This man had been drinking heavily. A bottle of whiskey and a glass sat on the little table before him. He was alone in the room.
He had seemed to suddenly lose all interest in the whiskey, and he was leaning against the board partition with his ear close to a crack, intently listening to the talk of the four lads in the next room.
The man had heard Frank Merriwell's name spoken, and that was the first thing to attract his attention to what the occupants of the next room were saying.
"That's the fellow!" muttered the man, hoarsely. "He's the one what gave me these beautiful peepers and pretty mug! I'll give him something worse than this before long."
Then he decided to listen.
"Wonder if them chaps is his friends? I'll jest see what they're sayin' about him."
It was not long before the man was able to hear enough to satisfy him that the lads in the next room were anything but friends of Frank Merriwell, and he listened with fresh eagerness.
He heard Ditson come in with the waiter, and caught much of the conversation that followed. Then Ditson sat down, and the plotters lowered their voices.
"That settles it!" exclaimed the man. "I'm goin' right in there and see if they don't want to take me inter the gang. Them college ducks will be jest the fellers to help me in gettin' back at Frank Merriwell."