Thornton laughed sneeringly, showing his perfect white teeth.
"Merriwell is always making a record for himself at something," he returned. "I'd rather have his luck than be born rich. If any other fellow on the team had obtained the ball at that particular moment, he could have gone through Princeton's line as well as Merriwell did, for Yale's interference was simply marvelous, and a clear road was given the runner."
Emery shook his head.
"I think your memory is slightly at fault, old man," he said. "I am sure Merriwell bowled over at least one man, and dodged one or two others, besides going down the field like a wild engine, with Princeton's fastest runner at his heels and unable to tackle him. Oh, it is not all luck with Merriwell, Thornton, as you would acknowledge, if you were not prejudiced."
"You talk as if you are stuck on the fellow!" snarled Tom, in his most cutting manner.
"But you know I am not. I have held away—have had nothing to do with him."
"And that is the reason why I invited you down here to-night."
"So? Well, I thought there was something more in the wind than a simple discussion of athletics. What's up?"
"Don't be in a hurry. We'll come to that presently. Have another drink all around. This is on me. Push the button, Horner. I want to order more fizz."