Every time the boys laughed Marline grated his teeth. Things had not gone right with him that night, and he was in an ugly mood. He had called to see Inza Burrage, and had attempted to make himself "solid" with her. In the course of his conversation he had made some disparaging remark about Frank Merriwell.
That remark was like a spark of fire in a keg of powder. In a moment Inza flared up and exploded. She told him Frank Merriwell was a gentleman. She told him Frank Merriwell was too much of a man of honor to malign an enemy behind his back. She showed deep scorn and contempt, and Marline left the house crestfallen and raging with anger.
He had been touched on a tender spot. To have any one insinuate that Frank Merriwell was more honorable than he, was like stabbing him to the heart.
The whiskey made Marline desperate. Little did he know that the boy he hated was in a most reckless mood. Had he known it, he would not have cared. There was not a drop of cowardly blood in Marline's body. He longed for an encounter with Merriwell.
At length, when he could stand it no longer, he arose to his feet. Some one was complimenting Merriwell on his nerve. Marline had not tasted the last glass of whiskey brought him. He took it in his hand, made two steps toward Frank, and flung the stuff full into Merry's face!
"If Mr. Merriwell has so much nerve, let him resent that!" rang out the hoarse voice of the boy from South Carolina. "We'll see how much nerve he has!"
Frank took out a handkerchief and slowly wiped the liquid from his face. He was very pale, and his eyes gleamed with a glare that his best friends had never seen in them before. But he laughed, and those who knew him best shuddered at that laugh.
"Mr. Marline," he said, his voice calm and modulated, "will you be kind enough to name your friend?"
Marline looked around. Sport Harris was at his side in a moment.
"I'll serve you!" Sport eagerly whispered.