“My boy,” he breathed, “take her, with my blessing. Now we can work in unison and harmony. I’m delighted! Let’s get those chaps filled to the brim to-day. That will be a beginning. Then if we can just put it all over them when we meet them at lacrosse—well, we’ll be progressing. In the meantime, we may find still other ways of making them appear cheap in the eyes of their admiring ladies. Good luck to us! Disgrace to them!” CHAPTER XXIII. AT THE ROAD HOUSE. Frank and Bart found their new acquaintances inclined to be a roistering set. This seemed quite unaccountable as far as Branch was concerned. To Merriwell the fellow from Connecticut seemed like almost anything other than a roisterer. Frank talked with Branch about the game, and the Hopkins manager agreed that, unless something unexpected prevented, he would try to arrange it. He displayed a great amount of cordiality, but he chucklingly assured Merriwell that Hopkins would have a snap. “We’ll take chances on that,” said Frank. Terms were agreed upon. This was not difficult, as both managers knew the sport might not turn out a large crowd, and Frank was not inclined to be exacting. He was willing to play for pleasure, even if it cost him something. “You see,” he said, “I’m pretty near the end of my sporting trip. I shall leave for Old Mexico in the latter part of July.” “You’re choosing a hot season for such a trip, aren’t you?” “Well, it’s necessary. But you know they have all sorts of climates in Mexico. In some localities they have delightful weather the whole year round. Indeed, there are places where they never have such hot weather as you experience here. Baltimore is a fine place to bake in summer.” “Oh, Connecticut is good enough for me, then,” grinned Branch. “We’ve had some mighty hot weather already.” Fillmore and some others joined them. “Well, have you two fixed it all up?” asked Fred. “As far as possible, I think,” nodded Frank. “I guess it’s just the same as fixed,” said Branch. “And the game——” “We’ll pull it off if the committee don’t kick up on us.” “Good enough! I’ve called a waiter, and he’s bringing us a round of drinks. Shall we have them here?” “That suits me,” nodded Branch. Frank and Bart exchanged glances. A moment later a colored waiter appeared with a huge tray that was loaded with brimming glasses of beer. “I didn’t ask you what you would have, Merriwell,” explained Fillmore. “I knew you were a good fellow, and, of course, you’ll drink the same as the rest of us.” “I’m very sorry——” began Merry. “Oh, come, come!” cried several. “You’re with us, Merriwell! Of course you are!” “But I don’t drink beer,” said Frank quietly. “Why not?” “It isn’t good for me.” “Oh, rats! It’s good for any man!” “Do you mean to say you won’t drink anything, Merriwell, old man?” asked Fillmore, as if greatly disappointed. “You may bring me some gin,” he finally said.