“I don’t want to quarrel with you,” said Merriwell, “and I won’t, unless I’m driven to it. I’m willing to settle this thing in one way, and in one way only. We will pick three disinterested persons who know something about violins. Let them set a value on the instrument. You stand half the loss for carelessly leaving it in a path which, by your admission, is not wholly private, and I will stand the other half for what I did.” “Thot’s talk, Merry, me b’y!” shouted Barney Mulloy, who was itching for a “scrap” with these campers. Hammond gave Barney a quick glance of hate. “I’ll do nothing of the kind,” he asserted, turning again to Frank. “You pay me a hundred dollars, or I’ll have it out of your hide!” “Oh, you will, will you?” said Merriwell, facing him, and laughing lightly. “Jump right in, whenever you are ready to begin!” One of Hammond’s followers, seeing that, in spite of the lightness of his manner, Frank Merriwell meant to fight, caught Hammond by the shoulders and drew him back. “Let me at him!” cried Hammond, becoming furious in an instant, and making a seeming attempt to break away from his friend. “Let me go, I tell you! I’ll pound the face off him!” “Let him go, as he is so anxious!” laughed Merriwell. “I’m willing he shall begin the pounding at once.” At this, another of Hammond’s friends took hold of him, not liking the looks of Merriwell’s backers, and the two began to force the enraged lad through the screen of bushes in the direction of the invisible camp. “Here is his violin,” said Merriwell, tossing it after them. “I am sorry I ran into it, and am willing to do whatever is fair. When he is in the same frame of mind, let him come down to the hotel at the village, and we will try to talk the thing over amicably. I will be his friend, if he will let me; or his enemy, if he prefers it that way!” CHAPTER II—THE LAKE LILY ATHLETIC CLUB Frank Merriwell’s party was scarcely installed in the Blue Ridge Hotel when two visitors were announced. They proved to be a delegation from the Lake Lily Athletic Club. “We heard of your arrival only a little while ago, and we came straight up,” said one, speaking to Merriwell, who had risen from his piazza chair to greet them. “My name is Septimus Colson—Sep for short—and this is my friend, Philip Tetlow.” “I am very glad to meet you, Mr. Colson—and you, Mr. Tetlow,” answered Merriwell, who then proceeded to introduce himself and his friends to the callers. Colson and Tetlow were sunburned youths of seventeen or eighteen—keen-looking, intelligent fellows, attired in outing suits. “You’ll excuse us for the call,” begged Colson, “but you see it’s this way: We’ve got those cottages down there, with the flag flying over them, and hardly anybody in them. The cottages aren’t much to brag of in the way of looks, but they are comfortable.” “And you want us to help you occupy them?” laughed Merriwell. “Yes, and help us do up the Blue Mountain fellows!”