ere excited, my boy, and you imagined it."

"No, professor, it was no case of imagination; I know she called me
Frank Merriwell, but what puzzles me is the fact that this young cad,
Raymond, was determined I should not speak with her, and she was carried
away quickly. Why should they wish to keep us from having a few words of
conversation?"

"That is a question I cannot answer, Frank."

"There's a mystery here, professor--a mystery I mean to solve. I am
going to find out who the Queen of Flowers really is."

"And get into more trouble, you hot-headed young rascal. I should think
you were in trouble enough already, with a possible duel impending."

A twinkle of mischief showed in Frank's eyes.

"How about yourself, professor?"

"Oh, the young scoundrel won't dare to meet me," blustered Scotch,
throwing out his chest and strutting about the room.

"But he is not the one you will have to meet. You exchanged cards with
Colonel La Salle Vallier."

"As a mere matter of courtesy."

"That might go in the North, but you exchanged under peculiar
circumstances, and, taking everything into consideration, I have no
doubt but you will be waited on by a friend of Colonel Vallier. You will
have to meet him."

"Hey!" roared the professor, turning pale. "Is it possible that such a
result will come from a mere matter of politeness? Why, I'm no fighter,
Frank--I'm no blood-and-thunder ruffian! I did not mean to hint that I
wished to meet the colonel on the field of honor."

"But you have, and you can't back out now. You heard what Manuel Mazaro
had to say about him. He is a dead shot and a skilled swordsman. Oh,
professor, my heart bleeds for you! But you shall have a great funeral,
and I'll plant tiddly-wink posies all over your grave."

"Caesar's ghost!" groaned Scotch, collapsing on a chair, and looking very
ill indeed. "This is a terrible scrape! I don't feel well. I fear I am
going to be very ill."

CHAPTER XVI.

PROFESSOR SCOTCH FEELS ILL.

Frank found it impossible to restrain his laughter longer, and he gave
way to it.

"Ha, ha, ha!" he merrily shouted. "You surely look ill, professor! I'd
like to have your picture now! Ha, ha, ha! It would make a first-rate
picture for a comic paper."

"This is no laughing matter," came dolefully from Scotch. "I don't know
how to fire a pistol, and I never had a sword in my hand in all my life.
And to think of standing up and being shot full of holes or carved like