"Then he doesn't know what he's missing. Oh, stop if you wish, Arthur;
you'll be at it again within a week."

"I'll bet you ten dollars on that!" cried Hatch warmly.

"You'd lose. But be careful; perhaps Senor Merriwell is so very
scrupulous that he does not believe in betting. Perhaps he never bets.
Ha, ha, ha!"

The laughter of Mendoza was most irritating.

By this time Frank's dislike for the fellow was most pronounced. In
Mendoza he saw one of the companions of Arthur Hatch who was bringing to
bear a most evil influence on the boy. It was the laughter and ridicule
of such fellows as this that Arthur dreaded.

"I do not believe in betting," admitted Merry, at once. "By that I mean
that I do not believe in betting for the purpose of making profit, and
particularly am I opposed to betting on games of chance."

"I am afraid," said Carlos, with sarcasm, "that you're a trifle too
good, Senor Merriwell, for association with the rest of us. Did you
never bet?"

"Yes," admitted Frank, "I have done such a thing."

"Ah! Then you have reformed? You've had your fun, and now you think
others should not have theirs. Did you never play cards?"

"Yes."

"For money?"

Frank admitted that he had played for money.

"Then you have not always been a saint," observed Mendoza, in that same
irritating manner. "You have really lived--a little."

The insolence of the fellow in talking to Frank in such a manner was
felt by Hatch, who hastened to check him.

"Mr. Merriwell is no softie!" he exclaimed, seeming to feel that Frank
needed defending. "He was a famous athlete at Yale College. He made a
great reputation as a baseball and football player."

"Baseball--paugh!" cried Carlos. "I have seen the senseless sport you
call baseball. Sport! There is no sport in it. It is tame. Football is
better, but that is not much. For real sport, Senor Merriwell, you
should see a Mexican bullfight."

"That is what you consider real sport, is it?" asked Frank.

"It is--it is grand sport! It is fine to see the bullfighters in the
ring, to see the bull charging one after another, to see them fleeing on
their horses, to see the horses gored and brought down, while the riders
barely escape by a hair, and at last to see the chief bullfighter meet
the charge of the bull and slay the creature. You should witness a
bullfight, Mr. Merriwell."

Frank smiled into the face of the callow Mexican lad. No wonder he
smiled, for, years before, in Spa