Sport Harris stood at a distance and saw all this, while his face wore a sour, hateful sneer. "It makes me sick to see them slobbering over him!" he muttered. "He'll swell up and burst with conceit now. Hang him! He beat me out of my last dollar yesterday, and now I'll have to take some of my clothes down to 'uncle' and raise the wind on them. Ain't got even enough for a beer this morning, and my account is full at Morey's. This is what I call hard luck! Wonder how Harlow feels this morning?" Rolf Harlow had formerly been a Harvard man, and he was an inveterate gambler. Through him Harris had placed all his money on the Harvard eleven. Sport had tipped Harlow to the condition of the team, and the apparent fact that Harvard was sure to win, on which tip Rolf had hastened to stake everything on the Cambridge boys. At the close of the game Harris got away from Harlow as quickly as possible, finding him anything but agreeable as a companion. Harris knew Marline hated Merriwell, and he felt sure the boy from the South had nerve and courage, but, to his wonderment and disgust, Rob would not enter into any sort of a compact against Frank. "Together, we might be able to do up Merriwell," thought Harris. "The only man I ever, found who had the nerve to stick by me against Merriwell was Hartwicke, and he was forced to leave college. I'll get the best of the fellow some day." Later on, Sport heard something of the encounter between Merriwell and Marline that morning. He listened eagerly to this, and he was seized by a few thoughts. What did he care about Marline? If Merriwell could be led into a genuine duel with the lad from South Carolina, it might result in the expulsion of both from Yale, either if neither should be seriously injured. If Merriwell should be injured, all the better. If he wounded Marline, the whole story might come out on investigation, and that would put him in a bad box. Anyway, a duel between the two might bring about Merriwell's downfall. Harris set about stirring the matter up. He reported that Marline had driven Merriwell "into his boots." There were a few fellows who "took some stock" in Sport, and through them he worked to spread the story. Harris was industrious, and before another night all sorts of tales concerning the encounter between the rivals were in circulation. Harry Rattleton, Frank's old-time chum, heard some of the reports, and he lost no time in telling Frank just what was being said. Merriwell smiled grimly, and said nothing. "What are you going to do about it?" asked Harry, excitedly. "Nothing," said Frank. "What's that?" shouted Rattleton. "If you don't do anything, lots of the fellows will think the stories are true." "Let them." "I wouldn't stand it! I'd hunch somebody's ped--I mean, punch somebody's head." "The fellows who heard it all know if Marline drove me into my boots."