At the far end of the track they came to the golf links, where a number of enthusiasts were enjoying the sport.
At this moment, seemingly in an accidental manner, Ross Cleaves, the champion of the club, accompanied by Manton, Frost, Fisher, and two or three others, came up to the teeing ground.
“Why, hello!” cried Manton, with attempted pleasantness. “Here’s Merriwell. We were just speaking of you, Merriwell.”
“Were you, indeed?”
“Yes; I was telling Cleaves he ought to challenge you for a round of the links. You have a knack of winning at everything, but we think Cleaves could take a fall out of you at this business.”
“I concede the probability,” said Frank.
This did not satisfy Manton at all.
“Do you dare try him a round?” he demanded. “He’s looking for some one who can make it interesting for him.
“Then I’ll recommend Hodge,” said Merry, placing a hand on Bart’s shoulder. “He’s fairly good at it.”
“It takes some one who is more than fairly good.”