"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 a.s.sociation 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 Spain, as a mere boy, while traveling with Professor Scotch, Frank had leaped into the ring at a bullfight in order to save the life of Zuera, the lady bullfighter of Madrid, and with a sword dropped by a frightened espada had himself slain the bull.

"Mendoza," he said, "I have seen your Mexican bullfights, and I once witnessed such a spectacle in Madrid. A Spanish bullfight is bad enough, but a Mexican bullfight is the most disgusting and brutal thing imaginable. Usually your bull is frightened and runs around seeking some avenue of escape from the torturers who pursue him, a.s.sailing him with their banderillos. At last he may be goaded and driven to a sort of desperate resistance. When he turns on his tormentors they permit him to gore the wretched old horses which have been provided as a sacrifice to glut the thirst of the populace for the sight of blood.

"I have seen three or four of those poor beasts dying in a Mexican bull ring at the same time, some lying on the ground, and feebly trying to rise, or staggering weakly around with their bodies ripped open. I have seen the bull at last stand exhausted and cowed while the one chosen to dispatch him walked up and did the job. I have heard the crowd roar with delight as the sword was plunged into the neck of the bull and the creature's blood gushed forth. Don't talk to me about such sport!"

Frank's words and manner seemed to scorch the Mexican for a moment, but he quickly recovered, snapping his fingers.

"Like most Americans, you quail and grow sick at the sight of a little blood," he sneered. "We hear about the courage of Americans, and, of course, some of them are brave; but I doubt the courage of any man who gets sick over the sight of a little good, red blood."

"Gentlemen," cried Hatch, in dismay, "I hope you are not going to----"

"Don't worry, Arthur," interrupted Frank. "It is plain that Mendoza and I hold quite different views. It is the difference between two races.

There will be no further discussion."

Mendoza sprang up.

"You are right," he admitted; "it is the difference between my people and your people. We do not understand each other. If I have been hasty in anything, forget it. I presume Senor Merriwell is right--from his standpoint. Let it pa.s.s."

Hatch was relieved.

"Let's go out for a little air," he suggested. "I wish to show Merriwell round the place."

"A lovely place," nodded the Mexican lad. "The home of my good friend Arthur Hatch, who, although an American, is a man I do not believe would turn squeamish at sight of a little blood."

Frank was quite willing and ready to go out.

The sun was hanging low in the west, its last rays shimmering upon the surface of the broad Hudson. The air was chilly and rapidly growing colder.

"It's fine here in the summer," said Arthur, as they strolled about; "but I prefer the city just now. Later, when there is ice boating, we have some great sport up here. Yes, that is real sport! Making a mile a minute on an ice boat is enough to satisfy any one. I'd like to have you up here for some of that, Merriwell."

"I know I would enjoy it," smiled Frank. "I've done a little ice boating; but not on the scale that it's done up here."

As they walked about, Mendoza gradually fell behind.

"I'm afraid your friend is sulking," said Merry.

"Let him sulk!" exclaimed Arthur, in a low tone. "He had deuced bad taste in making the talk he did, and I'm rather sore on him. Don't pay any attention to him."

Thus it happened that Carlos was left behind and dropped out of sight.

He was pa.s.sing a thick hedge, when suddenly from the opposite side rose the head and shoulders of a boy nearly his own age, and somewhat resembling him in general appearance. This boy whistled a soft signal and called the name of Carlos, who turned in surprise and saw him.

For a moment Mendoza stood staring in a surprised and bewildered way.

Then his eyes gleamed, and he exclaimed:

"As I live, it is Felipe Jalisco!"

The boy beyond the hedge spoke in Spanish.

"I have been watching for you, Carlos, for I saw you enter that house.

Join me quickly."

There was an opening in the hedge, and through this Mendoza hastened, the two boys falling into each other's arms like long-lost brothers.

"How comes it that you are here?" questioned Carlos, still betraying his amazement.

"Come away into the wooded hollow down yonder," invited Felipe. "I will then tell you. I do not wish to be seen by any one but you."

Together they descended into the little hollow through which ran a stream that was spanned by a rustic bridge. They sat down on the bridge staring at each other with a strange expression of delight and affection in their eyes.

"I knew it would surprise you to see me," said Felipe.

"Is that strange? When last we met it was thousands of miles away in our own country. I told you then that my father had promised to send me here to learn some of the business ways of these miserable gringoes."

"I remember; and I told you that I had found an old doc.u.ment that would make me very rich."

"Yes, Felipe. Are you rich now?"

"Not yet; but I shall be soon."

"I am glad, for you are my dearest friend. Did your search for riches bring you so far?"