oh, but you do not drink fizz, do you, Merriwell?"

"No," said Frank; "but I am no temperance crank, and I do not make
myself offensive by trying to convince everybody else that men who do
drink are fools. College lads should have brains enough to know what
they want and what they do not want, and it is impertinent for any
fellow to go around trying to make Good Templars of men who enjoy a
glass of beer or wine now and then."

Creighton impulsively grasped Frank's hand.

"Merriwell," he cried, "by example you are the best possible temperance
lecture, and you will make more converts by keeping still than by
preaching."

"There may be something in that," admitted Frank. "I knew a parson once
on a time who never mentioned religion unless some one broached the
subject, except when he was in the pulpit. His name was Lamfear. He did
not go around with his face drawn down, asking everybody if they had
received salvation and loved the Lord. I admired him more than any
parson I ever knew, and I used to go to his church Sundays to hear him
preach. He was a good man, although he seemed to enjoy seeing boys play
baseball and skate and coast and fly kites. I remember that one time he
put on skates himself, and took a spin on the river with the boys and
girls. Now I know that man did more good by keeping still about religion
than he could have done had he dinned it into the ears of everybody he
met. Every one saw he was a good man, for his daily life told that. All
the young folks admired him as much as they disliked another old parson
who was forever talking about the wickedness of the world and the
goodness of the Lord, and collaring persons everywhere to ask them why
they did not attend church oftener. Good old Parson Lamfear! May his
tribe increase!"

"Well," said Griswold, "we'll let Parson Lamfear rest. What we want to
know is if you are with us to-night."

"To go, or not to go? that is the burning question," murmured Browning,
as, still stretched on his back, he struck a match, lighted a cigarette,
dropped part of the match on his chin, and gave a howl of pain.

Frank suddenly made up his mind.

"I'll go," he said.

CHAPTER XXV.

THE THEATRE PARTY.

It was a gay party that left South Middle that evening and started for
the theatre. Merriwell had not said a word to Rattleton concerning the
receipt of the second warning. A spirit of sheer reckless defiance led
him to accept the invitation to the theatre, ev