“All right! We’re not all alike. You’ve been to see your father this morning?” “Yes.” “How is he?” “Far better than I expected.” “He was not hurt in the accident?” “Not much, although he was badly shaken up.” “And your sister?” “She’s quite well.” “By Jove! I thought she was done for when I saw Merriwell creep out with her! That gave me a terrible jolt! Do you know, Burrage, you have a confoundedly handsome sister?” “Yes, I know Inza is a beautiful girl,” confessed Walter, though he did not like the manner in which Swift had spoken. “She’s a peach!” the soldier declared. “I’m dead smashed on her, my boy!” “Better not be.” “Why?” “I don’t think she likes you very well.” Swift flushed a little, but forced a laugh. “That’s because I expressed my mind concerning that fellow Merriwell. I didn’t know I was touching her so hard. But for the unpleasantness of the situation, I’d stood by my statements. I never liked him. See here, is Inza in love with that duffer?” Walter shrugged his shoulders. “Better not let him hear you speak of him like that. I don’t know whether she is in love with him or not.” “Well, he’s smashed on her.” “How do you know?” “Oh, didn’t I hear him talking to her when he knelt beside her after escaping from the wreck. She had not recovered, and he thought she was dead. He gave himself away then.” “Well, if Frank Merriwell is in love with my sister, I am very glad.” “But marriage does not always follow love,” said Swift, in a mean, insinuating way. Walter Burrage whirled on the fellow, his face dark with anger. “Don’t make any nasty talk like that!” he exclaimed. “I have only one arm, but I won’t stand for it, Swift!” “Oh, I didn’t mean anything!” the soldier protested. “But I was led to understand that Merriwell and Inza are not engaged.” “I do not know whether they are or not. If I did, I might not tell you, for I regard it as none of your business.” Then Walter walked out of the room and left Swift there. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER XXV SWIFT DECLARES HIS PASSION. “Oh, I’ll bring you down off your high horse, confound you!” muttered Roy Swift, as he followed Walter Burrage from that room. “If your sister does not lower her high head in short order, I’ll make her do it—or land you behind bars!” Leaving the hotel, he made his way straight toward the house of Alvin Brander, on the outskirts of the village. There was a brass knocker on the door of the old-fashioned house, and Swift pounded it vigorously. A servant appeared, and Swift pushed right into the hall, saying: “Tell Miss Burrage that a friend wishes to see her.” “Will you give me your name?” “Frank Merriwell.” He was shown into the stiff old parlor, with its haircloth furniture, picture-album, case of wax flowers, and chromos on the walls. There he seated himself comfortably and waited.