It was Charlie Creighton himself who had entered the grounds, and was standing near the tennis court, accompanied by a stranger. The latter was a stocky-built lad of nineteen or twenty, with thin lips and a hard-set jaw, besides having a large neck that swelled at the base. He was dressed in clothes that fitted him perfectly, but were a trifle “loud” or “sporty,” to say the least. “Yes, I am a good thing,” returned Frank, also laughing; “and your sister has enjoyed herself with me immensely. If you taught her to play tennis, Creighton, she does you credit.” “Oh,” cried Fanny Darling, “now that Mr. Merriwell is defeated, I suppose he will say it is not polite to win from a girl, and so he did not do his best. That makes me tired!” “I shall say nothing of the sort, Miss Darling,” declared Merry, with unfailing good-nature. “I tell you honestly that I soon discovered I would not be in the game at all if I loafed, and I did my prettiest. I think I played my average game, and I know that Miss Creighton defeated me without receiving any favors.” “Really, you astonish me!” said Fanny, who did not seem pleased by this confession. “But I see you are inclined to be diplomatic. I don’t blame you, but——” She interrupted herself with a toss of her head, and she had hinted quite enough to bring the hot blood to Frank’s cheeks, although he pretended not to understand her meaning. Generous to a fault, it cut Merriwell deeply to be suspected of declaring he had been beaten fairly and not meaning it. A blow in the face would not have hurt him so much, but he simply smiled, saying: “You do me an injustice, Miss Darling.” No one understood how Frank had been touched better than Bart Hodge, and he growled under his breath, giving Fanny Darling a scowl, which she did not see. The stranger with Charlie Creighton was sizing up Merriwell in an open manner that was little short of insolent. “Merry,” called Creighton, “permit me to introduce Mr. Wallace Hegner—Mr. Hegner, Mr. Merriwell.” Frank came forward, and offered his hand, which Hegner accepted with an air that was rather supercilious, to say the least. “How do you do, Mr. Hegner?” said Frank. “I’m always pleased to meet any of Creighton’s friends.” “How are yer?” said Hegner. The touch of the fellow’s hand gave Merry a feeling of repulsion. He dropped it almost instantly. “Mr. Hegner is Burk’s trainer, you know,” explained Creighton. “You remember what I was telling you last night about Hank Burk going against Tom Jackson?” “Yes, I remember,” nodded Merry. “I believe you said this Jackson is backed by the Olympic Club?”