“I am sure of it. He is a coward!”
“Mr. Vance,” said Frank, “whatever else Bart Hodge may be there is not a drop of cowardly blood in his body. If you were a thousand instead of one he would not have run away from you.”
Vance colored.
“You think so,” he said; “but I don’t fancy you know him very well for all that you have been acquainted with him so long. I’ve never liked his looks. To me he seemed to be a chap who would hesitate at no crime.”
Vance saw that Merry had been investigating the grip, and he fancied his words would give the young actor-playwright a start, but Frank’s nerve was unruffled.
“What are we going to do?” demanded Garland.
“Yes, that’s the question,” said Dunton, anxiously. “We can’t play without Hodge to-night.”
“It strikes me that he has played you dirty, Mr. Merriwell,” said Granville. “And he is the fellow with whom you have been so friendly!”
“A nice friend!” muttered Vance, sneeringly.
Frank was sick at heart, but his calm face did not betray the pain he felt.