“Tell me if he does!” said Diamond. “It will be soft stuff.”
“Soft stuff is good only for soft persons,” declared the man with the black mustache, as they entered the hotel and approached the bar. “I hope he isn’t in that class.”
Merriwell’s dislike for the man was growing, and he had noted with surprise and dismay that both of these men spoke to the Virginian in a most familiar manner, addressing him as Jack.
“He’s in bad company,” Merry decided.
They lined up at the polished bar.
“Oh, gimme a highball!” chirped Madison, his silk hat on the back of his head. “What are you absorbing, gentlemen?”
“I’ll take a little whisky,” said Herrick.
Frank was watching Diamond, and now Jack said to the barkeeper:
“I want a mint julep, Ned; you know how to put ’em together.”
“And our friend Mr. Merriwell,” spoke Herrick, placing a hand on Frank’s shoulder, “will he have a mixed drink, or will he take his straight, with me?”