Silence shrugged his shoulders, lighted a cigarette, and stepped back into the car.
"Go ahead, Bearover," he drawled. "Make any arrangements you please."
"All right, Merriwell," said the manager, "we'll play you. Draw up that agreement in regard to the gate receipts, and we'll sign it."
CHAPTER XXXII.
A HARD PROPOSITION.
Directly after lunch Frank had Toots harness a span of fast steppers, attach them to the double-seated surrey and bring the team round to the front door.
Merriwell, Mulloy, and Gallup sprang into the surrey, waving adieus to the jolly party that had gathered on the veranda to see them off.
"Which way, Marsa Frank?" asked Toots, as they reached the gate.