“Slipped away,” he said. “Which way did she go, I wonder?”
Frank could not tell, but several pedestrians had paused, and a crowd was gathering, one of whom declared the girl had entered a cab which carried her up Broadway. Merriwell looked disappointed.
“She knew my name, and I did not find out who she is,” he muttered. “I’m sorry about that.”
The fallen man was recovering. He opened his eyes and looked around, seeming greatly bewildered. Then he saw Frank and struggled to one elbow, glaring at the calm youth, who quietly waited for him to rise.
“You’re one of them!” muttered the fellow, his eyes full of hatred for Merry. “I’ll never forget you!”
“I am sorry I had to strike you that blow,” Merry confessed; “but you came at me like a mad bull, and I was forced to defend myself.”
“It ain’t the blow,” said the man. “I don’t care anything about that; but you shall pay for the wrong you have done her.”
“I think you must be a trifle daffy, my man. What are you talking about?”
“You know well enough, blame yer! I don’t want to talk about it—here; but I swear you shall pay dearly for it.”
He rose to his feet, and, for a moment, it seemed that he contemplated renewing his attack on Merry, at whom he stared in anger and bewilderment.