He tried to speak, but the words were choked back in his throat. He felt that Merriwell was seeking retaliation, and, for that reason, had purposely worded his challenge in a manner calculated to cut him deeply.
"Shame!" came from the lips of Tom Thornton.
Still the lad who had given the challenge smiled.
"I am meeting Mr. Flemming as he would meet me," said Frank, calmly. "I am using the sort of language he would not hesitate to apply to me. Of course I feel that I am lowering myself in doing so, but it is absolutely necessary in some cases to place one's self on the level of an unscrupulous enemy in order to meet and defeat him."
All this was said with coolness and distinctness, and it was as if Frank were deliberately sinking the knife deeper in Flemming's writhing body.
It seemed to be more than Flemming could endure, for he lost control of himself, and would have leaped toward Frank.
"You insolent hound!" he cried, through his set teeth.
Merriwell stood with his hands at his side, making no move, but he saw that Flemming's friends had grasped him and were holding him in check.
"Steady, Flem, my boy!" fluttered Thornton. "Remember where you are!"