“I thought you were in New Haven.”
“I’m not.”
“That is plain. But what are you doing here?”
“I was on the point of taking a drink,” said Starbright, endeavoring to regain his composure, “when the sound of your voice caused me to let the glass slip from my fingers. Bartender, give me another glass. I’ll pay for the one I broke.”
The man behind the bar, who had been picking up the pieces of glass and wiping the liquid from the polished wood, immediately sat out another glass and the bottle of whisky.
“What’s yours, sir?” he asked, looking at Merriwell.
But Frank simply shook his head, standing quite still and watching Dick Starbright, who, with a show of recklessness, proceeded to pour another glass of whisky. But Dick’s hand was not quite steady, and there was a look of shame on his face. However, having been detected in the act, it was plain that he meant to brazen it out.
“I know it’s useless to ask you to join me,” he said to Frank, but without permitting his eyes to meet the pair that were regarding him steadily with a gaze of mingled sorrow and reproach.
“What has happened to my friends?” thought Frank. “Here’s Starbright following in Diamond’s footsteps. I caught Jack just in time to pull him up with a round turn, and now I’ve got another job on my hands.”
With a pretense of defiant carelessness, the big Andover man lifted the glass. Frank’s hand fell on his arm.