“That’s my name,” yapped the little man. “Well, my name is Frank Merriwell, and these are members of my baseball team. We would like to know your rates.” “Won’t do ye any good to know.” “Why not?” “My house is full, an’ I can’t accommodate ye.” “Oh, come!” exclaimed Frank; “we’ll pay in advance.” “That don’t make no difference. Can’t take ye.” “We’ll put up with accommodations of any sort.” “Ain’t got any sort for ye. I tell ye the house is full an’ runnin’ over. That settles it.” “Where can we find accommodations in this town?” “Can’t say.” Frank was holding himself well in hand, although burning with indignation. “We would like to know the meaning of this,” he said. “Do the hotels in this town ever accommodate transient guests?” “Certain they do.” “There are only two hotels here.” “That’s correct.” “Well, we have applied to both, and neither will take us in. Where are we to go?” “That ain’t none o’ my business, is it?” yapped the landlord. “If my place is full you can’t force me to take ye in. Git out! I can’t bother with ye.” Merriwell felt like making trouble, but knew it would do no good and might do a great deal of harm. He longed to talk straight to the insolent little man who snapped like a bad-natured dog; but that, too, he believed would be a mistake, and so he turned to his companions, saying: “Come on, boys.” “Wait!” cried Bart Hodge, his dark eyes blazing—“wait until I tell this imitation of a real man a few things!” Before Bart could express himself, however, Frank had him by the arm. “Keep still, Hodge,” he commanded, in a low tone of authority. “It will be a mistake. Come away quietly.” Although he felt like rebelling, Bart submitted in mute protest, giving Jones one contemptuous look, and they all left the Mansion House. “Vasn’t id a sadness to haf der coldt und empty vorld turned oudt indo us!” sobbed Hans Dunnerwurst, as they paused in front of the hotel. Jack Ready sang: I ain’t got no reg’ler place that I can call my home, I mark each back-yard gate as through this world I roam; Portland, Maine, is just the same as sunny Tennessee, And any old place that I hang up my hat is home, sweet home to me. “Don’d dood id! Don’d dood id!” implored Dunnerwurst. “Id gifes me such a melancholery. I vish I vouldt be more thoughtlesss uf your feelings!” Browning growled and grumbled. “I’m mighty tired of this business!” he declared. “We’re having a fine time playing baseball in this town! I’m sick of this baseball business, anyhow. It’s too much trouble. There’s always something doing. I’m going to swear off and never play the game any more.” Dick Starbright laughed and slapped Bruce on the shoulder. “You’re a great bluffer, old chap,” he said. “You’ve been swearing off ever since I knew you, but I’ll bet you’ll stick to the game until you weigh three hundred pounds.” “When I reach the three-hundred-pound mark I’m going to commit suicide.” “Then you haven’t long to live.”