Frank Merriwell's Races

by Burt L. Standish

Thornton quailed a bit, and then, in sudden fury, he flung back:

"And you are an eavesdropper, Jack Diamond. Eavesdroppers seldom hear good of themselves!"

The muscles of the Virginian's face twitched, and his clinched hands were quivering.

"By accident I overheard what you were saying," he declared. "I was looking for a friend, and so came into this place, which I seldom visit. I was told a party of students had gathered here, and as I entered the room adjoining, I heard my name spoken by you—I heard you declare that, like a cur, I fawned about Merriwell when he had whipped me."

"And I say it again!" cried Thornton, hotly. "It is the truth. Your boasted Southern courage is a sham. You have shown that."

Diamond walked forward to the table.

"Mr. Thornton," he said, "you are among friends, and I am alone, but I brand you as a liar!"

As he uttered the words he picked up a partly emptied glass of wine and dashed the contents in Thornton's face.

"There!" he cried, dashing the glass to the floor;