"Oh, damn the Colonel!" Frank cried angrily, wondering why any one should meddle with his heart-affairs.
And as he spoke the Colonel entered hurriedly, evidently bearing news of import.
Startled by the young man's earnest words, he stopped short in astonishment. "Why—what's that, sir?" he exclaimed amazed, and then, seeing clearly that he had broken in upon a fervent sentimental situation and unwilling to believe that Frank could really have meant him when he had been so emphatic, turned his thoughts, again, to the news which had brought him in such haste.
"I say," he said, excitedly, "I've been cross-examining that rascal, Ike, and I've found out who smuggled the whiskey to him."
"Who was it?" Madge and Frank cried almost in unison.
"That double-distilled, three-ply scoundrel, Horace Holton," said the Colonel, angrily.
"Holton!" Frank exclaimed. "I wouldn't have believed it!"
"I would," Madge commented.
"I'll find him and settle with him for it!" Frank angrily exclaimed.
"I'm afraid that's easier said than done," the Colonel answered, "but I'm with you, and we'll do our best."