed. To their surprise, Galway showed no resentment toward his conqueror.
But he gave Fillmore a vicious look, although he said nothing.
The slugger was determined to “blow” the crowd. He insisted that it was on him.
Frank and Bart could not refuse without appearing caddish, so they accepted the man’s invitation, although they now ordered ginger ale.
“What?” cried several of the students, in astonishment.
“Ginger w’ot?” gasped Galway. “Oh, say! dat’s a joke. Ye’re foolin’!”