"Oh, well, rub it in!" snapped Gordan. "Merriwell has beat you at a few things, or the stories they tell are lies."
It was Harris' turn to get red in the face.
"Who has been telling anything? Has Merriwell been blowing around?"
"I don't know about that, but it is said that your Harvard friend, Harlow, proved to be a card sharp—and you introduced him to a lot of fellows here. Merriwell got into a game and caught him cheating. If the stories are straight, Merriwell could have made it hot for you. He let up on you."
"Lies!" snarled Harris, his face growing dark, while he pulled away at his short mustache. "It must be Merriwell has been telling these things. Oh, I'd like to punch his head!"
"Yes, but you don't dare try it any more than I do," grinned Gordan. "You know he can lick you and not half try."
"Oh, he's a fighter, and I don't pretend to be that; but he may find me dangerous. I have been keeping still for some time, but I'm simply waiting, that's all."
"The fellows say he was dead easy with Hartwick, but that Evan would not let up on Merriwell."
"Well, Hartwick was forced to leave college, anyway, and I'd like to make Frank Merriwell do the same thing."
"Wish you might. It would give some of the rest of us a show."