“Then he’s not very modest, for he was forever putting himself ahead.” “He never put himself ahead in the world, sir! Others put him there. They recognized his abilities and made him a leader. This spring he is captain of the Yale nine.” “It’s a wonder that he’s not on the crew, also!” “He has been on the crew in the past, and he keeps himself in such trim that he can take an oar at any time. If anything happens that he is needed, as has happened in the past, I have no doubt but he will pull with the crew in the great race.” “A modern marvel, to be sure! Why, he’s the athletic wonder of the age!” “In some respects he is,” she agreed defiantly. “But he is a gentleman, as well as an athlete. You should meet him again, Mr. Swift; it would do you a world of good.” By this time he was beginning to feel the sting of her repeated insinuations, and he bit his lips, though continuing to smile. “I haven’t the least desire to meet the fellow again, Miss Burrage. In fact, I would not turn one step out of my course to do so, though, as a rule, I’m fond of meeting anybody who ever attended Fardale.” “He must have offended you greatly, sir?” “Oh, not at all!” “I presume you are not naturally envious?” “There was nothing about him that I could envy, Miss Burrage. I found him offensive, that’s all.” “But you will confess that he was brave?” “Why should I?” “The mad-dog affair proved that. Would you have fought that mad beast alone, with a coat wrapped round your arm to protect it from the creature’s jaws, and a jack-knife for your only weapon? Frank Merriwell did that.” “Because he was too frightened to run away,” laughed Swift. “I heard that at the time, and I believe it was told to me by a fellow who afterward became very chummy with him, Bart Hodge.” “Hodge hated him at the time, and he would have told anything to injure him. Hodge ran, and I was left to face the dog alone. Frank saw it. He tore off his coat, wrapped it round his left arm, and, with the knife in his hand, fought the dog till Mr. Snodd came and shot the beast.” “Then he fainted,” laughed the young soldier, with a sneer. “But not till he had saved us, and his fingers were fastened on the throat of the dog with a regular death-grip, his knife having been lost in the struggle. Oh, I’ll never forget how white and still he was as he lay on the ground!” She shuddered a little, and Swift laughed again. “And you’ve been ready to stand up for him ever since, which shows how loyal you are. I admire you for it, Miss Burrage. He should appreciate it, but I suppose he’s like all conceited fellows, and they seldom think much of their best friends. For it is a fact that Merriwell always was conceited.” “Thank you, sir!” said a quiet voice. Frank Merriwell was standing near. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER XXIII THE RAILROAD WRECK.