“Somewhat,” admitted Frank. “Still I find a chance now and then to drop everything and go in for baseball and kindred sports.”
“Well, let’s all go take something,” suggested Carroll. “Merriwell used to be a cold-water crank, I understand; but, of course, he’s broken the pledge since he began to ramble from Old Eli’s fireside.”
“On the contrary,” said Frank, “I’ve kept it the same as ever. That’s one secret of my success, only there is no secret about it. Be temperate, fellows—be temperate.”
“Oh, I am!” protested Carroll; “I’m temperate, but I’m no total abstainer. A total abstainer is not a temperance man. Temperance means moderation, and unless you use a thing with moderation you have no claim to temperance. Got you there!”
“Your argument cannot be overthrown,” admitted Frank. “Therefore I’m willing to be classed among the cranks.”
“Oh, but come have something with us!” they urged.
“I’ll do that,” he laughed; “but it will be something nonintoxicating.”
Hodge was treated with the same cordiality, and the entire party crowded in before the little bar.
Frank and Bart both drank ginger ale.
“Here’s to Merriwell, the pride of Yale in the old days and the pride of Yale to-day!” cried Carroll, holding a glass of beer aloft. “May his star never grow dim!”