“That’s the talk!” they cried. “Drink—drink it down!”
Some one ordered another round.
“Here’s to Hodge!” cried Spaulding. “Merriwell’s right-hand man at Yale and his loyal backer ever since. If there’s any baseball on the Golden Shore, I’ll expect to see Bart Hodge doing the backstopping when Frank Merriwell fans the batter with the double-shoot.”
“You expect to see it!” laughed Harrow loudly. “You’ll be fanning yourself in another country.”
“Blasphemer!” exclaimed Spaulding. “Go to! You seem to think every one is traveling the same road you’ve taken.”
They left the bar and entered the billiard and pool room, where some of the club members were amusing themselves.
Two young chaps had lately entered the billiard room. They were Bob Ridgely and Martin Manners, known to some of those in Frank’s party.
Manners brought Ridgely up.
“How are you, Harrow,” he said familiarly. “Looking for a victim? I understand you’re a shark at billiards.”