“Good,” nodded Skelding. “Now you should be able to sit down and talk without getting daffy.”
“What’s the use? I know what you want to say to me. You fool! Why, Skelding, I thought you were one of Merriwell’s bitterest enemies!”
“I was—once.”
“But you’ve lost your nerve, just like all the others.”
“It’s not that. I have had my eyes opened.”
“Bah! Don’t tell me! You do not love him any more than you did before, but you have lost your nerve. I am the only man left with any nerve, and I get that from the right kind of stuff. They think Merriwell is the only thing that ever happened here! He has put them all under a spell—all, all! I believe he has put you under a spell! You’d never have changed like this if he hadn’t—never! But his time is limited! I swear it! Why did I load that revolver? Ha, ha! Why, for a dog, of course. When is the best time to shoot dogs? Tell me that, Skelding. Tell me!”
Gene saw that Defarge was in a condition of excitement bordering on frenzy, and he wondered how he was going to control the fellow. It would not do to leave him then, for he might do any desperate deed.
“The night is the best time to shoot dogs!” declared Bertrand. “It’s night now. Now is the time, and I’ll do it!”
He caught the revolver from the table.
“What are you going to do?” gasped Gene, starting up.