"No, I'm neither. I'm old enough to know my own mind."
"I don't think you do. You're bewitched by her eyes and her way of talking. Her dialect sounds rather cute to you. Don't be foolish, Greg."
"Mrs. Morton, I tried to make you understand yesterday. There was a time when I believed I cared a great deal for you. That's all over now. You chose your own course, and you have no one save yourself to blame because there is now in my heart not the least spark of anything like love for you."
"You may think there's no spark, but I believe the embers are still smoldering and I propose to fan them into a flame."
"Evidently you don't understand men, Mrs. Morton. I don't think a woman ever yet caught a man by telling him what she proposed to do. It's a man's nature to pursue. He loves the chase. Let's watch this baseball game."
With the greatest difficulty, she repressed her annoyance and anger.
The game was progressing, and with Frank Merriwell in the box it became decidedly interesting. The second inning passed with neither side securing a score.
At the opening of the third inning Jose Murillo appeared on the field, attired in a fresh suit and looking cool and dapper. He carried a light cane and wore a straw hat. Glancing around, he discovered the ladies in the stand, lifted his hat, made a graceful bow, and showed his teeth in a smile.
To the astonishment of every one, the Mexican entered the stand and approached the party. Juanita Garcia was agitated and frightened. Seizing Carker's arm, she whispered:
"Don't let heem come near me!"