“Let him keep away from me! I go armed, and I will not hold myself responsible! If Merriwell were here now——”
“He is!”
Frank himself strode into the room. He had come to the house with young Jim Brander, who had let him in without ringing. In the hall Merry had heard what was passing in the parlor, and there was a terrible look on his face as he strode toward the soldier.
Swift leaped backward, his right hand jerking out a pistol. With a spring, Frank was on him, grasped his wrist and wrenched the weapon from his hand.
“I think you have been drinking this morning, sir,” he cried grimly, as he held the other helpless and turned toward the door. “Jim, fling open the front door.”
Jim Brander, who had been peering into the room, hastened to obey. Merry quickly carried the resisting fellow from the parlor, saying as he did so:
“You have made some very nasty threats, Swift, but you had better think twice before you attempt to carry any of them out. And if you annoy Miss Burrage again, I’ll thrash you till you’ll need a doctor for a week.”
Then, having reached the front door, he proceeded to kick Roy Swift down the steps.