Jones made a motion as if to snap his fingers, but refrained from doing so.
“Better not try it when the opportunity comes,” he advised. “You know the occupation in which I have been engaged for some years, and it has been my habit to carry a gun or knife where it will always be easy to draw. I promise you to return your blows with bullets or cold steel.”
“The threat of a coward!” said Frank. “But I am looking for the opportunity just the same. If you pull a pistol or knife on me, it will give me all the better excuse to thrash you within an inch of your life.”
Now, Merriwell knew Hilda Dugan must have talked of him often. Frank also knew she had entertained wild hopes of meeting him again, and this sneering creature beside the table had betrayed that she must have sometimes told him she would never marry anybody but a youth like the Yale man.
Hilda was covered with mortification, knowing full well that Merry must understand—must comprehend the secret love she had carried in her heart ever since that day on Grand Lake three years before.
“Let’s go!” she entreated, beginning to tremble all over. “I am afraid I cannot stand it longer. I shall make a scene of some sort.”
“And the dinner is spoiled already,” said Merry, motioning to a waiter. “We’ll go.”
“And I’ll go with you!” muttered Jones.
Merry paid the check, assisted Hilda to don her coat, quietly tipped the waiter who aided him into his, and turned with the girl to leave the restaurant.
Curious eyes followed them as they passed out.