“At Ashport!” sneered Manton. “And where is Ashport, pray? A little country town somewhere on the Ohio River. Who did Merriwell meet there?”
“Amateurs from all over the country,” answered Phipps. “According to all reports, it was one of the most successful contests ever held in this country.”
“But it was not the regular meet of the Amateur Athletic Association of the United States. It was nothing but a country club affair, at most. Championships won at such tournaments do not count. It’s a case of pure gall for Merriwell to set himself up as the leading all-round amateur of the country.”
“Besides,” reminded Denton Frost, “he was defeated there by a local man in a cross-country run a short time before.”
“Who defeated him?” questioned Phipps.
“Oh, some unknown. I agree with Manton that he’ll be shown up here if he ventures to take part. We’ll have the leading amateurs in the East.”
“Gentlemen,” said Grafter, who appeared to have recovered his good nature, “if Mr. Merriwell enters for any of our contests, I’ll give you an opportunity to win some of my money, for I shall bet on him.”
“Better use stage money,” advised Frost. “You won’t miss it so much.”
“Don’t worry about me,” flung back Grafter. “If I lose some real money, I can stand it.”
“That’s a good thing for you,” grinned Frost, in a chilly manner.