CHAPTER XIX.
THE YALE SPIRIT.
At the boathouse there was a scene of riotous jollification. It was impossible to exclude the overjoyed friends of the crew. They crowded in and expressed their unbounded delight in almost every imaginable manner.
There was a popping of corks, and "fizz" began to flow freely. Now that the great race was over, the crew were no longer in training, and they were allowed to drink as much of the wine as they liked. It was forced upon them from all sides.
Merriwell was almost mobbed by the fellows who were determined that he should drink champagne with them.
"You can't refuse now, old man!" shouted Charlie Creighton. "I saw it all, and no one suspected there was anything the matter with you. Just to think that you rowed the race with a felon on your hand! It is marvelous! And I won a cool five hundred on Old
Eli! Whoop! If you refuse to take a drink of champagne with me I'll call you out and shoot you through the liver pad!"
He was wildly waving a bottle of Mumm's about his head as he made this excited speech.
But Merriwell did refuse, and he did it with a firmness that showed them all that he could not be induced to drink.
"Queer chap, that Merriwell," commented Charlie Creighton, addressing his chum, Paul Hamilton. "Never knew him very well, but I've seen enough of him to know he's the clean white stuff even if he is a temperance crank."