Frank’s interest in Browning grew.

“And you say he is backing Diamond?”

“That’s the way it looks from the road.”

“Well, Mr. Bruce Browning may need some attention.  It is he who puts the sophs up to their jobs on us.  We ought to put up a big one on him.”

“That’s right! that’s right!”

“Merry,” said Jones, “set the complicated machinery of your fertile brain to work and see what it will bring forth.”

“That’s right! that’s right!”

“I’ll have to take time to think it over.”

“We have a few soph scalps,” grinned Rattleton, pointing to a number of caps with which the walls were decorated, all of which had been snatched from the heads of sophomores.  “Have the rest of you fellows done as well?”

“I have lost two,” confessed Dan Dorman.  “They seem to single me out as easy fruit.”

“And haven’t you made an attempt to get one in return?” asked Bandy Robinson.

“I haven’t had a good chance.”

“If you wait for a good chance you’ll never get a scalp.  You must snatch ’em whenever you can.”

“By Jove!” laughed Frank, “this talk about scalps has given me an idea.”

“Let’s have it!” exclaimed several of the boys in unison.

“Not now,” he said.  “Wait till I have perfected it.”

Roll Ditson strolled in, smoking a cigarette, and said: 

“Hello, Merry!  Hello, fellows!  What’s up?  Council of war?”

“Just that,” said Dan Dorman.  “Merry is perfecting a scheme to put a horse on Browning.”

“Eh?  Browning?  Great Scott!  Is that so?  He’s a bad man to monkey with.  Better let him alone, Merry.”

Ditson had a patronizing way that was offensive to Frank, who had given him numberless digs; but he was too thick to tumble or he deliberately refused to take Merriwell’s words as they were intended.

“You’ll have to kick him before he knows he’s not wanted,” Rattleton had said.

“Thank you for your advice,” said Frank, with mild sarcasm—­“thank you exceedingly!  Perhaps you are right.”

“Oh, I know I am.  I don’t want to get the king after me, and I don’t believe you care to have him on your trail.  He is the most influential soph in college.  Why, his name is on a table down at Morey’s.”

Ditson looked around as if his last statement had settled the question of Browning’s vast superiority over all sophomores.

Morey’s was the favorite resort of the students, and no freshman could enter there.  It was an old frame house, with low-posted rooms, and there one could drink everything except beer.  No beer could be had at Morey’s.

Morey’s was headquarters for the Society of the Cup.  This cup had six handles and was kept in a locked closet.  On the cup was engraved in large letters the word “Velvet,” which is a well-known Yale drink, composed of champagne and Dublin stout, a drink that is mild and soft, but has a terrific “kick.”