“Merriwell,” said Dunton, the following day, “I don’t remember just what I said in that restaurant last night, for I was pretty angry with you. I have been thinking it over since, and I’m rather glad you did just what you did. That little girl was altogether too unsophisticated. I don’t hold any hard feelings, and I hope you’ll forget anything I shot at you.” “It’s all right,” assured Frank. “It’s rather awkward for either of us to speak about the matter, and I’m glad you were the one to mention it. But let such girls alone, Dunton. The world is bad enough, and women have reasons enough for thinking men deceivers and villains. You’ll find you’ll feel better if you do your best to make them think they have made a mistake in judging the sterner sex.” “I think you are right about that,” confessed Dunton. “I believe I have learned a lesson.” CHAPTER XIII. A MISSOURI TERROR. “Stop!” “What?” “That!” Frank Merriwell shot out the first and last words; a local sceneshifter and stage hand of the Wilcoxson Opera House asked the question. Several days had elapsed and Merriwell’s company had reached Carrolton, Missouri, and Frank was watching the men who were bringing the special scenery for “True Blue” onto the stage. The local stage hands were assisting in this work, and one of them, a rather fresh young chap, began to tear off some of the cleats that held the sets together. To do this, he used a hammer, and he began knocking them apart in a reckless manner. Then came Frank’s command. The young fellow seemed astounded. “What’s the matter with you?” he demanded. “We can’t take care of this stuff in this shape.” “Let it alone,” ordered Merry. “I’ll have somebody look out for that who knows how to do it without staving it to pieces.” “What do ye suppose I’m hired for?” “You are not hired to smash my scenery. If you are, I’ll not allow it.” “Your scenery!” sneered the fellow, who did not know Merry, and fancied he might be the property man of the company, as he was a beardless youth. “Why, you talk as if you owned the old show! You make me tired! Some chaps like to show off when they get a little authority, and I reckon you’re one of that kind.” Frank made no retort to these insolent words, but his jaws squared a bit and there came to his eyes a look which the fellow would have known was dangerous had he been better acquainted with Merry. The local stage hand fancied he had settled the matter by giving the presumptuous “property man” a call down, and he now went at the scenery again, smashing at the cleats with the hammer. He did not strike more than a single blow, for, with a spring, Frank had him by the collar. In a moment, Merry took the hammer from the surprised chap’s hand, and flung it far away. “Here! what the——” The fellow whirled about and struck at Frank, but he was sent spinning to one side, to fall sprawling over some properties.