“You’ll get what’s coming to you if you keep it up!” thought Hodge. “If Merry doesn’t deliver the goods, I will!” Frank knew Bart would smart under such conditions, and he gave the quick-tempered fellow a glance of warning. Merriwell was the guest of the Ashport A. A., and he wished no encounter with the trainer. “I have not the least desire to say anything to injure you, Mr. Hollingsworth,” he declared calmly. “On the contrary, I am inclined to give you Englishmen all the credit you deserve in long-distance and cross-country work, and that is a great deal, for you stand at the head.” This seemed to quiet the trainer a little, although it did not wholly satisfy him. “But you have no call to come here and discuss me with the president of the club,” he asserted. “I know my business, sir. If you don’t think so, look into the records of Overby and Hare, of the Middlesex Cross Country Club, England. I trained both of those men.” “I know about them. Hare could not defeat Orton, the American, at the steeplechase in your own country. Orton won the championship of England. Already he held the championship of America, and later, at Paris, he became champion of the world.” Hollingsworth flushed again. “Horton was an accident!” he cried. “You never produced a man like ’im before, and you never will hagain!” “Oh, I don’t know about that,” returned Frank, with slightly uplifted eyebrows. “We’re just getting into such work in earnest over here. You have been training men for it a long, long time. Generation after generation of long-distance men have followed each other at your colleges. We’re beginning to press you hard. Twenty or thirty years from now you’ll find yourselves following in our lead.” “Never!” snapped the Englishman. “You Hamericans are conceited, that’s what’s the matter with you! Heven in this race I wouldn’t be surprised to see an Englishman take the trophy.” “But you have no English runner in this club who is formidable.” “No.” “Then it seems you do not expect one of your own runners to win.” “I ’ope one of them will,” said Hollingsworth hastily. “I ’ave done my best, but a man can’t make champions hout of poor material.” “Occasionally he can,” denied Frank. “Oh, I suppose you might, you ’ave a way of haccomplishing such wonders! Better get hup your courage and henter. I don’t think it would be so ’ard for one or two of our members to defeat you.” “You tempt me—really you do,” smiled Merriwell. “You ’aven’t the nerve.” “Haven’t I?” “’Ardly. If you did, as sure as my name is ’Erbert ’Ollingsworth, I’d wager you wouldn’t finish better than third.” “Just to show you I can finish second, at least,” Frank laughed, “I may reconsider my determination and enter for the run. In fact, I think I will.” “I ’ope you don’t back hout,” sneered Hollingsworth; “but, considering who is hentered already, I fear you will.” Frank had settled his mind. “Put your fears at rest,” he advised.