Frank spoke quietly, but his meaning could not be misunderstood. He seemed to regard with pity the victims of the gambler who were looking on.
“Who are you, that you are so particular about your reputation?” somebody asked.
“He’s Frank Merriwell, of Yale, and I’m his friend, gentlemen!” declared Diamond, at Frank’s side.
“Here comes Canfield!”
They parted to permit the serene, calm, well-dressed man to advance. His immobile face was inscrutable. He bowed slightly to Frank, speaking in a gentle, gentlemanly voice:
“I am sorry, Mr. Merriwell, that you should have any trouble with a patron of my house. I do not like to have such disturbances here.”
Frank looked at the keeper of the gambling-house. Canfield was interesting to him.
“The fellow brought it on himself,” said Merry. “I had no intention of making a disturbance, for I have partaken of your hospitality, though I have left none of my money here. I think you made a mistake, Mr. Canfield, in having any dealings with a man of his caliber. He is altogether too eager for his percentage.”
Canfield’s face did not change, though it seemed that a shade of color rose to his cheeks.
“Your insinuation is unpleasant, Mr. Merriwell,” he spoke, in the same restrained voice.