But he gave Fillmore a vicious look, although he said nothing. The slugger was determined to “blow” the crowd. He insisted that it was on him. Frank and Bart could not refuse without appearing caddish, so they accepted the man’s invitation, although they now ordered ginger ale. “What?” cried several of the students, in astonishment. “Ginger w’ot?” gasped Galway. “Oh, say! dat’s a joke. Ye’re foolin’!” “No,” said Merry. “We have had quite enough to drink. I make a practice of stopping when I have enough. I always order ginger ale or sarsaparilla at that stage.” “I would meself,” grinned Galway, looking very hideous with his bruised face and split lip; “but w’en I have enough I can’t say sarsaparilla.” In vain Frank and Bart were urged to drink something stronger; they persisted in their determination to take nothing but ginger ale, and ginger ale they drank. On the other hand, although they already had too much, Fillmore and Hackett again drank whisky. A short time after that both these fellows were in a wretched condition. They insisted on returning home, and Merry, thinking the open air would do them good, besides wishing to get them away from the road house, ordered the team hitched up. It was necessary to lift Fillmore and Hackett into the carriage. Hodge looked after one, while Frank took care of the other. It happened that neither chap betrayed himself directly, although both mumbled things which were suggestive of their feelings over the outcome of the encounter. “Shay!” Fillmore finally exclaimed, seizing Frank’s arm and looking into his face wonderingly; “shay, Merriwell, how’d ju do it?” “Do what—defeat Galway?” “No; how’d ju drink all that gin an’ keep shober? Tha’s what puzzlesh me. Musht be reg’ler tank, Mer’well.” “I didn’t drink any gin,” laughed Frank. “That’s the secret of it, my boy. I never drink intoxicants.” “Oh, shay, come off! I shaw you take five, shix, sheven drinks—more’n that.” “Sho did I,” put in Hackett, bracing up. “You’re ri’, Fred, ol’ man—I shaw him do it. Reg’lar tank, tha’sh ri.” “You did not see me take a single drink of gin,” declared Merry. “When you insisted that we should drink something, gin was brought for us, with water on the side. We drank the water and left the gin. Black Tom drank the gin, and I hope it does not cost him his position.” “Wha’—wha’—wha’——” gurgled Fillmore, in a dazed way. “I don’t think I jusht undershtand ju. How wash that?” “We drank the water, which looked the same as gin, and left the gin, which was brought with it.” Hackett was sitting on the back seat with Hodge. He reached forward and jabbed Fillmore in the back. “Ol’ man,” he mumbled, “we’re a pair of eashy marks, that’sh what we are! We’ve been fooled. We started to get thesh fellersh full an’ have fun wish them, an’ they played it on ush. I want to go die shomewhere!” Fillmore was even more disgusted than Hackett.