The morning after Merry’s arrival in the city the _Bee_ noted the fact, giving him half a column and speaking of him as “that wonderful young American athlete who had maintained and added to his reputation since leaving college, yet who had persistently abstained from professionalism.” A list of his contests and victories during his Western tour was also given. At ten o’clock that forenoon Frank and Bart Hodge met Hugh Morton by appointment in the reception room of the Midwestern. Morton rose and advanced to meet them, smiling a welcome. “Look here,” said Frank, when they had shaken hands, “I don’t feel just right about this.” “About what?” questioned the Omaha man. “Taking you from your business this way. When I accepted your invitation to stop off here, I didn’t expect you to waste your time on us. Business is business, and——” “Don’t you worry. My business is fixed so it will not suffer if I leave it. I’m delighted with this opportunity. Yesterday I gave you a look at the stockyards and the city. To-day, you told me, you wanted to take things easy and just loaf around. I’m more than willing to loaf with you. And my business will go on just the same.” “All right,” smiled Frank. “You know your own affairs, and we’re glad to have you with us. Bart and I were talking about fencing on our way here. We’ve been wondering how much we have deteriorated in the art since quitting active practice. It has surprised us—and stirred us up somewhat—to find the sport features in this club. Bart has challenged me to give him a go at it. If we can have a set of foils and——” “Just follow me,” invited Morton. “I’ll fix you out.” As they were about to leave the room a tall, slender, dark man of thirty-six or thirty-seven entered. Immediately Morton paused, saying: “Mr. Merriwell and Mr. Hodge, I am sure you will appreciate the honor of meeting our fencing instructor, Monsieur L’Estrange. Monsieur L’Estrange, this is Frank Merriwell, the most famous American amateur athlete of the present day.” The Frenchman accepted Frank’s proffered hand. He was as graceful in his movements as a jungle panther. About him there was an air of conscious strength and superiority, and instantly he struck Frank as a person who could not do an awkward thing or fall into an ungainly pose. His training was such, that grace and ease had become a part of his nature—not second nature, but nature itself. “Monsieur Merriwell,” he breathed softly, “it gives me ze very great pleasure to meet wiz you, sare. I have meet very many of your famous American athletes. Eet is ze grand passion in this country. Eet is good in some ways, but eet nevare make ze feenished gentleman—nevare.” “I agree with you on that point, monsieur,” confessed Frank; “but it fits a man for the struggle of life—it prepares him to combat with the world, and you know the success and survival of the fittest was never more in evidence, as the thing of vital importance, than at the present time.”