"That is precisely what I mean, Frank. Now, I have a plan. Several weeks ago I heard you say that one day you might find it possible to have around you here many of the members of what you are so often wont to call your 'old flock'—your old school and college mates, and some of your old friends from the Southwest. Why do you not make an effort now to get them here?"
Frank gave a little start, and then smiled thoughtfully.
"I will think it over, Inza," he said.
Early the next morning Frank sent out a number of telegrams to his old friends. To these telegrams he received replies in the course of the next twenty-four hours.
And thus it came to pass that the pilgrimage to Merry Home began.
Several days later, in a parlor car of the eastbound express were four young people who had traveled far. They were Ephraim Gallup; his wife, Teresa; Barney Mulloy, and a charming and vivacious Spanish girl, Juanita Garcia, Teresa's bosom friend. The men were old friends of Frank Merriwell.
All wore sensible traveling suits, and, in spite of the long journey, they appeared to be little fatigued. There was an expression of eagerness and impatience on the face of Gallup, and Mulloy seemed in a similar mood.
"By gum, we're gittin' back into God's country ag'in!" exclaimed the lanky Vermonter. "Arter bein' buried down there in Mexico so long it seems jest like heaven."
"Do they be afther callin' this a fast expriss?" burst from Mulloy. "Faith, but it crawls loike a shnail, so it does. Will we iver reach Bloomfield? It's itchin' Oi am to put me hands on Frankie Merriwell."
"Eet ees so glad I shall also be to see Señor Merriwell," laughed Teresa.