His disgust and anger were so great that he felt like leaving Mellor to his fate, for it would serve the freshman right to let him continue filling himself up and so lose all chance of making a decent appearance in the contests of the following evening. Then it occurred to Frank that after all there might be some little hope that Mellor could pull himself together sufficiently to make a good effort. In any event he was a Yale student, and as such Frank felt bound to look after him; so after the slightest hesitation he entered the side door of the saloon and opened a door leading into the small room from which had come the laughter and the sound of Mellor's voice. He saw the big freshman with a silly smile on his face seated at a table, holding an empty glass unsteadily in his hand, and trying to talk with three companions, each of whom wore a rosette of orange-colored ribbon upon the lapel of his coat. None of the three had been in the crowd with Higgins, so far as Frank could remember their faces. They did not look up when Frank entered, for they supposed, as Mellor himself did, that the bartender was coming in to get an order. "Fill 'em up!" said Mellor, stupidly, rapping his glass upon the table. "Letsh have 'nother round." His eyes were bleary, and although he glanced at Frank he failed to recognize him. The latter stood still for a second or two to control his indignation; before he spoke the bartender entered with a bottle of champagne, the cork of which was already drawn. "I suppose it's the same, gents?" he said, in a businesslike tone. "Shame old Shampaggeny water," returned Mellor, holding his glass upside down. One of the men at the table reached over and righted Mellor's glass, which the waiter promptly proceeded to fill. "Here'sh ter good ol' Yale!" stammered Mellor, bringing the glass to his lips with the aid of the man who had helped him to hold it steady. Frank could remain quiet no longer. He reached over the table, and with a sweep of his arm knocked the glass from Mellor's hand and sent it flying against the wall, where it broke in a hundred pieces. CHAPTER XI. A REPORTER'S INFLUENCE. The wine spattered in the face of the man who was helping Mellor. The latter looked up in stupid wrath, and then it dawned on him suddenly that the interruption came from his manager. He gasped, hiccoughed, sat back in his chair and tried to rise. Meanwhile the other two fellows with the orange rosettes had sprung to their feet, and were trying to push Frank from the room. In this the waiter joined them, and, for a moment, therefore, Merriwell had his hands full. They were lively hands, though, and in much less time than it takes to narrate it he had struck out right and left and landed stinging blows upon the faces of two of his antagonists. The bartender, who was a heavy fellow, who had probably had plenty of experience in dealing with tough customers, set down the bottle of wine and attacked Frank with great fury.