CHAPTER XXXVIII.
SPORT WITH A PLEBE.
"Merriwell----!" Bascomb's face showed he was little pleased by the appearance of Frank.
"I believe you were about to tell Mr.Davis what you would do in case he declined to bring a bucket of water for you, sir," said the yearling with chevrons.

"Pray, proceed!" "This--this is an intrusion!" grated Bascomb.
"Really so ?" And Frank's eyebrows were uplifted in mock surprise.

"I presumed I would be welcome to the tent of a classmate." "Well, you are not welcome here," growled the big fellow.
"What are you going to do about it ?" "Nothing.

If you haven't the instincts of a gentleman----" Frank interrupted with a laugh.
"Really that sounds fine from your lips, Mr.Bascomb!" he exclaimed.
"You were trying to intimidate one smaller and weaker than yourself a moment ago, and yet you have the nerve to talk of gentlemanly instincts.

You seem to be venturing on unfamiliar grounds, sir." Bascomb glared.