Frank Merriwell's Races

by Burt L. Standish

"That's it? Then you did not really mean what you just said, after all?"

The smile vanished from her face, and she seemed a bit offended.

"Oh, yes I did—I vow I did!" exclaimed Tom, hastening to repair the "break." "You see I am all broken up by the surprise. I—I didn't think of seeing a young lady here—alone."

"I suppose not. I am looking for my cousin, Mr. Griswold."

"Griswold? Griswold? Why, I have heard of him. Yes, he is a soph. You'll find him over in South Middle. This is Welch Hall."

"Oh, dear! Then I was misdirected. I was told I'd find him here somewhere. I beg your pardon, sir."

"Oh, don't mention it, Miss—er—Miss——"

"Darling. My name is Grace Darling, and I have come down to spend a week in New Haven. You see I am from the country."

"I should say so!" thought Thornton; "and as fresh as they make 'em! But she is pretty—yes, she is a genuine stunner! A sort of wild flower. She is so innocent and unsophisticated!"