"Well, I should say not! I have no reason to admire him."
"Nor I! I despise him, and I am willing he should know it. Wait till my ankle gets well."
"What will you do then?"
"I am making no talk about what I'll do," said Marline, lowering his voice and hissing forth the words; "but Frank Merriwell had better steer clear of me."
"He is a bad man to have for an enemy," said Harris, "I know, for he is my enemy."
"How does he happen to be your enemy?" asked Marline. "You are not in athletics. What made him your enemy?"
Harris hesitated, and then said:
"Some time ago he wrongfully accused me of cheating at cards. I have hated him ever since."
A sudden change came over Marline. He remembered now. He had heard something about it at the time, but it had slipped his mind. He remembered that he had heard from a reliable source that Merriwell had exposed Harris in a crooked game.
Involuntarily, Marline drew away from Harris. The lad from South Carolina had very high ideas of honor, and he could feel nothing but contempt for a card sharp. Sometimes he played cards himself, but he would have died rather than do a crooked or dishonorable thing. A moment before, he had seemed to feel a bond between himself and Sport, as they were both enemies to Merriwell, but now there was a feeling of repulsion.