Hodge had been washing up inside. He came out now, looking fresh as a daisy.
“Cleaves is a better man than they had in the St. Andrew’s Club, Merry,” he said. “I won by a lucky drive.”
“I told you it was luck!” exclaimed Manton triumphantly. “I knew it!”
But now Cleaves spoke up like a man and declared there was not much luck in the persistent manner in which Hodge had kept him at his best all round the course. He confessed that he had done his level best to get a lead on his opponent, but had found it impossible to draw away from him.
“I expect he’ll give me another opportunity,” he concluded. “I shall then try to square the score.”
“You shall have the opportunity,” promised Bart.
Suddenly Manton assumed a different air. Laughingly he walked over to Frank, observing:
“Perhaps I’ve been a trifle hasty, Merriwell; but you can’t blame us for feeling it when you and your friend come here and down us so easily. This is supposed to be a club of champions. If you were to defeat us at everything, the papers would make sport of us. As it is, some of the papers have been inclined to poke fun at us and call us a lot of bluffers. We think we’re the real thing; but you’ve taken us off our guard. Were you ever taken off your guard?”
“Oh, yes, I fancy so.”