“That’s a story his friends tell, don’t you know, dear boy,” said Ollie Lord. “How can anybody be sure it’s true?”
“I don’t suppose there is much doubt of it,” said Gene, still with great gloom. “He is as strong one way as another, and that makes his position impregnable. He’s king of Yale.”
“It thirtenly ith a thwange thight to thee a king thpinning a top,” giggled Veazie.
“Come away!” croaked Hull, still with his eyes on the limb where the sparrow had perched. “Gene is in need of something to brace him up. Let’s get out of here for a stroll.”
So the Chickering set dragged themselves away, all feeling greatly depressed by the words of Skelding, for when he gave up, hope seemed crumbling ashes.
They had continued to hope that something would bring about the downfall of Merriwell. In Chickering’s perfumed rooms they had talked of the possibility. Even though every adverse circumstance seemed to turn in Merry’s favor, still they hugged the gasping form of hope and fanned breath into its pinched nostrils. Now they beheld it dead in their arms, for Skelding had grown tired and refused to fan any more.
In a gloomy group they left the campus and crossed the green. Few words passed between them, but all seemed to know where they were going. Into the Tontine Hotel they made their way and disappeared, for there they knew a room where they could be served with whatever they ordered, and no one would be permitted to trouble them.
It was fully an hour later when they issued from the hotel. There was a wild light in Skelding’s eyes, and his teeth were set. Hull had a flush in his cheeks, but his weak chin would have dropped had his collar permitted. Ives’ bang was rumpled, and he did not care. He was humming a tune. Lew and Ollie were clinging to each other, and making a pretense of being very sober, in order to attract attention to the fact that they had been drinking. Rupert had his hat canted at a rakish angle over one ear.
This is the Chickering set full of fuddle. Look out for them now, for they are real reckless. How strong they are now! You can see it in their faces and in the steadiness of their walk. And they demonstrate it by their language.
“It ith no uthe!” Veazie declared; “I don’t take a bit of thstock in thstorieth they tell about Fwank Merriwell being tho thwong. I think he ith weal weak.”