"Hello, fellows!" called Merriwell, attempting to Be cheerful. "Thought I'd drop in." There was a sudden silence. All turned to look at him. Two of them sat with their half-lifted glasses suspended. Then somebody muttered: "Speak of the devil----" Frank was embarrassed. There had been a time when his appearance at Morey's was greeted with a shout of welcome. The silence was freezing. Marline was not there. Frank felt relieved when he discovered this, and still, for the first time in his life it seemed that there was a cowardly sensation in his heart. He knew he was not a coward, but the position in which he stood at that moment made him feel like one. The silence was maddening. His soul revolted against such a reception. For the first time in his life he fancied he understood what it was to be regarded with universal contempt. And the injustice of it was what cut him to the heart. A little more and the limit would be reached. He would go forth ready to fight, and he knew that his first blow would be aimed at Rob Marline. Thoughts like these flashed through his head in a moment, then he advanced into the room with old-time grace. "A jolly party you have here," he said. "I'm glad to see you making merry. Drink up--drink up, everybody, and have a round with me." Charlie Creighton was there, and Frank was sure he had a stanch friend in Charlie. The fellows fell to speaking together in low tones, casting sidelong glances toward Frank. None of them seemed eager or ready to accept his invitation. They seemed to draw a barrier about him, as if they intended to shut him out. Frank felt it--saw it plainly. He was quick to understand the situation, but he was not satisfied. "They shall be put to the test," he mentally vowed. "I'll find out who are my friends and who are my enemies." Then, one by one, he asked them what they would have to drink. Some had excuses, some flatly declined to take anything at all. Some showed their partly emptied glasses, and some said they had quite enough. Frank's face grew hard and cold as he progressed and met with nothing but refusals. He was coming to Putnam, Stubbs and Creighton. Surely they would not refuse to drink with him! Putnam saw he was to be asked in a moment. He hastily dashed off half a glass of ale and got up, remarking that he must be going. "Hold on a moment, old man," said Frank. "I am going to have a lemon-seltzer. Have a drink with me." "Excuse me," mumbled "Old Put." "I don't care for anything more." "But you will have one drink with me?" urged Frank. "No," said Putnam, shortly, "I've had enough." Then he sauntered toward the door. Merriwell bit his lips and turned on Stubbs. "You'll have something, Bink?" he said, huskily. "No, thanks," said the little fellow. "I'm going, too." He followed Putnam. Creighton was Merriwell's last resort. As old readers know, he had been a guest at Charlie's home in Philadelphia.