“I should be pleased to!” exclaimed Grafter. “But why don’t you stop here to lunch?”
“I invited him,” the club president hastened to explain; “but he said he had some business that he must look after, and so he could not stay to-day.”
“Oh, then I’ll interfere with your business?” said the shot putter.
“Not at all. The fact is, I’m half expecting some of my boys to arrive at the inn, and I wish to be there when they show up.”
A few minutes later Grafter was in the carriage with Merriwell, Hodge, and Fuller. Manton and his particular chums watched the four depart.
“Grafter makes me ill!” growled Manton. “He’s ready to bow down and worship Merriwell. Seems to think the fellow has some wonderful secret method of becoming a champion. Oh, hang the luck! Why did I fail to defeat him to-day! I’ll guarantee I can do it next time!”
“You should have challenged him for another string,” said Fisher.
“I couldn’t very well. I think I mentioned that one string would be enough. I said something of the sort before we began bowling. Besides, I was too hot over losing that string. I knew he would defeat me if we rolled another right away.”
Dent Frost had his derby pulled over his eyes. He was humped on a chair, his feet on the window ledge.