“That’s right, chummie!” chirped Ollie Lord, flourishing his cane in a fierce gesture. “We’d not be afraid of him, would we?”
“No, thir!” cried Lew; “not a bit!”
“Of course not!” said Ollie. “If we were to meet him we’d give him a shove.”
“I’d like to give him a thove!” said Veazie, shaking his terrible fist in the empty air. But somehow his other hand stole round behind him and hovered over a place that had once been spanked by Merriwell’s open palm.
“Don’t talk about the creature!” croaked Hull loftily. “He should be beneath our notice. We’ve settled the fact that he is not strong in any way. We did that back in the hotel after we took the second drink. Now, drop it.”
“Yes, drop it!” grated Skelding. “He’s been given every kind of a chance to demonstrate his strength, but I know it’s been nothing but luck. I could have done the same thing, had I been given the same chance. But I never have a chance.”
“Let’s not revile Merriwell,” murmured Chickering. “Let’s try to be charitable.”
“But I wouldn’t turn out for him if I were to meet him face to face right——”
Tilton Hull stopped speaking with a gulp, for he had come face to face with Merriwell.