"Not a bit of it!" cried Charlie Creighton. "What's the matter with him? Where is he?"
"He's sitting back in the end of the car, looking fierce enough to eat anybody."
Creighton, Pierson and several others sprang to their feet and looked for Frank. They saw him.
He was staring out of the window in a blank manner, although he did not seem to notice anything the train passed. He was paying no attention to the gang of shouting, singing, laughing students, who filled the smoker and were perched on the backs of the seats and crowded into the aisles.
"Hey, Merry!" shouted Creighton. "Shake it, old man—shake it! Come up here! Get into the game!"
Frank looked around, shook his head, and then looked out of the window again.
"Well, hang him!" growled Charlie. "Any one would think he had played with Harvard, instead of winning the game for Yale! What can be the matter with him?"
No one seemed to know. Creighton went down and talked to Frank, but could get no satisfaction out of him.
As soon as he was let alone again, Merriwell fell to gazing out of the window, seeming quite unaware of the shouts and songs of the jolly lads in the car.
When strangers crowded into the car to get a look at the man who had won the game for Yale, having heard he was on the train, he still continued to gaze out of the window, and it was not apparent that he heard any of their remarks.