“Why don’t you speak in your natural tone?” asked Merry, sweetly. “You will injure your voice trying to disguise it by growling like that.”
“You go to blazes!”
“Thank you for the invitation, but I have found things quite hot enough right here to suit me. Now, if the tables should be turned, and you were to find it rather warm, it would be no more than fair.”
Both men seemed anxious, but the professed husband attempted to bluster again. His anger seemed artificial, however, and he did not impress anyone.
“Acts like a rooster with his tail feathers yanked out,” grinned Gallup. “He’s mighty mad over it, but the feathers are gone jest the same.”
Hodge had his lips pressed together, and he looked ready for anything that might happen.
A few words passed between the two men. It was plain they contemplated rushing on Bart and Ephraim in order to break from the room.
Frank strode forward quickly and grasped the bewhiskered man by the shoulder, saying:
“Let me have a fair look at you, sir.”
The fellow turned with a snarl, striking hard at Merriwell’s face.