"Once a roader, aſ ways a reader”
THE MERRIWELL SERIES No. 165 -
RankMºrriwells
Steadying Hand
*15URT LSTANDISH




18 17
TTE s S C I E N T 1 A V E R I, T A S
sº
********

Books FOR YOUNG MEN
MERRIWELL SERIES
All BY Burr L. STANDISH
Stories of Frank and Dick Merriwell
Fascinating Stories of Athletics
A half million enthusiastic followers of the Merriweli brothers will
attest the unfailing interest and wholesomeness of these adventures
of two lads of high ideals, who play fair, with themselves, as well as
with the rest of the world.
These stories are rich in fun and thritis it, all branches of sports
and athletics. They are extremely higi, in moral tone, and cannot
fail to be of immense benefit to every boy wi: o reads them.
They have the splendid quality of firing a boy', ambition to become
a good athlete, in order that he may sievelop into a strong, vigorous,
right-thinking man.
AI, L TITLES Aſſ, $4.4 FS 1.W. PºſNT
1—Frank Merriwell's School 2 : –-I"rank Merriweil in Cam
Days y 25––fºrtunk Merri well's Vacation
2—Frank Merriwell's Chums 26–Frank Merriweli's Cruise
3—Frank Merriwell's Foes 27—Frank Merriwell's Chase
4—Frank Merriwell's Trip 28–3'r:unk Merriwell in Maine
West • - 29 –Frank Merriwell's Struggle
*—º Merriwell Down #T.; Merriwell's First Job
OUlt 31—-i\rank Merriwell's -
6—Frank Merriwell's Bravery tº nity s Opportu
t—ºk Merriwell's Hunting 32–-Frank Merriweli's Hard
OUIT Luck
8—Frank Merriwell in Europe 33—Frank Merriwell's Protégé
9—Frank Merriwell at Yalo 34— Frank Merriwell on the
** Merriwell’s Sports Roº (l
© *. -- T. 3. - *; ºr *
11—Frank Merriwell's Races 35 Fºerriwen's Own
# #: *...i Party 36—Frank Merriwell's Fame
- it * - _* . & à -
#. erriwell's Bicycle 37-gº Merriwell's College
14—Frank Merriwell's r - $) tº ill S -
#Eß ºf $º 38–iº Merriwell's problem
16—Frank Merriweli's Alarm 39—I'r; tık Merriwell's Fortune
17—Frank Merriweli’s Athletes 40—Irank. Merriwell's New
18—Frank Merriwell's Skill Comedian
*—ººk Merriwell's Cham- *—iºns Merriwell's Prosper-
Oil 8 ity
20-Frank Merriwell's Return 42—Frank Merriwell's Stage Hit
to Yale 43—Frank Merriwell's Great
#–#: *:::::::::: 5: - Scheme , -
22—Frank Merriwell's danger 4—Frank Merri º
23-Frank Merriwell’s #; 4 i." well in Eng
MERRIWELL SERIES
:
45—Frank Merriwell on the
Boulevards
46—Frank Merriwell's Duel
47—Frank Merriwell's Double
Shot
48—Frank Merriwell's Baseball
Victories
49—Frank Merriwell’s Confl-
dence
50—Frank Merriwell's Auto
51—Frank Merriwell's Fun
52—Frank Merriwell's Generos-
ity
53—Frank Merriwell's Tricks
54—Frank Merriwell's Tempta-
tion
55—Frank Merriwell on Top
91—Dick Merriwell's Trap
92—Dick Merriwell’s Defense
93—Dick Merriwell's Model
94—Dick Merriwell's Mystery
95—Frank Merriwell's Backers
96—Dick Merriwell's Backstop
97—Dick Merriwell's Western
Mission
98—Frank Merriwell’s Rescue
99—Frank Merriwell's ºncoun-
ter
100—Dick Merriwell's Marked
Money
101—Frank Merriwell's Nomads
102—Dick Merriwell on the Grid-
iron
103—I)ick Merriwell's Disguise
104—Dick Merriwell's Test
105—Frank Merriwell's Trump
Card
106–Frank Merriwell's Strategy
107—Frank Merriwell's Triumph
108–Dick Merriwell's Grit
109–Dick Merriwell’s Assurance
110—Dick Merriwell's Long Slide
111—Frank Merriwell's Rough
Deal
112–Dick Merriwell's Threat
113–Dick Merriwell's Persistence
114–I)ick Merriwell's Day
115–Frank Merriwell's Peril
116–Dick Merriwell's Downfall
117—Frank Merriwell's Pursuit
118–Dick Merriwell Abroad
119–Frank Merriwell in the
Rockies
120–Dick Merriwell's Pranks
121—Frank Merriwell's Pride
.
56—Frank Merriwell’s Luck
57—Frank Merriwell's Mascot
58—Frank Merriwell's Reward
59—Frank Merriwell’s Phantom
60—Frank Merriwell’s Faith
61—Frank Merriwell’s Victories
62—Frank Merriwell's Iron
Nerve
63—Frank Merriwell in Ken-
tucky
64—Frank Merriwell’s Power
65—Frank Merriwell's
I) ("SS
66—Frank Merriwell's
67—Frank Merriwell's
68—Frank Merriwell’s Club
09—Frank Merriwell’s Trust
70—Frank Merriwell's False
Friend
71—Frank Merriwell's
Arm
72—Frank Merriwell as Coach
73—Frank Merriwell's Brother
74—Frank Merriwell’s Marvel
75—Frank Merriwell’s Support
76—Dick Merriwell at Fardale
77—Dick Merriwell's Glory
78—Dick Merriwell’s Promise
'79—Dick Merriwell’s Rescue
80—Dick Merriwell's Narrow Eg-
Cape
81—"Dick Merriwell's Racket
827–Dick Merriwell’s Revenge
83–Dick Merriwell’s Ruse
84—Dick Merriwell's Delivery
85—Dick Merriwell’s Wonders
86—Frank Merriwell’s Honor
87—Dick Merriwell's Diamond
88—Frank Merriwell's Winners
89—Dick Merriwell’s Dash
90—Dick Merriwell's Ability
Shrewd-
Setback
Search
Strong
- ..,...wºr-
122—Frank Merriwell's Challeng- º
er 8
123—Frank Merriwell's Hºndur-
£10CC.
124—Dick Merriwell’s Cleverness
125—Frank Merriwell's Marriage
126—Dick Merriwell, the Wizard
127—Dick Merriwell's Stroke
128—Dick Merriwell's Return
129—Dick Merriwell's Resource
130–Dick Merriwell's Five
131—Frank Merriwell's Tigers
132—Dick Merriwell's Polo Team
133—Frank Merriwell's Pupils
134—Frank Merriwell’s New Boy
135—Dick Merriwell's Home Run
13.6—T)ick Merriwell's Dare
137—Frank Merriwell's Son
138—Dick Merriwell's Team Mate
139—Frank Merriweil's Leaguerò
;T). A . . .* . . *
Imli Miſſºl's Slaſſig Hill
OR
THE PUZZLE OF THE WEAKER BOY
By
BURT L. STANDISH
Author of the famous Merriwell stories.
STREET & SMITH CORPORATION
PUBLISHERS
79–89 Seventh Avenue, New York

Juvenild
Collection

Copyright, 1908
By STREET & SMITH
Frank Merriwell's Steadying Hand
-—
All rights reserved, including that of transiation into foreign
languages, including the Scandinavian.
(Printed in the U. S. A. )
FRANK MERRWELUS STEMDYING HAND
-*-*s-
CHAPTER I.
M o R T o N 's E R R O R.
It first happened in the third inning.
Farnham Hall was playing Wellsburg Academy on
the Wellsburg grounds, which were situated in the very
heart of that thriving little city. The score was two to
one in favor of the visiting team. But in the third
Wellsburg had a batting streak, and, with the assistance
of one bad error, filled the sacks.
Two men were out. Hooker, Wellsburg's most dan-
gerous batter, was twiddling his bat over the plate.
In spite of everything, Ralph Sand, pitcher for
Farnham Hall, remained cool and steady, apparently
not in the least disturbed by the chattering, shrieking
coaching of two men representing Wellsburg, who
were dancing grotesquely on the coaching-lines.
The crowd was “rooting” hard for runs. The up-
roar was terrific. Still Sand took his time, looking
around to make sure that the players were in the right
positions. He motioned for the fielders to move round
somewhat to the left, as Hooker usually batted to left
of center. - - - - -
“Play ball! play ball!” shrieked the crowd, “Malco
'em play, umpireſ” -
6 Morton's Error. -
Toeing the plate, Sand looked for the catcher's
signal. Behind the bat, in mask and body-protector.
bent Arthur Morton. He crouched low and gave a
signal, but the pitcher shook his head. Instantly Mor-
ton changed to another sign, and Sand squared himself
for delivery.
“On your toes, everybody ſ” howled one of the coach.
ers. “Hooker will hit it. He can't miss. Get up and
scoot when he smashes the horsehide l’’
The base-runners crept off the sacks. Hooker settled
himself solidly upon his pins and gripped his bat in
readiness to swing on the ball.
Sand twisted over a speedy shoot.
Hooker fouled it, barely deflecting it the least bit in
its course, and the ball spanked into Morton's mitt.
“Strike one !” announced the umpire.
“That’s the way, captain—that's the way,” piped
little Bob Keller from third base. “You’ve got him
cold. He will never touch it again.”
“Hit it a mile, Hook—hit it a mile !” roared the
coacher back of third.
“Yah! yah! yah! Wow! wow ! wow !” howled the
excited spectators.
The ball came over again, and again Hooker tried to
connect with it.
This time he missed cleanly.
“Two strikes '''
“It’s just as e-e-easy,” sang Keller. “You’ve got
him in a hole now, captain.”
“Put it right over the pan º' called Morton, at the
same time giving the signal for a wide out curve.
Morton's Error. 7
“You see he can't touch it. Give him a straight one,
cap'n.”
Sand tried a wide out, starting it toward the in-
side corner of the plate. The ball had a terrific
curve, and was fully a foot and a half beyond the pan
when it passed Hooker.
Still the Wellsburg batter disdained to make the
slightest movement with his bat.
“Ba-a-a-all !” droned the umpire.
“Get 'em over ! get ’em over !” said Hooker. “I
wouldn't go after one of those in a thousand years.
you're wearing out your arm, Sand.”
Ralph smiled in an unruffled manner, and proceeded
to hand up one that was high and close.
“Two ba-a-alls!" came from the umpire.
“Good eye, Hook—good eye" cried one of the bat-
ter's teammates. “He can't fool you. Make 'em be
good.”
Again Sand did his best to deceive the striker, and
again a ball was called by the umpire.
“Now you've got him ''' cried the Wellsburg captain,
Garry Grady. “He will nivir get it over.”
But Sand had confidence in his control, and declined
to use a straight one when Morton signaled. Not until
Arthur made the sign for a high in shoot did Ralph
nod his head the least bit.
The crowd was shrieking worse than ever in the mad
effort to annoy Sand. Many times such attempts by
the spectators rattles the wrong man. Hooker, how-
ever, seemed cool enough to all outward appearances.
Nevertheless, the fellow was anxious.
8 Morton's Error.
Farnham Hall had unexpectedly defeated Wells-
burg in the first contest of a series of three games.
The Wellsburg lads had gone down to Bloomfield with
banners flying, but had returned with those banners
drooping and trailing in the dust. They had been led
to believe that this year Frank Merriwell's team was
raw and weak, and, even though their own team was •
made up mainly of new players, most of the old men
having graduated the year before, they doubted not
that it would be the simplest thing in the world to take
three straight games from Farnham Hall. True, the
battle had been a fierce one up to the eighth inning.
In the eighth the Bloomfield lads put it all over Wells-
burg's pitcher, and secured a disheartening lead. The
memory of this had rankled like a barb, and had caused.
Wellsburg to work hard and brace up amazingly, with
the desire to capture the second contest of the series.
Hooker now felt that he had his opportunity to put
his team in the lead, and he was in no small trepida-
tion, despite his apparent calmness. He was not fooled
when it seemed that Sand had started a straight one
wide of the plate. He saw the ball break sharply and
come over the outside corner—and he struck.
Missed cleanly
Then, to the amazement of every one, Morton barely
touched the ball sufficiently to deflect it to one side,
and it went spinning away toward the “foul-board.”
“Run—run everybody " shrieked the coachers.
Morton chased the ball and whipped it to Sand,
who had covered the plate ; but the man from third had
passed over the pan, and the one from second slid under
Sand and was declared safe, giving the home team two
Morton's Error. 9
tallies and a lead of one, while the crowd went wild
with delight.
Morton walked toward the plate, his cheeks flushed,
his head down. . . -
Sand waited for him.
“What was the matter, Arthur P” he inquired in a
low tone. “You called for an in shoot, and I bent one
over the outside corner. It wasn't a hard ball to get.”
“That's right,” admitted Art. “It was easy. I
ought to have got it, but something like a flash of light
struck me in the eyes and blinded me.” - -
“Something like a flash of light?' * *
“Yes. I don’t know what it was or where it came
from, unless it was the reflection of the sun from one
of these tall buildings near the field. Anyhow, I
couldn't see the ball. I’m awfully sorry, captain.” -
“I’m glad you didn't forget your own signal and
think I had crossed with you, For goodness' sake,
don’t let anything like that happen again "
“I won’t,” promised Arthur.
Morton was in many ways a wonder. Having had
practically no training at baseball before coming to
Bloomfield, Arthur had suddenly and miraculously
developed into a rattling good catcher just when the
Farnham Hall team was in desperate need of such a
man to fill that position.
Lance Cowling, bitterly sore because he had been
defeated for the captaincy of the nine, had fancied him-
self the only man available, and had declined to act
as backstop for his successful opponent, Sand. Of
course Cowling came out to the field for practise, but
he did such poor work that he was discards, which
DO Morton's Error.
was precisely what he desired. Several of his frien
who were reckoned as good players and necessary f
the Farnham Hall team, imitated Cowling's examp
under his influence, and all were secretly chucklit
over the plight Sand would find himself in. Their a
ticipation had been stepped on, and their satisfactic
had turned to sour dismay over the success of t
tealin.
It was known that Frank Merriwell himself ha
taken pains to coach Morton as a catcher, and the di
gruntled ones took to sneering secretly at Morton ar
dubbed him “Merriwell's Favorite.”
Some of these sore-heads were with the crowd
lads who had accompanied the Farnham Hall tea
to Wellsburg, and Morton's fiasco at this critical jun
ture filled them with delight they did not dare open
display.
“That's Merriwell's pet,” whispered Fred Ferris
the ear of Eddie Anson. “I wish Mr. Merriwell ha
seen him then.”
Anson hid a grin behind one of his hands.
“Wonder what ailed him ''' he muttered.
“Oh, he lost his head. He lacks experience. H
lacks nerve.”
Eddie looked doubtful.
“I don't believe he lacks nerve,” he said. “He’s di.
played nerve enough since coming to Farnham Hal
First thing he did was to knock the packing out c
Bruno Hunt. Then, when Cowling and those fellow
shut him in the old tomb and Hunt attempted t
scare him by playing ghost, he tackled the ghost, an
Bruno got it worse than he did the first time.”
Morton's Error. | I
“Hunt is playing a clever game for Wellsburg,” said
Ferris. “He’s a corking second-baseman. I reckon
he's mighty eager to get even with Farnham Hall. It
was tough on him to be fired from our school the way
he was.”
“If he hadn’t plotted to down Morton by making
him out a thief, Hunt would be playing with our team
to-day.”
“Don’t call it our team. I don't think it fairly repre-
sents the school. There are several fellows who ought
to be playing on that team.”
“There are several fellows who would be playing
there, and you know it, if they had come out and
worked hard at practise. You and I are two of them.
We can’t deny it to ourselves—we played off. Cow-
ling thought that would disrupt the whole team, but
Sand has managed to pull together quite a bunch of
men. It wouldn't be anything surprising to see that
bunch go to pieces even now. There, Sand's struck
Grady out!” -
The inning ended with the home team a single run
in the lead.
CHAPTER II.
FOUND WANTING.
“Hold 'em down, Rifle,” urged Garry Grady, as
Martin Rifle, the Wellsburg pitcher, went into the box.
“We've got to have this game to-day. We'll never be
able to hold our heads up if we let them have two
straight.” .
“All I ask is support, captain,” said Rifle, as he lim-
bered his arm by whipping the ball over to Lambert
at first. -
Cole, the catcher, buckled on the body-protector and
adjusted his mask. -
Bloomfield's first batter in the fourth inning was
Sam Cobb, second man on the hitting-order,
“We’ve got to get after 'em, Sam,” said Sand.
“We've got to redeem ourselves for that last inning.”
“I didn't make any errors in that inning,” muttered
the tall chap with the big nose, as he advanced to
the plate. -
Rifle had speed. His curves were not wide, but they
were rather sharp and broke keenly. Cobb tried to
get against the first ball pitched, but it took a twist
around his shoulders and he missed.
Then Rifle handed up a slow drop and the batter
struck over it. - -
“Oh, yes! oh, yes!” laughed Grady, in imitation of
Bob Keller. “It’s just as e-e-easy.” -
“It's a snap!” cried Bruno Hunt from second base.
Found Wanting. 13
“You know this chap's weak spot, Rifle. I’ve told you
where to put 'em.” ---
Cobb said nothing, but he looked as if he longed to
fling his bat at Hunt's head.
A ball followed.
Then Rifle tried an inside corner.
The tall batter stepped back a bit and bumped out
an erratic grounder that dodged two infielders and
gave Sam a clean hit.
“That’s the way to start it,” laughed Sand.
Phil Knight and Clarence Campbell were on the
coaching-lines. •
“Get off that sack and never come back,” sang
Campbell, who had something of a reputation as a
poet and rhymster. “Don’t stick in your place; take a
lead from the base.”
“Pegasus is inspired to-day,” laughed Knight.
“Look out for Cole's wing, Cobb. Hi! hi! Careful ?”
Rifle drove the tall boy back to first by a snap of
the ball to the base. Then he held Sam close to the
sack while he handed one to Sand.
Cole was known to have a beautiful throwing-arm,
and, therefore, Ralph signaled that he would sacri-
fice, and bunted.
Cobb went down to second, while the Bloomfield
captain was thrown out at first,
Little Bob Keller, who had originally been misled
into joining Lance Cowling's force, but who had seen
the error of his ways and sought admission to the regu-
lar team, was the next man up.
Despite his size, Keller was a wonderfully safe
hitter. Lots of fellows called it luck, and, indeed,
sºsº"
-- ~~~&
14 Found Wanting. -
***, *-*
many times it seened as if Bob really had wonderfully
good fortune in getting hits out of little taps into
the diamond which would have been of no value to
another batter. One secret of this was the quickness
with which he could hit the ball, drop the bat, and get
a flying start down the base-line. Some chaps even
declared that Keller occasionally started for first be-
fore he even hit the ball. The way he could make
his short legs twinkle as he scooted down the line to
the initial sack was surprising.
Possibly there were one or two men on the team
who could circle the diamond in quicker time than
Keller, but certainly there was not one who could
get to first quicker. In base-running the little chap
used judgment and head-work, and that was why he
was already reckoned as one of Farnham Hall's best
men on the Sacks.
“Jolt it on the trade-mark, Bob!" cried Phil Knight
from the coaching-line. “We want this run to even
things up.” -
Rifle did his best to prevent Keller from hitting
safely, but finally little Bob put his bat against the
horsehide and sent a little hopping bounder about half-
way between short-stop and third base.
Had there been more speed in the ball, Garry Grady
could not have touched it. As it was, Forbes, the
third-baseman, fancied he could do better than Grady
and both went after it. Grady made a remarkable
one-hand scoop while plunging forward at full speed,
and apparently on the point of stretching his length
on the ground. Indeed, he reached so far in getting
hold of the ball that he could not recover himself in
-., -n.
Found Wanting. 15
time to whip it across to first for a put-out. Keller
was going down the line like a streak, and Grady
held himself in check, Scowling disgustedly as he dis-
covered Cobb making for third, which had been left
uncovered by Forbes.
“Got 'em going ! got 'em going !” shouted the Farn-
ham Hall lads in delight.
Wellsburg looked worried, for, with one man out
and two on bases, the visitors not only had a good
chance to tie the score, but more than a fair oppor-
tunity of securing the lead once more.
Grady walked toward Rifle, ball in hand, and spoke
a few low words to him. The pitcher nodded and
frowned.
“Look out for tricks, Keller" shouted Knight.
“Beware what you do or they'll get you,” sang Peg
Campbell. “They will get you on the hip if you make
a single slip.”
But in spite of these warnings, Keeler went down
to second on the first ball handed up to Gig Gage.
Cole threw on a line to Bruno Hunt, who covered
the base-line in such a manner that Keller was forced
to pass behind him.
Cobb made a good bluff, as if he meant to go home
on that throw to second. He leaped off third, dug his
toes into the ground and set himself in a position
which apparently indicated his determination to stretch
every nerve to reach the pan. -
Garry Grady cut in behind Rifle, reaching high
above his head and taking the throw from Cole, cut-
ting it off half-way between the pitcher's box and sec-
ond base. Then he whipped it back to the plate.
16 Found Wanting.
But Cobb had stopped as abruptly as he had started
—stopped and turned to lunge back to third. He
reached the sack ahead of the ball, although Cole sent
it over to Forbes in double-quick time.
“Oh, Mr. Grady, that was rather shady,” sang
Clarence Campbell in delight.
“You fellows will have to get onto something new,”
laughed Phil Knight. “That trick was played out years
ago."
The Bloomfield spectators were cheering. The
Wellsburg crowd looked on in apprehensive silence,
or muttered criticism and disgust among themselves.
Gig Gage proved to be a patient waiter. Vainly
Rifle tried to fool him with curves, change of pace
and clever head-work. The Wellsburg pitcher was
afraid to put the ball over, and Gage seemed to know
it. At any rate, Gig stood there and waited until
Rifle had handed him a pass to first.
The bases were filled. Herbert Howe was at bat.
One man was out.
“Rall, rall, rah Rall, rall, rah Rah, rah, rah f
Howe Howe Howe" bellowed the Bloomfield spec-
tators on the seats. -
Now this was the worse thing they could have
done, for it made [herbert extremely self-conscious and
anxious. At the very start he permitted Rifle to fool
him, and reached for an out shoot that he could not
have touched with a bat a foot longer than the one
he grasped.
“He'll be fruit, Mort,” laughed Grady, dancing
around between second and third and clapping his
:
Found Wanting. 17
hands. “Every man on his toes, now. Stop the run-
ner at the plate.”
Two times more Herbert Howe slashed at the ball
without coming anywhere near it.
“You’re out !” cried the umpire,
“That's two of 'em, Rifle—two of 'em,” piped
Grady. “You’ve got it all your own way. They can't
score to save their necks.”
It was Arthur Morton's turn to strike. He was
somewhat nervous, and Sand spoke to him encoura-
gingly, seeking to give him confidence.
“Don’t try to knock the cover off,” said Ralph. “If
you ever get against that speed of Rifle's you won't
have to slash at the ball to knock it a mile. A well-
placed hit will give us two runs right here. You're
the man to send 'em in, Mort.”
Arthur fouled the first ball handed up by Rifle, but
Cole did not succeed in getting under it, and the um-
pire declared a strike.
“That's just a little nip, Mort,” laughed Sand.
“Now take a square bite.”
Rifle pitched two wide ones.
“Got to get ’em over," laughed Knight, as Morton
declined to reach for the benders, “You can't fool that
boy. He has an eye—he has."
The Wellsburg pitcher bent a “whisker-trimmer”
around Morton's neck. Arthur struck again, failing
to touch the ball this time.
“Oh, yes, he has got a fine eye" mocked Garry
Grady.
“Don't worry, Grady, my boy,” chuckled Knight.
“He will hit it next time he lets himself loose.”
ſ
18 Found Wanting.
Little of this talk upon the field could be heard by
the spectators in the stand, for the crowd was cheering #
in the greatest excitement. Wellsburg was cheering
Rifle, while Bloomfield was howling for Morton to get
a hit.
“He’ll get it, too,” said Fred Ferris. “It’s just his
luck. If he laces out a clean hit now they will forget
all about that passed ball he had.”
Arthur was cool as ice, at last. He kept his eyes on
Rifle, making certain not to be taken unawares.
The Wellsburg pitcher fiddled a few moments in
his position, and then handed up a swift one. It
was straight over the corner of the pan.
Morton swung for the ball. As he did so a flashing
gleam struck him in the eyes, and then he heard the
ball spank into Cole's big mitt and knew he had struck
O11t.
Apparently, in that most critical moment, he had
been tested and found wanting.
* * * * *
CHAPTER III.
SUSPECTED,
After striking out, Morton behaved strangely. He
stood looking at first one and then another of the taller
buildings which crowded the confines of the baseball-
field.
“What's the matter with him, gone into a trance?”
growled Lemon, disgusted because he had not been
given an opportunity to strike.
The Wellsburg crowd cheered jubilantly. Rifle
strutted the least bit as he walked in to the bench.
“That was the time when a strike-out counted,"
said Garry Grady, slapping the pitcher on the shoul-
der. “I swear I was nervous. Morton is a fairly
good hitter.” -
“I’ve got his alley now,” declared Rifle. “I know
his weak spot.”
Arthur continued to cast glances in the direction
of the buildings that surrounded the field, slowly
adjusting the body-protector and pulling the mask
over his face.
Sand seemed annoyed, for he now handed up some
fearful speedy shoots, and, being a trifle wild, kept
Morton on the jump. The first Wellsburg man,
Inniss, struck out.
Newton, who followed, waited and walked to first.
Lambert succeeded in getting hit on the hip and was
sent down by the umpire,
2O Suspected.
The two men on the sacks were given the sign to
try for a double steal. But, somehow, Lambert failed
to understand, and therefore Newton was the only
one who stole when Sand pitched to Cole. Morton
whipped the ball to third, but Keller muffed, and
Newton was safe.
“We’ll poile up a hundred, fellows, if we want ’em,”
cried Garry Grady. -
“No use to rub it in, captain,” laughed Bruno
Hunt sneeringly. “Those fellows had an idea they
could play baseball, I presume. Well, they are dis-
covering their error.” -
It was evident that Lambert, who had been scoffed
at for his sleepiness, meant to go down to second at
the first opportunity. With only one out, it was
policy for him to try it.
Sand held the fellow as close to first as possible, but,
nevertheless, Lambert scooted with the first regular
movements of Ralph's swinging delivery.
Morton made a quick bluff to throw to third base,
and drove Newton back to the sack. Then he let
go for second base. -
Again that flash of light struck him in the eyes,
and he overthrew second by ten feet, at least.
Lambert romped on to third, while Newton, whoop-
ing joyously, capered to the plate with another run.
The rapid backing-up by Farnham Hall's center-fielder
was all that prevented the home team from securing
two scores on that overthrow. -
When the ball was returned to his hands, Sand
walked forward and spoke to Morton.
4 4 \ { } ~ : 1 - p” e
“What ails you, Mort?” he demanded angrily.
Suspected. 21
“How did you happen to throw a mile over Camp-
bell ?” * -
“Something blinded me again,” muttered Art, his
face crimson with shame. “I’m awfully sorry, Cap-
tain Sand—"truly, I am."
“You’re the only catcher we have,” said Sand.
“There's no other man who can go behind the bat
and hold me. If there was another man, I swear I'd
be tempted to take you out.”
“And I wouldn't blame you,” said Arthur; “al-
though I still protest that it wasn't wholly my fault.
Didn't you see that flash of light which struck me
in the eyes?”
“No, I didn't notice it.”
“Well, it did. I couldn't see Campbell when I
threw.”
“What made you throw, then?"
“Because "I had started to throw before the light
dazzled me, and I couldn't hold the ball.”
“Oh, come on Play ball, play ball !” shrieked the
members of the home team. “Talk it over afterward.
Don't give them all day to chew the rag, Mr. Unn-
pire.”
“Play ball !” commanded the umpire.
Lambert, trying to be smart, jumped off third and
made a bluff at starting for the home plate as Sand
retired, with his eyes on the ground, toward his posi-
tion.
It was a fatal thing for the smart chap at third.
With a snap of his wrist, Sand sent the ball over
to Keller, who lunged across the sack and tagged
22. Suspected.
Lambert as the fellow was trying to slip back to
safety, feet foremost,
The Bloomfield spectators shrieked their admira-
tion.
Lambert got a calldown from his captain,
Then Sand seemed to brace up, for he bent the
crooked ones over the corners and Cole reached vainly
for them. In double-quick order Ralph struck the
Wellsburg catcher out and retired the enemy to the
field, with the score four to two in favor of the home
team on even innings.
Up in the stand Punk Rogers and Snick Widgeon
had found Anson and Ferris.
“Wonder what they think of the “Untrained Won-
der' now P” sneered Widgeon.
“Say, but he's making a mess of it, isn't he, fel-
lows?” grinned Rogers.
“Don’t talk too loud,” cautioned Ferris. “We
might get this bunch down on us if we displayed too
much satisfaction over the way things are going.”
“If Mr. Merriwell were here to-day,” said Widgeon,
“he’d be proud of his favorite, wouldn’t he? How
do you suppose Morton happens to be acquainted with
Dan Hooker?”
“Is he acquainted with Hooker?” asked Anson.
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
“Saw them talking together before the game. They
were speaking in low tones, as if they didn’t wish
any one to hear what they were saying. I didn’t get
a word from Hooker, but I did hear Morton say,
- º
** ~ * ~ *** - -, ***
Suspected. 23 .
*I agree.' Now, I wonder what it was he agreed
to.”
“By Jove, that was suspicious!” said Ferris.
“Would you swear to it. Widgeon? Of course, I
know you're sore because they dropped you from
the team and took on Keller.”
“I’m telling you the truth,” declared Snick, with a
show of resentment over the insinuation that he might
not be. “Morton made some sort of an agreement
with Hooker before the game began.”
“Perhaps he agreed to let Hooker reach first on
what should be a strike-out the way he did,” suggested
Anson.
“But he seems to be letting things go to loose ends
generally,” said Ferris. “He hasn't favored Hooker
particularly.”
“But he started it with Hooker,” said Widgeon.
“That was a simple thing, too. There he was, crouch-
ing under the man's bat, where they could exchange
words without anybody understanding what they were
saying.”
“It's evident you're decidedly suspicious of Mor-
ton,” said Ferris, “You think he's trying to throw
the game to Wellsburg, don't you?”
“I more than half-believe it,” nodded Snick grimly.
“What could be his object P”
“Money, perhaps; possibly something else.”
“You know lots of fellows think Morton could not
be bought for money.”
“He’s nothing but the son of a poor man,” scoffed
Rogers, “and I’m dead sure he hasn't any too much
loose spending-money of his own. I’m also dead
24 Suspected.
sure that Wellsburg would rather pay twenty-five dol-
lars than lose this game.” -
- “Further,” muttered Widgeon, as the quartet held
their heads close together, “Morton is the best man.
to bribe, next to Sand. They know they can't bribe
Sand.” * * -
“If we only had proof of it!” muttered, Rogers.
“It’s almost impossible to prove such things,” said
Anson, “unless a man can be caught foul with marked
money. You didn't see anything pass from Hooker's
hand to Morton, did you, Snick?”.
“No,” answered Widgeon. “But still, they were
in such a position that I fancied something like that
occurred.” - - i
“Did Morton see you and know that you had seen
him talking, with Hooker?”
“Yes, he saw me.”
“Did he look surprised or disturbed?”
“Not a bit. He's got crust enough for anything.”
While talking in this manner, the quartet had man-
aged to keep track of the game, observing that neither
Lemon nor Campbell, the two last men on the Farn-
ham Hall batting-order, reached first base.
With the head of the order up and two men out,
Knight's warm drive to left field was captured.
“Now we’ll see what our friend Morton can do be-
hind the pan,” grinned Ferris. --
“You may see what he will do, but not what he
could do,” said Widgeon. ºr
“There's just one thing about it,” put in Anson.
“If he's sold Farnham Hall out, it seems to me that
he's begun his crooked work too early in the game.”
- ** -ºr- ** . . •-ºm-
-- --- *
*rº
Suspected. 25.
“Why so?” asked Rogers. -
“Because he'll arouse suspicion. I think Sand is
sore now.” - * • ..
“Yes, but what can Sand do? We haven't got an-
other oatcher to put in Morton's shoes. They've
simply got to keep him where he is.”
“There's Lance Cowling—if he only would •
“But he won't. Besides, I don't know what became
of Cowling. Haven't been able to discover him in
this crowd. Wanted to ask him what he thought of
Morton's playing.” ** = . * .
“Cowling came over with the rest of us.” .
“Oh, sure. He's here in Wellsburg somewhere, and
I suppose he's inside this enclosure; but he has kept
away from the rest of our crowd.”
“Oh, he's sore—beastly sore,” said Anson. “He
can't seem to get over it because Sand was elected
captain and Morton has succeeded in doing fairly well
up to the present date behind the bat.” -
Apparently Arthur Morton had braced up, for in
the last of the fifth inning his work under the bat was
errorless and snappy.
. Further than this, Morton continued to play the
same fast game until the score was tied five to five by
Farnham Haji in the seventh inning. .
“You’ve redeemed yourself, old man,” laughed Sand
with satisfaction. “Keep up the good work and we’ll
take this game. Keep trying every minute.”
“I will,” promised Arthur.
3 y
CHA PTER IV.
T II E FIAS H OF T [H E MIRROR,
The window-shades were drawn low at the windows
of an office in one of the tall buildings overlooking
the baseball-grounds. Between the bottom of the
shade and the window-sill there was a space of some-
thing like one foot. The hot afternoon sun beat full
and fair upon those windows.
The room was the back office of Sweat & Sweat,
real estate dealers. One of the four persons who
occupied that room was Casper Ash, a youngster of
eighteen, who had risen from office-boy to the position
of confidential clerk in the employment of Sweat &
Sweat. Ash was a snappy, well-dressed fellow, who
could put up a splendid front. Although possessed
of very little education acquired in the regular chan-
nels, he had trained himself in such a way that his
employers regarded him as unusually valuable to their
interests. He had also acquired a sort of superficial
polish which gave him the appearance of a gentleman
unless something happened to crack the veneering and
betray his true character beneath the surface.
Somehow Ash had managed to hide from Sweat &
Sweat the fact that he was a rather fast youth—
that he kept late hours, frequented questionable re-
sorts and was proud to be called a “warm sport.” On
this particular day neither member of the firm were
in Wellsburg, one having been called East on busi-
The Flash of the Mirror. 27
mess, while the other had driven far into the country
to look up a piece of property.
Casper Ash was entertaining in the back office.
His companions were three young fellows near his
own age, one of them being a particular friend of his,
named Nick Clay, while the other two were Lance
Cowling and Jim Keating, of Bloomfield.
Ash had made the acquaintance of Cowling some
time before the present day, and Lance eagerly ac-
cepted the invitation when the Wellsburg youth asked
him to come along up to the real estate office and
bring his friend, stating that they could sit com-
fortably at the windows and watch the progress of
the baseball-game.
On the way Ash dropped in at a saloon and ordered
a dozen bottles of beer to be sent up to the rooms.
He likewise purchased cigars and cigarettes,
So we now behold this quartet sitting in the most
comfortable leather-covered chairs they could bring
from the main office, Smoking, one and all, and sipping
the beer which Ash opened generously. Their chairs
were ranged in front of the windows at which they
had drawn the curtains low in order to prevent the
sunshine from glaring into that room.
In the third inning Cowling espied a mirror on
the wall, and hastened to secure it.
“What are you going to do with that, old chap *”
asked Ash.
“Have some fun,” grinned Lance. “The sun shines
in here so that I can shoot the reflection down onto
the field without the least trouble.”
“Oh, sº v, be careful,” remonstrated the real es-
T q
28 *— The Flash of the Mirror.
tate clerk. “If you're caught doing anything like
that——”
“Leave it to me,” chuckled Lance. “I won't be
caught. There's a particular friend of mine down
behind the bat. Oh, I love him I'm going to give
him a shot from this mirror.”
“Well, if you do,” said Clay, “you're liable to upset
him at a critical moment. Wellsburg has the bases
filled. Sand is pitching handsomely, but luck is against
him. If anything happens now Wellsburg may take
the lead.”
“Just watch me,” chuckled Cowling. “I’d like to
see Wellsburg take the lead. I'd like to see Wellsburg
trim that bunch of duffers.” -
“He’s pretty sore, you know,” whispered Keating
in Clay's ear. “Sand beat him out for the captaincy
of the nine, and then Morton was put in as catcher.
Lance expected to be both captain and catcher.’
Cowling gave the whispering fellow a quick side-
long glance.
“Now, I'm no sorer than you are,” he said, making
it plain that he had distinctly heard Keating's words.
“Both of us are out of the running. They’ve made
up a team and left us out in the cold, cold world.”
“Look!” exclaimed Ash. “Hooker is up. He
fouled that one. That's one strike on him.”
From the field below came the clamorous uproar of
the crowd. Hooker, the most dreaded batter on the
Wellsburg nine, hunched himself over the plate and
grasped his bat. - *
Sand bent over a sharp, speedy shoot.
Hooker missed cleanly.
|
The Flash of the Mirror." 29
“Two strikes!” they heard the umpire cry.
“Get busy, Cowling—get busy ſ” urged Jim Keat-
ing. -
Cowling attempted to find Morton’s eyes with the
reflection from the mirror on the next ball pitched,
but missed him entirely. It chanced that the ball was
wide, and therefore it made no difference.
“Look out! look out !” cautioned Keating, as Sand
pitched once more and Cowling again failed to locate
Morton. “You’re dodging all around him, but you
don’t seem to find him.”
Down on the field the excitement was at the high-
est pitch. Hooker had struck twice and two balls
had been called on him. Garry Grady was dancing
like a jumping-jack and howling that Sand could
“nivver get it over.”
For the third time Sand failed to put the ball over
any part of the plate, and a third strike was called.
“You’ve got to get it into Morton's eyes next time,
Cowling,” said Keating excitedly. “Sand will put the
ball over now, sure as fate.”
At last Cowling found his man with the reflection
from the mirror. He flashed the glaring light full
into Morton's eyes as Hooker struck the third time
and missed.
A moment later the excitement in that office cor-
responded to the excitement upon the field below.
Morton had missed the ball, deflecting it the least
bit as it struck his hands, and was chasing it while
the two men reached the plate and scored.
Cowling, laughing exultantly, lowered the mirror
t
!
30 The Flash of the Mirror.
and leaned it against the baseboard beneath the win-
dow. ** -
“Say, that was all right !” he chuckled. “He
couldn’t see that ball, Well, won't I have fun with
him? You bet your life I will !”
“He’s looking up this way,” said Ash. “You’ll
have to be cautious. Get back, fellows! Look out!”
“Oh, don't worry,” said Cowling. “They can't see
through that narrow space beneath the curtain. Say,
I’m going to have the time of my life with that lobster
Morton | LOOk at Sand. He's giving Morton a go-
ing-over. Isn't he hot under the collar? By Jove,
I haven't had as much fun in a month of Sundays!”
The third inning ended with Wellsburg one run to .
the good, thanks to the work of a Bloomfield traitor.
So delighted was he with his discovery that Cowling
continued to flash the reflection onto the field in the
fourth inning, although Ash was nervous about it and
remonstrated. Thus it happened that the fellow up
there in that window prevented Arthur Morton from
hitting at a time when a hit meant runs, and later he
dazzled him into overthrowing second.
In his satisfaction Cowling might have given it
away had not Ash urged Keating to capture the mir-
ror, which Jim did, refusing to let Lance have it again
until the score was finally tied in the seventh inning,
when Farnham Hall tied through a clean hit by Mor-
ton, who was the first man up, a sacrifice by Lemon,
Campbell's pass to first and Knight's stinging single
that a Wellsburg man failed to reach by about six
inches. Morton romped home with the tying run,
and was given a great cheer by Farnham Hall. {
\ .
|
The Flash of the Mirror. 31
Up there in that office building, Lance Cowling
Mas snarling savagely over the turn of affairs.
“Give me that mirror!” he cried. “If you'd only
let me alone I’d had Wellsburg fixed with such a
lead that Bloomfield never could overtake her.”
“But you were working the thing too much in the
early part of the game,” protested Ash. “You had
those fellows suspicious. They were looking up this
way.” * *
“Leave it to me!” said Cowling.
Through the carelessness of the base-runners, the
successful career of the visiting team was suddenly
nipped, and Farnham Hall found the score tied with
the enemy having a slight advantage by coming to
bat last.
Behind the bat Morton continued his splendid work.
He had long forgotten the glinting gleam of light
that had bothered him during the first of the game,
dismissing it with the conviction that it had been re-
flected by pure accident from the windows of some
building near at hand. -
It happened that Sand gave \Vellsburg no show to
Secure a run in the last of the seventh. He was
pitching like a fiend, and the l’arnham Hall boys
cheered him roundly, -
Behind that window in the back office of those real
estate dealers Lance Cowling crouched on the edge
of his chair and peered beneath the curtain, watching
the progress of the game. With both hands he held
the mirror ready for use at the proper moment.
Now it happened that Cowling was not pressed to
use the mirror in the eighth inning, for the Farnham
- 32 The Flash of the Mirror. l
\
Hall batters proved easy for Rifle, who disposed of
Cobb, Sand, and Keller in order. . .
“That pitcher of yours is certainly working like a
Trojan,” muttered Cowling, “He deserves to win
this game.”
“Your man is pitching some,” observed Ash.
“Don’t call him my man,” snarled Lance. “I’ve got
no interest in him. If there's any fellow I haven't
any use for, it's Sand.” -
“Don’t forget Morton,” grinued Keating.
“Oh, I hold that chump in contempt," said Lance,
snapping his fingers. • .
“But he certainly is a clever catcher," put in Nick
Clay.
“He does pretty well for a greenhorn—I admit
that.” - . .
Sand returned Rifle's compliment by disposing of
three Wellsburg lads who faced him.
Then the ninth inning began. e
It began with Bob Keller batting a slow grounder
to first base. Gig Gage attempted to sacrifice, but his
attempt was handled awkwardly and he got to first
while Keller went all the way around to third.
Herbert Howe struck out.
With one man gone, Morton was seen advancing
to the plate.
Tance Cowling clutched the mirror and made ready
to use it.
Every time Rifle put the ball over the dazzling
streak ºf light bewildered Morton. Three times this
occurrett, and three times Arthur missed. More than
i
ſ
** * -- -
The Flash of the Mirror. 33
that, he did not seem to swing within a foot of the ball
at any time. - -
As Arthur fanned the third time, Cole snapped the
ball to a base and caught one of the Bloomfield players
off the sack, which retired the visitors.
Morton was seen talking to Sand and Shaking his
head. Once he made an upward gesture with his hand,
and Lance Cowling fell back upon the leather-covered
chair, chuckling Softly.
“One run is all Wellsburg needs now,” said Nick
Clay. “If she can only get one in her half of this
inning she will take the game."
The very first batter up was given a pass. The
crowd roared as the man trotted down to first.
- On the first ball pitched to the next batter that man
went down to second. -
Again Morton overthrew second, and this time the
Bloomfield center-fielder failed to get in front of the
ball to back up the baseman.
Away went the ball, bounding gaily into deep cen-
ter, while the Wellsburg runner crossed second, kept
on to third, and was sent home.
Morton tore off his mask and dashed it upon the
ground, as he saw that man coming down from third
base. There was no chance to stop the run, and the
home team had won through Arthur's errors.
CHAPTER V.
S O R E – H E A R T E D .
A dejected lot of fellows they were, those Farn-
ham Hall boys, as they straggled down to the Wells-
burg station to take a train back home. It was a bit-
ter pill for them to swallow, and doubly so because
they realized that the game should have been theirs.
They growled among themselves, and not even nat-
urally the most cheerful and optimistic now had a
word of cheer. e
“Dere goes de easy marks' shouted a ragged ur-
chin, addressing a group of friends on the opposite
side of the street. “Say, Chimmie, where did dat
bunch ever get de idea dat dey could play baseball ?”
“Give it up, Bricky,” came promptly from Chim-
mie. “Our fellers give 'em one game just to make 'em
believe dey could play some, Dey’ve got to get an-
noder catcher. De one dey have is on de bum.”
Morton, following behind his teammates, heard
those words although he did not lift his downcast
eyes. Under any circumstances defeat would have
hurt Arthur sorely, for he had not yet learned to be
a good loser. But, realizing he was regarded as the
sole cause of Farnham Hall's failure this day, his soul
writhed within him.
Lance Cowling and Jim Keating were on the station
platform. Cowling suppressed a grin as he saw the
downcast members of the nine approaching.
Sore-hearted. 35
“Happy-looking bunch, Jim,” he muttered in a low
tone. “Say, but they're sore | Look at Morton. Any
one would think he’d attended a funeral.”
“Perhaps it will prove to be his funeral,” said
Keating. “I don't believe Sand will stand for much
more playing of the sort Morton handed out to-
day.”
Two or three of the Wellsburg team came down
to see the Bloomfield lads off, and expressed sym-
pathy.
“You put up a good game, fellows,” said one of
them, glancing around and observing that Morton
was some distance away. “Really and truly, you
might have won only for the punk work of your
catcher. He showed his lack of experience to-day.”
“He hasn’t had much experience,” admitted Sand.
“This is his first season in baseball. He does pretty.
well.”
“But you need a good man to back you up, Sand.
One that is pretty good isn't good enough.”
“It was the best we could do,” said Ralph. “One
time it looked as if we wouldn't have any catcher at
all. We had to develop some sort of a man for the
position, and Mr. Merriwell trained Morton. That
fellow did well in the first game against you chaps.”
“Oh, he did well enough,” nodded the Wellsburg
lad; “but he didn't have anything to make him lose
his head. It’s plain he does lose his head. His throw-
ing to bases was simply fierce, and there was no excuse
for that passed ball which gave us a lead on you in
the third inning. He can't hit, either, when a hit is
needed.”
,-,-,--~~~
i
-
36 Sore-hearted.
“We’ve never considered him any great batter, al-
though he's shown signs of improvement lately.”
“Haven't you another man you can use in his posi-
tion P’’
“Oh, there is a man, but he won't work. He's sore
about various things.”
“Better fix it up with him and get him into the
game,” was the advice. “This chap may be fast
enough in a year or so, but he'll cost you lots of games
this season if you keep him behind the bat.”
Cowling was standing near enough to hear some
of this conversation, although he made a pretense that
he heard nothing.
“Before long l’ll have Sand coming to me and beg-
ging me to play,” he thought.
One or two of the fellows who did not play in the
game approached Morton and asked how it happened
that he had put up such a poor game. Knowing
such a statement would seem like a flimsy excuse, Ar-
thur said nothing more about the dazzling flashes of
light that had blinded him at critical moments. He
simply shouldered all the blame for the loss of the
game, although it was a heavy load to bear. What
hurt him most was the fact that Sand seemed to
avoid him.
“They’re all sore on me,” thought Art. “It’s no use
to tell them the truth, for they won't believe it.”
When the mixed train rolled in, Arthur found a
seat by himself in one of the two passenger-cars.
Nearly all the members of the team boarded the same
car with him, and most of them formed a group mid-
|
Sore-hearted. 37
way in the car, where they talked over the many
features of the game.
After a time Cowling and Keating joined them,
and hypocritically pretended to sympathize.
“It was rotten hard luck!” said Jim. “You had
every chance to win, and you should have won, fel-
lows.”
“It was hard luck,” agreed Cowling, speaking
loudly and casting a quick glance in Morton's direc-
tion. “But of course you all know who was to blame.
It was the rankest thing I ever saw.”
Morton felt his blood grow warm in his veins.
“Yes, the rankest thing I ever saw,” Lance repeated.
“I’ve seen more than one game thrown away, but I
never saw anything more dirty and deliberate than this
business to-day. I wonder how much the fellow got
for it."
Arthur's nerves grew tense and he fixed his eyes on
Cowling, his soul stirring with indignation.
“Oh, you don't think we were sold out, do you,
Lance?" asked Herbert Howe.
“What did it look like?” grinned Cowling. “Of
course you were sold out. Morton threw the game.”
Arthur leaped to his feet, crying:
“You lie (''
There was a sudden stir among the boys, and then,
without hesitation or warning, Lance Cowling made a
rush at Morton.
“Any man who calls me a liar has to back it up!”
he snarled, as he tried to strike Arthur in the face.
Morton ducked and parried. Then his fist shot out,
- ass--" "
38 ... =~ * Sore-hearted.
catching Cowling on the eye, and knocking him down
in the aisle. -
Before the fallen fellow could rise to his feet, a
brakeman placed himself between the two lads, or-
dering them to desist. The conductor came hurry-
ing to the spot, flinging the boys from his path,
“Look here,” he said. “If there's any more of this
I'll put you off the train.”
“The infernal sneak | The miserable traitor "
panted Lance. “Of course he sold you out, fellows.
He's a cheap cur, and he'd do anything for a ten-
dollar bill.”
The boys were divided. Some of them seemed to
believe Cowling right, while others declared he was
too hasty in making such a charge against Morton.
“I know he's wrong !” declared Ralph Sand posi-
tively. “Morton couldn't be bought.” -
Lance laughed derisively.
“You’ve lots of confidence in Mr. Merriwell’s fa-
vorite, haven’t you?” he scoffed. “One time you
fancied you were the favorite of the school, but you're
not in it with Morton now.”
“You’re not the fellow to make any talk about it,”
said Sand. “If you were the man you should be, you'd
be on the team. Ever since you were defeated for the
captaincy you've been doing your level best to make
trouble. It's mighty nasty business, Cowling, and
you ought to be ashamed of it.”
Still Lance felt that he had hurt Sand sorely by
telling him that Morton was Merriwell's favorite.
Cowling's eye was beginning to swell. He held a
Sore-hearted. - - 39
handkerchief over it, and glared at Arthur with his
other eye.
“I’ll settle with you some day,” he promised.
“Choose your time,” flashed the indignant lad.
“I’m no scrapper, but I’ll do my best to give you sat-
isfaction.”
“Now stop this business!” ordered the conductor.
“If you don't, I’m going to put you off the train and
let you walk to Bloomfield. This is the first time
there's been anything of this sort on my train, I
thought you Farnham Hall chaps were gentlemen.”
Sand exerted his influence to quiet them down, and
Cowling retired vowing vengeance upon Morton. Ar-
thur sank back upon his seat, trembling a bit with ex-
citement and indignation. His face was very pale and
he felt sick at heart. In spite of Sand's words, he
tancied himself regarded with more or less distrust
by all those fellows. It was easy to understand why
they should entertain suspicions concerning him, and
he knew that the seed of distrust planted by Cowling
was likely to sprout, grow, and flourish.
During the rest of the journey to Bloomfield Ar-
thur sat with his head bowed, buried in the most
wretched meditation. He aroused himself as he dis-
covered that the other boys were getting off the train.
Pollowing them to the platform, he found Frank
Merriwell there with a barge, ready to take them to
Farnham Hall.
“Hard luck, boys,” Merriwell was saying cheerfully.
“But you can't expect to win every game. How did
you happen to lose to-day? Whose fault was it.”
40 Sore-hearted.
Dead silence followed this question. No one
scenned willing to answer.
Arthur stepped forward.
“It was my fault, sir,” he said. “I lost the game
for our team. My errors enabled Wellsburg to defeat
3 y
ll.S.
CHAPTER VI.
W H AT ART | H U R J H H A R D.
Unfortunately for Arthur Miorton, he was as sensi-
tive as a girl and as proud-spirited as Lucifer. That
night, in the seclusion of his room, he paced the floor
in wretchedness of soul and spirit. It was bad enough
to know that he had lost the game through his errors;
but the knowledge that any one could suspect him of
treachery to the team was like a poisoned arrow in
his heart. His anguish of mind affected him bodily,
and there was a dull gnawing pain within his chest,
while his head throbbed and swam. Only one satis-
faction was left to him. He was certain Frank Merri-
well did not and would not believe him a traitor.
After a time he undressed by the light of the moon
shining into his window, and crept into bed.
But he could not sleep. Time and again he went
over every detail of the game. He groaned as he re-
called the errors he had made at critical moments
during the contest. His hands clenched and un-
clenched, and he twisted upon the bed. It seemed
singular and mysterious that that flash of light had
struck him in the eyes and dazzled him repeatedly
at times when he needed clear vision in order to per-
form his duty.
“Some one should have seen it,” he muttered. “It’s
strange no one did. They won't believe me! I can’t
make them believe me.”
t
42 What Arthur Heard.
Although he closed his eyes and fought for sleep,
his mind was in such a tumult of distress that the
struggle was useless.
Finally he rose and sat by the open window.
Outside that window the world lay bathed in soft
moonlight. The odors of the sweet Spring night
drifted in to him, but they brought no soothing balm.
“I’m doomed to be always misunderstood and mis-
judged,” he murmured. “There never was a time that
it was not so. My own father could not understand
me. I don't know as I understand myself. I’ve had
trouble enough here in Bloomfield. It seemed all past,
and I was just beginning to be happy and feel that I
had found a place in the world, and had met some
friends. Why did I try to play baseball? It was
a mistake. I suppose I’m a fool to feel like this; but
I can't help it—I can’t help it!”
The minutes slipped away and night advanced. Still
Arthur remained there, fighting the battle within his
heart. In time he began to feel a longing to escape
from that room, to get out into the open air where
he could walk, walk. This longing took hold of him
with irresistible force. Finally he sprang up, whis-
pering : *
“I must—I must go out! I will!”
Dressing, he took his shoes in his hand and stole
out of the room, creeping down the stairs in his
stocking feet. He knew the window by which the
boys of Farnham Hall sometimes stole out of that dor-
mitory at night. It was situated at the back of the
building, and he soon found himself there. Unfasten-
ing that window, he opened it, dropped his shoes on
What Arthur Heard. * 43
the ground outside and followed. The window was
lowered, and then he sat upon the ground and put on
his shoes.
At the corner of the building he halted and drew
back into the deep shadows, crouching close to the
ground, for old Seth Hecker, the night-watch, was
slowly crossing the parade-grounds. The old man's
bent figure was plainly revealed by the moonlight.
Arthur breathed easily, for Hecker moved on and dis-
appeared in the direction of the manual training build-
ing.
From the rear of the dormitory Arthur Scudded
quickly to the shelter of another building, and, keep-
ing within the shadows, soon reached the limits of
the grounds and struck out across the open fields in
the direction of a lake.
The night air fanned his fevered brow, and cooled
his heated blood. Coming to the shore of the lake
he paused and gazed down upon its placid surface that
lay silver-white before him. He entered a little grove
and flung himself at full length upon the ground,
close to the water's edge. At last he felt that he was
quite alone where he could talk to himself if he felt
like it, in order to relieve his pent-up emotions.
But he did not talk to himself. He lay there in
silence, hearing the sleepy chitter of a bird in the
branches of a tree above him. Out upon the glassy
surface of the lake a fish leaped with a soft, splashing
sound. Finally some animal, possibly a musk-rat,
swam across the white path made by the moon upon
the water, leaving behind a rippling wake. Far away
a whip-poor-will was sadly calling. The sound of the
...: ſº
44 *::. ... * * * What Arthur Heard.
.
-***-
bird's mournful note filled the boy's heart with a
strange sensation of pathos. Once more he fancied
himself alone in the world without comrades or
friends, with no one to whom he could turn in this
hour of soul distress.
For a long time he lay thus, but finally he was start-
led by the Sound of hurrying footsteps and a murmur
of voices. To his surprise, these sounds were ap-
proaching rapidly. At first he was inclined to spring
up and hasten away. But, instead of doing so, he
rolled over into the shadow of some bushes and re-
mained there. - *
There were four fellows, all Farnham Hall lads,
and he recognized their voices. They passed within
ten feet of him, and paused just beyond the thick
bushes which hid him by a dark shadow.
“This is a good place,” said the voice of Eddie
Anson. “Nobody will ever run onto us here. We can
smoke as much as we like. It's getting so a fellow
can't take a whiff in his room unless Mr. Merriwell
knows about it, and he won't stand for smoking.
Have a cigarette, everybody.”
Moving his head slightly, Arthur was able to peer
past the bushes and see them plainly as they sought
comfortable positions upon the ground. He beheld
them as they struck matches and lighted their ciga-
rettes. Had he been able to creep away noiselessly,
without danger of discovery, he would have done so.
But he knew that he would be certain to betray him-
self.
“You’re right, Eddie,” said Punk Rogers, the match
flaring in front of his face as he lighted up. “I don't
Twhat Arthur Heard. T 45
know how he gets onto it every time I smoke in my
room, but he certainly does. I’ve sworn off. No more
of that for me.”
“How's your eye, Lance?” asked Snick Widgeon.
The moonlight fell fairly upon Cowling, who was
wearing a handkerchief bound over his left eye.
Cowling growled:
“It will be a beaut to-morrow,” he said. “But you
just wait—you just wait ! I’m going to fix that whelp
Morton. I’ll give him something to remember me
by.” -
“I don’t believe he's very happy,” chuckled Rogers
coarsely. “He certainly did make a mess of that game
to-day.” ... **
“Well, he was paid for throwing the, game, I pre-
sume,” came from Widgeon.
“Do you really think so P” asked Cowling quickly.
“Do you believe he deliberately threw the game?”
y
“Of course I believe it. Didn't I see him talking
with Dan Hooker, the Wellsburg center-fielder, before
the game began ”
“Did you?”
“I did. Hooker was saying something to him in a
low tone, and I heard Morton say, ‘I agree.' There
you are. Morton deliberately gave that game to
Wellsburg.”
Cowling laughed.
“Well, perhaps Farnham Hall will get enough of
him pretty soon,” he said. “Even Sand seemed rather
disgusted with him.”
“Oh, Sand was sore as he could be,” snickered
46 What Arthur Heard.
Anson. “Bet you, Lance, that he asks you to come out
for practise to-morrow.”
“Well, he'll have to ask—he'll have to beg. He's
had his fun with me; now I’m going to have some
sport of my own.”
“If he should ask you to come out would you re-
fuse?” questioned Anson.
“Well, I hope you would,” cried Widgeon. “You
can see how they treated me.”
“Oh, you were an easy mark 1" scoffed Lance. “You
stuck by the Sand crowd until you got kicked off the
team. If you'd only had sense enough to stand by me
in the first place 3 y
“Your friend Keller quitted you and went over
to the other side,” reminded Anson.
“Oh, I haven't any use for Keller. He's a little
turncoat.” -
Once Arthur attempted to rise to his hands and
knees with the idea of creeping away. But a twig
snapped beneath his hands and one of those fellows
exclaimed, “What's that P”
“Oh, it was nothing," said another of them, after
they had listened a few moments. “Don’t get nerv-
ous.”
So Arthur sank down once more and remained si-
lent. His situation was disagreeable enough, but
there was no way out of it without betraying him-
self.
The boys smoked several cigarettes, continuing to
discuss the game and uniting in their condemnation
of Morton. Cowling encouraged them in the belief
that Arthur had betrayed Farnham Hall.
* -ºº º *_-e .
TWhat Arthur Heard. 47
Finally Anson said that he would have to get back,
and Rogers rose at the same time.
“It will be best for us to go back two at a time,”
said Eddie. “Old man Hecker won't be so liable to
spot us. Wonder who left that window unfastened.
It's queer we found it unlocked. Don't suppose there's
any one else out to-night, do you?”
“Not likely,” said Cowling, “Don’t worry about
that. Snick and I will come along in a few minutes.”
After Rogers and Anson had departed, Cowling and
Widgeon remained and smoked another cigarette.
Finally Lance said:
“Snick, I think I can trust you. You're sore be-
cause they kicked you off the team. You have no use
for Morton, have you?”
“Not a bit,” growled Widgeon.
“I know how he happened to lose the game to-day,”
said Lance in a low tone, chuckling softly as he spoke.
Arthur started, feeling an electric thrill shoot
through him.
“You know how he happened to lose the game?”
muttered Snick. “Why, they say he sold Farnham
|Hall out.”
“Now you keep mum,” urged Cowling. “Morton
didn't throw the game; he lost it because I made him
lose.”
“What?” cried Snick, “You made him lose P”
“That's right.”
“Why, how did you do that P’’
“Never mind how I did it. I'll tell you some time—
not now. All I’m going to say is that I made Morton
lose. You'll laugh when you learn how I did it.”
48 Y--—-
TWhat Arthur Heard.
Widgeon eagerly urged Lance to explain himself,
but Cowling persistently declined.
“Just you keep your mouth shut,” he said, “and
bide your time. We’ll both be playing on the regular
team before long, and Arthur Morton won't be in the
game. Now come on, let's get to bed.”
Arthur sat up and rose to his feet as they departed.
“What did he mean P What did he mean P” he mut-
tered, thinking of Cowling's words. “He says he
made me lose the game. The flash of light that
dazzled me. He did it! Now—now if I could only
prove it! But how can I prove it—how can I?”
CHAPTER VII.
A VV R if i ( ; ; , i.) NIGHT.
It is'unfortunate that baseball, the cleanest, health- .
iest, grandest outdoor sport in the world, sometimes
proves too nerve-racking, too much of a strain for the
very lad who needs it most. Given an overconscious
disposition, a proud and sensitive spirit, and many a
boy who might be a fine player if only he were more
phlegmatic will worry and fret himself ill over the
game.
In Some instances discerning parents or teachers
have felt it required of then to prevent such a sensi-
tive boy from participating in the sport. Perhaps they
have seen him failing in his lessons, mooning over his
books with no appetite for his meals, and evidently re-
ceiving less than full value in nerve and system recu-
peration from his sleep. They have discovered that
baseball is preying constantly upon his mind. He is
unable to dismiss it from his thoughts while awake,
and in his sleep it pursues him in dreams If the
time for a game is drawing near, he worries with
mingled delight and apprehension over what may hap-
pen in that game. If a game has just been played and
lost, he is sorely depressed and disheartened over de-
ifeat. If it was lost through any fault or error of his
own, he is bitterly sick at heart whenever he thinks
of that blunder, and he thinks of it nearly all the
time. Try as he may, he cannot banish from his mind
the memory of his fiasco upon the field.
****
50 A Wretched Night.
Until such a boy can learn that he must command
his emotions and thoughts, and succeeds in obtaining
command of them, he is not fit to play baseball, and
he cannot do his best in the game. He must recog-
nize his oversensitiveness as a weakness that will
surely prevent him from rising to his highest point of
attainment. He must gain confidence in himself, and
acquire the ability to control his thoughts, and hold
in check his vivid imagination. There is such a thing
as being cursed with too much imaginaton. A person
without any is a dullard. A person with too much
may become a nervous wreck.
Arthur Morton was one of these unfortunates, and
therefore he suffered indescribable distress until he
learned from the lips of the boastful Cowling that
Lance himself was responsible for his errors on Wells-
burg field. Then his anguish and shame turned to bit-
ter resentment and rage. He swore that he would
make Cowling suffer as he had suffered, even though
he could then think of no possible method by which
he might keep his vow. Nevertheless, he resolved to
bide his time, feeling certain that the opportunity would
come. Oh, how he hated Cowling as he thought of
the fellow's dastardly trick and recalled his boastful,
laughing words as he told Widgeon about it.
Arthur returned to Farnham Hall some time after
the others, fearing they would fasten the window be-
hind them. If that happened, he would find himself
shut out for the night. His fears grew into a feeling
of conviction as he found the shelter of the dormitory
and stood beneath the window. He was afraid to try
to open it. As he crouched there hesitating, he heard
A Wretched Night. 51
the sound of a short, hard cough coming from the
distance, and a few moments later the bent figure of
the old night-watch crossed a patch of moonlight and
vanished. e -
Arthur rose quickly, reached high and tried to open
the window.
It would not move
It was fastened
“I knew it!” he gasped, after he had made several
ineffectual attempts. “They've locked me out! I'm
in a scrape now ! How can I explain it? If I ring
for admission I'll be reported in the morning. If I
apply to old Hecker he'll report me. If I remain out-
side until morning I'll be detected just the same.
Cowling has struck me again, although he was not
aware of it.”
For some time the wretched lad remained there in a
semi-dazed condition ; but finally he resolved on an
effort to arouse some of the boys within the dormitory.
Feeling upon the ground in the darkness he found a
few tiny pebbles, and with these in his hand he moved
along until he was beneath the window of Ralph
Sand. He wondered if he could shoot these pebbles
up to that window. It would have been easy with
larger stones, but there was the chance that larger
ones would break the glass. -
The first pebble struck the side of the building and
rebounded. The next one cracked against the win-
dow-pane.
Arthur paused and waited,
Dead silence reigned. No one stirred within that
TOO111.
52 TA Wretched Night. -
Thrce more pebbles were spent before another one
struck the window. This time it struck with a snap
that sounded almost as loud as a pistol-shot to the
ears of the nervous boy upon the ground. -
“Sand must be a sound sleeper if that doesn't awake
him,” thought Art.
He found some more pebbles and continued throw-
ing them up at the window. Gradually getting the
range, he finally was able to hit the window at nearly
every attempt. It would not have surprised him any
had the might-watch suddenly appeared and pounced
upon him, attracted by the sound of those tiny Stones
clicking against the glass.
Fortunately, this did not happen.
At last something else came to pass.
A misty-white figure appeared at the window and
lifted it. Some one thrust out a head, and a voice
softly called:
“Who's that What do you want?”
“Sand '' breathed Arthur, in great relief. “I say,
Ralph, come down and let me in by the back window.
I'm fastened out.”
The fellow in the window gave a soft, Scarcely dis-
tinguishable whistle of surprise, withdrew his head,
and was gone.
A few moments later Morton saw that white figure
appear at the lower back window and heard the slight
click of the catch as it was opened. Then the window
was Softly raised, and Sand leaned out, extending a
hand to Arthur, who had removed his shoes and hastily
passed them up. ----
“What it “… world have you been doing, Morton P”
~~~~rr-r-, ..
A Wretched Night, --- 53
whispered Ralph. “How did you happen to be locked
out P”
“I couldn't sleep,” explained Arthur, “and so I
dressed and went out for a walk. When I got back
here the window was fastened on me."
“Couldn't sleep?” said Sand. “Why not?”
“I was thinking of the game to-day. I could not get
it out of my mind.”
“If you don't quit that you'll never be any good at
baseball,” said Ralph. “That's what ails you, You
let it wear on you too much. Wonder who fastened
the window 2 It was a mean trick, for the fellow
who did it must have known somebody was outside.”
They silently mounted the stairs and whispered good
night at parting.
Morton was thankful when he found himself again
in his own room. He undressed and crept into bed,
but still, in spite of everything, he continued to think,
think, think. Now, however, his thoughts were of
Cowling—bitter, revengeful thoughts—and he was
scheming, Scheming to get even. He heard the clock
in the tower of Farnham Hall strike one and two and
three.
Then he slept at last.
But there was little solace or refreshment in that
sleeping, for his dreams were torturing, and he writhed
and moaned and groaned and ground his teeth until
the dull light of dawn awoke him.
In the morning Arthur was genuinely ill. He did
not appear at roll-call. He ate no breakfast, and he
was excused from morning drills and exercises. Only
~-mºmºrº N 4.
*g-
54 TA Wretched Night.
one boy sought to visit him in his room 1t was
Sand, and he found Arthur's door locked.
Near noon Frank Merriwell himself came to the
boy's room and obtained admission. He found Mor-
ton sitting up, but looking pale and genuinely ill.
Now, Frank had discernment enough to understand
what was the trouble.
“Morton,” he said kindly, “you enjoy playing base-
ball, but I'm afraid it’s going to prove too much for
you. Until you can meet defeat like a man it will
wear on you, and, grand sport though it is, it will do
you harm instead of good. You told me that you were
responsible for the loss of the game. Evidently you've
worried yourself sick over it. Now, in almost every
game some one is responsible for defeat. It may be
more than one, or it may be only one. A single
error often loses a game. But even the best players
in the world make errors at times. I looked over the
scorer's record of the game yesterday, and I find you
did not make all the errors for Farnham Hall.”
“But it was my errors that cost us the game, Mr.
Merriwell.”
“It happened that way. Like a man, you took the
responsibility on your own shoulders; but, unlike a
man, you let it crush you. Now, I like you, Morton,
and I’m anxious for you to get the very best benefit
out of your training here. But I'm afraid at the pres–
ent time that baseball is going to hurt instead of help
you. You're needed on the team, and if you could
only command your feelings, instead of letting them
command you, you would make one of the fastest
young catchers we've ever had. No matter how much
*º-
A Wretched Night. 55
you're needed on the nine, however, I shall not feel
that I’m doing you justice if I permit you to continue
playing with the knowledge that it is upsetting you in
this manner. Now, don't you think you can get a
grip on yourself and cease this worrying? You
mustn't think of baseball all the time. The fellow
who does is not good for anything else. I know how
it is myself, Arthur, for there was a time when I had
the same trouble. I realized that it was spoiling my
capabilities as a player as well as interfering with
my studies and threatening my health. That was
before I learned the lesson that every man must have
absolute command of himself in order to make the
most of his abilities. When I did learn that lesson,
I set cheerfully about the task of gaining self-com-
mand, and in time I succeeded. You must do the
same, Arthur."
“I will, Mr. Merriwell,” promised Art at once. “I
know you're right. I know I could do better if I had
more confidence and wouldn't worry or fret. Here-
after I shall strive to follow your advice. I do enjoy
baseball, and I should hate to give it up. I never fan-
cied I could like any sport as well. You see, I've
never gone in much for sports, and perhaps that's
why this has taken hold of me so.”
“I think that's principally the reason.”
“But I want to say something to you now, sir. Last
night I told you that I was responsible for the loss of
the game.”
“Yes.”
“It was not true.”
Frank looked surprised.
56 & Wretched Night.
“Not true?” he questioned.
“No, sir. I did make those errors as recorded on
the score-book, and those errors lost the game. But
I was not responsible for the errors.”
“I don't think I understand you, Arthur. Will you
be good enough to explain more fully f"
“Some one caused me to make errors at critical mo-
ments.”
Frank's face betrayed slight tokens of incredulity.
“Oh, I know you can't believe me now, Mr. Merri-
well,” said Arthur quickly. “But I'm going to prove
it some day.”
“Who could have done such a thing, Morton P I
don't understand how it was done. Do you wish to
make charges against any one?”
“Not now. Wait until I can prove it. Not them,
perhaps, for I'll settle with him myself.”
“Was it any one on the team, Arthur P’’
“No, sir.”
“Indeed, your statement is surprising, my boy. i
wish you would make your meaning clearer.”
“I can’t do it now, Mr. Merriwell. I didn’t mean
to say as much as I have; but it slipped out. If you’ll
give me time, I’ll prove that I’ve spoken the truth.
I know the fellows blame me for the loss of the game.
Sometime they'll find out that I was not to blame.”
Nor could Frank draw anything further from Ar-
thur at that time. He did not demand explanation,
thinking it unwise to force the lad into making a
statement or accusation against his will.
Merry talked with Arthur for nearly half an hour,
- -** * *
A Wretched Night. - ,- 57
and left the boy in a far more cheerful frame of mind.
Frank was also hopeful that this talk would do Mor-
ton a great deal of good, for he believed the lad to
be one of unusual genius and ability to accomplish
results in whatever pursuit he became deeply in-
terested.
CHAPTER VIII.
A THRILLING RESCUE.
Arthur was late in arriving at the field for baseball
practise that afternoon. As he approached he dis-
covered the members of the team already at work upon
the field, and almost the first person he observed was
Lance Cowling.
Cowling was there in a suit, while among the spec-
tators a number of his friends were looking on with
no small interest. * ***
Morton's heart gave a jump as he saw the fellow.
Sand observed Arthur standing near the bench and
approached him. -
“Hello, Mortº’’ he cried. “Heard you were sick.
Didn't suppose you’d come out to-day.”
“Didn't you?” said Arthur.
“No, indeed. I was around to your room, but the
door was locked and you didn’t seem inclined to re-
ceive callers.”
“I was not feeling well this forenoon, but I think
I'm all right now.”
“You see we have Cowling with us to-day,” said the
captain, without any faltering or beating about the
bush.
“I see,” nodded Arthur grimly.
“We’ve need of two catchers right along. Every
team does. If one man is hurt the other man can
go in, you know.” - ºr
wº
*-*:rc-------, -
A Thrilling Rescue. 59
Morton said nothing.
“Several of the players have been at me to give
Lance a trial. I don't think much of the way he
behaved to begin with, but he can play the game, and
he'd be valuable to us if he'd do his best. Perhaps
he will forget the past and be decent now. If he
will only do that it will strengthen the team a great
deal. Don't you think so?”
“Do you want to know what I think?”
“Why, yes, of course.”
“Then I'll tell you. I don't think Lance Cowling
will be an acquisition to the team.”
“Oh, come, come, Morton. You can't afford to
show jealousy.”
Arthur flushed the least bit.
“I knew you would regard it as jealousy,” he said;
“but it's not that. If Cowling was the right sort of
a fellow I wouldn’t have a word to say, I want to see
our team win. I know you fellows blame me for the
loss of the game yesterday.”
“Oh, every chap makes errors sometimes,” said
Sand. “Of course some of the boys were rather sore
because you made so many. You had the chance to
save us in the last inning, and you struck out on a
straight ball over the pan.”
“Yes,” nodded Arthur, “I struck out. I told you
how it happened. . Something dazzled me—a flash of
light in my eyes.”
Sand shook his head, smiling the least bit.
“I wouldn't tell that to the fellows if I were in your
place, Art,” he said. “Better take your medicine.
Better not try to excuse it.”
6o TA Thrilling Rescue."
“Do you think I'm lying?”
“Oh, no, of course not.”
“But I see you do,” breathed Arthur, feeling his
heart swell with indignation. “You think I faked
up that excuse in order to escape blame for my fizzle.”
“It's mighty queer you should be dazzled the same
way so many times.”
“It was queer.”
“And singular that it should happen at such criti-
cal moments.” -
“I agree with you, captain. But still, I persist in
declaring that I’ve told you the truth. I haven't lied.
That was how I happened to make those errors.”
“Odd no one else saw the flash of light. How do
you account for it?”
“I’m not trying to account for it now.” -
“If it was a reflection from the window of one o
those buildings near the ball-field, the movement of
the sun as the game progressed would have changed
the direction of the reflected light. Say, Morton, cut
it out—please do.” - -
“Captain,” said Arthur, “I’m going to drop this
thing now, but some day I'll prove to you that I've
spoken the truth. Give Lance Cowling a trial if you
wish. If you become satisfied that he's a better man
than I am, why use him, that's all.”
Cowling knew Sand and Morton were talking to-
gether, but he did not once glance in their direction.
His friends, however, watched the pair with no lit-
tle interest. They saw Sand turn away, and a few
moments later they beheld Morton leaving the field.
Arthur heard some one shout his name, but he kept
º -- rº--- . 1 . t
TA Thrilling Rescue. 61
on without turning his head and disappeared through
the gate.
“I can't play with Lance Cowling,” he muttered,
as he hastened toward the School buildings.
Returning to the gymnasium, he stripped off his
baseball-suit and donned his regular clothes.
For an hour or more he would be supposed to be
upon the ball-field. That hour he decided to spend in
walking. Setting out by himself, he followed the road
into Bloomfield village.
In front of the post-office Frank Merriwell's saddle-
horse was standing. Arthur knew Frank was inside,
and he did not wish to be seen by him. As he was
hesitating, Toots, Merriwell's colored man, drove past
in a phaeton, with little Frank sitting proudly upon
the rear seat.
The colored man also stopped in front of the post-
office and sprang out, turning to touch his cap and
bow with exaggerated politeness to the youngster upon
the back seat, who was playing he was a “bid man.”
“Here yo' am, sah,” said Toots. “Ah’m at your
service, sah. What am it yo' require P’’
“Well,” said the little chap, still maintaining his
dignity, “I fink you may det me 'bout a twart of
peanuts.”
“Yes, sah; yes, sain,” said Toots. “Ah won't hitch
de horse, Sah. Ah'll just step to the do' and speak to
the proprietor and hab him serb yo' order, sah.”
Toots stepped to the door, and in that moment
something happened. A whirling gust of wind swept
a newspaper in front of the horse attached to the
62 TA Thrilli ng Rescue.
phaeton. The animal was frightened, and in a twink-
ling he went galloping down the street.
“Whoa—whoa, darl” shouted Toots, leaping down
the steps and starting after the runaway. “Land ob
Canan | Dis am a frightful ka-lam-ity | If anything
happens to dat child Ah’ll sure commit suicide!”
Arthur Morton did not hesitate a moment. Rush-
ing forward he leaped upon the back of Merriwell's
saddle-horse and away he went in pursuit of the
phaeton.
The sound of rumbling wheels and the clatter of
hoofs brought many people to windows and doors.
Another sound filled them with alarm, for it was the
whistle of the Eastern express, due to tear through
Bloomfield without stopping at that hour. The run-
away went thundering over the bridge and onward
toward the railway crossing. It was followed by
Morton astride the saddle-horse and urging the animal
on by every possible means.
Arthur had heard the whistle of the locomotive,
and his heart was filled with dismay and terror. He
knew the engineer could not see the runaway until
too near the crossing to stop. Unless the frightened
horse got over the track ahead of the train there
was every prospect of a fearful accident.
Somehow it seemed as if the horse beneath young
Morton realized what was happening, for the creature
strained every nerve, gaining rapidly upon the phaeton.
But not rapidly enough, it appeared. Arthur caught
a horrified glimpse of the express-train sweeping on
to pass through Bloomfield with scarcely diminished
speed. His judgment told him that the locomotive
~A Thrilling Rescue. 63
and the runaway horse would reach the railway cross-
ing at the same time.
Leaning far forward, he cried his appeal into the
ear of the horse he best rode. The fine beast literally
flew over the ground.
Men and women of Bloomfield looked on in helpless
horror. Some wrung their hands in despair, while
others covered their eyes and turned away, unwilling
to witness the frightful calamity.
As Arthur drew near the phaeton he called to little
Frank. The child turned and saw him. The little
fellow was frightened, but still he seemed to have
something of the nerve and self-possession that had
made his father such an unusual man.
“Frankiel Frankie" cried Arthur, stretching out
his hand. “Look—look here! When I tell you to
jump you must jump. Get ready get ready ?"
Now the locomotive engineer saw them, and the
engine shrieked a wild series of affrighted blasts,
Up beside the phaeton forged Morton on the flying
horse. With his right hand grasping the reins he
held out his curved left arm. He saw the child rise
to its knees upon the seat and then move to stand
erect. .
“Jump!” he screamed.
Little Frank jumped. With all his strength he
leaped toward that extended arm.
The arm closed about his waist. With a sharp
pull Morton swerved to the right, and a moment later
felt the horse rise into the air as it cleared a low,
whitewashed fence. Behind him he seemed to hear
a sickening crash. Down across an open iot he went,
64 A Thrilling Rescue.
reining in the horse and gaining full control of it.
The express had whizzed past, gradually slowing
down.
Shouting men and women were coming down the
main street of Bloomfield. They had secn that mar-
velous rescue. They had seen the locomotive strike
the phaeton and smash it into a thousand pieces. The
horse, having crossed the track, escaped marvelously,
and went tearing onward, with pieces of the broken
harness and shattered phaeton dangling at his heels.
As soon as the conductor of the express made sure
that no one had been hurt, that not even the horse
had been seriously injured, he signaled the engineer,
and the train went on.
In the meantime, with little Frank clinging tight
with one arm about his neck, Morton circled the small
field and came back to the main street near the rail-
road crossing. -
The citizens—men, women, and children—who had
witnessed the marvelous rescue of the child, made
a touching demonstration there in that village street.
Men cheered hoarsely, women laughed and wept and
young people shouted their applause to Arthur or
regarded him with admiring, tear-dimmed eyes.
“Oh, you splendid boy Oh, you grand, noble boy"
cried a bare-headed woman, holding out her hands to
Arthur, her face enthused and made beautiful by the
emotion of admiration that possessed her.
Old Uncle Eb Small had raced down that Street,
waving his crooked came in the air, wholly forgetful
of his “rheumatics,” and he was on hand to cheer
with the others.
A Thrilling Rescue. 65
---
“The gaul-darndest, slickest, bravest, nerviest thing
I ever seen in all my life!” cackled the old man. “By
juniper, I don't see how he done it! I didn't think
there was a chance for him to save that kid, and, by
gum ! there was a time I held my breath expecting to
see little Frank and the boy who was trying to save
him killed right before my eyes.”
Toots was there, shaking from head to foot like a
leaf in a storm, his black face having something like
an ashen hue of pallor.
“Heben be praised " he was saying to himself.
“Ah don't care nothing what becomes of me now, so
long as little Marsa Frank am sabed.”
Frank Merriwell was there, of course. His face
was pale, but he smiled as he advanced to the fence
and spoke to his son.
“Are you all right, Frankie?” he asked. “You're
not hurt?”
“No, I's not hurt a bit, papa,” answered the little
chap bravely. “Arfur, he tell me to jump, and I
dess jumped and he taut me. I's all wight, papa;
don't 'oo worry.”
Some of those men brushed sight-dimming tears
from their eyes as they saw the rescued child sur-
rendered to his father by the rescuer.
“Morton,” said Frank quietly, “words fail me now.
I can't tell you how grateful I am for your brave
act.”
“But I can tell what I think,” said the bare-headed
woman, coming close to the fence. “I think he's the
noblest boy in all the world !”
There was a clamor of voices. Arthur was speech-
66 A Thrilling Rescue.
less, the color creeping back into his face. He heard
them telling each other what a wonderful thing he
had done, and, Suddenly self-conscious, he longed to
escape from these demonstrations. But they would
not let him escape.
Sonne of those men climbed the fence and literally
pulled him from the saddle. He felt himself lifted
and passed over that fence. Although he begged and
remonstrated, they hoisted him to their shoulders and
started back along the street with him. The children
ran alongside, Screaming and looking up at him as if
he were the personification of their dreams of heroes.
The men and women trailed along behind in a pro-
cession, continuing to tell each other what a marvelous
thing they had seen. Near the head of this parade
walked Frank Merriwell, with little Frank in his
21 ili S.
Toots had been ordered to bring the saddle-horse.
Back over the bridge they went—back to Apple-
snack's store and the post-office. Some one mounted
the steps and started to make a speech. Everybody
seemed eager to congratulate Frank Merriwell. The
men crowded about Merry, Morton, and little Frank.
They touched the child with their rough hands and
told him what a brave little man he was. The women
pushed forward and kissed him, tears upon their
cheeks. It seemed that the whole of Bloomfield was
there.
“My friends,” said Merriwell, his clear, resonant
voice making every word distinct, although he did not
speak loudly, “I assure you that I am deeply touched
by these demonstrations, I assure you that I am
A Thrilling Rescue. 67
deeply grateful to you all. I thank God that I have
my little boy alive and safe in my arms. I thank
Arthur Morton, too, for it was through him Heaven
saw fit to save little Frank from destruction.”
Arthur tried to speak, but a lump in his throat
choked him, and though his lips moved no words
came from them. He was trembling now, trembling
in every fiber of his being—this boy who had acted
with lightning thought, clear head and nerves of steel.
The reaction had come, and his weak legs threatened
to melt beneath him. He was glad though—giad to
the depths of his soul—and happy and proud as he felt
Frank Merriwell's free arm drop affectionately across
his shoulders.
Toots came with the saddle-horse and flung himself
on his knees before Frank. º
“Ah's de mos' miserable man in de worl’ ‘’’ he
sobbed. “Ah’s no good, Marsa Frank—Ah's jes' a
blame fool careless nigger, and Ah ought to be shot
daid Yo'll never have no respect for me no mo'.
Ah don't deserve it. Ah's gwine away—gwine away
somewhere So far dat yo'll neber see me again. Ah's
jes' got to go, Marsa Frank, for Ah’ll neber be able
to look Mis' Inza in de face again.”
“Get up, Toots,” said Frank quietly, with no harsh-
ness or reproof in his voice. “I’m sure you didn't
intend to be careless, and I'm certain you've been
punished already most keenly for it.”
“You ain't doing to let Toots do away, is 'oo,
papa?” asked little Frank. “I was playing dat I was a
bid man in the carriage, dat's why I set on the bat
seat. Dat's why Toots he dot out and lef me dere.”
g
f -
68 A Thrilling Rescue.
“Ah’ll never do it again,” sobbed Toots. “Ah’ll
never take no mo’ chances like dat.”
One man on the outskirts of the gathering was heard
to mutter :
“Niggers are always careless. I’ve said Merriwell
would have trouble with his pet coon.”
in an instant fire flashed from Frank's eyes, which
quickly found the speaker and recognized Hobson
Dobbs, the shyster lawyer of the village.
“Dobbs,” he cried clearly, facing the man with his
piercing gaze, “you are the only person in all this
town who would be indecent and brutal enough to
make such a remark at this time. You are the only
person who would use the word “nigger’ or ‘coon'
just now in the presence of this colored boy, whose
little finger is of more value than your whole worth-
less carcass. Let me add, Dobbs, that it will not be
well for you if I hear you repeat those words. If
you do, although I should dislike the task, I give you
my promise that I’ll horsewhip you.”
The crowd shouted its applause. Some of those
men turned threateningly on Dobbs, and he seemed
in danger of being man-handled then and there. Like
the coward that he was, he hurriedly backed away,
whiningly protesting that he had meant no harm, and
soon went skulking toward his office near the bridge.
Some one had gone in pursuit of the runaway horse,
but Frank wasted little thought on the animal just
then. He mounted his own saddle-horse, and his
son was passed up to him by Deacon Elnathan Hew-
ett.
- A Thrilling Rescue. 69
“Toots,” said Merry, turning to the darkey, “you
will wait and bring the carriage-horse home.”
“Yes, sah,” said the negro humbly. “Ah'll sure
bring him home, sah.”
Then Frank spoke to Morton.
“Arthur, I would like to have you take dinner at
my house to-night. Please be there by five-thirty.”
He rode away, cheered once more by the crowd.
Little Frank waved his baby hand in answer to that
cheer, and the people assembled in front of Apple-
snack's store watched until horse and man and child
had passed from view down the winding street that led
toward Farnham Hall.
CHAPTER IX.
A COWARDLY Bl,0W.
Arthur Morton never forgot that dinner and the
delightful evening that followed. He never forgot
how the mother of little Frank met him and kissed
him at the door of Merry Home.
Not wishing to shock her, Frank had sought to con-
ceal a part of the truth concerning the frightful peril
from which Frank, Jr., had been rescued. But she
learned it from little Frank himself, who lisped it in
his baby language, and the gratitude she could not
express in words she expressed in the kiss she gave
Arthur.
Of course, little Frank was there, and he stretched
out his arms to the boy, crying:
“Me, too, Arfur—me, too.”
Art caught the child up and hugged him tight,
kissing his soft cheek.
With a smile on his fine face, Frank Merriwell
watched the scene.
“Didn't I jump when 'oo told me to jump, Arfur P’’
said the child. l
“You did, Frank. You were a brave little man.”
“Papa says he dess I’d been tilled if 'oo hadn't
chased me end I didn’t jump when 'Oo told me to.”
“There's no doubt about that, Morton,” said Merri-
well. “As long as I live I shall remember your quick-
witted, gallant courageous act with admiration and
A Cowardly Blow. 71
gratitude. I’ve made no mistake in you, my boy.
You're built of the right stuff. To-day you're the
hero of Bloomfield. I don't think the praise you have
received will turn your head.”
“I don’t think it will, Mr. Merriwell,” said Arthur
quietly.
As they were sitting at the table 'neath the light
of the softly shaded electric lamp, Morton looked
around and wondered if it could be true. Somehow
it seemed like a dream—one of his few happy dreams
of himself that had sometimes come to him in days
when all the world had seemed against him.
“Arthur,” said Frank, “to-day you rose to the
very heights of your ability. No living being could
have done more than you did or have done it better.
Why was it? . It was because you absolutely forgot
yourself for the time being. Had you for a single
moment been self-conscious, you might have failed.
Your only thought was of little Frank, and you per-
formed a marvelous deed. Now, my boy, if you can
forget yourself just the same in smaller things, if
you can dismiss self-consciousness, you will be amazed
by your success in accomplishing deeds you have fan-
cied beyond your ability. On the baseball-field and
elsewhere you must strive to do your level best with-
out once thinking of the result of failure.”
What a delightful meal it was Arthur listened
to the words of Frank Merriwell as he would have
listened to an oracle. He did not talk much, but,
somehow, Frank drew him out so that he did forget
himself and talk some. When Merry spoke of base-
ball, Arthur feared he would question him concerning
72 A Cowardly Blow.
the Wellsburg game, and was relieved when he did
not.
After dinner was over they sat a while in the big
living-room, little Frank begging to stay with them
and being permitted until his eyelids began to droop.
Finally, Inza told the child to bid Arthur and Frank
good night, and he kissed them both, giving Morton
the same “bear hug” that he gave his father. r
Left together, Frank and Arthur talked of many
things which interested the boy keenly. He found .
Merriwell knew much of the birds and wild creatures
in which he had taken such deep interest during his
lonely outcast days at his home in Springford. Those
days now seemed like a dreary dream, and only one
fear came to torture him; the fear that some day he
would have to return to Springford and find himself
again amid people who did not understand him, and
who regarded him with doubt and suspicion.
At nine o'clock Arthur rose to go. Frank accom-
panied him to the door, shook his hand, and bade him
good night.
A little group of boys were lingering near the dor-
mitory steps as Arthur came up the walk. They saw
him, and every one turned to face him when he ap-
proached.
“I say, Mort,” cried Jim Knight, “we’ve just been
talking about you. We hear you've suddenly de-
veloped into a first-class hero. How about it?”
Some one laughed, and Arthur felt his blood stir
hotly as he recognized the laugh of Lance Cowling.
“Yes, tell us all about it,” urged Herbert Howe.
“We’re just dying to hear the particulars.”
A Cowardly Blow. 73
::
“He'll be eager to give you all the particulars,”
sneered Cowling.
Arthur's lips were dumb.
“What's the matter?” demanded Bob Keller. “Why
don't you reel off the story?”
“Oh, he's too proud,” said Cowling. “He’s just re-
turned from a visit to Mr. Merriwell, and, therefore,
he disdains to speak with common chaps like us. I
doubt if this great hero will know any of us to-
morrow. He'll look right over our heads.”
“Cowling,” spoke Art, his voice the least bit un-
steady, “I don't want to have further trouble with
you now, but I swear I can't stand your insults!
If you keep it up you’ll go beyond the limit. Boys,
I haven't anything to tell you. Let somebody else tell
it for me, Good night.”
In spite of their protests and urging, he passed
on and hastened to his room. That night Arthur
slept well. It is true he dreamed, but they were
pleasant dreams, and he smiled in his sleep.
In the morning he awoke with a harrassing con-
viction that the day before him would be one of em-
barrassment. He knew the boys would question him,
and he dreaded to meet them. Therefore he was on
hand barely in time for roll-call, and went about the
drills and regular work of the forenoon with energy
when breakfast was over. Some of the boys found
an opportunity to congratulate him, and he was re-
lieved when he saw that nearly all were sincere.
After the midday meal there came a “breathing
spell,” and the boys who sought Morton in his room
looked for him in vain. He had disappeared. He
*-*.*.*.
74 A Cowardly Blow.
was far away in the woods that bordered the lake.
He had fled in order to escape the insistent fellows
who were determined to hear the story from his own
lips. -
By a singular chance, another lad went away by
himself into that strip of woods. It was Cowling,
who was feeling sour and dissatisfied, even though
at last he had been given a chance upon the team,
and there seemed a fair prospect that he would be
used as the regular catcher. Somehow, Lance could
not get over the fear that Morton would still be able
to hold his position with the nine.
Lance was muttering to himself as he advanced
toward the shore of the lake. Suddenly some one rose
and confronted him. -
It was Arthur. -
“Hello!” exclaimed Cowling, stopping short and
glaring at the boy he hated. “What are you doing
here P’’
“I presume I have as much right here as you have,”
returned Arthur. “I was thinking of you. I'm glad
you came.” -
“Thinking of me, eh? I'm sure I'm much obliged
for your thoughts"
“You wouldn't be if you knew them.”
“Oh, well, never mind. There's no love lost be-
tween us.”
“Not a bit, Cowling. I presume I dislike you as
much as you dislike me. I've never tried to hurt you
in any way, shape or manner. Can you say as much
in return ?”
“Bah! Why should I bother about you? You're
*
* A Cowardly Blow. 75
----- * * *
of no consequence. You're nothing but a common
upstart. I know you think yourself something since
you've become Frank Merriwell's special pet. I fancy
you're wearing a swelled head on your shoulders,
for everybody is saying you did a great stunt in
town yesterday. As near as I can learn, anybody
could have done the same thing. You jumped on
Merriwell's horse, chased after the phaeton and
grabbed the kid when it tried to jump out. That
wasn't much of anything, but some fools seem to think
it was a marvelous deed of heroism.”
“I don't care to discuss that with you, Cowling,
but I do want to speak of something else. You've
worked hard to injure me here at school. You hated
me from the very start because I gave Ralph Sand
such support as I was able to give in the contest
for the captaincy of the nine.”
“That wasn't my only reason for disliking you, Mor-
ton. I saw Frank Merriwell taking you up and
making a favorite of you. He isn't supposed to have
any favorite in the school.”
“I don't think I've been an especial favorite of Mr.
Merriwell. We won't talk about that, either. You
did a mean thing when you tried to prevent Sand
from getting together the best players of the school
for the regular team.”
“How do you know I did anything of the sort?”
“Oh, everybody knows it, Cowling. It’s no secret
now. There's no use to deny it. You fancied you
could get up a stronger team of your own. You
even had an idea that Sand would make such a failure
of it that he would give up in disgust, and I am
76 A Cowardly BIOW.
confident you thought you would be captain of the
regular nine before the season was over. You haven't
succeeded in your plot, Cowling. When you found
you could not succeed, you were sore because you
weren't on the regular team. That was your own
fault. Had you been upright and honorable at the
start you would have been the catcher of the Farn-
ham Hall nine, while it is doubtful if I could have
filled any position unless they put me in the out-
field.” g
“You never could have filled any position only for
the coaching of Frank Merriwell. He taught you
what little baseball you know, and that's not much.”
“I’m not pretending that I know a great deal about
baseball, Cowling. Still, I've succeeded far better
than I fancied I could. I was doing well enough to
give fair satisfaction until that second Wellsburg
game.”
“Well, you made a mess of it then. You can't deny
that.”
“Thanks to you, I did.”
“Eh P. Thanks to me?”
“Yes, thanks to you.”
“What do you mean by that?” . -
“You know what I mean. I made some bad er-
rors. I also failed to hit the ball at a critical mo-
ment.”
“Well, how can you blame me? That makes me
laugh. You're talking like a lunatic, Morton.”
“The reason why I made these errors was because
I was blinded by a flash of sunlight reflected from a
mirror held in your hands, Cowling.”
l
-º-
e-
A Cowardly Blow. 77
Lance looked startled, but he succeeded in main-
taining an air of self-possession. --
“What's that?” he cried. “What kind of a crazy
idea have you got in your nut?”
“You can't truthfully deny what I've said, Cowling.
You were seated at a window of one of those tall
buildings near the ball-field, and you had a mirror in
your hands. You threw the reflection of the sun into
my eyes and blinded me. That's why I made those
errors.”
“Well, wouldn’t that kill you to death !” exclaimed
Cowling. “How did you ever get such a notion into
your fool head P’’
“Do you deny it?”
“Why, it's not worth denying. You can’t make
anybody believe that story if you try.”
“Then you do not deny it?”
“Yes, I do.”
“You lie if you do.”
“Hold on 1’’ said Lance, retreating a step and grasp-
ing the broken limb of a tree. “Don’t you call me a
liar ! If you do 2 3
“I say you lie!” repeated Arthur coldly. “With
your own lips you told Snick Widgeon of the dirty
trick you had played on me.”
“Widgeon?” gasped Lance, as he twisted the broken
limb free and gripped it with both hands. “Widgeon?
Has that sneak betrayed me? Has he squealed on
me?” * *
“Ah! then you acknowledge that you did tell him?”
“No, I do not. If he tells anything like that, he's
a liar!”
~ -***
7t, A Cowardly Blow.
“He has not told it, Cowling.”
“Then how did you know about it?”
“Night before last I was out here alone near the
Take when you came with three of your friends. I
lay on the ground within fifteen feet of you, while
you smoked and talked. Two of those fellows re-
turned to the Hall, leaving you and Widgeon. Then
you told Snick what you had done. I heard you.
Now deny it as much as you choose.”
Cowling seemed at a loss for words for a few mo-
ments. Suddenly he straightened up, a sneering laugh
coming from his lips.
“So you were spying on us, were you? Well, if
you heard me tell Widgeon that, I won't deity it.
Nobody will ever get Widgeon to say I told him any-
thing of the sort. But, between us right here, I
acknowledge that I did tell him so. Now, what are
you going to do about it? You go ahead and tell
everybody you please. I’ll say you lie. How are
you going to prove it? Yes, I'm willing you should
know that I flashed the sunlight into your eyes and
rnade you play like a lobster. You have claimed that
something dazzled you, but even Sand did not believe
you. You will never succeed in making anybody
believe you. I'm on the team now, and I’m going to
stay there, too. It's mighty little baseball-playing
you'll do behind the bat the rest of this season.”
, “You curſ you cur!” cried Arthur, his fist clenched
as he stepped forward.
“Stop—stop where you are '' Snarled Cowling.
“Don’t you attempt to put a hand on me.”
But Arthur did not heed the warning. Every fiber
\
A Cowardly Blow. 79
of his being tingled with indignation as he charged
at Lance.
Cowling side-stepped and struck with the limb he
grasped. The cudgel fell squarely across the top of
Morton's head and broke in two. Arthur pitched for-
ward to the ground and lay still.
Lance stood there panting, looking down at his
fallen enemy.
“Well, I warned you—I warned you!” he muttered.
“You would have it. I swear I don't know but I've
broken his skull!”
He bent over Morton, grasped the boy's shoulder
and shook him.
“Get up!” he cried.
Arthur did not move. His face was pale, his eyes
closed, and he looked like a person death-stricken.
“Jerusalem ſ” whispered Lance. “I'm afraid I did
break his head I don't care if I did I’ll take a
sneak. I’ll get out of this. Perhaps he'll come around
by and by. If he don't, they’ll find him in time.”
And, like the coward he was, he dropped the broken
cudgel and skulked away through the woods.
CHAPTER X.
TIt FOR TAT.
Struck senseless for the time being, Morton finally
recovered and returned to Farnham Hall. He made
no complaint against Cowling, for he was resolved
to settle the trouble between Lance and himself with-
out appealing to other parties.
Again he took no part in baseball practise.
Cowling was on hand, however, and appeared to
be at his best. His mind was made easy by the
knowledge that Morton had recovered and reappeared
at Farnham Hall. - - - -
The following day was Friday, and it was arranged
that the regular team should play the second team
a short practise game.
That night Morton was asked to catch for the second
team and declined.
It was then decided that Punk Rogers should try
his hand behind the bat. -
Friday was a bright, sunny day, with a clear sky.
At three o'clock the two teams assembled on the field.
'A large number of the Farnham Hall lads were on
hand to witness the game, and Cowling's friends
were in high spirits as they saw him with the regu-
lars. -
“Morton has had his day,” said one. “He went up
Mike a rocket, and he's fallen like a stick.”
“Why, he's too sore even to play with the second
Tit for Tat. 81)
*
team,” grinned another. “If he'd do that, he might
occasionally get a chance behind the bat for the regu-
|
lars. But he's not going to be satisfied unless he can
9 y
do all the catching. He's a genuine hog.
“Heroes usually want to be the whole shooting-
match,” observed a third. “You know Morton's a
great hero now.”
“Wonder where he is?” speculated the first speaker.
“I presume he's in his room sulking.”
After brief practise by both teams, a coin was tossed
and the regulars started the game at the bat.
Billy Ross was the pitcher for the second team. He
was nervous, and began by hitting Knight with the
ſhall. -
Sam Cobb followed and made a clean hit.
Then Sand smashed out a two-bagger and drove
in two runs.
It looked as if the regulars would have a cinch with
the second team.
Ross became erratic and wild in his pitching. Had
Bob Keller waited, he might have walked to first
on balls. But he was eager to hit, and swung at the
wild ones. At a result, he struck out.
Gig Gage put up an infield fly and was out.
Herbert Howe managed to hit a slow bounder into
the diamond. The short-stop handled it awkwardly,
and Howe was safe on first.
Cowling's friends gave him a round of applause as
the walked to the plate.
“Hit it a mile, Lance!” was the cry.
Lance was full of confidence. He believed Ross
82 Tit for Tat.
easy to hit, and he was eager to show his friends
what he could do with the bat. -
In his nervousness, Ross put the first ball Squarely
over the heart of the plate.
Cowling started to swing with the bat, but some-
thing bright flashed in his eyes and blinded him,
causing him to miss.
“Strike!” called the umpire, while Lance glanced
around in surprise, wondering what it was that had
dazzled him. While he was doing this, Rogers re-
turned the ball to Ross, who hastily sent it across
the plate once more.
“Strike two ſ” cried the umpire.
“Look out—look out, Lance ſ” shouted Bob Keller.
“Don’t let 'em play that on you. He's a mark. Any-
body can hit him. Wake up!”
Cowling gripped the bat and settled himself in a
firm position, determined to start the stitches on the
ball if Ross put another one anywhere near the plate.
The pitcher now handed up two wide ones, where-
upon Lance growled : &
“Get 'em where I can reach 'em. I don't want to
walk; give me a chance to swat it.”
As if in agreeable compliance, Ross sent another
one straight over the plate.
Again Lance struck, and again a bright flash of
light caught him in the eyes and dazzled him so that
he missed cleanly.
“Three strikes—you're out !” shouted the umpire.
With lowered bat, Lance stood glaring around in all
directions, seeking to discover the cause of the flashing
gleam of light that had filled his eyes, and, as he be-
/
lieved, caused him to strike out ignominiously just
when he was eager to show what he could do as a
batter. - ... " -
“What's the matter, old man?" asked Sand, ob-
serving Cowling's singular actions. - -
“Didn't you see it?” growled Lance.
“See what?” - -
“The flash of light that struck me in the eyes
both times I tried to hit the ball.” -
“The wh-a-a-at?” cried Ralph wonderingly. “What
are you talking about? Have you caught Morton's
affliction? You know he said that was what happened
to him in Wellsburg and caused him to make those
fatal errors. Nobody took much stock in it. And
now you're putting up the same sort of a yarn.”
Lance flung his bat toward the bench, muttered
something to himself and seized the body-protector,
which he hastened to adjust. -
“It couldn't have been my imagination,” he thought;
“yet I can't see how it happened. There's no building
anywhere near the field in which a person could hide
and use a mirror as I did at Wellsburg. It must be
Some one in the crowd who did it.”
He went behind the bat with a feeling of mingled
anger and determination to catch the guilty person
if the trick should be repeated. -
“Now get right after 'em, captain,” piped Bob
Keller. “Some of those fellows have been telling how
they can hit your benders. Show 'em up.”
Sand opened with great speed and shot over two
corner-cutters, both of which were fouled by Fred,
Ferris._The batter was encouraged by his compan-
-- *-ºs-
*


84 Tit for Tat.
--ºl
ions, who declared he would hit the ball safely next
time. But their prophecy proved false, for Ferris
finally fanned.
Big Bowman, however, strode forth to the pan and
smashed the ball viciously into left center for two
sacks.
Then Marlin lay down a pretty grounder that was
too hot for Peg Campbell to handle, and Bowman
went to third while Marlin capered to first.
“Oh, I guess we can hit him,” shouted Punk Rog-
ers, as Widgeon walked to the plate.
Sand tried a close one on Snick, and the tricky
fellow permitted the ball to hit him while pretending
to dodge. He was sent to first by the umpire, and
the bases were full with only one man out.
The second team and its friends betrayed the great-
est excitement.
“No use for them to cheer,” said one of the regular
team's supporters. “Neither Cawson nor Anson can
hit. Sand will fan them both.”
It seemed that Ralph meant to fan Cawson, for he
quickly crooked over two shoots that the batter could
not touch.
“Give him another ''' cried Cowling, crouching close
under the bat. “He’ll never hit it in a thousand
years.”
Sand tried two coaxers, and then indicated by a
sign that he would shoot one over.
Ready for business, Lance squared himself to re-
ceive the ball. It came piping hot and shoulder-high
from the pitcher's hand.
| Again that flash of light struck Cowling in the
~. - - -- * - * * * Y
--- – Tit for Tat. 85
eyes. He did not see the ball after it left Sand's
fingers.
Cawson missed.
The ball struck the wire of Cowling's cage and
knocked Lance down. Away it bounded to one side,
while Bowman came galloping down the line from
third and Cawson was off for first.
Cowling had not the least idea what had become of
the ball, and it was necessary for Keller to leave third
uncovered in order to go after it. By the time it
was recovered and sent to the plate Marlin had also
scored, which tied the first team. --
The delighted friends of the second team shouted
like lunatics. Cowling heard them shrieking with
laughter over his performance, and his rage was truly
spectacular. He was swearing when Sand grabbed
him by the shoulder and reminded him that Frank
Merriwell would not tolerate such a thing upon the
field.
“What ails you, anyhow, Cowling 2" asked Ralph,
in disgust. “I thought you were a catcher.”
“I tell you somebody is playing monkeyshines with
me!” frothed Lance. “Somebody is throwing the light
in my eyes with a mirror. I didn't see that ball at all.
Where’s that fellow Morton P’’
*
“You can't lay it on him,” said Ralph. “He isn't
on the field.”
Cowling rushed over to the stand and shook his
fist to some of the cheering friends of the second
$eam.
“Somebody in this crowd is blinding me with a
*
86 Tit for Tat.
pocket-mirror!” he snarled. “If I find out who's
doing it I'll break his head.”
At that they sent up a howl of laughing derision,
which infuriated him still niore,
“You wait and See,” he threatened. “If I catch the
fellow, I'll knock the stuſiing out of him.”
1 He was in such a condition of nervous rage that
he muffed the easy foul Anson put up a few mo–
ments later. He followed this by a still greater blun-
der, for he caught up the ball and whipped it toward
third, hoping to catch Widgeon, who was deliberately
Sauntering back to that sack.
There was a hoarse shout. The coacher leaped for-
ward and grabbed Widgeon, who had touched the
cushion, jerked him round and yelled :
“Go home, go home, you chump!”
For Cowling had thrown fully ten feet over little
Bob Keller's head. *
Widgeon scored, while Cawson pranced to third
before the left-fielder could get the ball back into the
diamond.
The Second team was now one run in the lead.
“And is that the catcher you're going to put in
Morton's place?” yelled somebody in the stand, “Mor-
ton can catch better than that will, llis feet.”
It is impossible to describe the condition of Cow-
ling's mind at this stage of the game. He felt certain
Some one had retaliated upon him by using his own
trick with which he had destroyed the effectiveness of
Arthur Morton's playing at Wellsburg. He had now
quite lost his head. To add to his disgrace, Anson
batted a grounder to Gig Gage, on which Cawson at-
--~~~~<. “ -- - -
Tit for Tat. 87
tempted to score from third. As only one man was
out, Gage sent the ball to the plate to stop that run.
Cowling muffed it.
Cawson scored.
Anson was safe on first.
Again had Lance been dazzled by a flash of sun-
shine in his eyes. He tore off his mask and hurled
it upon the ground, giving it a kick that sent it flying
a rod away.
“This has got to stop !” he snarled. “By the ever-
lasting——”
Sand had him by the neck.
“Don’t you swear again, Cowling !” he cried. “I
don't know what is the matter with you, but you can't
play baseball to-day.”
“That's right! that's right!" rasped Lance. “I’m
going to quit right now. Somebody will pay for
this '''
He tore off the body-protector and flung it in the
direction of the mask.
Sand called a substitute from the bench to cover
first, while Knight was sent in to pitch and Ralph
himself went behind the bat.
During the whole of the practise game, which
lasted for five innings and finally terminated with the
score ten to eight in favor of the regular team, Arthur
Morton lay stretched at full length upon a stout limb
of a tree standing just outside of Farnham Field.
When the game was over and the players had left
the field, Arthur, a small mirror concealed in his
pocket, slipped down from the tree without being ob-
served, stretched his cramped and tired limbs, and
s———--
\. ~~~ -
88 Tit for Tat.
returned to Farnham Hall by a roundabout course.
Hidden by the foliage of the tree, yet in such a posi-
tion that he could flash the sunlight into Cowling's
eyes with the aid of his mirror, Arthur had retaliated
upon his enemy without harming the school or any
one else, for the game was one of no special im-
portance.
Sand was almost the first person he encountered on
reaching the School-grounds.
“Supposed you were ill, Morton,” said Ralph.
“Didn't fancy you were out to-day. Where have you
been P’’
“Oh, I've been getting some fresh air and enjoying
myself first-rate,” answered Art, with a smile, “How
did Cowling suit you as a catcher, captain?”
Ralph shook his head. -
“He will never do in the world,” he said. “He’s
got a frightful temper. Queer thing, you know, but
he made an awful mess of it behind the bat, and
swore somebody was throwing the sunlight into his
eyes with a mirror. Such a thing was impossible,
of course, as there was no chance for any one to do
it without being detected. The fellows are pretty well
satisfied to-night that you're the man we'll rely on as
catcher. You must fill the position to-morrow, Ar-
thur. You will, won't you?”
“I’ll do as well as I can,” promised Morton.
Later, the same evening, little Bob Keller sought
Sand in the greatest excitement and asked for a pri-
vate interview. They mounted the stairs to Ralph's
room. As soon as they were in that room, Keiler
turned to the captain of the nine and said: ..., t
* - {
W º:
-º-, -º
Tit for Tat. 89
“Old man, Morton told the truth when he said he
was blinded by a mirror reflected at Wellsburg. I
have the proof of it in my pocket. It was a dirty
trick, and one of our own Schoolmates perpetrated it.
I’ve had something to do with the fellow in the past,
but I'll never associate with him again.”
“Rather interesting, Keller,” said Sand. “You say
you have the proof of it in your pocket? What do
you mean by that ?”
“Oh, I’ve got it,” declared the little chap, nearly
jerking his head off as he nodded—“I’ve got it right
here. Tell you how I happened to get it. Went to
call on Cowling a few moments ago. Thought I'd
question him—thought I'd ask him how it happened
he made such a mess on the field to-day. He wasn't
in his room. He had left the door unlocked, and
I walked in. He was mighty careless, for I found a
letter lying upon his study-table. Didn't mean to read
it, you know—of course, I didn't. Just happened to
glance at it, and then I saw something that caught
my eye and made me read it. It was from a Wells-
burg fellow by the name of Ash, and it told all about
how Cowling and some other chaps had sat in the
back room of an office in one of those tall buildings
near the ball-field, and Lance had used a mirror to
throw the sunshine into Morton's eyes.”
“Let me see that letter,” said Ralph grimly, as he
held out his hand.
Keller produced it, and handed it over to Sand.
Ralph read it from start to finish, and his face grew
hard and cold, while his eyes flashed with mingled an-
ger and contennpt. -
*
90 Tit for Tat.
“The dirtiest trick I ever heard of !” he exclaimed
when he had finished. “Cowling ought to be kicked
out of Farnham Hall. He shall be I'll take this to
Mr. Merriwell. He won't stand for a dirty piece of
business of that sort.”
“Now hold on—hold on " protested Keller breath-
lessly. “You can't take it to Merriwell.”
“Why not?"
“Because if you do you'll give me away. You'll
betray the fact that I went into Cowling's room and
read that letter. I'll get into trouble over it. Of
course Merriwell will ask how the letter came into
your possession, and you’ll have to tell the truth.”
Sand frowned in disappointment.
“I suppose that's right, Bob,” he finally admitted.
“But Cowling ought to be kicked out of school. He
ought to get it in the neck for such dirty business.”
“It’s easy enough to cook his goose,” said Keller.
“HOW P”
“Just take that letter to him. Show it to him.
Tell him what you know. You've got the proof.
You don't have to tell how you got hold of the letter.
He'll be ostracized by everybody. He won't have a
friend left at Farnham Hall, and that will hurt him
more than being expelled.” -
“That's a good plan, Keller,” nodded Ralph. “I’ll
carry it out. Just go look for Cowling and tell him
I want to see him here, will you?”
“Sure,” said Keller, as he hastened out of the room,
Five minutes later Cowling and Sand were face to
face in that room, and Ralph was giving Lance the
bitterest sort of tongue-lashing. When Cowling blus-
*****------- - - - - -
Tit for Tat. 91
tered the captain of the nine produced the letter from
Casper Ash. g
“Here's the proof of your low, dirty, treacherous
work, Cowling,” he said. “I’ve read this letter, every
word of it. If I were to pass it over to 17 rank Merri-
well you know what would happen to you.”
Cowling's eyes bulged from his head and his face
suddenly grew pale.
“How—how did you get hold of that?” he stam-
nered.
“Never mind how I got hold of it; I have it.”
“You stole it! You had no right to read it! You
had no right to touch it !”
“Don’t talk about stealing, Cowling. Here's the
letter. Take it. I don't want it. I'm not the only
person who has read it. You will play no more base-
ball for Farnham Hall. There’s the door. Get !”
Lance snatched the letter and backed toward the
door. Once he started to speak, but the look in Sand’s
eyes struck him dumb, and, without a word, he turned
to sneak, crestfallen and heartsick, from the room.
*--- ~~~~ *- - - -- 4 - - -º
CHAPTER XI.
FILLING AN OPEN DATE,
A tall, slender young man with coarse dark hair
and a small, coal-black mustache, stood on the steps
of the leading hotel of Wellsburg and frowned. He
was attired in a negligee suit, panama hat, and russet
shoes. His clothes were loose-fitting, yet distinctly
tailor-made, for they hung well upon him. He was
chewing at a cigar which he had lighted and permitted
to go out. f
“Now, where the dickens is that man Sprague?"
he muttered. “May the Old Nick fly away with him
He agreed to meet me here in Wellsburg, but he hasn't
shown up. Looks as if I’d have to go back without
him, and there's no prospect of getting a game in this
town Friday. I don't see how I'm going to fill in
that canceled date. Can't jump to Newton Falls, for
the expense of coming back to Larchville the follow-
ing day would eat up every cent of possible profit and
put me behind.” -
A large touring-car, carrying four persons, stopped
in front of the jewelry store of J. Jasper & Son, across
the street. Frank Merriwell, who had been driving
the car, stepped out. ;
“A handsome chap, that,” murmured the man on
the hotel steps. “By Jove! as handsome a man as I
ever put my eyes on 1 Wonder who he is?”
A bell-boy, who had stepped out of the hotel at
Filling an Open Date. 93
this moment, heard the final words and spoke up at
once in a most respectful manner. -
“That’s Frank Merriwell, sir,” he said. “Perhaps
you've heard of him? Almost everybody has heard
of him and his School of Athletic Development in
Bloomfield.”
“Frank Merriwell, eh?” breathed the man addressed.
“I should say I had heard of him ' Who hasn’t: I've
always wanted to get a look at that man. Here's a
quarter, my boy, for your information.”
The bell-boy accepted the quarter with thanks.
“This Merriwell used to be a great baseball-player,”
continued the man. “He was the greatest pitcher they
ever turned out at Yale. Wonder if he's interested in
the game now P’’
“Interested?” laughed the boy. “You bet he is
Why, he always has a corking old team over there at
Bloomfield. We used to trim everything in the coun-
ty; but since Merriwell started his school we’ve never
been able to beat Bloomfield in a series.”
“And that's rather interesting, too,” laughed the
man in the negligee suit. “How large a place is
Bloomfield P”
“Oh, nothing but a little squirt of a town. But,
good gracious, they do get out crowds at their ball-
games! It's amazing how people attend those games.
Everybody goes. The whole country around Bloom-
field seems to be baseball daffy. Why, I’ve known
them to have bigger crowds at some of their games
than I ever saw at a game in Wellsburg.”
“Well. that’s still more interesting information,”
94 Tilling an Open Date.`
nodded the man. “I think I'll interview Mr. Merri-
well.”
He descended the steps and crossed the street.
By this time, Sand and Morton, who had occupied
the rear seat of the touring-car, having spoken a few
words with Merriwell, were on their way down the
main street of the little city.
Merriwell was on the point of entering the store of
J. Jasper & Son when the man from the hotel spoke
to him.
“I beg your pardon, sir. I'm told that you are Mr.
Merriwell.”
Frank turned with a pleasant smile.
“That's my name,” he answered, with a slight bow.
“Well, my name is Windham—Walter Windham.
It's not likely you've ever heard of me, although I've
heard a great deal about you in connection with base-
ball, and I've long been anxious to meet you. Would
you shake hands with me?”
Merriwell unhesitatingly accepted the proffered hand.
There was something electrical, hearty, and whole-
souled in the grip he gave Windham.
“It’s the greatest sport in the world,” he said, “I
mean in the way of a game or a manly contest of
any sort, I've tried about everything in the way
of clean sport, and I will admit there are a few thrills
in running a flying-machine. But even that can't be
compared with baseball for an all-around, healthy,
manly, beneficial sport. When the game is played in
a clean and honest manner it hasn't a single draw-
back to mat it. Football is a great game, too, though
TTFilling an Open Date. 95
I must confess it does have features to which some
people may reasonably object. It's a game only for
hardened, trained, finely fitted and naturally endowed
players. As a spectacle it sometimes out ranks base-
ball. Women generally prefer it to the latter game
for the reason that they fancy they understand it bet-
ter. They can see the two teams struggling on the
field, and by the shifting line of play they are able
in many cases to tell which team seems to have the
advantage. In baseball there are so many things they
do not understand that not a few of them get to fancy-
ing the fastest game is slow and uninteresting. But
I've found that when you run across a member of the
fair sex who really knows the fine points of baseball
and takes any interest whatever in the game, she al-
ways declares it in every way superior to football.”
Windham nodded smilingly.
“Oh, I never took any stock in football myself.”
he said. “It may be a little better now than it used
to be when mere beef and brawn counted for a great
deal more in a game than brains and strategy. But
I doubt if they could ever make it as clean and harm-
less as baseball without rejobing it of every bit of real
excitement and interest. I'm manager of an inde-
pendent team known as the Eurekas. I think I've'
got the fastest bunch outside the leagues this season.
My boys are playing in Dover to-day. Didn't feel that
it was necessary to be there, for I know they'll take
the game. But I'm up against an open date for Fri-
day. Had a new player on the string, a fast short-
stop, and arranged to meet him here to-day. I fancied
I could get a game with Wellsburg to fill in that
96 Filling an Open Date.
open date, but I can't. There's nothing doing. They
tell me you have a team at your school in Bloomfield.”
“Yes, I have a team of youngsters.”
“Well, now, look here, Mr. Merriwell, why can't
I make arrangements to bring my team to Bloomfield
Friday and play you there? My next place is Larch-
ville, where we play Saturday. They tell me you turn
out good big crowds in your little town. I’ve got all
sorts of advertising, and that ought to be a drawing-
card for you. I feel certain it would. Of course, we'd
beat you, but I give you my word that we won't rub
it in. If we find your team is too easy, we'll hold up
and make the game a decent one to witness.”
Frank laughed.
“That's very kind of you, I must say. I've seen
games of that sort, and I've never yet witnessed one
that was good to look at from the grand stand or the
bleachers. I hardly think it would pay Farnham Hall
to take on a professional team for a game.”
“Of course, I don't expect you to give me my usual
guarantee money,” said Windham hastily. “If we
played in Wellsburg I should expect a two-hundred-
dollar guarantee. In most places we get a great deal
more than that. We played Hoboken for a percentage
and carried off nearly five hundred as our part of the
gate-money. Oh, I’m not comparing your town with
Hoboken, Mr. Merriwell. I'll tell you what I'll do.
In order to fill in this open date with a game, I'll
accept a guarantee of one hundred dollars, with the
anderstanding that I'm to have fifty per cent, of all
gate-money that may be taken above that sum. It
Filling an Open Date. 97
costs me more than one hundred dollars a day to carry
my team.” -
“Then I don't see how you're going to carry it very
far.”
“I haven’t made a dollar up to date—not even with
the good money we took out of Hoboken. I’m just
about even. If I can't fill in Friday it's likely I'll
go behind.”
“My boys have a game for Saturday. It would be
putting 'em in a little too thick, don't you think?"
“We play every day we can, Mr. Merriwell.”
“But you're in that business. Too much playing
is almost as bad as too little for youngsters and ama-
teurs. I find that about two hard games a week is
all my boys will stand.”
Windham looked a trifle disappointed, but he did
not abandon the effort.
“Look here,” he urged. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do.
I'll take chances on Bloomfield. If you'll look after
my advertising and see that it's well scattered through
the country, if you'll make every effort to get out a
good crowd, I'll accept a guarantee of seventy-five
dollars, with the understanding that I have fifty per
cent. Of all gate-money taken above that sum. This,
however, must be a private matter between us. It
wouldn't do for me to let, other places know I had
accepted any such terms, for the managers who are
giving me a hundred and fifty, two hundred, even three
hundred, would get sore.”
“I haven't asked you to reduce your original of-
fer," said Merry, “for I know something about the ex-
penses of carrying a baseball-team through the coun-
98 Filling an Open Date.
try. I've had no little experience at it myself. What
sort of a bunch have you got, Windham P Are they
old stagers? Are they second-rate professionals?
Are they left-overs from the minor league teams?
Particularly, are they gentlemen on the field? Let it
be understood between us that I will not tolerate pro-
fanity, vulgarity, or anything objectionable on Farn-
ham Field. I shall further insist on furnishing the
unmpire, and I give you my word that you shall have a
square man.”
Windham brightened at once.
“I agree to that,” he said, “for I know by your
reputation that you wouldn't put in a thief. And,
even if you did, the chances would be ten to one that
we'd beat you just the same. I’ve got a lot of young-
sters whom I’ve picked up here and there. Two or
three of them are college players; the rest are not.
But, like you, I have a rule that there shall be no pro-
fanity or coarseness on the ball-field. Just now I’m
minus a good short-stop, because the fellow I had,
although a fast player, was a rather brawling, loud-
mouthed chap. He always forgot himself in critical
moments and gave vent to improper language. Fur-
thermore, he drank. I won't have lushers, and after
giving him two warnings I fired him. We're playing
with a country boy to fill the vacancy, and if Sprague,
the chap I expected to meet here, should fail me, it
will be necessary to get along as best we can until I
can pick up another good man. Will we sign an agree-
ment for the game, Mr. Merriwell? I have some
printed contracts right here in my pocket.”
Frank considered a moment.
--> * * Filling an Open Dale. 99
“I hardly think it will be necessary to sign any con-
tract, Windham,” he said. “Really, I have a curiosity
to see what my kids can do against a professional
team. I accept your Original offer. I’ll give you a
hundred dollars guarantee, with fifty if it rains and
there's no game. You shall also have fifty per cent.
of the money we take in excess of one hundred dollars.
If you're satisfied with this sort of an understanding,
send on your advertising, and I'll see what I can do
in the way of turning out a good crowd to witness the
game.” º-
“It's a go!” cried Windham, in great satisfaction.
While Merriwell and Windham were talking a young
lady, wearing a heavy veil, brushed past them and
entered the jewelry store.
Windham's eyes followed her.
“A trim little clipper,” he murmured. “Good style,
but I can't tell how she looks. That veil was a baf-
fler.”
Merriwell paid no heed to the man's words.
“I’ve some business to look after now,” he ob-
served. “I’ll see you next Friday, Windham. Don't
forget to send along your advertising. Good day.”
Inside the store Frank found the veiled girl in-
specting Some jeweled hair combs.
Merry was known by nearly every one in Wellsburg,
and the junior member of the firm hurried to greet
him. -
“Good morning, Mr. Merriwell,” he said, with a
Smile. “Saw your car outside. What can we do for
you?”
“I thought I'd purchase some sort of a trinket for
too Filling an Open Date.
Mrs. Merriwell,” said Frank. “It’s her birthday to-
morrow.”
In a few moments he was looking at jewelry, with
the veiled girl near his elbow. It seemed Merry's idea
of a “trinket” was something rather more expensive
than the name would signify, and soon the top of the
case in front of him was covered by trays holding
rings, necklaces, and Sparkling pins and brooches, vary-
ing in price from one hundred dollars to a thousand
Or 111Ore.
The girl betrayed some interest in the display of
jewelry, which was natural enough, for every woman
admires beautiful things of that sort. She continued
examining the hair combs and asking prices in a low,
not unmusical, voice.
Before Merry had fully made up his mind as to the
purchase he would make, Sand and Morton returned
and entered the store.
About this time the girl purchased and paid for a
comb. She did not see either of the boys until Sand
spoke to Frank.
At the sound of Ralph's voice the girl started as if
thrilled by an electric shock and turned instantly to-
ward him.
Then a most peculiar thing happened. In another
moment she was clinging to the edge of the show- "
case and swaying as if on the point of falling. In-
deed, she did stagger and half-fall against Frank Mer-
rivell, who caught her and supported her.
“What's the matter, miss?” he asked.
She made an effort to answer, but her words were
no more than an incoherent murmur.
*n - *~
**== ~~
Filling an Open Date. IOI
“Get a chair, Morton,” directed Merry. “Quick,
my boy!”
Arthur sprang for a chair, and Frank assisted the
girl to it, at the same time calling for water.
But when a glass of water was brought the girl
declined to lift her veil and showed signs of reviving.
“It's nothing—nothing but a little faintness,” she
whispered. “I’ll be all right—in a minute."
“You’d better take a swallow of this water,'
Merry.
But still she refused.
“No, no; I don't need it. I’m all right now.
Where's the comb I purchased ? I must go.”
The clerk who had waited on her placed the comb,
enclosed in a box and neatly wrapped, in her hands.
She thanked him, still speaking scarcely above a whis-
per, and rose at once. Her step was steady as she
moved toward the door without haste. The door was
held open for her, and directly she was gone.
“Rather odd, Mr. Merriwell,” said young Jack
Jasper. “She seemed decidedly disinclined to show
$
urgeel
her face.”
“So I fancied,” nodded Frank. “Have you an idea
you know her, Sand 2 She was all right until you en-
tered and spoke.”
Ralph shook his head.
“Of course, I can't say that I don't know her,”
he replied, “for I didn't see her face. But if it's any
one I do know, I haven't the least idea who it can be.”
Merriwell returned to his examination of the jewels.
“Where's that brooch I was looking at, Mr. Jas-
per?” he asked.
I O2 Filling an Open Date.
“It must be right here,” answered young Jasper.
But it was not. In a moment there were evidences
of concern on the part of the junior member of the
firm and the clerks, for a diamond brooch, valued at
nine hundred dollars, was missed. A thorough search
failed to bring it to light.
Merriwell discovered that the boys who accompanied
him were regarded with some suspicion. -
“Of course, it's not probable that either of these
boys would take the brooch, Mr. Merriwell,” said
Jack Jasper. But the manner in which he spoke plainly
expressed his doubts. -
“I’ll vouch for them both,” said Frank.
Sand was indignant in a twinkling.
“I must ask to be searched,” he cried. “I wouldn’t
leave this store under any other conditions.”
“Nor I,” said Morton, following Sand's lead.
“Of course, we'll do so as a mere matter of form,”
said Jasper. “If you'll step into the private office we'll
soon have it over.”
Into the private office they went, and both lads were
thoroughly searched. When this was over there
seemed no question as to their innocence. Jasper at-
tempted to apologize, and added that he had enter-
tained no thought of insisting on searching them, but
had done so because they had demanded it.
“What could have become of the brooch P” he cried.
In the meantime, Merriwell had been doing some
thinking.
“Mr. Jasper,” he said, “I should advise you to find
that girl without delay.”
“Why, you don't think 35
Filling an Open Date. iO3
g-
“Of course, I may be wrong,” said Frank, “but one
thing is certain: the brooch did not walk away of its
own accord. It did not depart without the assistance
of hands. If you'll take my advice, you'll ring up
police headquarters at once and get track of the veiled
girl. In the meantime, we'll do what we can to find
her. You say she was a stranger ?”
“No one I ever saw before,” said Jasper, “and I had
an idea I knew nearly everybody in Wellsburg.” *
As he spoke he rang up central, and a moment later
was calling for police headquarters.
Frank hurried out, followed by Ralph and Arthur.
“Toots,” he said, speaking to the colored man, who
had remained in the auto, “did you notice that veiled
lady, when she came out of the store?”
“Yes, sah. Ah observed her mos’’ticular, sah.”
“Which way did she go?” .
“Right up de street, sah.” t
“Did she seem to be in a hurry P”
“Ah didn't notice nuffin' ob dat sort, Mr. Mer'well.
She sort ob preambulated along in de mos' leisurely
manner. Yes, sah.”
Young Jasper came hustling out of the store.
“I’ll have the best man on the force here in less
than two minutes,” he said. “Which way did the girl
go?” - -
“Up the street,” answered Merry. “Toots tells me
she departed leisurely, but she's out of sight now.
More than ever I am led to believe that the brooch de-
parted with her.”
“I thust remain here until the officers come. Would
IO4 ... • Tilling an Open Date.
you feel like looking around for the girl, Mr. Merri-
Well ?”
“I’m more than anxious to do anything I can for
you, Mr. Jasper. We'll go through the town in my
car and take our time about it. We may be able to
spot her.”
They entered the car, which Toots started “on the
spark,” and were soon rolling slowly along the main
street of Wellsburg. They kept their eyes open for
some glimpse of the girl; but when a full half-hour
had passed and they had followed every thoroughfare
in the town on which it seemed probable they might
succeed in their purpose, they were finally compelled to
turn back disappointed.
In front of one of the second-rate hotels of the town
Merry espied Walt Windham. -
At Frank's direction, Toots brought the car to a
stop at the curbing.
“Off for Bloomfield, I presume?” said Windham,
as he crossed the sidewalk and reached the car.
“We shall start soon,” answered Frank. “You re-
call the veiled girl who entered Jasper's store while we
were talking, don't you?”
“Oh, sure, sure. She rather took my eye. I’ve seen
her again.”
“You have P”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where P”
“On the street. I followed her here. She entered
this hotel.” .
In a moment Merriwell was out of the car.
y
*** - .* Filling an Open Date. 105
“That's important information, Windham. While
we were in Jasper's store a robbery was committed.”
“You don't say so !”
“The girl was there at the time. She left before
the theft was discovered. A diamond brooch worth
nine hundred dollars was missed directly after she
departed.”
“Great Scott! Do they think she stole it?”
“It looks suspiciously like it, \\indham. The police
have been notified. You say the girl is in this hotel?”
“I don't say she's here now, but I do say I saw
her go in. I followed and was just in time to catch
a glimpse of her going up on the elevator. I made
inquiries about her, but no one seemed to know who
she was. They told me she wasn't a guest of the
house.” -
Frank promptly entered the hotel, having instructed
Sand and Morton to remain at the door and watch for
the girl. Inquiring of the elevator-boy, he learned
that she had left the car at the third floor. He was
likewise told that she had come out of the hotel an
hour or more earlier.
The clerk was found and questioned. He seemed
unable to give any satisfactory information about the
mysterious female. Even though he questioned the
elevator-boy and the “bell hop,” he was finally forced
to acknowledge that he did not know who the girl
could be.
Merriwell stepped into a booth and telephoned the
store of J. Jasper & Son.
“You’ll have some officers here in a few moments,”
ſhe explained to the clerk as he reappeared. “In the
106 Filling an Open Date.
meantime, I wish you would take every possible pre-
caution to prevent the girl from leaving this house.
She is suspected of being a thief.” -
In less than a minute guards were posted at every
exit from the hotel.
Three officers in plain clothes soon appeared, accom-
panied by Jack Jasper.
“Have you got her, Mr. Merriwell?" asked the
young man anxiously.
“I hope so,” replied Merry. “She was seen to enter
this house, and I don’t think she has left since then.”
The chief of the officers now took charge of the
affair. After making a few inquiries and learning
that no one could tell who the girl was, he requested
the privilege of searching the hotel, which was
promptly granted on his promise that the guests should
not be alarmed. -
Windham took a deep interest in all that was tran-
spiring. -
“I swear I didn't fancy that girl a thief when I saw
her enter the store,” he said. “But you never can tell
about these shoplifters.”
The search of the hotel was made systematic and
thorough. A full hour was spent about it, and at the
end of that time the officers were compelled to acknowl-
edge themselves baffled. Not a trace of the mysterious
girl could be found.
Still, Windham insisted that she had entered the
house, and the bell-boy repeated his assertion that he
had taken her to the third floor and left her there
without even noticing which way she turned after step-
ping out ºf the car. He declared he had believed she
"Filling an Open Date. 107
must be a guest of the house, as her manner seemed
to indicate this. He had asked her what floor she
wished, and she had answered promptly and without
hesitation.
“If she is in Wellsburg now, and I presume she must
be,” said the chief of the officers, “you can rest as-
sured, Mr. Jasper, that she'll not get out of the place
without being apprehended. I will see that every
avenue of escape is guarded. We'll get her as sure as
fate.”
Apparently Jasper had a great deal of confidence in
the man, for this satisfied him and he returned to lis
store in the car with Merriwell. Frank made a pur-
chase to please his fancy and then decided he would
take lunch in town, hoping that the girl would be
found ere it became necessary for him to leave. He
stopped at the hotel across the street from the jewelry
store and found Windham in the dining-room. The
baseball manager nodded and smiled, motioning for
Merry to approach.
“Don’t suppose you've heard anything more about
our mysterious veiled female, have you?” he inquired,
as Frank and the boys paused near his table.
“Not a thing. I decided to stay over a while to see
if there were any developments in the case.”
“If she got away with that diamond brooch she must
be a slick proposition. The whole business is queer.
Anyhow, I’m glad I ran across you as I did. I was
thinking of taking a train, but I lost it while hanging
around to see if they would catch the vanishing lady."
Meantime, my man Sprague, whom I was to meet, has
turned up. well have to come over to 'd on
108 Filling an Open Date.
the train which arrives there at Io: 18 p. m. We'll be
there Thursday night. Would you mind engaging ac-
commodations for us? There will be eleven men. I
presume you have a hotel in town 2"
“Yes, we have a hotel. It's nothing but a country
hotel, you understand. Still, I'm led to believe that
it will prove fairly satisfactory. I'll speak to the
proprietor and have him prepare to put you up. Will
you want supper after you arrive?”
“Now, it's likely we will. Think you can arrange
that, Mr. Merriwell ?”
“Oh, if I ask Jotham Nipper to have supper for
you I'm certain he will do so. When will we get your
advertising matter?”
“I’ll rush it along so that it will reach you by day
after to-morrow. That will give you one day to use
it. In the meantime, if you will, you can do a little
advertising in your own way.”
“I’ll look out for that,” nodded Frank.
At two in the afternoon Merry saw Jack Jasper
and was told that thus far the police had found abso-
lutely no trace of the suspected girl.
“It's equal to a chapter out of a detective story,”
said Jasper. “We still have the hotel under surveil-
lance. She can't get away.”
“I hope you're right,” said Merry. “I did hope
you'd discover her before I started for home, but
I’ve got to go now. I wish you good luck.”
CHAPTER XII.
NED NEW TON.
Fie was a slender, delicate lad of uncertain age,
with an oval face and a touch of pink color in his
cheeks. He came to Bloomfield on the afternoon train.
It was Wednesday. He was accompanied by a small
trunk, which he had taken to the hotel of Jotham
Nipper, where he sought accommodations, registering
as “Edward Newton, Orland, New York.” He did
not look like a very strong lad, and he took pains to ex-
plain to the somewhat inquisitive landlord that he had
been sent there by his parents to enter Frank Merri-
well's school and had made them agree that he should
first visit and inspect the school before definitely de-
ciding to become one of Merriwell's pupils.
“You see I’d rather go to a regular school where
they have lots of athletics,” he explained. “But my
father says that I've been studying too hard and that
a full year out of school will do me good. I don't
look sick, do I ?”
He asked this question somewhat anxiously.
“Waal,” drawled Mr. Nipper, rolling his quid of
tobacco across his tongue and tucking it into his cheek,
“yer don't presactly look sick, but I can't say that yer
look over an' above strong. Yer look sort o' mejum,
as it were. Be yer sick?”
“Not often,” was the answer. “Sometimes I'm ill
for a day or more. I don't think it comes from hard
*
I IO Ned Newton.
studying, but you see our family physician told my
father it did, and then father frightened mother, who
has always been proud of me because I stood in my
studies far ahead of all other boys of my age.”
“Yer must be a rippin' smart feller at skule-books,”
observed the hotel-keeper, “I s'pose yer take to that
sort o' business jest kind o' nateral, don't yer?”
“Oh, I don't know,” laughed Newton. “I had a sis-
ter who was awfully smart. She was a great deal
smarter than I am or ever shall be. But she had brain
fever and died. I suppose that's why my folks are
frightened about me.”
“I kind o' cal’late that's prob'ly the cause,” nodded
Nipper. “Does Mr. Merriwell know ye're coming?”
“Not now. I have a letter in my pocket from my
father. You see father wanted to send Mr. Merriwell
word. They had some correspondence about me, and
it was arranged that I might come soon. I objected,
and mother sort of stood by me, so at last father agreed
that I might come and look the school over before de-
ciding. I heard him tell mother he was confident I'd
want to enter the school after I got here. What do
you think about it, sir? Do you think Mr. Merriweil's
school is actually of real benefit to delicate lads who
enter it?”
“Waal, now, mebbe I ain't qualified to give a 'pinion.
But I do know that most everybody round these ere
parts swears by Frank Merriwell and his skule. I do
know that he sairt'nly has a rippin' smart bunch of
youngsters Over there, and they say the records show
that he's made strong, healthy fellers out of them
that come to him weak and sickly to begin with.”
Ned Newton. I I I
“But how does he treat them 2 Does he work them
hard 2 Do they have any fun? Is he awfully strict?”
“Tell yer what,” was the answer, “he won't stand
for none o’ that business.”
This statement was elicited by the action of the boy,
who had produced a package of cigarettes and selected
one, which he was slowly rolling between the palms of
his hands. .
“What business?” asked Newton, in surprise.
“Smokin' them stinkin' things,” said Mr. Nipper
bluntly. “He won't low it at all.”
“Do you mean to tell me that the boys at Merriwell's
school do not smoke f"
“Waal, they don't do it with his permission. I
spoke there's a few rascals who sneak out an’ do it on
the sly.” Yer know he takes all sorts o' boys, and, by
gum ! he makes pritty decent fellers of 'em, too. They
have to mind him.” t
“Then he is strict 2 He must be harsh and over-
bearing. I know I shall detest him.”
“If ye do yer’ll be jest about the first one. I’ve
heared of boys who come here with that idee in their
heads. They thought they surely was goin' to detest
Mr. Merriwell, but arter a while then same fellers got
so they jest swore by him and they would do anything
in the world fer him. No, I don't cal' late he's harsh,
but somehow he makes 'en behave—somehow he man-
ages to handle 'em. How he ever does it, with so many
different kinds o' chaps, without using physical force
an’ Scaring 'em into behaving, is more than I under-
stand. But he saint’nly has a way of makin' most
chaps do jest about as he wants 'em to do.
wº-
i 12 Ned Newton.
“Why, there ain't scarcely a man, woman, or child
in this town or the country 'round here that won't
stick by Frank Merriwell through thick and thin.
He's made a monstrous big change in this town, too.
I can remember the time when Bloomfield was a dead
old village with nothin' going on in it, with dirty
streets and unpainted houses and barns, and with a
general air of hopelessness that sort o' made yer sick.
That was 'fore I got holt o' this hotel. That was 'fore
Frank Merriwell come here and took the Asher Mer-
rivell place and fixed it up and built his skule-build-
ings and started his skule.
“Arter he done them things the hull blame town sot
up and begun to prink itself. He give money right
and left for public improvements and things o' that
sort, and people hereabouts they took to fixin' up their
buildings and a-cleaning up their dooryards and
a-scrubbing up everything generally, until we're just
about as proud of Bloomfield for a country village as
we can be. One man like him in a town is worth
more for the general good of the place than fifty
ordinary selfish men who don't care a rap about nobody
but theirselves, no matter if they be rich as mud.”
“Mr. Merriwell must be a very rich man.”
“I cal’late he's got enough to keep him off the poor-
farm,” grinned Mr. Nipper. “Yer ain't seen his home
nor his skule-buildings yet, have yer?”
“No.”
“Waal, when ye do see 'em yer'll sort o' know that
he ain't poverty-stricken. But he ain't like the rich
men that never spend their money for nothin’ except
theirselves. He had a lot of courage to start a skule
Ned Newton. I 13
like that, for nobody ever thought he'd make a go of
it. Even the newspapers ridiculed it at first, and some
people said he was plumb daffy. He has made a go
of it. The newspapers don't poke no fun at him now,
you bate! I don't know of but one enemy he's got
in town, and Bloomfield would be better off if that
man wasn't here. His name is Hobson Dobbs. He's
a tricky shyster lawyer that tried to squeeze Mr. Mer-
rivell and got it in the neck for his pains.”
“Well, you certainly are giving me a very favorable
description of Frank Merriwell,” laughed young New-
ton, striking a match and lighting the cigarette, “Even
now I feel more favorably inclined to his school. But
I shall smoke as much as I wish if I do enter that
school.”
“Haw P' grunted the landlord. “Mebbe yer will
and niebbe yer won't. If yer wasn't nothin' but a kid
I'd offer to bate yer something that yer'd quit smo-
kin’.”
• “I don’t like to be called a kid" exclaimed Newton
resentfully. “I’m no kid.”
“How old be yer?”
“Guess.”
Mr. Nipper surveyed the boy intently.
“I swan it's hard to tell. Yer might be fourteen and
yer might be eighteen.”
“Well, if you can't do better than that I won't give
you my age at all. I'm going to walk over to the
School and look around. I shall stay here to-night,
anyway, so I’ll be back to supper.”
Nipper followed the lad outside and called to him
as he was departing:
I 14 Ned Newton.
“Yer take my advice and don't you go trapesin'
around Farnham Hall with a cigarette stuck in yer
face.” -
“Thanks,” called the boy over his shoulder, with a
laugh.
. Nipper stood watching the trim, slender lad until
he had disappeared beyond the bridge that spanned the
little stream which flowed through the center of the
village.
“Kind of a funny feller, that,” muttered the land-
lord. “Voice as soft and musical as a girl's. Figger
like a girl's, too. Put him into dresses and he'd make
a rather slick-looking girl. I swan, I don't believe
anybody could tell he was a boy. Never knew any
youngster to be sent to Frank Merriwell's skule be-
fore in this ere fashion. Good many times their folks
come with them. Sometimes they come alone, but it's
allus arranged aforehand, and they're met at the depo’
by Frank Merriwell or some of his assistants. Won-
der if that boy told me the truth in everything he said.
Gosh hanged if I ain't inclined to sort o' think he was
lyin', more or less. Dunno why. Don't see no good
reason why he should lie; but I’ve got that feelin'.
Come to think his story over, it don't hang together as
well as it might. But I don't see no reason why he
should lie. Mebbe I'm too suspicious. If that young-
ster comes here to skule, I’m going to watch him and
see how he pans out.”
CHAPTER XIII.
NEW TON INVESTIGATES,
No one paid much attention to the stranger who was
watching the Farnham Hall lads at practise until he
picked up a foul ball that happened to come in his di-
rection and tossed it back onto the field. Even in this
small action there was something which proclaimed
his aptness in handling a baseball. Sand observed
him then, and asked two or three of the boys if they
knew him. All confessed that he was a stranger to
them.
When practise was over, Sand approached Ned New-
ton and spoke to him.
“I’ve never seen you before, either at the school
or in Bloomfield village,” he said, “You seem to take
a lot of interest in our practise. Are you a new boy
at Farnham Hall? If so, it's strange some of us
didn't see you when you came.”
Newton gave Ralph a smile that was almost girlish
in its pleasantness.
“I’m not yet a new boy at Farnham Hall,” he said;
“but, perhaps, I may be to-morrow.”
“Oh '' exclaimed Ralph. “That's queer. Don't
you know whether you will be or not?”
“I haven't decided.”
“Haven’t decided ? Are you going to do the deci-
ding : Rather odd, I must say. My pare” did that
for me.”
116 Newton Investigates.
“Oh, my father wanted me to come here, but when
I opposed it mother sided with me, and, as a result,
I've been permitted to come on and look the place over.
If I decide to enter the school, I shall do so; but if I
decide not to enter it, I’m sure my father won't in-
Sist.”
“\Vell, you couldn't come to a better place,” de-
clared Ralph. “You’d better make up your mind to
come, old chap. Play baseball ”
“A little.’’
“What's your pet sport 2"
“Well, I think I like baseball as well as anything,
although I'm pretty good as a runner.” *
“Pretty good, eh?” said Ralph, his eyes fixed on
the fingers of Newton's right hand, which were stained
a telltale yellowish color. “You smoke cigarettes,
don't you?”
“Why, yes—I smoke a little.”
“Judging by the signs, you smoke more than a little.
You never can make a good runner while you have
that habit. You've got to cut 'em out here. It's
against the rules. Used to smoke a bit myself, but
I've quit it.” -
“Isn't Mr. Merriwell awfully strict 2"
“Oh, I don't know. He has certain rules to which
every fellow here is compelled to conform. He doesn't
believe in smoking, and I think he's right in being so
set against it. It's a bad habit for youngsters, whether
it hurts mature men or not.”
“Oh, that's all poppycock!” laughed Newton. “It
never httit line.”
“I’ll guard se it has hurt your wind. If you were
- T Newton Investigates. i 17
going to train for athletics you'd have to cut out Smo-
king in order to get good wind.”
“Oh, perhaps so. Do you fellows have to work hard
here?” -
“Work hard?” chuckled Ralph. “Why, I don't
really think many of us know what genuine hard work
is. We have drills and exercises and sports at regular
hours, and we're kept going according to our capacity
and our inclinations. \\'hen a new boy comes he's
examined by the doctor, who tests his heart and lungs
and takes his measurements and knows all his weak
points. The doctor reports to Mr. Merriwell, who
then makes out a regular system of exercises and drills
for that particular fellow.
“Say, but he does know how to build a chap up!
See that thin fellow yonder Why, he didn't have
strength enough to lift a pound of feathers when he
struck Farnham Hall. He was just about the weakest
specimen of humanity I ever put my eyes on. He
hasn't taken on a great deal of flesh yet, but he's got
some muscle and he's beginning to feel like a fighting-
cock. It wouldn't surprise me a bit if he panned out
to be a good athlete, and I'm sure he would have
died or become a physical wreck if Frank Merriwell
hadn't taken him in hand. That's what this school
does for boys. We have a manual-training depart-
ment, too, where we learn lots of things about various
trades or occupations.”
“Don’t you study at all?"
“Not the way you have to study at school. Lately
Mr. Merriwell has established courses of reading, and
we're reggired to follow those courses. He found it
I 18 Newton investigates.
necessary to do this in order to keep lots of fellows
from reading sensational novels.”
“Then he doesn't believe in novel-reading 2"
“Oh, yes, he does; but he's rather careful about the
kind of novels we have to read. If a fellow wants
Indian stories, he can read Cooper. If his taste runs
in that direction, he's given Dickens, and usually he's
started on Oliver Twist. Just now I'm reading Thack-
eray's ‘Virginians.’ Mr. Merriwell always talks with a
fellow and finds out in what direction his taste for
reading runs. We have a fine library and reading-
room, and we're supplied with all the best magazines
and weekly periodicals in which we might take inter-
est. I believe they're going to start a class in Cur-
rent Events. That will be for the benefit of every
one, for Mr. Merriwell states that boys should know
what's transpiring in the world and should discuss such
matters. Next fall there's to be a debating society,
also. Do you know, I wouldn't be a bit surprised if
some day Farnham Hall developed into a regular prep
school P. It will be run on an original plan, according
to the ideas of Frank Merriwell.”
“Gee! My old man sent me here to get me away
from studying. He seems to have an idea that I’ve
been studying too hard, and I heard him say it would
do me good to let up for a whole year.”
“Perhaps it isn't so much studying as it is ciga-
rettes,” suggested Sand. “That may be what ails you,
old fellow. Well, you'd better make up your mind
to enter Farnham Hall. I've got to skip along to
the gymnasium. Going to take a plunge in the tank,
you know. I'd be glad to show you around, but you'll
iVewton Investigates. I 19
have to get permission from Mr. Merriwell. I'll show
you the way to his office if you wish to see him.”
Newton hesitated, but finally decided that he would
accompany Sand, and they followed after the others
who were trailing across the grounds toward the
school-buildings.
Arthur Morton was lingering in front of the gym.
“Come on, Sand,” he cried. “Been waiting for
you. Going into the tank, aren't you?”
“Sure,” was the answer.
“Who's your friend ?” asked Newton, in a low tone.
“That's the catcher of your ball-team, isn't it?”
Sand nodded.
“Yes, that's our catcher,” he answered. “I’ll in-
troduce you. Oh, by Jove, I haven't asked your name !
My name is Sand.”
}
“Mine is Newton.'
The strange boy was introduced to Morton and
shook hands with him. After that, Sand directed New-
ton to Merriwell’s Office.
For at least half an hour Ned Newton was in
private consultation with Frank Merriwell. Leaving
the office, he departed for the village.
That night, after supper, a party of the old settlers
of Bloomfield gathered on the veranda of the hotel,
which seemed to be something of an established cus-
tom. They sat there smoking and talking as the soft
twilight gathered over the quiet little town.
The landlord was with them, and after a time young
Newton came out and found a chair.
“By gum,” said Eli Given, “I ain't seen hide nor
*.. * * * = -- assº
H2O Newton Investigates.
hair of Uncle Eb Small to-day. Don't s'pose he's laid
up with rheumatics again, do yer, Nipper ?”
“Waal, I dunno,” grunted the landlord, giving a
yank at his quid of tobacco and spitting over his shoul-
der to clear the edge of the veranda. “I sort o' reck-
oned this warm weather would knock the kinks out o'
Uncle Eb's rheumatism.”
“Here he comes now,” said Cyrus Tellmore, jerking
his thumb in the direction of a bent figure that was
hobblingly approaching, with the aid of a crooked
C3 Ile.
“Hello, Ebenſ" called Given, as the newcomer ap-
proached. “I was jest axin’ about yer. Ain't seen you
to-day, and I Sort o' wondered if you was done up
ag’in with the rheumatics.”
y
“I ain't been feelin' any too chipper to-day,” con-
fessed Uncle Eb. “Sort o' got it in my hip again.
Bet I’ve took more'n four hogsheads of medicine, and
there don't nothin' seem to do me much of any good.
I don't believe doctors know a tarnal thing about rheu-
matism.” • .
“Take this chair, sir,” invited Newton, jumping up
at once and placing it for the new arrival. “I’ll sit
on the steps.” -
“Thank yer—thank yer, Son,” grunted Uncle Eb
Small as he accepted the chair and peered sharply at
the boy. “My old eyes ain't jest as good as they
used to be, 'specially at this time of day, and I don’t
seem to recognize ye. Be ye Tom Johnson's boy?”
“No, sir; my name is Newton.”
“He’s come here to look over Frank Merriwell's
Newton Investigates. I 2 I
skule,” explained Nipper. “He’s thinkin' o' entering
that Skule.” - -
“He won’t make no mistake if he does that,” de-
clared Mr. Small. “I Swanny, if I was a youngster
I’d jest like to git into that skule myself. Yes, siree.
It's the finest thing for boys that ever was, and Frank
Merriwell's the finest man that ever stood in shoe-
luther.” --
“I declare,” laughed Newton, as he seated himself
on the steps, “I never heard a man praised as much
as I’ve heard the people of Bloomfield praise Frank
Merriwell. Everybody seems to think he's it.”
“No, they don't—no, they don't think anything
about it!” cried Eli Given. “They know he's it! He's
proved it to 'em. Lots of folks around here didn't
think so 'tarnal much of him when he first come to
this place. I guess mebbe I was one that looked kind
of suspicious on him. Why, we all ridiculed the idee
of his school. It seemed absolutely silly to the most of
us. But it don't seem that way now, for we’ve seen
him take weak and half-put-up boys and make 'em
good, strong, healthy youngsters. Furder than that,
he's one of the finest citizens any town ever had. He's
a public-spirited man. Folks around here never took
no stock in baseball and football and such games as
that till arter he opened his skule. Even then it was
some time before he got people interested. But when
he got 'em started it wasn't a great while before he
had 'em all a-coming, I tell you. Why, the minister
turned out to the baseball-games! And there's Deacon
Elnathan Hewett—he was plumb sot against anything
122 Newton Investigates.
Frank Merriwell had to crack in Bloomfield. The old
deacon fit Merriwell tooth and nail for a good long
time. But he had to give in—he had to come to it.”
“He he he ſ” chuckled Uncle Eb. “How Elna-
than did try to hold out, didn't he? He thought it was
wicked and sinful for a member of the church, and
'specially a deacon, to be seen at a baseball-game. He
hel hel Eli, I don't s'pose you've forgot the time the
old deacon went and hid in the sullur so that he
couldn't see folks goin' to the game 'cause he knowed
he'd be tempted to go hisself if he did see 'em P’’
“No, I ain't forgot,” laughed Given. “I 'member
everything that happened that day. The deacon
crawled out of the sullur arter he thought everybody
would be gone to the game, and then along come
some young folks from Wellsburg and got him into the
wagon and carried him out to Farnham Field. Mis’
Hewett, she was out there, and you bate she was
s'prised to see Elnathan show up. But before the game
was over she was still more s' prised.”
“He he he ſ” cackled Uncle Eb once more. “That
was a red-hot game, wasn't it? Jiminy crickets, didn't
they have a hummer! The deacon kept still just as
long as he could, but when you and I got down on the
coaching-line, Eli, it was too much for Elnathan. He
jest galloped right out and j'ined us, and we three done
some coaching, didn't we? I'll never forget how the
deacon hollered when Farnham Hall chucked in the
run that won that game. Why, he opened his mouth
so wide and yelled so all-fired loud that his false teeth
flew right out! Next thing I knew we three had our
Newton Investigates. - 123
arms locked and was doing the jig-dance. I forgot all
about my rheumatics that day.” -
Given was laughing in a chuckling manner.
“Then after the game was over,” he said, “we
walked back to town, the three of us, a-singin’ ‘Mer-
ry Boys.' Mis’ Hewett, she finally ketched the deacon,
and I thought she was goin' to snatch him bald-headed
right there. She was so ashamed and exasperated that
she did give it to us good, didn't she, Eben 2"
“She sairtainly did tº breathed Eben, shaking his
head slowly. “Seems to me she used up about every
cuttin' and sourcastic adjective to be found in the dic-
tionary. Never saw anybody wilt the way the deacon
done. She took him hum, and they both cal’lated he'd
be church-mauled right away. They say Eben was
scat stiff when he saw the new minister, Owen Clear-
path, and old Parson Drypatch a-comin'. But when
the new minister announced that he thought Frank
Merriwell a fine man and confessed that he was out
to see the game hisself, that sort o' changed the com-
plexion o' things. What capped it all off, howsom-
ever, was the information that Mr. Merriwell had
bought the Rose cottage for old Parson Drypatch and
had put him on a pension for the rest of his life. J.
tell you he's a good man! He's done wonders for this
town.” -
“S'pose you know they’re going to have a profes-
sional team play here Friday f" said Nipper.
“Pshaw You don’t say !” breathed Given. “A
regular professional team play here?”
“Yep. All arrangements is made. Mr. Merriwell,
he's been to see me about putting up the players.”
I 24 Newton Investigates.
“Well, now I swanny l’ grunted Uncle Eb. “I
dunno but that's goin' most too far. These boys here
ain't nothing but youngsters, and they can't be expected
to play baseball as well as professionals. I'm afraid
that game will be mighty one-sided.”
“Now, hold on—hold on, Eb '' remonstrated Eli.
“You let Frank Merriwell manage his own business.
He's got jest about the smartest team the skule has
ever turned out, and mebbe that's good enough to play
regular professionals. Anyhow, you bate I’m going
to see that game !”
CHAPTER XIV.
“QUEEREST BOY I FVER SEEN.”
Ned Newton seemed to listen to this conversation
with a great deal of interest.
Cyrus Tellmore, known in Bloomfield as a harmless
teller of big yarns, now started in to relate the story
of a game he had once witnessed in which a team of
schoolboys, averaging sixteen years of age, had de-
feated one of the Big League organizations.
“When did you dream that, Cyrus?” inquired Given.
“'Twa'n't no dream,” asserted Tellmore. “Now,
don't you interrupt me. I want to give you the par-
ticulars. That was the most remarkable game that
ever was seen. You know them schoolboys had a
player on their team that was jest about the fastest
player that ever handled a baseball. I cal"late he was
as good at that age as Frank Merriwell ever was.”
- “Haw "grunted Uncle Eb derisively. “There never
was no man as good at it as Frank Merriwell.”
“Waal, I dunno, I dunno,” said Tellmore, shaking
his head. “You kind of stopped me right in the middle
of my story. But if you'd listened I'd proved that this
feller was a ripping terror. His name was Hinkley,
and he was cap'n of the team. On this particular day
something happened so that he couldn't git on the
field when the game begun. Nobody knowed jest
where he was. They sort of tried to hold off till he
could get around; but after the professionals had
126 "Queerest Boy I Ever Seen.”
waited fifteen minutes they declared they would go
onto the field and take the game by forfeit unless the
schoolboys braced up and played.
“Of course, them youngsters was awfully down in
the mouth without any cap'n to lead them. But they
put in their extra man and started playing. They done
pritty well, too, considering, for they managed to
hold the professionals down so that at the end of the
eighth inning the professionals only had eight runs.
But the boys hadn't managed to Squeeze in a single
run. The score was eight to nothing. And still Hink-
ley was absent. In the last of the ninth the schoolboys
went to bat. The first man was an easy out. The man
who followed him was just as easy, and it looked as if
the game would wind up eight to nothing. The crowd
sympathized with the boys, of course, and they was
feelin' pritty bad, when all of a sudden a roar of de-
light went up. There was Hinkley comin' through
the gate on a run. He was jest in time to go to bat
for the pitcher. With a vicious whack, he slammed the
first ball pitched an' hit it clean over the fence for a
home run. Of course that made the crowd feel bet-
ter, but cight more runs was needed to win that game,
and the man who followed on the order never could
make 'em.
“Now what do you s' pose happened 2 You jest wait
and I'll tell yer. Hinklcy raced round the bases and
galloped into the club-house. In a moment he dis-
guised himself as the next player on the list. Out he
came, grabbed a bat and again he banged the ball over
the fence for a home run. That was two of 'em, Just
as soon as he circled the bases he dashed into the club-
~rº-. ~ºrt-
"Queerest Boy I Ever Seen.” 127
house once more and disguised himself as the next
player. It didn't take no time for him to do it. Out
he came, and once more he lifted the ball right slam
over the fence for another run. Well, neighbors, to
make a long story short, he jest kept that up till he
had impersonated every 'tarmal player on the team and
knocked out nine home runs and won the game. Now,
if Frank Merriwell ever done anything bigger than
that I ain't heard about it, that's all.”
Newton gave a shriek of laughter as Tellmore fin-
ished his yarn.
“That certainly was going some !” he cried when he
could catch his breath. “I don't believe Frank Mer-
rivell, or any one else, ever beat that.”
“No, siree. Nor I either,” nodded Tellmore. “It
was jest about the slickest piece of business I ever seen
on the baseball-field.”
“Cyrus,” said Eli Given seriously, “if I’d a been
born with your imagination I swan to man I could
have made my everlasting fortune writin' lies for the
papers to print.”
“Now, that's allus the way—that's allus the way !”
snapped Tellmore resentfully. “I never can open my
mouth that somebody don't accuse me of lyin'. I'm
gettin' sick of it—"tarnal sick of it, too. Funny how
other folks can tell about any remarkable occurrence
they've seen without any one questioning their verac-
ity.”
“You was over to the school to-day, wasn't yer,
young feller?” asked the landlord. “What did you
think of it? Pritty fine, eh?”
“Yes, the buildings are handsome and the place
128 “Queerest Boy I Ever Seen.”
seems attractive. I saw Mr. Merriwell and talked with
him. I’ve practically decided to enter the school.”
“Did yer meet any of the boys?”
“Yes, I met Sand and Morton.”
“Sand, eh? Well, now, there's a fellow who was a
pritty hot case when he come here to Bloomfield. He
certainly did raise Ned; but Mr. Merriwell sort o'
soopled him down. They tell me he's one of the
smartest fellers in skule.”
“I don’t guess he's no smarter than Arthur Morton,”
said Uncle Eb. “There's a boy fer ye. Why, that
boy is brave as old Nepoleon hisself. He's a hero, he
is, and everybody in Bloomfield knows it.”
Then, for the edification of Newton, he proceeded
to relate the story of Morton's remarkable rescue of
Frank Merriwell's son,
“That was a brave thing to do,” agreed Newton.
“An' I s'pose,” growled Tellmore, “if that thing
had happened somewheres else, and I’d seen it and
come here and told about it, everybody would have
called me a liar.”
“People in this town have no end of respect and ad-
miration for young Morton,” said Given. “It made
me kind of indignant to think anybody over to Wells-
burg should suspect either Morton or Sand of being
a thief. It was a shame that them boys had to be
searched over there by the police.”
“Tell me about that,” urged Newton, with a show
of great interest.
He was then told the story of the robbery at Jas-
per's jewelry store, and how Frank Merriwell's boy
companions had been suspected and searched.
“Queerest Boy I Ever Seen.” 129
“What's the reputation of those boys 2" asked New-
ton.
“Why, Sand's father is rich He don't have to
steal.” *
“Sometimes the sons of rich parents become thieves,'
murmured the listening lad.
“Waal, now don't you git it into your head ior a
minute, young feller, that Ralph Sand would ever do
anything like that."
“How about Morton 2 Are his parents wealthy ’’’
“No-o-o,” admitted Eben. “They ain't wealthy, but
they're honest.”
“Has there never been anything against Arthur
Morton P’’
“I guess there's never really been anything against
7
him, though he was sort o' mixed up in a mess when he
furst come here. Mr. Merriwell's house was robbed
by a wurthless character hereabouts, and Morton was
suspected. He took it to heart so bad that he run
away. They had to go arter him and bring him back.”
“Did he prove his innocence?”
“He didn't have to. It was found out that he was
innocent almost as soon as he skipped. The man who
done the stealing confessed everything.”
“Why was it that Morton was suspected P”
“The stolen money was found hid between the mat-
tresses of his bed."
“Ah! How did it get there?"
“He had an enemy in the school who put it there.
His enemy's name was Bruno Hunt, and he's going to
school over to Wellsburg now.”
“How did Hunt get hold of the stolen money 2”
\
I 30 “Queerest Boy I Ever Seen.”
“He and another boy saw the thief hide it in a
holler tree in the woods. Everybody knowed about
the robbery, so when they investigated and saw what
the man was storin’ away in that tree and found the
money there, they knowed what it meant. That Hunt
boy made the feller with him promise to keep mum,
and then he went and tucked the stolen money in be-
tween the mattresses of Arthur Morton's bed. It was
the meanest trick any feller ever played. They'd ought
to sent him to jail for it.”
“That's right,” agreed Mr. Nipper. “But his father
was a pretty fine man. He stopped here at my house,
you know—him and the father of Bumpy Hurd, the
other boy.”
“Yes, yes,” nodded Uncle Eb ; “they had the nerve
to come back here, a-bringin' them boys, with the idee
that they was goin' to force Frank Merriwell into
takin' them back into the skule. That was jest about
the cheekiest thing I ever heared of.”
“I suppose,” said Newton, “that you gentlemen be-
lieve the thief was the strange girl who entered Jasper's
store while Morton and Sand were there?”
“No doubt about it,” answered Given instantly. “I
think the Wellsburg police ought to be ashamed of
theirselves for lettin' her get away. I declare, I don't
see how she ever done it. She must 'a' been a slick
one. It was scandalous to suspect either one of them
boys. Why, how was they goin' to steal a diamond
brooch P”
“Of course, Mr. Merriwell wasn’t searched P” mur-
mured Newton.
“Queerest Boy I Ever Seen.” I 3 I
*t
“What?" cried the old men upon the veranda. “Mr.
Merriwell searched 2"
“I say, of course, he wasn't searched ”
“Sairtainly not ſ” snapped Given. “What do you
think? Do you have an idee in your head that he
stole that pin 2 Ye must be crazy!”
“No, I haven't any idea that he stole the pin, but,
perhaps, it was on his person.”
“Well, I’ll be hanged if he ain't crazy!” snorted
Uncle Eb. “How could it be on his person if he didn't
steal it?” º ..
“I’ll tell you, gentlemen, of a singular instance that
once came under my observation,” said the boy quietly.
“A certain man, whom we'll call Williams, and who
was known to be both wealthy and honest—a some-
what unusual combination—once entered a jewelry
store in Philadelphia accompanied by a messenger-boy.
It was his intention to purchase a present for his wife
and send it to her by the messenger. While he was
examining various valuable articles which interested
him, a diamond pin worth a great deal of money was
missed.
“The messenger had been standing close by the case,
and there seemed no one else to suspect. The boy
was accused and searched. Not a trace of the pin was
found upon him. The man made a purchase later on
and left the store in company with the boy, to whom
he gave the article after they were outside. The pur-
chase he had made was safely delivered by the mes-
senger. The police were set at work upon the case.
Three days later they caught the messenger-boy try-
ing to pawn the stolen pin. Under pressure, the boy,
132 “Queerest Boy I Ever Seen.”
was forced to confess and tell them how he got away
with it. While he was standing near the show-case
he saw an opportunity to snatch the pin and did so.
“Feeling sure the loss of such a valuable article
would be promptly discovered, the boy quietly reached
up under the tail of the man's coat who was with him
and made the pin fast there. When they left the
store the boy followed close at the man's heels and
recovered the pin. Now, gentlemen, I'm not saying
that either Sand or Morton did a trick like that, but
that story was published in the newspaper and a great
many people must have read it. Isn't it possible that
Sand or Morton read that story Isn't it possible
that one of them saw his opportunity to duplicate the
trick and succeeded ? If he did so, of course he had
plenty of chances later on to recover the stolen brooch.”
By this time Uncle Eb Small was on his feet, liter-
ally tingling with indignation. Shaking his crooked
came at Newton, he almost shouted :
“Don’t you come here tryin' to throw suspicion on
either of them boys by any such a yarn as this It’s
outrageous! By jing, I’ve a good mind to give you
a caning !”
Newton rose with a soft, musical laugh.
“My dear, sir,” he murmured in the sweetest man-
ner imaginable, “I’m Sorry if I’ve disturbed you to
such an extent. It's evident that nothing in the world
would induce you to suspect either Sand or Newton.”
“No, sir, no, sir; nothing in the world. If they was
to try to prove such a thing again' them boys I’d re-
fuse to believe it unless I heard one of them make a
voluntary confession.” *
*Queerest Boy I Ever Seen.” 133
**
“Well, I'm glad that I'm going to have such hon-
est fellows for companions. I'm really glad that chance
made me acquainted with both Sand and Morton to-
day.”
He produced a package of cigarettes and proceeded
to light one. By this time it had grown quite dark, and
by the light of the flaring match Newton's face looked
more girlish than ever. His hands also were slender
and finely formed.
“So yer smoke them things, do ye?” grunted Eli
Given. “Well, I ruther guess Mr. Merriwell will take
that out of you.” -
“So I understand," smiled the boy, tossing aside the
still glowing match. “Therefore, I'm going to smoke
as much as I like to-night. To-morrow I may be un-
der restrictions that will prevent.”
He remained on the veranda some ten minutes
longer, but finally rose, bade the landlord and the others
good night, and entered the house.
“Waal, what do yer think of that feller, anyhow,
Eben 2'' inquired Mr. Nipper.
“I think he come precious near gettin a caning from
me,” answered Small. “It was only his soft and deli-
cate ways that kept me from putting it right onto him.
I kind o' felt just as if I was goin' to hit a girl, and
that stopped me.”
“He does act like a girl, doesn't he?”
“Acts like one and talks like one sometimes. Sh!
Listen!”
From the upper part of the house came the sound
of singing. Apparently it was the voice of a female.
- - & tº
134 “Queerest Boy I Ever Seen.”
“Who's yer primmy donna, Nipper ?” asked Eli
Given - -
“Guess that comes from the boy's room,” answered
the landlord. “He got the front room right over us
and the window's open. That's him singin'.”
“Waal, wouldn't that beat yer" muttered Uncle
Eb. “I swan to man it wouldn’t s’prise me a blamed
bit if he really was a gal' Anyhow, he's the queerest
boy I ever seen.”
º
CHAPTER XV.
THE NEW BOY'S DECISION.
Apparently a good night's rest caused Ned Newton
to make up his mind without further hesitation on the
question of entering Farnham Hall. Directly after
breakfast the following morning he settled with
Jotham Nipper and engaged an expressman to take his
trunk over to the school.
“I suppose this is my last cigarette, Mr. Nipper."
he laughed pleasantly, as he lighted one on the point
of leaving the hotel. “Perhaps I might say it's next
to my last, for it's likely that I'll smoke another while
walking over to Farnham Hall.”
“Waal, I stairtainly think it'll be a good thing for
ye if you do give 'em up,” said the landlord. “You're
too young an delicate to be spoilin' yer health by
suckin’ cigarette smoke into yer lungs.”
“Young and delicate,” laughed Newton. “So you
fancy I'm delicate, do you? Well, I suppose I look
that way. So-long, landlord.”
He held out his hand and Jotham accepted it. A
moment later the landlord's eyes bulged from his head
and his face began to twist with a comical expression
of astonishment and pain, for the slender hand of the
boy had closed upon that of the man with a grip that
almost threatened to crush Jotham's fingers. That
soft, delicate, girlish hand possessed aniazing strength
and suddenly seemed hard and firm as steel itself. The
136 The New Boy's Decision.
boy's Cupid's bow of a mouth was beat in a sweet
smile as he beamed into the eyes of the disturbed and
wondering man. With his left hand he held the ciga-
rette lightly and daintily, a tiny blue wreath of smoke
curling up from the lighted end. His pose was won-
derfully graceful, and there was nothing in it to indi-
cate that he was making a particular exertion of
strength as he shook hands with his host.
“Waal, I swan to gracious!” gasped Jotham.
Those red lips were puckered in a queer sort of a
pout, and, telling it afterward, the landlord declared
they looked like the lips of a girl who was half-tempt-
ing, half-defying, some one to kiss her.
“I swan to gracious !” repeated Nipper, as the boy
suddenly released his hand. “Who'd 'a' thunk it!
Why, you've got a reg’lar cast-iron grip on yer! Jest
look at them fingers. Yer've flattened ’em out and
come pritty tarnal nigh weldin' 'em together. 'Course,
if I’d been expectin’ what yer was up to, you couldn't
'a' done it. But I never looked fer anything like that
from you. Dog my cats if yer ain't an enigmyl
You're a reg'lar rebus, and I can't solve ye.” -
Another laugh of amusement rippled from the lad's
lips. -
“Why, I’m nothing but just an ordinary boy,” he
replied. “Only people seem to get the impression that
I'm a weakling. I suppose that's because I'm not big
and husky. I suppose it’s because I'm slender in my
build, and my complexion is a bit too delicate for a
boy. But you wait until I've been in Farnham Hall a
while. You wait till I get out with the boys over there
and take on a tan. You'll see a change in me. My
... as a “* * * * *
* *
ſite New Boy's Decision. 137
father was a great athlete in his day, but he was the
last man any stranger would have suspected as being
athletic. Really and truly, you know, I feel that a lit-
tle systematic training will put me into condition to
hold my own with any chap of my age.” *-
“You ain't more'n sixteen, be ye?”
“Oh, a bit more than that,” was the laughing an–
swer. “Good day, Mr. Nipper. I fancy I may see you
occasionally. Good luck to you.”. -
“Same to yerself, young feller,” returned Jotham,
who somehow felt a great deal more respect for the
strange lad than he had hitherto entertained. -
Newton sauntered independently through the vil-
lage, the landlord stepping outside and watching him
until he finally passed from view beyond the bridge.
“Funny how we sort o' got the feelin' last night
that he was more like a gal than a boy,” muttered Mr.
Nipper. “That was on account of his looks—his pretty
face, his soft voice, and his graceful manner. He's a
boy, all right; no gal ever could have a grip like that.
By jux I’ll be kinder interested to see how he pans
out over at the skule.”
Newton was welcomed by Frank Merriwell himself,
who showed that he was waiting the arrival of the lad.
Merry sent for Sand and placed Newton in Ralph's
charge. -
“I’m sure you won't mind showing him around and
making him acquainted with the boys, Sand,” said
Frank. “He tells me his trunk will be along very
soon. Here's the key to his room, the next one to
yours, which was left vacant by the change made when
Davis and Cuthbert moved over into tuºsº wing.
tº

138 The New Boy's Decision.
Newton tells me he made your acquaintance yesterday.
Do your best to fix it so he will feel at home here with-
out kyss of time. Homesickness is a most unpleasant
sensation.” --~ *
“Say, but he's awfully considerate of a fellow, isn't
he " murmured the new boy as he was descending the
stairs with his companion. “I’m beginning to under-
stand why it is that everybody likes him. But, on my
word, I should think he would be so easy that the
fellóws would just run over him sometimes.”
Ralph shrugged his shoulders.
“That's where you make a mistake,” he retorted.
“I know I had that feeling when I first came here, but
I soon found out that I was wrong. His consideration
for a fellow at the school doesn't come from lack of
force or anything of that sort. When necessary, he
can be as hard as iron and as grim and determined as
the granite hills. If you don't believe it, just you try
to run contrary to the rules and regulations of the
school and keep it up after you've had one or two
warnings from him. I’m rather glad you're going to
have the room next to mine. Morton is right across
the corridor now. You met Morton yesterday.”
On their way to the dormitory they encountered sev-
eral of the boys, and Sand introduced Newton.
The newcomer was pleased with his room, which
was pleasant indeed, and looked out upon the parade-
grounds. -
“The fellows who just gave up this room did so be-
cause they thought it was going to be too hot," ex-
plained Sand. “The west wing is cooler, but I’d
rather be here because the view is much pleasanter. I
-º-º-º-
The New Boy's Decision. 139
--~~
suppose you'll bring a lot of rugs and pictures and
books and such things to fix up your room.”
“Do you have to have a roommate ’’’ asked Newton.
“Not now, I fancy,” was the answer. “You see, a
number of the fellows are permitted to room alone
because the school is not overcrowded yet.”
“Well, I just wanted to know about that. I asked
Mr. Merriwell yesterday if I couldn't room by myself,
and he said he thought it could be arranged that way.
I think it's much nicer to room alone, don't you,
Sand P”
“I don’t know,” answered Ralph slowly. “It’s jolly
to have a roommate if you can choose the right sort of
a fellow. Now, I wouldn't mind Morton, for he's all
right. But there's a feeling that he and I are trying
to run things in athletics, and, perhaps, it’s just as well
that we should not room together.”
“I think I shall like Morton,” said the new boy. “I
hope we’ll be friends.”
Sand invited Ned into his room, which proved such
a cozy place, with plenty of rugs and pictures and
books and bric-à-brac and easy chairs and a window-
seat piled high with cushions, that Newton was filled
with wonderment and delight.
“Never supposed they had things like this here,” he
cried. “Why, this is the kind of a room I've dreamed
about having at college''
“We’re allowed to fix up our rooms to suit our-
selves,” said Sand. “We’re given enough plain fur-
nishings to make us comfortable, and then we can add
whatever we like. All these extras I brought from
home. You can do the same if you wish.”
140 The New Boy's Decision.
Newton flung himself down amid the cushions by
the window.
“What a jolly place to loaf and read I'm afraid
I’d spend too much time lounging if I had my room
fixed up this way.” .
“You can spend only a certain amount of time in
your room, old luan," said Ralph. “You’ll be given
a fixed routine of work and drills and exercises and
sports, and you'll be permitted to cut nothing unless
you're ill. Although it may not seem that way to out-
siders, everything is conducted systematically here,
We're going to have a great game of baseball to-mor-
row—going to play a professional team.” $
“I’ve heard about that. Do you think you have a
prospect of making a good showing against that team?”
“I hope we can. I know we've got the fastest team
I ever played on. Of course, we're youngsters, and we
may go to pieces when we find ourselves up against
professionals. The Wellsburg Herald is inclined to
make sport of us for venturing to play such a team.
You know they're a bit jealous of us over there at
Wellsburg. Before this school was started they always
had the champion team of the country. But Bloomfield
has downed them right along. We've played two
games out of three with Wellsburg this year, and each
team has taken a game. The next struggle will de-
cide which team is the champion. If we can put up
a good game against these professionals our boys will
have the courage to go at Wellsburg red-hot, and I'm
confident we'll beat them next time. I believe you said
yesterday that you were interested in baseball? You
don't look much like a player.” -
N.
#y
The New Boy's Decision. I4]
“I suppose not,” admitted Newton. “Nobody seems
to fancy I look like anything but a weakling. I’ve got
to get out and take on a little tan. My skin burns
dread fully easy. I saw something about you in the
newspapers the other day, Sand.”
“Did you ?”
“Yes,’’
“What was it?”
“Why, it was about that robbery in Wellsburg.”
Ralph flushed a trifle.
“Oh, yes,” he nodded. “That was a mighty queer
affair.”
“Morton was with you that day, wasn't he f"
“Yes.”
“And they suspected that either you or Morton had
stolen the diamond brooch 7"
“They suspected us,” acknowledged Ralph, with a
short laugh. “They even searched us. I insisted
on it.”
“Why did you do that?”
“Why? Because I proposed to establish my inno-
cence on the spot. If they hadn’t searched us then, the
suspicion that one of us was the thief would have
continued. That search proved that they were on the
wrong track.”
“Who Stole the brooch P’’
“Why, that veiled girl, of course.”
“What became of her P”
“I think Jasper & Son would pay you a fancy fig-
ure if you would answer that question for them. She
vanished like a ghost. It's a most remarkable thing
that the police of Wellsburg have been tº tally unable
$ 3. -- o º - *-
I 42 The New Boy's Decision.
to find a trace of her. Perhaps you know that she
was tracked into a hotel, and then every exit was
guarded while the place was ransacked from top to bot-
tom in search of her, and still they did not find her?
I understand that the police have acknowledged them-
selves beaten on the case.”
“That girl must have been clever,” murmured New-
ton. “I don’t see how she got away. Have you any
theory, Sand 2"
Ralph gave his open hands an upward toss.
“I’ve puzzled over it until I'm sick of thinking about
it,” he declared. “It’s one of the biggest mysteries
I’ve ever encountered. I'm afraid it never will be
solved.” -
They continued to talk of this matter for sonne time,
but at last Sand suggested that they should go out
and make the rounds of the various buildings and the
grounds, to which Newton agreed.
CHAPTFR XVI.
THE FELLOW WITH TWO NAMES.
Before noon the advertising matter promised by the
manager of the Eurekas arrived in Bloomfield, and
Frank Merriwell lost no time in seeing that it was
scattered through the village and the surrounding coun-
try. &
Accompanied by Sand and Morton, Frank met the
Io: 18 p. m. train and was on hand to welcome the
professionals as they stepped off.
There they were, eleven of them, all told, and they
proved to be a rather husky-looking lot of young-
SterS. -
Windham hastened to shake hands with Frank.
“Here we are, Merriwell, old man,” he cried. “Big-
worth, come here.”
A tall, sandy youth answered the call.
“Bigworth, this is Mr. Merriwell. Merriwell, Big-
worth is our field captain.” -
“How do you do, Mr. Merriwell,” said Bigworth,
giving Frank a hard, firm hand. “I’ve heard a great
deal about you. I suppose you've got a team that will
make us look like thirty cents, haven't you? Are you
going to pitch?”
“Hardly,” smiled Frank. “I shall take no part in
the game.”
The captain of the Eurekas looked surprised and dis-
appointed.
I44 The Fellow With Two Names.
“Why, how’s that ?" he inquired. -
“The boys of my school will play against you. Here
is the captain.” -
Sand was introduced. - - -
Both Bigworth and Windham looked Ralph over
doubtfully. x -
- “He’s a pretty young chap to be captain,” said the
manager of the professionals. “I presume most of
your players are older?" . . . . .
“No, indeed. They are all youngsters. I thought
you understood that.” -
“Don’t you think you'd better go into the box against
us?” suggested Bigworth. “I’ve always had a desire
to see you pitch. Besides that, I'm afraid the game
will be rather one-sided if we're up against a lot of
kids.” - . . . . .
“Those kids may make you hustle some,” Smiled
Merry. “I’ll show you to the hotel. It's only a few
steps, and so I didn't bother to provide carriages.”
He turned and spoke to Toots, who was sitting in
Frank's automobile near the platform. -
“Drive down to the hotel, Toots,” he said. “Wait
for me there.” - --
“Yes, sah. All right, sah,” said the colored boy.
A moment later he started the car “on the spark”
and was off. -- . .
Merriwell walked down the platform between Big-
worth and Windham, the others following behind
them. - - - -
... “I'm afraid the captain of that team is right, Sand,
old man," whispered Newton in Sand's ear. “These
}
The Fellow With Two Names. I 45 .
fellows look as if they ought to beat us without half-
trying.”
Sand shrugged his shoulders.
“You never can tell,” he said. “They may get the
surprise of their lives."
But he continued to look the players over one by
one, and it must be confessed that he felt a growing
apprehension over the coming game. Gradually he
dropped back, allowing the members of the Eurekas
to pass him in order that he might size them all up.
The last one of them all was a slight, slender chap,
carrying a suit-case and a bat-bag containing two bats.
At the lower end of the platform was an electric light,
and this enabled Sand to get a good look at the tail-
ender.
Suddenly Ralph gave an exclamation of amazement.
In a twinkling the fellow at whom he was staring
turned toward him and lifted a finger to his lips, at
the same time uttering a warning hiss.
“Great Scott!” breathed Ralph. “Is that you, Thorn
Granton P’’ -
“Hush hush" warned the other. “I was looking
for a chance to speak to you privately. Please don't
call me Granton. You know I've good reasons for
wishing to forget that name. I'm playing with this
team under the name of Thornton Sprague.”
“Oh!” muttered Sand. “So you've dropped your
right name?”
“Yes, I've shook it for good. Do you blame me?”
“I don't know that I do,” confessed Ralph, “You're
not much changed, Thorn, although you're several
146 The 'Fellow With Two Names.
years older than you were the last time I saw you.
What have yeu been doing?”
“Knocking around the world. I’ve tried my hand
at a number of things. I've been on the stage.”
“On the stage 2"
“Yes, I've been an actor. I was out with a com-
pany all last winter. Not much doing in that line
Summers, and So I decided to go into baseball. You
know I used to be pretty good at it.”
“The best infielder I ever saw,” nodded Sand. “But
how did you happen to get onto this team P”
“Oh, I applied for a position, and, as I played with
a pretty fast independent team last summer, I was able
to give references. Windham looked up my record.
I was a bit late to catch on when he started out, but
fortune favored me. He had an unsatisfactory man
as short-stop, and so he decided to give me a trial.
I met him in Wellsburg last Monday. I've been in two
games since then and signed a contract.” -
“Met him in Wellsburg Monday P Why, I was over
there that day.”
“I know it,” said the fellow called Thorn. “Wind-
ham told me all about it. You were mixed up in that
robbery. Mighty queer business that, wasn’t it?”
“Indeed it was.”
“You know I came near missing Windham. We
got mixed up on hotels. I was at the Arlington.”
“The Arlington? Why, that's the hotel in which the
mysterious veiled girl was last seen.”
“I know it. The police came to my room. What
do you think of that? As if they expected to find that
girl in my room | Windham discovered my name on
The Fellow With Two Names. 47
the register later on. He was looking for me at an-
other hotel, and he said he would have left town with-
out me if it had not been for that robbery.”
Newton, walking near them, heard the most of this
conversation, although he seemed to pay little atten-
tion to what they were saying.
Jotham Nipper welcomed the ball-players at the
hotel and informed them that a good hot supper was
prepared. They were shown to their rooms and found
the place far better furnished than many country
hotels at which they had stopped. *~
“We'll be all right here, Mr. Merriwell,” declared
Windham, with satisfaction. “This is first-rate.
What's the prospect for a good crowd at the game to-
morrow P” w -. - - .
“I think the prospect is fair,” answered Merry.
“I’ve distributed your advertising matter, besides doing
some advertising of my own. The general impression
seems to be, however, that we've bitten off more than
we can chew.” – -
“Well, I'll hold the boys down,” whispered the man-
ager of the Eurekas. “We'll try to make the game
as interesting as possible.” -
“Now, I wouldn't do that,” said Frank, shaking
his head. “Take my advice and let your men put up
their best game. We ask no favors. It will do my
boys no harm if they're defeated by a team like yours.
You know defeat is a good thing once in a while.
If a team wins all the time the players become conceited
They get the idea that they’re much better than they
really are. Farnham Hall has had almost too much
success, and I feel that a defeat might be beneficial.
*~
•.
---amº-mes'
148 The Fellow With Two Names.
But let me give you a warning, Windham—let me tell
you now that you're not going to have a walkover
with my youngsters. Kids though they are, they can
play baseball amazingly well, and unless they get stage
fright, they will make you hustle to-morrow.”
“I hope you're right, Merriwell. Of course, we
feel sure of taking the game, but we'd like to see it
good and interesting, for that's always more satis-
factory to players and spectators.”
Merry bade Windham good night and left. On
his way from the hotel he found Sand and Newton.
Toots was waiting with the car in front of the door,
and soon they were spinning along the road that led
to Farnham Hall.
The boys were dropped at Farnham gate.
“Hope you're not frightened, Sand,” said Frank,
with a laugh. “You’ve got to keep your backbone
stiff until after the game is over to-morrow. It’s go-
ing to be red-hot if you can make the boys play as if
they were working for their lives.” -
“I’ll do my best, Mr. Merriwell,” promised Ralph.
“Good night, sir.” -
Newton locked arms with Sand as they followed the
long walk that led up to the school-buildings.
“You met with a surprise to-night, didn't you, old
fellow P’’ he said, with a light laugh. “Who is that
chap who calls himself Sprague?”
“He comes from the same place that I did,” an-
swered Ralph slowly. -
“Of course, I could not help hearing what you were
saying. How does he happen to be traveling under
a fictitious name?” -
* ~ ..
The Fellow with Two Names. 149
Ralph hesitated about answering.
“Perhaps it will be just as well if I don't say any-
thing about him, Newton,” he finally said. “He was
unfortunate. He got into some trouble at home. He's
never been back there since he left.”
“He's older than you, isn't he ”
“Yes, three years older, I think. He played on
our baseball-team before I was old enough to get on.
I know everybody regarded him as a wonder. But he
was rather wild.”
“Didn't I hear him telling the landlord he had a
trunk at the station 2 Didn't I see him giving Nipper
a trunk-check?”
“Yes, I think you did.” g
“Rather odd for a baseball-player to be traveling
around the country with a trunk, isn't it?”
“Oh, he's not been traveling with that team a great
while, you know. You heard him say that he was on
the stage last winter. At home he was one of the
cleverest amateur actors we had. I remember seeing
him in several plays, and he was always good.”
“Too bad for such a fellow to go wrong, wasn't it?”
“Did I say that he went wrong, Newton P”
“Well, you said that he got into trouble. Oh, if
you don't want to tell me, of course y 9
“As far as I'm concerned, there's no reason why I
should not tell you. But Granton asked me to keep
still, and I'm inclined to do so. I wish you wouldn't
speak of him to any of the fellows, Newton. Between
us, old chap, I've been a bit wild myself. Only for
my father I might have been sent to the State Re-
formatory. My father is a man of influence and some
*mº Tºmº- .*
==e--ºw--- ~~~~
150 The Fellow With Two Names.
wealth. I know I've caused him no end of worry and
trouble. That's how he happened to send me here.
He had an idea that Frank Merriwell might be able
to do something with me, and, between us, I believe he
was right. I realize now that I was a young fool, but
I thought in those days that I was having lots of fun.
There's different kinds of fun, Newton. Many a chap
goes wrong because he gets mixed up in a nasty scrape
when he's simply trying to have fun. I've got a
dickens of a temper. It's a wonder to me that I haven't
killed somebody before this.” -
The new boy whistled in surprise.
“Why, I haven't seen any indication of such a ter-
rible temper,” he said.
“That's because I’ve learned to control it. That's
because I’ve listened to Frank Merriwell and tried to
take his advice. I made him go some when I first
came to Farnham Hall. There was an Indian boy in
the school at the time, and I promptly made up my
mind that I'd drive the Indian out of the school.”
“He isn't here now.” -
“No; but I didn't drive him out.”
“Where is he?”
“Preparing for college, Really he's one of the
smartest chaps I ever knew. And he's so ambitious
that he works night and day. We had a fierce old
fight once on a time. I’ll never forget it. No chap
had ever whipped Ralph Sand up to that time. But
young Joe Crow foot was too much for him. It’s a
pretty hard thing for me to admit, but I have to con-
fess it. He had me groggy—yes, he had me practi-
cally down and out when Lance Cowling struck him
The Fellow With Two Names. 151
q.
senseless with a broken baseball bat. They all thought
Cowling had killed the redskin. Fortunately, Crow-
foot was only stunned. Even next day there was a
question as to whether or not his skull was fractured.
“There was another boy with us at the time of the
fight—a fellow by the name of Elmer Blake. Blake
was a coward. I knew he'd squeal on us, and SO when
we decided to run away we made Blake come along.
We stole a horse and carriage and got to Wellsburg
in the night. There we caught a train and dropped off
in the big North Woods. Blake was whimpering and
whining with the worst case of cold feet I ever saw,
but we simply dragged him along. I felt confident
we'd get away sure. We took a canoe and went down
Fox River. Not one of us knew anything about the
falls, and, as a result, we went over them, although we
were close to shore at the time. Frank Merriwell had
followed us and cut across by a road through the
woods to stop us. He was there below the falls and
managed to pull me out. Blake and Cowling also
escaped, but we knew we had come within a hair's
breadth of death.
“Even that did not cook Inne, old fellow, for I ran
away again. My next experience was even more hair-
lifting. Cowling stuck by me. We got to Cumber-
land and were there at the regular autumn fair. Then
Merriwell showed up, hot on our track. An aeronaut
was to make a balloon ascension that day, and when
he was cut free I jumped for the basket of the balloon,
caught it, and he helped me climb aboard as we sailed
skyward. That man had heart-disease. Something
went wrong with the balloon and we couldn't get down.
gr. &
**
I 52 The Fellow With TWO Names.
**-
Night came on, and the aeronaut seemed to fall asleep.
You can imagine how I felt when I tried to wake
him and found he was dead.”
“Jingoes!” breathed Ned. “That was awful!”
“Rather,” agreed Sand. “I came near being
drowned in a lake, but the balloon managed to hold
up, with the car skimming the water and me wet to the
bone, until the shore was reached. Then I fell into the
hands of moonshiners and was taken for a spy. Only
for the friendly help of a girl who was a relative
of the moonshiners, I think my goose would have been
cooked. Merriwell found me up there once more and
brought me back to Farnham Hall. So you see, New-
ton, I’ve been a bad nut. I can sympathize with some
Other chap who has also made mistakes. That's why
Granton has my sympathy, and that's why I'll say
nothing about him.”
CHAPTER XVII.
T H E E A V E S I) R O P P E R .
The professionals were given permission to prac-
tise on Farnham Field the following forenoon, which
they did.
Sand, Morton, and several others of the Farnham
Hall team were able to be on hand to watch the work
of the Eurekas. The visitors carried themselves with
a certain snap, dash, and air of confidence that made
their practising very interesting to behold. Captain
Bigworth kept them on the jump from start to finish,
and he had a way of running things which seemed to
proclaim that he was a fellow of unquestioned author-
ity on the field.
Frank Merriwell swung up to the gate in his motor-
car, and stayed long enough to watch a little of the
practise work. But apparently he felt that he could
not afford to spend much time in that manner, for
Soon he was in the car again and away.
The visitors had been practising nearly an hour,
when Windham called Bigworth, and spoke to him,
saying:
“Don't you think the boys have had about enough,
BigP You know, they have a game to play this after-
noon, and it's bad business to overpractise in the morn-
ing.”
The captain laughed.
“If we were going up against a team that had a
154 The Eavesdropper.
ghost of a show to beat us,” he retorted, “I should
have stopped some time ago. It won't make a bit
of difference in this case whether we practise thirty
, minutes or two hours. Really, Mr. Windham, I'm al-
most ashamed to go against those kids. They've got
a splendid field here, and it’s a real satisfaction to
have such an opportunity to get in Some good warm
practise. Don't worry about us. We'll stop pretty
soon.”
So Windham turned away, permitting Bigworth to
keep the men at it as long as he wished.
Sand was talking with Morton, when he felt a
pull at his elbow, and looked around to find Ned New-
ton there.
“Not much show for us to beat those fellows, is
there?" asked Newton. _*
Sand elevated his eyebrows and then frowned.
“If we had a bunch of players who felt that way,
there wouldn't be much chance,” he answered rather
sharply. “Whether we beat them or not, we’re going
to do our level best.” x
Newton flushed and backed away, for there had
been a “call-down” in Sand's words and manner.
When practise was finally over, the captain of the
Farnham Hall team approached Windham, and in-
formed him that Frank Merriwell had requested that
he should show the strangers over the grounds and
through the school-buildings, if they desired to look
the place over.
A few of the Eurekas seemed inclined to do this,
and Thorn Sprague was one of them.
Sand performed his duty faithfully, and when the
others departed for the hotel Sprague lingered behind
and accepted Ralph's invitation to accompany him to
his room, - - * . . .
They were having a private and confidential chat
in that room when, of a sudden, the Farnham Hall
lad rose to his feet, tiptoed quickly to the door, seized
the knob, and yanked it open.
Ned Newton fell forward into the room as the door
gave way before him, making it seem as if he had
been leaning against it. He came near sprawling, at
full length upon the rug, but recovered himself with
an effort and sprang up, looking both astonished and
confused.
- “Hello!” cried Sand. “What the dickens were you
doing listening at my door?”
“Why—why, I wasn't listening,” said Newton, a bit
falteringly. “I was just going to knock. I've turned
my ankle, and it's so lame I can hardly step on it.
Just see how I limp.”
He took a step or two, limping painfully and con-
torting his face as if in considerable pain.
“Hurt your ankle, eh?” said Sand, with inexpress-
ible scorn. “You came mear hurting your face when
I opened that door so suddenly. I thought you were
going to wipe up the floor with your nose. Now, let
me tell you something, Newton. I don't like fellows
who eavesdrop. I don't like fellows who listen at
doors. At first I rather fancied I might like you; but
the more I've seen of you the less I’ve cottoned to
you. You're not my style at all. I’ve done my duty,
for I've taken you around and introduced you to the
boys, and now I think I'll ask Mr. Merriwell to ex-
3 *
. ..., e- *~ *-*.
156 - . The Eavesdropper.
cuse me from having much of anything to do with
you in future. What do you suppose I care about your
lame ankle? Why should you come to me about it?”
“I thought you might have some liniment of some
sort which I could rub on it,” answered the new boy,
in a low tone. “Do you really think I was listening
at the door P”
“No, I don't think—I know.”
“If you're so positive, I don't suppose it would be
any good for me to deny it.” - -
“Not a bit, so you may as well spare yourself the
lie. I'm Sorry a fellow with gumshoe habits has been
given a room anywhere near me. You're naturally
altogether too inquisitive to suit me. Now, I think
you'd better pike out of here, and I'll add that you'd
better stay out. There's the door. Git !”
By this time Newton betrayed signs of anger, but the
bellicose attitude of Sand caused him to retreat precipi-
tately as Ralph advanced. .
“You’ll find out some time that you've made a mis-
take about me,” muttered the new boy. -
“I think you've found out already that you've made
a mistake," retorted Ralph, as he closed the door on
the other. -
“Who is that chap?” asked Sprague. “He looks
like a girl. Where did he come from ?”
“I haven't found out where he came from, but he's
found out a great deal concerning other parties since
he arrived here. Never knew such a chap for poking
his nose into other people's business. There's lots of
things about him that are mighty queer Never knew
a boy to come here the way he did.” --
-—º">
*mºs. -
The Eavesdropper. 157
“He looks harmless enough.”
“Oh, he may be harmless for all I know, but he's
altogether too ladylike. Excuse me for saying that,
Granton, old chap, for I remember the time when you
seemed to prefer the society of girls to that of your
sex. I never fancied you'd pan out the way you have.
I never fancied you'd go in for professional baseball.”
“Or the stage,” reminded the other. “How about
that P”
“Oh, you were a great amateur actor. I remember
the first time I ever saw you in a play. You took the
part of an old woman and did it to perfection. I can
see you now just as you looked that night, sitting in
a rocking-chair and wearing an old silk gown, with a
cap on your head and a lot of gray corkscrew curls.
Why, you were made up so that you looked seventy
years old, if a day. You were knitting, too. There
wasn't any fake about it, either, for you always could
do those things.”
“Oh, yes,” nodded Thorn. “I learned to knit,
crochet, do all sorts of fancy work, cook, and I don't
know what all. There was a time when all the old
ladies at home fancied me just the sweetest thing in
the world. Say, how they changed their minds later
on After that Philbrook affair I fancy they thought
I’d end my career on the gallows. Say, but that was
a foolish piece of business, Sand.”
“It was sheer lunacy, Thorn, old chap.”
“Still, if my father had been rich he'd got me out
of the scrape. As he wasn't rich, I had to take my
medicine. Well, it's all over now, and under the name
of Sprague I'm trying to forget that it ever happened.”
158 The Eavesdropper.
<sº.
“Did you make much of a success on the stage P’’
“Oh, I fancy I did well enough, though I only made
a big hit at One thing. One day our character old
woman was taken ill, and there was no one to take
her part. I asked the manager to let me try it. At
first he laughed at me. But he had to do something,
and So he gave me a chance. I was always quick at
committing anything, and I had her lines before it was
time for the curtain to go up that night. Her clothes
were just about right for me, too. Say, Ralph, I had
the whole company daffy before the curtain went down
in the last act. Why, they smothered me with con-
gratulations. They said I was the finest old lady they
had ever Seen. The manager was so pleased that he
almost paid me my salary. And not a soul in the
audience had suspected for one moment that I was
not a woman. Do you know I'm contemplating taking
up the female impersonation turn next season P I be-
lieve I can make a go of it.”
“I wouldn't be surprised," nodded Sand. “You
certainly are a queer chap. No one would pick you
out as a baseball-player.”
“Just what Windham said when he met me in Wells-
- burg that day. He was the most disappointed-looking
man I ever saw. I know he felt sure I couldn't fill
the bill until after he'd seen me play a game. Then he
changed his mind. If I could do well on the stage
next season I'd cut out baseball in the summer. This
year I’ve got to follow it up in order to live. A fellow
has to live, you know.”
"Oh, of course,” nodded the Farnham Hall lad. “I
wish you luck, Thorn, old fellow.”
The Eavesdropper: 159
“Much obliged to you, Ralph. But don't go back
on me—don't write home about meeting me.”
“I Won't.”
“No one knows where I am. Perhaps it's a good
thing my mother is dead. It would have killed her-
with shame had she been alive at the time of the Phil-
brook affair and my trial. I don't think either my
father or my married sister have worried over me since
I was put away. I feel certain they’re relieved be-
cause I’ve never shown my face at home. Well, I'll
not bother them. -I’ll prove that I can take care of
myself and get along without any of their assistance.
Perhaps they think me dead. Bah! let's not talk about
it. I’ve got to get back to the hotel for lunch. I
hope the boys are easy with you and your team this
afternoon, old chap. You know we've got a red-hot
bunch, and we could bury you out of sight if we
wished.” º t
Ralph shrugged his shoulders.
“Now it's barely possible that you're going to meet
with a surprise to-day,” he retorted. “Farnham Hall
isn't asking any favors of the Eurekas. I'll tell you
now that you've got to play the game if you win.”
Thorn laughed doubtfully, shook hands with Sand,
and departed. -
CHAPTER XVIII.
A Do U B L E S U R P R I s E.
At an early hour of the afternoon the people of
Bloomfield began to turn their steps toward Farnham
Field. Not only that, but the farmers and country
people for miles around came riding into town, and the
baseball-field was their destination. A train brought
a large crowd from Wellsburg. When Windham and
his men men arrived at the field they were astonished
at the gathering of spectators who packed the grand
stand and the bleachers. And still more were coming,
“It's amazing, amazing," muttered the manager of
the Eurekas. “They told me how it would be, but,
after reaching this little one-horse town, I fancied
they'd been stringing me.” -
Frank met him at the bench. - -
“A fairly good turnout, don't you think, Mr. Wind-
ham P” he asked, with a smile.
“Fairly good P It's great! But I suppose all these
people have actually come out with the idea that you
stand a chance of beating us to-day. It's a shame to
disappoint them.”
“Don’t let that worry you at all, Windham. You
send your men onto the field with instructions to play
the game for all there is in it. If you wipe up the
earth with us you won't hear us kicking. I want to
introduce the umpire. Here he is.” -
Frank turned with a gesture toward a huge, smooth-
faced, snailing man who stood near. . -
A Double Surprise. 16 I
“Mr. Windham, Mr. Browning,” he said. “Mr.
Browning is one of my old college chums, who is now
an assistant here at my school. He once played on the
Yale team, and I know he'll give you a square deal
to-day.” - -
“I tell you, Merriwell, I'm not worrying about that,”
said Windham, as he shook hands with Bruce Brown-
ing. “I’ve no fear that your umpire will be able to
steal the game for you, even if he should try."
While practise was going on Windham was ap-
proached by Ned Newton, who asked for a few words
privately with him. Newton limped the least bit as
he walked.
“I'd like to get a chance on your team,” he said.
“I’d like to play baseball with you."
“You?” breathed the managers of the Eurekas, sur-
veying the slender lad in surprise. “Why, can you
play baseball?”
“Yes, I can.”
“But you're a member of Merriwell's school. You're
wearing one of his school uniforms.”
“That's all right. I've just entered this school, and
I've decided that I'm not going to stay here.”
“You've decided that you're not going to stay ?
Have you asked your papa about it?”
“I don't have to ask him. He can't make me stay
if I make up my mind that I won't, and I've made
up my mind. Ralph Sand has insulted me, and I'm
going to get out. I shall leave to-morrow. Perhaps
you think I can't play baseball, but I wish you'd give
me a trial. I'm a good infielder. I'd like to play short-
stop for you.”
162 . …” A Double Surprise.
“Short-stop? Why, we've just taken on a new
man for that position. There he is. His name is
Sprague.”
“Yes, I've seen him. But is he satisfactory?” *
“Thus far he seems to be all right. No, my boy,
there's no chance for you on the Eurekas.”
“I’d almost play for nothing if I could get a chance
—I'd almost play for just my expenses. I've got to
do something. I've got to get away from Farnham
Hall.”
“Now, you'd better shake that out of your noddle.
Have you told Frank Merriwell about it?”
“Not yet, but 5 y
“Well, he'll take it out of you when you tell him.”
“I’d like to talk with Sprague. May I ?” **
“Well, if you don't bother him when he's needed at
practise.”
Newton approached Sprague, and some who hap-
pened to be near them heard him begging the fellow
to quit the team, even offering him money to do so.
But Sprague simply laughed and pushed the little
chap away, advising him to “go lie down somewhere.”
A few moments later Newton was seen limping from
the field, and he disappeared through the gate by
which people were still seeking admission.
The game began promptly at the hour set. The
Farnham Hall lads were gathered in a body, and, led
by a cheer captain, they “woke things up” in earnest.
During a lull in the cheering, just after the local
team took the field, old Uncle Eb Small rose on the
lower tier of the bleachers, waved his crooked cane
in the air, and shrilly cried :
A Double Surprise. I63
“Now, boys, you want to git right after these ere
perfessional fellers. You want to give 'em goudy.
Don't you be scat of 'em. You can make 'em go
some, and I’ll bet a chaw of tobaccer on it."
Eli Given, who had been sitting at Uncle Eb's side,
reached up, seized the old man's elbow. and pulled him
down.
“Hold on, Eben,” grinned Given. “Don't start in
rooting so tarnal soon. Jest wait a while.”
“Waal, I sort o' wanted to encourage the boys a
leetle,” said Small. “Don't you yank me by the elbow
like that, Eli. Drat it all! don't yer know I've got
the rheumatics? You pulled me down and give me a
crick in the back.”
“Play ball !” came the call in the full, resonant voice
of Bruce Browning.
Morton was behind the bat and Sand was on the
slab. Ralph glanced around once more to make sure
that all his men were in position and ready for busi-
ness. Then he took a signal from Arthur, and a mo-
ment later the game had started. *
On the books of the scorers the two teams were re-
corded as follows:
EUREKAS. FARN HAM HALL.
McBride, cf. Knight, 1st b.
Bigworth, 2d b. Cobb, lif.
Harkins, 1 f. Sand, p.
Trudy, rf. Keller, 3d b.
Lucas, 1st b, Gage, ss.
Sprague, ss. Howe, rf,
Burgher, c. * Morton, c.
Gidney, 3d b. Lemon, cf.
Sharp, p. Campbell, 2d b.
-**.
----sº
164 A Double Surprise.
McBride hit the first ball pitched. He drove it
skipping along the ground between second and third
base, and Gig Gage lunged for it. It was a hard ball
to touch, yet Gage forked it with his bare right hand,
held it cleanly, recovered his balance, and lined it
across the diamond to Jim Knight.
The ball spanked into Knight's mitt while McBride
was still some distance from the sack, and Browning
shouted : -
“Out at first " '
“Wee-ee-ee,” squealed Uncle Eb Small, once more
bobbing up like a jumping-jack and waving his crooked
cane. “That's the stuff! That's the style! That's
the way to do it ! Mebbe you think them kids can't
play at all. But if you do, you want to get it right
out of your heads.”
His words were drowned by a lusty cheer from the
Farnham Hall lads upon the bleachers. -
“Well, what do you think of that ? What do you
think of that P’’ growled Bigworth, as he caught up a
bat. -
“Accident, accident,” laughed Sprague. “Such
things will happen occasionally. Bump it out, captain.”
Bigworth let the first two balls pass, noting that
Sand had good speed and good curves. Then he
landed on the horse-hide with terrific force and drove
a long fly toward left center.
Lemon made a great run for the ball and pulled it
down.
Again Uncle Eb Small gave a squeal of delight and
shouted something. But this time not even a word
-º--
... *-ºs-
-mºsºme
A Double Surprise. 165
that he uttered was heard, for the Farnham Hall
bleachers were roaring in admiration of Lemon.
Harkins, a thin, dark, hard-faced chap, wore an ex-
pression of confidence- as he stepped forth to follow
Bigworth at bat. He had seen the first two men hit
the baſi, and, like others of his team, he felt there was
a great deal of luck in the way both of these savage
hits had been handled by the youngsters.
“Knock the cover off, Hark," urged Trudy, the
next man on the list. “Get us going. We may as
well take a few runs now as any time."
Harkins tried to knock the cover off, and he smashed
a terrific liner at Keller, the third-baseman. It took
sand for a youngster to stand up in front of that line
drive, but Keller stood there and froze to the ball,
although it seemed to jar him somewhat.
This time Uncle Eb Small pitched head foremost
out over the rail in front of him in his wild effort to
jump up and shriek again. Eli Given crawled over
the rail and let himself down to the ground while yet
the cheering was at its loudest,
“Be ye hurt, Eben 2" he asked anxiously, bending
over the old man, who had struck in a sitting posi-
tion with his back against the boarding in front of the
bleachers. -
“Nope, not a bit,” was the cheerful answer. “Jest
come down as Soft as if I’d landed on a feather bed.
Great horse mackerel, wasn't that baseball ! Can't
them fellers play !”
Given assisted his old friend to rise, but Uncle Eb
refused to return to his seat on the bleachers.
“Can't keep still, Eli,” he said, “If I go back there
*ºner–
166 A Double Surprise.
I may fall over ag’in and break my tarnal neck. I'm
goin' to stay right here. I've got to be somewhere
so I can do a jig now and then when the boys make
a good play.”
And so the two old men remained on the ground
in front of the bleachers.
The Farnham Hall team trotted in from the field,
and every boy looked well satisfied over what had hap-
pened. Sand took pains to compliment Gage, Lemon,
and Keller. sº
“That's all right, boys,” he said. “We’ve started
this game right and now all we've got to do is keep
it up. They've got a hitting team, it's plain enough. .
I shall need just that kind of support, and if you give
it to me we’ll stand a chance to win.”
Jim Knight secured his “wagon tongue” and entered
the batter's box.
Sharp, the pitcher of the professionals, seemed to
take Knight's measure, and then he hummed the ball
over the corners with such speed that the air seemed
to scorch.
Twice Knight struck too slowly. The third time,
however, he got his bat around quick enough and hit
a grounder in the direction of first base.
Lucas handled that grounder with ease and reached
the sack ahead of Knight, although Jim was a fast
T1111116 ſ. -
“Too bad, too bad,” grunted Uncle Eb Small. “If
he'd jest knocked it two feet furder away that feller
never could have touched it. Now let's see what this
Cobb boy can do.” -
Cobb, tall and lank, with a huge crooked nose, had
A Double Surprise. 167
the appearance of a crane as he stood in a half-bent
position at the plate. -
“Don’t hit him, Tic,” called Burgher. “If you do
you'll break him plumb in two."
Cobb seemed to have a good batting-eye, for he de-
clined to swing at the first two balls handed up, both
of which were wide ones. Next time he did swing,
but he missed.
Sharp followed with a drop and Sam found it, lift-
ing it high into the air.
McBride came dashing in from center and took that
fly with ease.
“Well, well, well,” laughed Burgher. “What do
you think of that, Tic? The kids can hit a little, can't
they f"
Sharp was surprised, for he had fancied it would
be an easy trick to strike those youngsters out. He
now did his best to fan Sand, and when Ralph Struck
at the first two balls and missed them both, it seemed
as if the professional twirler "had him going.” But
Sand was no quitter, and next time he swung his bat
he used all his cool-headed judgment in an effort to hit
the ball and put it through an opening of the infield.
It was one of the handsonnest placed hits imaginable,
for the Farnham Hall captain drove the ball squarely
through the opening he had chosen and romped to first
with ease.
Uncle Eb Small nearly blew up with delight, while
the Farnham Hall lads shrieked joyously.
But Sand's hit went for nothing, for Sharp found a
victim in Keller, who was struck out on three pitched
balls.
">
168 AT'ouble Surprise.
The first inning was ended with a whitewash for
both sides, but the Farnham Hall lads were the only
ones to secure a clean hit.
Not until the fourth inning was over and neither
team had scored did the Eurekas wake up to the fact
that they did not have a snap before them. By this
time Sand was pitching in fine form and the profes-
sionals were finding him extremely difficult to hit. It
is true that the boys were doing little with Tic Sharp,
but still they were not afraid of him, and the visitors
began to feel that it was time for them to get some
Tll [] S. -
Bigworth urged his men to go in at Once and do
something, and Lucas started off with a fine bingle for
one Sack. f -
And now the visitors settled down to “play the
game,” for Sprague bunted and sacrificed Lucas to
second. Then Burgher hit a hot one humming past
Sand, who failed to touch it.
Peg Campbell got into position to take the ball, but
let it get through him, and Lucas romped home.
Burgher went to second.
“Don’t make too many, boys,” called Bigworth
laughingly. “Don't spoil the game right here.”
“Go easy go easy ſ” came from McBride, who was
also on the coaching-line. “The kids are rattled.”
Gidney put up a fly to right field, and Herbert Howe
dropped it.
Burgher went to third.
Uncle Eb Small had spasms.
“Great codfish ſ” he spluttered. “What's the mat-
ter? Be them fellers goin' to pieces now P”
• * , , aº- ~-gº" - * * * ******
* * ~--ee. --...-- * *~.
A Double Surprise. 169
Then he flourished his cane and shrieked:
“Brace up there, you young clippers! Stop this
foolishness and play baseball !”
Sand was aroused, and he managed to strike Sharp
Otlt.
“That's the stuff! that's the stuff!” squealed Uncle
Eb. “Don’t let 'em get no more runs. Yer've got to
stop it right here.”
But McBride, who followed Sharp, landed on the
ball for two sacks, scoring both Bergher and Gidney.
Captain Bigworth tried for a Texas leaguer, but
failed to get it beyond Campbell's reach. Peg ran
back for the ball and took it cleanly. There was some
dismay among the boys, however, for the enemy had
made three tallies in that inning.
In spite of Sand's urging, Farnham Hall seemed
unable to do anything with Sharp's shoots and benders,
and again the home team did not score.
When Harkins led off with a hit in the first of the
sixth, it began to look as if the visitors were deter-
mined to make their lead a safe one. Harkins tried
to steal on the first ball pitched to Trudy.
Morton put the ball down to Campbell and Peg got
his man.
Then Ralph took Trudy in hand and struck him out.
Lucas lifted a long fly to left field, but Sam Cobb was
“there with the goods” and Lucas' effort proved fruit-
less.
It was a case of one, two, three for Farnham Hall,
Sharp Striking out two and forcing the third to pop
to the infield. .
The Seventh inning also passed with scores for
--" ...as ſº- = -s.- .
170 A Double Surprise.
neither side, and there were many who fancied the
game might terminate with the record 3 to O in favor
of the visitors.
Sand held the Eurekas (lown in the first of the
eighth.
He was the nuan who led off in Farnham Hall's half,
and again he got a beautiful, clean hit.
Keller bunted and Sand went to second. .
Right here the home team had a little luck, for
Lucas at first dropped the ball when it was thrown
to him, and Keller was declared safe. .
Uncle Eb Small went crazy at this stage of the
game. Out on the coaching-line he rushed, dragging
Eli Given by the arm.
“You’ve got 'em goin'! you've got 'em goin': by
goudy" he shrieked, “Keep it up, boys, and you'll
win the game right here. Come oil, Eli, we’re going
to do a little coaching.”
“Why don't they put those two old lunatics off the
field º' shouted Harkins, from left garden.
But Bigworth simply laughed and shook his head.
"Never mind those two old has-beens,” he said. .
“They'll make a little fun for the crowd, perhaps.”
“Has-beens ! has-beens !” squawked Uncle Eb.
“Mebbe we be has-beens, but we're pretty good ones
at that. If I didn't have no rheumatics I’d show you
a trick, young feller. 'Twa'n't more'n three year ago
that I could jump up and crack my heels together three
times before I touched the ground ag’in, and I wouldn't
be sprised if I could do it twice now.”
Gig Gage took a signal from Sand and followed
Keller's example by bunting.
-º-, ºr * *-
A Double Surprise. ºr “” . 171
Sand and Keller both advanced a base while Gage
was being thrown out at first.
Then Uncle Eb and Eli Given were joined by Dea-
con Elnathan Hewett, who announced that he was un-
able to keep his seat any longer and that he proposed
to help out at their coaching. This singular trio kept
up a continuous racket as the next man, Herbert Howe,
came to bat.
“Knock the stuffin' out of the ball, young feller,”
cried Given. *
“Hit it on the trade-mark,” urged Deacon Hewett.
“Bet anybody a gallon of cider that he biffs it.”
said Uncle Eb.
Howe did biff it. He drove a fine single into right
field, and on that hit both Sand and Keller Scored.
The Farnham Hall crowd shrieked like mad.
“I told ye! I told ye!" yelled Uncle Eb, fairly beside
himself with joy. “We’re goin’ to win this game
right here, by gum !”
It looked as if the old man might be right, for now
Arthur Morton took his turn and laced the ball far
into the outfield. Howe Scored, but the coacher held
Morton at third. It was afterward agreed that Ar-
thur might possibly have made the run had he been
sent in.
The tally was tied and the Eurekas were now in a
decidedly anxious frame of mind. -
“We've got to stop this right here, Sharp,” called
Bigworth. “It won’t do to let them have another
run.”
But, although Sharp did his prettiest to strike out
Lemon, the Farnham Hall center-fielder lifted the ball
º
*
-*.* : * .
172 * - A Double Surprise."
into the right garden. It was a wasted effort, how-
ever, for Trudy held it for an out.
The three old men on the coaching-line begged Peg
Campbell to get a hit, and Peg responded by bumping
a grounder into the diamond. He could not run fast
enough to reach first, however, and the eighth inning
terminated with the score tied.
Bigworth sent his men in to win the game in the
first half of the ninth. The first man hit safely and
was sacrificed to second by the one who followed.
Then the next two strove hard to drive him home—
strove in vain. Sand was pitching like old Cy Young
in his prime. He shot the ball over in handsome style
and fanned both of those men.
Once more the three old fellows on the coaching-line
opened up as Knight stepped to the plate.
Jim tried hard for a hit, but lifted a foul back of
third and was out when Gidney smothered the ball.
Sam Cobb put the ball onto the ground. “Sprague"
fumbled. That fumble gave Cobb time to reach first,
Sands singled a moment later.
On that single Sam Cobb went to third.
It was evident that Sand meant to go down the
line to second on the first pitched ball, and, therefore,
Sharp held him close to first.
Morton was coaching at third.
“Careful, captain—careful,” he cried. “Don’t let
him get you there. We're going to have this run.”
Suddenly Sharp turned toward third, for Cobb had
been creeping off the sack while Sand was being driven
back to first.
Both teams wore gray suits, and Sharp mistook
sºmer-ºr-
.**
A Double Surprise. 173
Morton for the third-baseman. He threw to Arthur,
who promptly jumped aside and let the ball pass.
There was a wild uproar, for Cobb was seen racing
toward home. - -
Sharp realized what he had done, and he stamped
round and round the pitcher's plate, boiling with rage.
Cobb crossed the pan with the winning run, and
Farnham Hall had beaten the professionals by a score
of 4 to 3. - - --
*
Frank Merriwell's touring-car was at the gate.
Merry found Windham as soon as the excitement sub-
sided.
“Well, I must say you've got a great bunch of
kids,” said the crestfallen manager of the Eurekas.
“Of course we can beat you nine times out of ten,
but we weren't expecting to go up against anything
like this. I congratulate you, Mr. Merriwell.”
“Thank you,” said Frank quietly. “Just now there's
something more important than baseball on hand. My
car is outside here, and I'll take you back to the hotel
if you're ready to go. I wish you would call Sprague,
and we'll take him along with us. I’m also going
to take Sand.” - - --
“Why, what's up?" asked Windham wonderingly.
“We've found the girl who stole the diamond
brooch.” -
“You have? Where is she?”
“Come along and I’ll show her to you.”
In a few moments they were in the car. Sprague
wondered a bit that he had been invited to accompany
I 74 **=
T A Double Surprise. "
`--
them, and, when the car had started, he turned a bit
anxiously to Sand and asked what it meant.
Ralph shook his head, confessing that he did not
know.
They reached the hotel and mounted the stairs, Frank
Merriwell leading the way. At the door of a room
Frank stopped and turned to face Sprague.
“This is your room, isn't it?” he inquired.
“Yes, that's my room," was the somewhat hesita-
ting answer.
Merriwell placed one hand on the door-knob and
the other on Sprague's arm, which he grasped firmly.
Then the door was opened and Sprague was forced into
that room.
Within the room cat a person in the garments of
the young girl, wearing a heavy veil over her face.
She rose at once and faced them.
Sprague stopped and fell back a step, gasping with
astonishment. --
Windham, who had followed them, uttered a shout.
“That's her that's her l’’ he cried.
“By Jove, that's the very girl!” palpitated Sand.
The girl herself betrayed no signs of agitation.
“Granton,” said Frank, addressing Sprague, “did
you ever see the clothes worn by this person? Do
you know anything about them?”
The fellow choked and stammered, his face deathly
pale.
“Why, what do you mean by asking him such a
question, Mr. Merriwell?” demanded Windham.
“Does he know anything about that girl?”
“Granton,” said Frank, “tell us how you happened
*º->
*** -e.g., º --
A Double Surprise. 175
to have those clothes in your trunk. They were found
there.”
“I don't know anything about them,” faltered the
wretched fellow. “I don't know what you mean by
treating me this way.”
“It's useless to lie,” said Frank quietly. “I’m sorry
for you, my boy, but you'd better produce that stolen
diamond brooch. We're been unable to find it among
your possessions here, although we found the garnents
you wore that day you stole the brooch.”
“The day he stole the brooch!" uttered Windham.
“How could he steal the brooch There's the girl
who did it.”
“No,” said Frank, “that's not the person who did it.
We simply had this person put on those clothes in
order to confront Sprague, or Granton, which is his
proper name. Lift your veil, please.”
This request was addressed to the “girl.” Innme-
diately the veil was lifted and the face of Ned New-
ton was revealed.
“Newton | Newton "'' breathed Sand, who was now
doubly confused.
“That's the name he gave here in Bloomfield,”
nodded Frank, “but his real name is Fred Ferris, and
he's one of the cleverest young detectives in the busi-
mess. The Wellsburg chief of police called on him
to clear up this case. He came here to Bloomfield for
that purpose. Although I told him I was absolutely
certain neither Sand nor Arthur Morton had stolen
the brooch, he was not satisfied, and I took lim into
the school that he might have the chance he demanded
of watching them.”
176 A Double Surprise.
“I beg your pardon, Sand,” said the youthful de-
tective, with a laugh. “I acknowledge that I was on
the wrong trail, but I picked up the right one when
this chap Sprague come here with the Eurekas. I
began to suspect him last night when you met him at
the station. I've been pretty busy to-day. You caught
me listening at your door. I thought I might hear
something of importance pass between you and your
friend. I call him your friend, for you were willing,
to protect him in spite of his record. You knew this
fellow had committed arson in seeking revenge upon
a man he fancied had injured him. You knew he had
been sent up for a year for that crime. Still, I do
not blame you for shielding him, as he doubtless led
you to believe that he had reformed and meant to walk
the straight and narrow path in future. I was more
than half inclined to believe I might find these clothes
in his trunk, and that's why I came here and demanded
admission to this room while the game was in progress.
I’m disappointed in failing to find the stolen brooch,
but I'm satisfied that Granton, realizing the folly of
any other action, will give it up at once.”
And now Granton faced them with desperate defi-
ance, crying:
“It's a put-up job | It's all a lie! I never stole the
brooch I don't know anything about it!”
Newton, who had flung aside the hat and veil,
whistled sharply. Immediately an Officer, wearing a
badge, appeared in the doorway and entered, followed
by Jack Jasper.
“Here's your man, Perkins,” said the detective,
pointing to Granton. “He refuses to give up the
- “a
A Double Surprise. 177
brooch, but I think he'll change his mind under pres-
sure.”
At the sight of the officer's shield Granton collapsed.
He dropped upon a chair, covering his face with his
hands and uttering a groan.
“It's no use !” he said huskily. “I’ll give up. I've
got it on my person now. I don't know why I stole
it. It was a fool thing to do. I've always been a
fool! I was a fool when I wore those clothes in \\ ells-
burg that day, but I started out for a lark. I thought
it would be a little sport and diversion while I was
waiting for Windham. I saw my opportunity to
steal the brooch in the jewelry store, and I took it. I'm
sorry! I'm sorry!”
“And I'm sorry, too,” said Frank Merriwell. “I’ll
do whatever I can for you, my boy; and let us hope
the judge will be lenient.”
CHAPTER XIX.
THE TRAM PS AND THE BOY.
Following orders to cross the express there, No. 19,
made up mainly of empties with a caboose car at the
rear end, pulled into the Clinton siding at seventeen
minutes past midnight. The locomotive came to a
halt with a gasping, puffing sound like a gigantic
thing that had been exhausted by its exertions. There
was a clattering and bumping of shackles and a creak-
ing of brakes. The conductor, lantern in hand, started
along the top of the cars from the caboose. The
voices of brakemen were heard calling through the
darkness. The little town slept undisturbed by these
sounds, with here and there a dim light shining from
the window of an unseen house.
Behind some bushes which grew thickly at the top
of the high bank near the siding crouched two dark
figures, peering down at the train.
“I’lowed dat she’d stop here for de express,” whis-
pered one in a husky, wheezy voice. “We'll jump
her, kid, 'bout de time she starts.” 's
“Why not do it now?” questioned the other. “We’ve
got to pick an empty with an unfastened door.”
- “Yer leave dat to me, young feller. I can pick 'em
out in de dark. I can find 'em wit me nose. I smell
'em. If we done it now it's ten to one some of de
crew would come along and t'row us out on our
necks. I'll give yer de word when it's time to move.”
The Tramps and the Boy. 179
º
A few moments later two of the train hands came
down the line inspecting the cars. The man and boy
hidden behind the bushes on the bank lay still and
watched them as they passed along.
“That new law is working well, Tom,” said one.
“No hoboes for passengers to-night.” - -
“Working well,” growled the other. “I think it's
working rotten. It's driving the tramps out of the
state and cutting down the income of every honest
trainman who works on the night freights. I used
to collect anywhere from twenty to forty a month
off the hoboes. Don't believe I’ve picked up five thus
far this month.” -
The man behind the bushes placed his lips close to
his companion's ear and hissed: -
“Dat's de way dey done it. Dey robbed us right
and left. When we didn't have no money or nuttin'
to drink in our clothes, dey drove us off. We've got
to dodge 'em to-night, for dey'd go t'rough your
clothes and clean yer out sure. Dey'd take every cent
yer has.” t -
“Not without a hot old fight,” whispered the boy
in return. “I'd make them go some before they got
my long green.” -
The trainmen had passed on, and now from far
away in the depths of the silent night came the mourn-
ful, wailing sound of a locomotive whistle.
“Dere's de express,” whispered the man. “Git
ready, kid. I’ve got our sleeper spotted. We've got
to hustle aboard it when de express goes by.”
Again the wailing shriek of the approaching train
came through the night, this time sounding much
180 The Tramps and the Boy.
nearer. Man and boy lifted themselves and prepared
for action. . - -
“Jest you stick close to me, kid,” advised the elder
of the two, “Here she comes. Here she is.”
Round a distant bend came the brightly gleaming
headlight of the express. For a third time the ap-
proaching locomotive shrieked wailingly, coming on-
ward with a rumbling roar that grew louder with
each moment. The fireman of the express, attending
to his duty, opened the furnace door and permitted
a flaring glow of red light to fling itself upward into
the darkness as he skilfully plied his shovel and scat-
tered fresh coal over the top of the red-hot mass.
within. -
Safety lights were set, and, without any slacking
of speed, the express tore over the “frogs” and went
shooting, hissing, and roaring past the little station,
and the train that lay upon the siding.
Down the bank slid those two dark figures, scatter-
ing stones and gravel before them, but making no
noise that could be heard amid the roar of the ex-
press. Indeed, it seemed that the man had a nose
for locating empties with Open doors, as he made not
the slightest mistake in this case, and, without a single
false move, found what he sought. With a combined
upward yank and push, he slid the side door of the
car some two feet upon its iron track and trucks.
“Up, kidſ” he cried, grabbing one of the boy's legs
and giving him a lift. - 4.
Then he followed the lad through the dark open-
ing, rose quickly the moment he was inside the car,
and closed the door ere the uproar made by the ex-
==e^* T
The Tramps and the Boy. 181
press had died down sufficiently for the trainmen to
hear any noise that he made. -
“Here we are,” he chuckled. “Dis is our Pullman
for de rest of de night. We'll be over de state line
in de morning.” *
“This is life! This is fun! This is excitement!”
palpitated the boy. “I’m going to see the world!
They will never catch me and take me back to Mill-
rock. I suppose they’re watching every Pullman and
passenger-train to nab me. That's why I'm traveling
this way. They'll never dream that I'll try to skip
them like this.” * .* -
“What have you been doing, kid? What are dey
after you fer?” - -
“That’s all right, old man. It's nothing to you.
I ain't asking you no questions, and I had rather you
wouldn't question me. I'm a warm member, I am. I
always was a hot bunch, and Millrock was too slow
to hold me. My old man is rich. Perhaps you think
I'm lying; but I'm not. He's rich. He's tried to tie
me down and bury me in a one-horse town. I always
told him I’d see the world before I was twenty-one,
and now I’m going to see it.”
“What's your name, young feller P’’
“My name? Oh, well, you've got to call me some-
thing, I suppose. So call me Harry—Harry Davis.
That's as good as any name. What's your name?”
“Pete.” *:
“Pete what P”
“Any old thing. I’ve had a dozen names, and I
swear I've forgot what de fust one was. I've been
182 The Tramps and the Boy.
*s-sºee erº-. v.--
hitting de pike and hopping freights ever since I can
remember. Say, kid, got any money?” -
“Didn't I say I had 7"
“How much you got?”
“Oh, never mind how much. I’ve got enough.
They’re starting now. We’re off.”
The engine-bell clanged and the train started with
a series of jerks and a rattling and clanging of wheels
and shackles.
“We’re off,” echoed Pete, with satisfaction. “It’s
all right now, young feller. Dey won't come nosing
around here before de next stop, anyhow. Let's find
a corner where we kin be comfortable.”
As they were seeking this comfortable corner, the
boy stumbled and fell. In a moment he was up again,
uttering an exclamation of alarm.
“Wot is it, kid P’’ -
“There's a man here,” was the answer. “I fell
Over him.”
“Is dat So? Well, lemme get a look at de gent.”
At this point the unknown man, seemingly aroused
by what had happened, began to grumble and mutter
in the darkness.
Pete struck a match, holding and shading it with
his cupped left hand, and bent forward, throwing the
light downward upon the recumbent unknown. The
light was sufficient to reveal a dirty, ragged, unshaven
individual of uncertain age, who lay there, with his
old coat rolled beneath his head, and blinked dully at
the match.
“What yer want?” he grunted. “Turn off that
juice. Let me slumber serenely upon my downy bed.
The Tramps and the Boy. 183
Leave me to sweet dreams of long departed days.
Let me dream that I'm a man again, for only in my
dreams can I ever hope to be one.” -
“It’s a tramp,” said the boy.
“Yep, I reckon he belongs to de fraternity,” chuck-
led Pete hoarsely, as the flame of the match went
out, and a small charred coal of it dropped to the
floor. “He’s one of us, sure. Seems to me I’ve run
across de gent before. I say, pal, what's yer handle?
What's de word, anyhow 2" -
“My name is Bill—old Bill the Bum,” was the
answer. “You want the word, eh? It's buttercups.
Give us your right paw and I'll hand yer the grip.”
“Excuse me, partner, but my right fin is out o' com-
mission. Yer can give me de grip wit yer left.”
In the darkness their left hands met, and then for
a few moments they conversed in a strange language,
a sort of jargon with which the wondering boy was
totally unfamiliar.
“It’s all right, kid," Pete finally said. “De gent
belongs to our fraternity. You ain't been 'nitiated yet.
Squat and make yourself comfortable. I’m going to
have a smoke.” -
“I need a smoke myself,” said the boy, as he sat
down upon the floor with his back against the end
of the car.
In a few moments he struck a match and held it
before his face as he lighted a cigarette. It was not
a bad face that the flaring light of the match re-
vealed, although it was somewhat soiled. The fea-
tures were those of a lad not over sixteen, and they
seemed to indicate a wilful and wayward disposition,
.-.
.
The Tramps and the Boy. * --
184 Tºs--
His clothes did not seem to be the clothes of a tramp.
All this was noted by the still recumbent man who
had given his name as Bill.
Pete lighted an old cob pipe, and the match he held
revealed his face also. It was not a pleasant counte-
nance to look upon, unwashed, untouched by a razor
for many days. The eyes were small, cold, and
vicious. The mouth was that of a thoroughly bad
man. The light of the match revealed something else,
for it showed that Pete's right hand was missing, and
in its place there was a curved steel hook.
“Now we’re all comfortable,” wheezed the man
with the missing hand. “Arter we get our moke
we can snooze. You say you're going to see de
world, young feller. You say you've got some money,
but I don’t suppose you've got enough to take yer
very fer, eh?”
“Oh, I don't know about that,” retorted the boy,
with a laugh. “I think it would take me sonne dis-
tance, all right.”
“Go on I don't believe you've got a fiver in your
jeans.”
“You don’t 2 Well, I've got more than one. If it
wasn't for the officers I know the old man has out
looking for me, I'd be traveling by Pullman instead
of this dog’s way. What I want is a drink. I need
it bad. I’m feeling rotten. We couldn't get any-
thing in that little dub of a town. I offered to pay if
you could find a quart for us.”
“Yes, and we'd both been pinched if I’d gone piking
round for the booze. I know you offered to pay, but
I ain't seen the color of yer money yet. You've made
-º-º-ºmmº. * . - **
The Tramps and the Boy. 185
*~
a lot of talk about it, but I know how 'tis wit kids
like you. You always talk. You're great bluff-
ers, dat’s what you are.” -
“So you think I'm bluffing Well, look here, look
here. I’ll prove that I'm not. Strike a match and
I'll show you. I tell you I've got a roll with me. I've
got money.”
The man seemed more than willing to be convinced,
for he lost no time in accepting the invitation to strike
a match. He held it between the thumb and fore-
finger of his left hand as the train went rumbling
and jarring and bumping over the rails. And then
the boy “flashed his roll.” He displayed it trium-
phantly, a wad of bills half as big as a man’s fist.
“What did I tell you?” he cried. “There's enough
to choke a horse, and there are some yellow-backed
twenties in the bunch.”
The small eyes of the man glittered viciously, and
there was a quaver in his hoarse voice as he said:
“I want ter 'pologize, kid. You ain't no bluffer.
You've got de goods. You're all right. Dat's what
you are. Wanted a drink, did ye? Well, I allus car-
ries a little something wit me.”
The match dropped to the floor.
“What's that?” almost shouted the boy. “You
don't mean to say you’ve got anything? And I was
begging for a drink! I was dying for one, and you
knew it.”
“I reckoned you’d had enough den, but I guess it's
sort of worn off now. I’ve got a quart here, and I
ain't hit it but once myself. Here she is, kid. Care-
ful now ; don't spill it.”
- sº
***
186 The Tramps and the Boy. • **
There was a sound which indicated that the cork
was being removed from a bottle. In the darkness
that bottle changed hands. The boy seized it greedily,
giving vent to a harsh, reckless laugh.
“Here's luck, pal,” he cried.
Hut even as he tipped the bottle to his lips, a hand
reached out in the darkness and snatched it from
him.
“look not on the wine when it is red, for it stingeth
like an adder and biteth like blue blazes,” wheezed the
voice of old Bill. “It ain't good for ye, my boy. It
ain't good for anybody. But I need it, and I’ll drink
it jest to keep it from hurting yer.” -
\\ith a snarl of fury, Pete made a spring in the
darkness and flung himself on Old Bill.
“Gimme dat bottle !” he wheezed furiously.
It seemed that the man attacked possessed consid-
erable strength, for he flung his assailant off with one
sweep of his arm, hurling him across the car and
against the far side of it.
“Be gentle, be gentle,” he said. “Have you for-
gotten that we're brothers of the road 2 Have you
forgotten that I gave you the word and the grip P
Kindly hold yourself in restraint, Peter, while I per-
mit a little of this bugjuice to trickle down my arid
throat. If you come at me again with that infernal
steel hook of yours, I give you my word that I'll
slice your skin into ribbons. I’ll carve you as oft
I've carved a turkey in the days of my youthful man-
hood and prosperity.”
It seemed that Pete was somewhat stunned ; but
after a while he moved and fell to snarling forth im-
The Tramps and the Boy. S-mºm--" "
187
precations upon his comrade of the road. In the
darkness there was a gurgling sound, faintly heard
above the rumble of the car-wheels, which told that,
in spite of the anger of Pete, old Bill was serenely
permitting the contents of the bottle to flow down his
throat.
“Hold on " wheezed Pete. “Is yer goin’ to drink
it all up 2 Don't be a hog. Give de kid a little gee-
ser.’’
There was a gasſing sound, followed by a deep sigh
of satisfaction, which seemed to indicate that Bill had
lowered the bottle.
“Indeed, you are wonderfully generous, Peter,” he
murmured. “I fail to understand it, for many a time
and oft have I heard of Hook-hand Pete being just
about as mean and niggardly as they make 'em.”
“Don’t talk about meanness!” cried the boy. “Here
I am dying for a drink and you're keeping the stuff
away from me. I want it. Give it up. Hand it
over.”
His hands found old Billy in the darkness, and he
fumbled eagerly for the bottle.
“I prithee, wait.” remonstrated the man. “Hast
ever paused to consider the effect of liquor upon the
human system 2 Hast ever noted the awful results
which come from overindulgence in corn-juice? My
boy, in me you behold—or you could behold if it were
light enough—a horrible example of the degrading,
ruinous, soul-destroying effect of booze consumption.
You're nothing but a kid. You've not yet formed
an appetite for bugjuice. You think you want it now;
188 The Tramps and the Boy.
but you don't. When you drink it you have to force
it down your throat, and your very soul writhes in
repulsion. But you have a mistaken idea that there's
Something manly about drinking liquor. You want
to be a man, and SO you've made up your mind that
you're going to drink. If you stick by the stuff you'll
never be a man. It will rob you of every spark of
manhood in you. It will put you where I am, down
and out.”
“Aw, cut it out !” snarled Pete. “If you're going
to lecture on temperance, why don't you hire a hall P
Give us a rest''
“Yes, cut it out !” exclaimed the boy. “You’re a
nice thing to be talking like that to me, ain't you?
I'll guarantee that you're a regular old booze-tank.
I’ll bet my life on it.” -
“You win,” came blandly and unhesitatingly from
Billy. “I’m all of that, and then some. When I walk
I make a noise like a beer-barrel. I'm not handsome
to look upon. My nose is red and bloated and my
face is lined with purple veins. My eyes are bleary,
and you can hear the whisky wheeze in my voice.
My waist measures forty-eight, and I haven't an ounce
of good, honest hard meat on me. Still, it will be
wise for my friend Peter to keep his distance, as I've
opened my pocket-knife for the purpose of cutting off
a chew of tobacco, and he might accidently get cut
if he came fooling around me. Sit down, kid, and
keep still. I’m going to tell you a little story about
myself, and when I'm through if you still insist that
you want the booze—well, maybe I'll let you have it.
“My name is Bolivar. To-day I'm known as old
*
e’
The Tramps and the Boy. 189
Bill the Bum. But one time I was called Billy, the
good fellow. That was a long, long time ago. I
was not always a bum and a tramp. I had good peo-
ple, good parents, the best mother any boy ever had.
I was given every advantage and every opportunity
to become a decent, respectable man. I remember the
first time I got jagged. I was thirteen years old.
Five of us boys stole a lot of hard cider from the
cellar of an old man who always kept the stuff on
hand. One of the party was older than any of the
rest. He knew better. He knew that the cider had
been put up in a whisky-barrel and doctored until it
was strong enough for a single glass to make a man
stagger. Yet he turned it into us kids. He told us
that it wouldn't hurt us, and he induced us to drink
it until we could not swallow any more.
“I remember lying on the ground while the whole
earth reeled and rocked beneath me, and I clung to
the grass in frantic fear that I would fall off into
space. Then I was sick—Oh, horribly sick | Some-
how I managed to crawl home, and I crept on hands
and knees up the stairs into my room. I remember
dragging myself onto the bed, and the next I knew
my mother was bending over me. Oh, I was ashamed ! .
I tried to tell her that I was sick, but she smelt the
vile stuff on my breath and knew what ailed me. It
nearly broke her heart then and there. The horrible
shame of it seemed more than I could endure. Her
tears were on my face, and I covered my eyes and wept
also. I promised her I’d never touch the stuff again.
I swore I’d never take another drink as long as I
lived.” -
*===sº. --
y.
Again Pete interrupted and remonstrated against
listening to this tale.
“Wot de blazes do we care about dat?” he cried.
“You was nuttin but a fool kid.” :
“Oh, wasn't he the soft thing !” sneered the boy.
“Yes, I was a fool kid,” agreed old Billy; “but
I made a bigger fool of myself later on. For a time
I kept that pledge to my mother. For a time I did
my best to be decent. My foolish escapade was for-
gotten. My mother became proud of me, and almost
every one who knew me said that I was a good boy
and that I would make, a fine man. Finally I went
away to college. I went to Yale. There I fell in
with a lot of jolly good fellows—fellows who drank.
When I refused to take anything they laughed at
me. I found many of them thought me a milksop. I
was ashamed because of that, and finally I began
drinking also. Little by little the pace increased.
From drinking beer I came to take something stron-
ger. I was well supplied with money, and I spent
it freely. I loved a jolly good time. Oh, those, days!
Those nights! It's like a dream to me now.”
“I rather tº ink it is a dream,” sneered Hook-hand
Pete. “You never went to college in yer life. Wot
yer givin' us, anyhow 2"
“Peter, I must mildly insist that you prevaricate. If
you interrupt me again, I’ll empty your bottle. I'll
drink the whole of it, and I won't give you as much as
a Smell. Many a successful business man to-day can
tell you what a jolly good fellow Billy Bolivar of
Yale used to be. I touched all the high places in those
old (lays. I had hosts of friends. What harm did it
---------
== esser
- 190 The Tramps and the Bo
---sº-sº-"
- The Tramps and the Boy. 191
do if Billy Bolivar was brought stiff to his rooms at
three in the morning? He had money and he spent
it. Everybody liked him. But little by little the de-
mon of drink was getting its grip on the poor fool.
“At first, on the morning after a night of carousal,
the thought of drink was nauseating. But there came
a time when it was necessary for me to take an eye-
opener when I rolled out of bed. When a man reaches
that stage, he's well started on the road to a drun-
kard's grave. I was following the road, but I didn't
know it. It has brought me here. My mother is
dead. She died of a broken heart, and I killed her.
My friends—where are they And William Bolivar,
of Yale, the jolly good fellow, where is he He's
here, a common Sot, a worthless hobo and bummer.
Drink did it. I thought I could handle the stuff,
but it handled me. A hundred times I’ve sworn to
heaven that I’d never touch another drop, and a hun-
dred times I've broken my pledge. I know now that
there's only one end for me. Some day I'll be found
dead in the gutter. I'll be found by strangers, and
I’ll be buried in a nameless grave. They will store me
away in a pauper's lot.
“That's what drink has done for me, kid. That's
what it will do for you if you stick by it. I don't
know anything about you. I don't know whether
you have a father and a mother or not. But if you
have a mother, for heaven's sake cut out the booze
and try to be a man. I've heard what you were telling
Pete, but maybe you were lying. I've seen fool young-
sters like you who thought it a big thing to lie.”
“Well, this is the limit!" cried the boy hotly. “I

192 The Tramps and the Boy."
- -->
never thought I'd listen to a temperance lecture from
a miserable old bum like you.” -
“It’s likely you've never thought many things would
happen to you that will happen. If you weren't lying
about yourself, take my advice and go back home.
Carry home the money you stole, Give it back to the
one to whom it belongs. You want to see life, do you?
Well, it's a miserable portion of life you'll see in this
way.” - -
“Are you trough, Bolivar 2" asked Pete. “Have
you finished yer spiel? Have yer blown off all de hot
air dat was in yer? Don't pay no 'tention to him, kid.
He was loaded when we found him here, and his kind
always gits dat way arter dey've guzzled dere fill. I
know all about him. I've seen a hundred and heard
'em tell jest the same story. It's always booze, booze
dat done it.”
“I don't suppose it was booze with you, Peter,” said
old Billy. “I should say that you were just naturally
no good from the time of your birth. You don't know
what it is to be a man, and you never will know.”
This was too much for Hook-hand, who, in de-
fiance of the warning, now crept upon Bolivar, seized
him, and demanded the bottle. -
“If yer don't give it up I'll rip yer wide open wit
de hook,” he snarled. -
A moment later there was a crash and Bolivar ut-
tered a cry of seeming dismay.
“There you go!” he exclaimed: “You’ve knocked
the bottle from my hand and broken it.”
CHAPTER xx.
IN A TRAP.
Hook-hand Pete raged like a madman. Perhaps
he feared Billy Bolivar's knife, for he did not at-
tempt to do the old man bodily injury.
Bolivar pretended that he was filled with regret.
“You and I might have drunk it up, Pete,” he said.
“It wasn't necessary to give the kid any.”
The boy was even more angry than Hook-hand
Pete.
“I’ve got a beastly old headache,” he said. “I
swear I need a drink now. I've got money enough
to buy a barrel of the stuff, and here I am cracking
open for want of a little drink. I’ll be dead before
morning.” - *
“If dis freight holds up at Wellsburg,” said Pete,
“I know de town and I can git all de booze I want
when I have de price. Jest you give me a fiver, kid,
and I'll git de stuff fer ye. We won't give Bolivar
a drop of it, either.”
“Peter,” murmured old Billy, again fixing the coat
as a pillow for his head, “you're a heartless, unsym-
pathetic creature. I know you by your record, which
is foul as mire and black as ink.” -
“You're boiling over with compliments, Bolivar.”
“You’re welcome to them, old pal. It's now me to
pound my ear. Kindly refrain from disturbing my
peaceful slumbers.”
iQ4 In a Trap.
Old Billy stretched himself at full length, and soon
he was Snoring in a manner which seemed to indicate
that he was fast asleep. - • ‘
Hook-hand Pete and the boy sat close together and
talked in low, mumbling tones. At intervals the lad
lighted a cigarette. Pete puffed at his old pipe.
Onward through the night rumbled the train.
Finally the boy curled himself in a corner of the
car and fell asleep. Hook-hand Pete kept still until
he was satisfied that the lad was sleeping Soundly.
Finally he moved softly, stealthily, and slowly.
A match was struck and burst into a sudden flare in
Billy Bolivar's fingers. The light revealed Hook-
hand Pete suddenly jerking himself to an upright
position and pulling his hand from the boy's pocket.
“Ah, Peter," said Bolivar, rising to a sitting posture.
“Have you lost anything? Were you searching for
anything, pal 2"
“I just wanted a chaw of terbacker,” was the an-
swer. “I tought mebbe the kid had some.”
“Permit me to tender you mine,” said Bolivar po-
litely, as he brought forth part of a twist and ex-
tended it toward the Other.
Pete accepted the tobacco and bit off a chew with
his stout, yellow teeth.
“Now, my friend,” said Bolivar, as the other tramp
returned the tobacco with mumbled thanks, “you and
I will sit here and enjoy a nice comfortable chat while
our tender young friend is sleeping.”
This was far from agreeable to Pete, and after a
time he stretched himself on the floor of the car,
declaring...that he would sleep himself.
In a Trap. 195
. Three times within an hour Pete moved restlessly,
and each time Bolivar spoke to him, expressing regret
that he should find it so difficult to woo slumber.
“Insomnia is a sad and doleful thing,” said Billy.
“I know all about it, Peter. I've been up against it
myself.”
“Oh, shut up!" wheezed Pete.
Finally the train came to a stop and then drew
in upon a siding.
“Wake up, kid" said Pete, shaking the boy. “Dis
must be Wellsburg. Gimme dat fiver and I'll find
some booze. Yer can trust me, young feller. I'll
get it sure and bring it back here.”
Again Bolivar lighted a match, which he held while
the boy produced his money and handed over a bill to
Hook-hand. With that money in his possession,
Pete crept to the door of the car and listened. After
a time, he ventured to open the door and quickly
dropped out into the darkness. He paused, however,
to close the door behind him.
“My lad,” said Bolivar, “that's good riddance to
bad rubbish. You're traveling in the worst possible
company.”
“I don't think you improved the party any,” laughed
the boy.
“Possibly not,” was the instant admission. “In
many ways I may not be any better than the soiled gent
who has lately departed. But permit me to add that
never yet have I committed murder.”
“Has he?" asked the startled lad,
“He killed a man in Omaha three years ago.”
“Is that true?”
f
196 In a Trap.
“It's the truth if William Bolivar ever spoke the
truth. Hook-hand Pete is a yegg. There's not an
honest bone in his body, and his conscience could rest
easily upon the point of a pin. He's a thief, house-
breaker, a degenerate. Only for the fact that you
stumbled upon me in this car, Pete would now have
every dollar of your money, and you'd be lucky if
your brains weren't beaten out of your head. He's got
you marked, kid, and he means to clean you out.”
“By thunder, he'll never do it! I'll defend my-
Self ''' -
“Little chance you would have against that thug.
When Hook-hand Pete spots a victim he follows him
up to the finish. You're spotted. I doubt if he's
seen in a year as much money as you've flashed. He
means to have that money, and he'll get it if there's
any way to do so, even though he has to kill you. He
meant to get you drunk when he gave you that vile
whisky. It was vile stuff. I know, for I took some
of it. He still means to get you drunk. That's why
he's gone for liquor. He intends to come back here
with enough to fill us both to the muzzle. When
we're dead to the world he will clean you out.”
By this time the boy was frightened.
“What can I do?” he asked. r
“If you'll stick by me I'll get you away from Pete.”
“But you may be a thief, too.”
“I may be, as far as you know, kid. There's every
reason why you should suspect me, for otherwise I'm
certainly clean down to the bottom of the ladder. But
never yet has William Bolivar stolen a penny. He's
paid his debts, too. If you'll trust me, kid, we'll skip
In a Trap. 197
while Hook-hand is gone. When he gets back he'll
find an empty car and he'll froth like a wolf. What
do you say, young feller?”
“I’m ready, I'm ready,” palpitated the boy. “Come
on.”
Bolivar rose in the darkness, unrolling his ragged
coat, and slipping it on.
“It’s likely there's no time to be lost,” he whispered.
“Let me find the door.”
He found the door without trouble, but, when he
sought to open it, it would not move. All his strength
was in vain, and finally he paused, uttering an ex-
clamation of anger and dismay.
“What's the matter?” asked the boy.
“It seems,” answered the tramp, “that our friend
Peter has taken pains to hold his intended victim in
the snare. When he dropped off and closed the door
he paused long enough to wedge it fast. We can't
get out of this car.”
At last the boy, sobered by his situation, was genu-
inely terrified in every fiber of his being. Despite the
manner of old Billy Bolivar, the lad believed that the
tramp himself was afraid of Hook-hand Pete.
“What can we do?” he asked hoarsely. “Must we
wait here helplessly until he returns?”
“We'll try the other door,” said Bolivar.
“The other door? Oh, yes! Why didn't we think
of that before ?” . -
“I thought of it, but it's not likely Hook-hand
fastened one exit from the trap and left the other
open.” >
198 In a Trap.
&
In a moment they were at the opposite door, doing
their best to slide it open. But it likewise refused
to move.
“Just as I thought,” muttered the hobo. “You're
beginning to realize now, kid, the sort of a gent
you've picked up as a companion. Started out to see
the world, did you? Well, I must say you've begun
your sight-seeing career in a most auspicious man-
ner I haven't had much of a chance to look you
over, but, somehow, I’ve got a motion in my old noddle
that there's decent blood in your body.”
“My parents are people of good standing. My
father is a wealthy man, but he's harsh and unsym-
pathetic. He's never shown me an atom of affection.
He's made me hate him by his coldness toward me.
You'd never dream from his manner that I was lais
own son. Even my mother is afraid of him. Oh, he's
a brute I hate him '''
“La, la' ſ low unfortunate | I’ve said that you
were a fool kid, and now I'm beginning to under-
stand the reason for it. I've heard of such fathers
before. There are two ways of spoiling a youngster.
One way is to be too indulgent; the other is to be too
stern. Now if I had panned out into a decent man in-
stead of a common bum, if I had found a good woman
who would marry me and whom I loved, if I had had
children, as every married man should, I’ve a conceited
notion that I'd known how to bring those youngsters
up. It’s likewise my conviction that not one father
in twenty does know how to handle his own children.
Some day I'm going to write a book on the duties of
parents toward their children. There will be one or
In a Trap. 199
two original ideas in it, and that's more than you can
find in most books."
“I ſave we got to stay here and talk and wait for
that thief and murderer to come back?” asked the agi-
tated boy.
“There's only one way for us to get out of this
car, and I think I'll resort to that method. Stand
back, my lad—give me room to get into gear.”
Innuediately old Billy began kicking the door of
the car and beating upon it with his fist, at the same
time uttering loud shouts.
“Great Caesar!” gasped the boy. “You’ll bring
the trainmen down upon us.”
“Even so,” agreed Bolivar. “That's my intention.
When they appear you want to be ready to duck
suddenly and Scientifically. Don't wait to waste any
energy in conversation. Watch me and take your cue
from William Bolivar, Esquire. Stick by me, kid,
and I'll get you out of this scrape.”
The racket made by old Billy finally brought two
brakemen to the spot. Their voices were heard before
they unfastened and slid open the door of the car.
The moment the door moved the tranip seized it and
thrust it open for a space of three feet or more. One
of the men upon the ground held a lantern. He started
to lift it, at the same time giving vent to a free ſlow
of profanity. In another instant he was flat upon the
ground and the lantern was rolling under the car, for
Bolivar had leaped upon his shoulders and knocked
him down.
The boy followed instructions, springing at the
other man and upsetting him in a jiffy. Both brake-
as e-
2OO . In a Trap.
men were stunned and bewildered by these unexpected
maneuvers, and before they could recover their wits
the tramp and the boy were up and away.
“Stick close, kid,” cried old Billy as he darted across
the track and crawled hastily through beneath a long
line of cars that stood upon another siding.
Here and there through the freight-yard they
dodged, until at last they rounded the corner of a huge
dark building and Bolivar paused to take breath. Be-
hind them they heard the shouts of the trainmen, but
it seemed evident that those men had lost track of
them in the darkness.
“That was going some,” chuckled the hobo. “We
fooled them handsomely, kid. Say, but they're froth-
ing now ! If they could get their hands upon us they
wouldn't do a thing to us—not a thing ! It will be
the height of wisdom for us to fade gently away into
the stilly night and take care that we're seen no more
of men hereabouts. I'm Sorry for the next hobo
those gentlemen encounter. They will take it out of
him with interest. Yonder dark street beckons us
with its inviting look. We'll hie ourselves down the
thoroughfare.”
Taking care to avoid the vicinity of street-lights,
the man and boy left the freight-yard behind them.
They had not proceeded far, however, before they
nearly collided with a man who suddenly stepped forth
from the darkness of a narrow alley. They would
have passed without a word, but this man halted and
peered at them keenly and suspiciously.
“The top of the morning to you, my friend,” saluted
old Billy, in a cheerful manner. “Methinks your
s
In a Trap. 2O I .
better-half is waiting for you with some impatience
while she dallies with a rolling-pin. If you're wise,
you’ll seek entrance to your domicile by way of the
sewer.” - -
The man uttered an oath of astonishment, and
leaped forward like a panther, seizing Bolivar's com-
panion by the shoulder.
“Wot de blazes be you doing here, boy '' snarled
Hook-hand Pete. “I told you to wait fer me.”
“Ah, Peter, 'tis you,” said old Billy, apparently not
a whit ruffled by this unwelcome encounter. “In-
deed, you urged us to stay, but it was most incon-
venient to do so. A few husky, horny-handed train-
men came in upon us while we lingered and kicked
us out upon our necks. I fear their Argus eyes beheld
you as you departed.”
“Nit!” snapped Pete. “Dere didn't nobody see me.
You're lyin', pal.”
“Tut, tut, and likewise tush '" remonstrated old
Billy. “It would choke me if I should prevaricate.”
“It would choke yer if you told der truth,” flung
back Pete. “It’s lucky I happened to strike yer dis
way. I know dis town. I've been here before. I
found a friend and woke him up. It cost me dat fiver
dough to get a quart of booze at dis hour. I've got
it right here, and now we'll all have a drink.”
He produced a huge flat bottle and held it up tri-
umphantly. Removing the cork, he extended the bot-
tle to the boy.
“Here's a life-saver for youse,” he laughed. “Don’t
be afraid of it, young feller. Take a long pull.”
The boy backed off.
202 In a Trap.
“I don't want it,” he objected.
“Hey 2 Don't want it?”
“No.”
“Why not? Wot's de matter wit yer?”
“I don’t want a drink now. I won't touch it.”
“Our young friend is coming to a realizing SefīSe
of his folly, Peter,” purred old Billy, “and he is now
inclined to eschew the redeye.” …
“You’ve been givin' the kid a spiel" rasped Hook-
hand furiously. “You grabbed my whisky in de fust
place and tried to drink it all up. You're a fine bloke
to be givin' advice to any one, you be Don't you pay
no 'tention to dis old bum, kid. He's talking t'rough
his hat. Whisky never hurt a man. Go on and take
a good drink.” -
But still the boy persisted in his refusal. And, in
spite of himself, he could not help showing by his
manner that he was afraid of the man with the liquor.
“Wot else has dis gent been spielin' to yer?” de-
manded Pete.
“I’ve been giving him a little information concern-
ing your record, Peter,” unhesitatingly explained Bol-
ivar. “I’ve told him that you've worn stripes in sev-
eral state institutions for the repression of the unruly
and lawless.”
“You’re a fine pal! You're a fine member of the
brotherhood" snarled Pete, dropping the bottle into
a side pocket of his coat. “I know your little game.
I'm onto yer. You want his money. You're after
his long green. Dat’s what’s de matter. You've been
tryin' to give me de double-cross. But you'll find dat
in a Trap. - 263
I won’t stand fer it. Dis boy belongs to me. I seen
him first. He's goin' wit me, too."
“Guess again, Peter—guess again. I fear you are
greatly mistaken. The kid, has decided to cut you out
and travel a while with William Bolivar. Your num-
ber 1s twenty-three.”
Hook-hand was ablaze with rage. He started for
old Billy, who promptly retreated a step, warning him
to keep off. In stepping backward Bolivar's foot
struck against a loose cobblestone, and in a twinkling
he stooped and caught it up. -
“Pal,” he said, “I should hate to crack your nut
with this pebble, but on my word I'll do so if you
get gay with me. I'll take pleasure in fitting you for
six feet of earth, feeling in my heart of hearts that
by So doing I will be performing an act for which so-
ciety should give me a gold medal.”
Instead of stopping the ruffian, this threat seemed
to infuriate him still more. With a sudden leap, he
flung himself at Bolivar, striking with his steel hook.
Old Billy dodged barely in time to avoid the hook. He
did not avoid it completely, for it caught in his tat-
tered coat and ripped the garment open in a twink-
ling.
Then Bolivar hurled the cobblestone. It struck
Hook-hand Pete glancingly upon the head, and the
man went down as if hit by a bolt of lightning. -
“You would have it, Peter,” said old Billy, as he
stood looking down at the fallen tramp. “I gave you
fair warning, and then you tried to tear me open
with your hook. I presume I've made a slight dent in
your head.” -
204 In a Trap.
“You’ve killed him " gasped the boy. ; :
“I wouldn't be at all surprised if you're right, kid.
If so, this is the first time I've ever stained my hands
with blood. I’m naturally tender-hearted. I wouldn't
hurt a sick kitten. You started out to see life, young-
ster, and you're seeing it. You're seeing what life of
a certain sort brings a man to. Perhaps you've seen
enough of it. Don't you think you'd better go home *
“I can't, I can't,” answered the wretched lad. “It’s
impossible. For heaven's sake, let's get away from
here! What if the police should come and find us?
We'd be arrested for murder ''' . .
“Wait a moment, lad,” urged Bolivar, as he knelt
upon the paving-stones and placed his hand on the
breast of the silent ruffian. “Let me make sure I've
put his engine out of commission.” •
After a few moments of silence, old Billy rose and
turned away.
“I think it will be best for us to hit the high places,
boy,” he admitted. “In the morning the police may
be looking around this town to find out who doused
the glim of Hook-hand Pete.”
“Then he's dead?" breathed the lad. -
“Not being a physician or a coroner, I could not is-
sue a certificate of death ; but I'm forced to admit that
unless Peter has passed in his checks he is doing an
excellent stunt at shamming.”
“Then come away—come quick!”
But when old Billy had taken several steps he sud-
denly stopped and hesitated.
“Wait!” he urged. “A dead man can't drink whis-
ky, and it's a shame to leave that stuff behind.”
In a Trap. 205
Quickly returning, he once more bent over the pros-
trate figure, feeling for the bottle, which he found. .
But, to his dismay, it was broken.
“Too bad too bad '" he sighed. “The contents of
a large full quart hath percolated through Peter's
clothing and layed the cold stones of the street. With
that quart I could have been happy again. It would
have made me forget that I'm a dog, a tramp, a bum,
an outcast, a creature without home or friends, a thing
to be shunned by all decent men and women, an ob-
ject of terror to little children. With that booze under
my belt I would have sought some grassy bank beside
a purling brook and laid me down to slumber and to
dreams of the days when I was a man—the days that
are dead and gone, even as my manhood is dead and
gone.”
CHAPTER XXI.
THE FRIENI) AT BLOOM FIFLD.
Morning came, sweet and rosy, with dew sparkling
on the grass and birds singing amid the trees. Along
a brown road, that wound annid wooded hills and
through shady groves, trudged a man and a boy. Be-
hind them they had left the town, and at intervals the
lad recalled with a shudder his last look at the silent
figure as it lay stretched upon the stones of the dark
street. He was weary and footsore and sick at heart.
His eyes gazed dully upon the beautiful landscape.
At times he paused and looked backward, fearing he
might discover pursuers coming rapidly after them
upon the road. A watch-dog, barking fiercely, came
charging at then from a dooryard. But Old Billy
turned fearlessly and faced the animal, speaking to it
in calm tones. The dog stopped, with bristling back
and gleaming teeth, edging slowly around them.
“You’re a fine pup,” said the old man. “You're a
dog of excellent discernment, for in us you recognize
a pair of two-legged animals who have no license to
be prowling about the country at this hour. Never
mind him, kid. He won’t bite. Come on.”
“How do you know he won't bite ”
“Because I've looked him kindly but steadily in the
optic, and I've seen him hesitate. If there was any
danger that he would chew us up he'd be on the job
now. Never show fear of a dog when it comes at you
The Friend at Bloomfield. roy
like that. You can't run away from one, and if you
try you'll encourage him to insert his masticators in
the latter part of your person. If you're going to
have trouble with a dog, you'd better be facing him
in a position to do your best to defend yourself.
Never kick a dog, my son, for the chances are more
than even that he'll take a large, healthy bite out of
the calf of your leg while you are doing it.” -
The clog followed them slowly for a short distance,
continuing to growl and display its teeth. But I}ol-
ivar was right in believing there was no further dan–
ger of the animal attacking.
The road, led them down into a little valley where
a rustic bridge spanned a stream. Above the bridge
there was an old mill, the water Splashing with a cool,
musical sound as it flowed over a broken dam. Lean-
ing on the rail of the bridge, old Billy quoted: -
"Mine be a cot behind the hill;
A beehive's hum shall soothe my ear;
A willowy brook that turns a mill,
With many a fall shall linger near.”
The boy gazed at his companion in wonderment.
“How can you be hike this after what happened last
night?” he asked, “You don't seem to mind. You
don’t seem to care. You don't seem to have any fear
or feeling.” -
“The time is past when I should mind anything,
kid. Fear and I have long been strangers. Why
should I care what becomes of such a worthless old
creature as I am? As for feeling, I sometimes won-
der that there is yet am atom of it left in me. Put
still, my lad, at times the world locks good to my old

208 The Friend at Bloomfield.
eyes. It's God's own beautiful world, made for the
habitation of man, and it's man in his wretched ignor-
ance that mars its beauty and makes it other than the
Paradise the Creator intended it should be. I’ve looked
upon it at all hours of the day and night and in all
seasons of the year. In the spring I've seen it take
on its beautiful garments of green, adorned with flow-
ers. In summer I've seen it rich with the full promise
of autumn's harvest. In autumn I’ve watched the
leaves turn brown and gold and the reapers at work
in the fields. In winter I’ve beheld it sleeping 'neath
its shroud of spotless white. All seasons are good and
beautiful, and each has its pleasures and rewards.
We were placed here, lad, to make the most of it.
And it's such creatures as I who have thrown away
every golden chance and pushed the joyous cup of life
from their lips. For every man there are two roads,
and he may choose between them. I chose the wrong
road. Even then I might have turned back and found
the other. It's too late now. For you, kid, there's
yet plenty of time. You have started wrong, but I
hope you will realize your mistake and get onto the
right road as soon as possible.”
“Oh, let's not stay here! Let's not talk! I want
to be moving.”
He seized old Billy's arm and dragged the man
along.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“It makes no difference to me. I don't care a rap.
Any old place that I hang up my hat is home, sweet
home to me.”
The Friend at Bloomfield. 209
“But don't you know where we are f Haven't you
any idea where this road will take us?” - |
“I’m familiar with many highways throughout our
broad land, but I must confess that this is the first
time I've ever traveled this road. It will take us
somewhere, boy. Don't worry about that.” |
“And perhaps we'll be arrested in the very next
town we enter. Of course they've found the body
back there. Already the wires may have carried their
messages, and we may find officers waiting for us.”
“You may be right, but I have little fear of that.
Who is Hook-hand Pete that any one should take so
much trouble over his demise 2 Who saw us that can
describe us? How are they to connect us with the mis-
fortune that befell my friend Peter It is true we
may be arrested, but I have little fear that it will be
on Pete's account.”
A few minutes later they met a whistling bare-
footed boy who was driving some cows to pasture.
He regarded them with mingled curiosity and fear.
“Once I was a boy like that,” nurmured old Billy.
“I remember the first hobo I ever saw. I ran away
from him. This youngster seems to have more nerve.
I say, my boy, what's the next town 2''
“Bloomfield,” answered the boy.
“How far is it to Bloomfield P’’
“About four miles.”
“If we keep straight on this road will take us
there P”
“Yes, if you follow the main road it will take you
to Bloomfield.” -
“Many thanks. We're traveling for our health.
2 IO The Friend at Bloomfield.
Don't be afraid of us. We're gentlemen of leisure,
and I assure you that we are harmless. Fine cows
you have, Jersey and Herford. You seem to be a nice
boy, and I rather like you. If you'll give me your
name and address, I’ll send you a dollar for your
bank-account the next time I draw a check.”
The boy grinned. } -
“Never mind, mister,” he said. “I guess by your
looks you need the dollar more than I do.”
“Judge not by appearances,” chuckled old Billy.
“Oh, we've got money,” said Bolivar's companion
boastfully. “Here, boy, take this.”
He drew forth a silver half-dollar and snapped it,
spinning and glinting in the morning's Sunshine, to-
ward the astonished youngster, who caught it deftly
and made haste to express his thanks with almost ludi-
crous politeness.
“That was an unwise thing to do, kid,” said Bolivar,
when they had passed on.
“Why, what do you mean?” asked his companion.
“That boy will go home and tell about it. It's
rather unusual for ragged tramps like us to be throw-
ing away silver half-dollars. It will cause people to
talk. You're too previous with your money, my lad.
If you had not flashed your roll, Hook-hand Pete
would never have chosen you for skinning. The
man who makes a display of his money is an ass. I've
seen lots of them in my day. I've seen the boastful
braggart who flashed his roll in barrooms, and more
than once I’ve seen him parted from that roll. Wise
men, no matter how rich they may be, seldom carry
a great deal of money on their person. And when it
The Friend at Bloomfield. | 2 | 1
is necessary to do so, they store it away carefully and
display it only when necessity compels them to. For
verily I say unto you, the world is full of thieves
and crooks and vile men who will go through your
jeans if they get the chance—and a great many of
then manufacture the chance. You yet have a great
deal to learn, Son.”
“I declare I don't understand how such a wise guy
as you ever came to be a tramp,” cried the boy, sºme-
what sarcastically.
“And I’ve done my best to make you understand.
I've told you it was drink. I've advised you to cut it
out. So the next town is Bloomfield. Bloomfield—
I've heard of that place before. There are cobwebs
on my brain this morning.”
For some time Bolivar trudged on in silence, ap-
parently buried in deep thought. The expression of
his face indicated that he was ransacking his brain in
an effort to remember something. Finally he stopped
short with a muttered exclamation and struck his
palms sharply together.
“That's it! that's it !” he cried. “Bloomfield 2 Why,
I have a friend there. By Jove, this is luck!”
“A friend ?" questioned the boy doubtfully. “Is
there any one in Bloomfield who will be glad to see
you
even willing to recognize you?”
“We'll test him, my lad,” laughed old Billy. “Step
lively now. I'm eager to see him once more.” 47
Rufus Applesnack had opened his store and was
Smoking his pipe in the doorway when Bolivar and
the boy came over the bridge in Bloomfield. The
212 The Friend at Bloomfield.
storekeeper eyed them with all too evident distrust,
yet old Billy approached him unhesitatingly.
The boy waited near the steps of the store while
Bolivar talked with Applesnack a few moments.
Thanking the storekeeper, who had given him some
directions, the tramp joined his companion. *
“My friend is a most prosperous and influential
citizen here, kid,” said Billy. “He lives something
like a mile outside the town. We'll soon be in sight
of his place.”
Ere long the buildings of Frank Merriwell's school
loomed before them at their left.
“Those humble shacks belong to my friend,” said
Bolivar proudly. “This is the first time my old eyes
ever beheld them, but I’ve long promised myself the
pleasure. Look yonder to the right and you'll see a
colonial house amid the trees. That's where my
friend lives.”
-“Jove" cried the boy. “You don't mean it? You're
joking, Bolivar !”
“Nay, nay, say not so. I speak the truth. We'll
soon be at his door and you shall see how he receives
me. Those fine buildings comprise the American
School of Athletic Development, and it's there that
my friend makes men out of boys.”
As they drew still nearer they beheld a large troop
of lads, in gray uniforms and regular formation,
marching from the dormitory to the mess-hall for
breakfast. The sight interested Bolivar's companion.
“Is it a military school?” he asked.
“No, not a military school. It’s the only school of
The Friend at Bloomfield. 213
its kind in the world. You will learn more about it
from my friend. We'll find out if he is yet at home.”
Following the walk, old Billy boldly approached the
front door of the handsome colonial mansion. His
ring was answered by Frank himself, for the maid
had, seen the visitors and told Merry that tramps were
at the door.
“Good morning, Mr. Merriwell,” said Billy cheer-
fully. “I thought I'd make a call on you. I hope
you haven't forgotten me.” –
“Forgotten you, Bolivar” cried Frank. “I should
say not I'm delighted to see you.” - -
The boy almost staggered with astonishment as he
saw the master of the house seize and shake Billy
Bolivar's hand,
3 *
*
CHAPTER XXII.
THE BOY'S PROMISE.
That day witnessed a most marvelous change in the
outward appearance of William Bolivar. A clean
shave, a haircut, a bath, and a full outfit of clothing,
secured by Frank Merriwell from Bruce Browning,
made the bummer look almost respectable. It was
true that his swollen nose retained its reddish color
and the blue veins still showed plainly in his face;
but despite these things his features were not those
of a vicious man, and there was even something like
a kindly light in his eyes. s . .
Bolivar Surveyed himself with undisguised satisfac-
tion in a full-length mirror.
“I’m like unto the lilies of the valley,” he chuckled,
“for I toil not, neither do I spin; yet old Solomon
might have envied me.” " -
An almost equal surprising thing had taken place
in the appearance of the boy. For him, also, Frank
Merriwell had secured a suit of clothes, while his own
clothing was sent to a cleanser. It was plain that in
his sober senses the lad took absolute delight in again
finding himself clean and respectable in appearance.
On their arrival Bolivar and the boy had insisted on
taking breakfast at the back door. But at noon Frank
had them at his table. They met Inza and little Frank.
For some moments old Billy was speechless when
Mrs. Merriwell placed her hand in his, looked straight.
The Boy's Promise. 215
into his eyes, and told him how glad she was to nicet
a true friend of her husband, whom she had often
heard mentioned by him. The old man's chest swelled
with pride and a mist crept into his bleary eyes. His
voice choked a little as he finally managed to say:
“I thank you, madam—l thank you from the bot-
tom of my heart. It certainly gives me unspeakable
pleasure to meet you and to know that Mr. Merriwell
would waste even a single thought on such a worthless
old fellow as I am.” - -
“Come, come, Bolivar,” laughed Frank, clapping
him on the shoulder. “Yale was your Alma Mater,
and we're both “Bones' men.” -
Old Billy looked surprised. --
“How did you know that?” he asked. “Although
I’ve often told of my days at Yale, I've never made
an appeal to any comrade of the Society.”
“Oh, I caught it from your talk,” nodded Merry.
“You let something drop that proved to me you were
a Bones man. Inza, I owe Bolivar a great deal. He
stood by me through my late trouble out at the mines.
He proved his loyalty at the peril of his very life.”
“That wasn't much of a thing to do,” smiled old
Billy, “for I’d reached the point where life seemed
a rather insignificant thing to me.”
“Don’t say that,” requested Inza earnestly. “Life
should mean a great deal to you. You're not yet an
old man. There are many years ahead of you, and,
if you choose, they may be pleasant and enjoyable
years.” ... * * ... •
He shook his head with a sad smile. º,
“I fear you do not understand, Mrs. Merriwell,”
2 I6 The Boy's Promise. -
he said. “It’s true that I'm not very old—I’m not as
old as I look by ten years or more. But I'm a man
who has wasted every opportunity given me by the
Creator. Were I able to brace up now and live de-
cently and respectably, it is true that I might find a
great deal in life. But you see I’ve been weak and
foolish and criminal so long that my will-power is
broken and I haven't the strength to control my ap-
petite for that which makes beasts of every man it
masters." -
“Oh, but you shouldn't think that. We'll help you
—Frank and I. What you need is friendship and en-
couragement.” .
“It was so-called friendship that put me where I
am, Mrs. Merriwell. There was a time when a genu-
ine friendly hand might have checked and sustained
me. I had dissipated the little fortune left me by my
poor mother, and my folly had turned every one
against me. In that hour of need there was no living
being to reach out a strong and steadying hand to me.
I've come to the conclusion that every man must fight
his own way in this world. Prm not complaining be-
cause I was too weak to prove myself a man. No
one is to blame except Bill Bolivar. I shoulder the
load myself. I won't tell you how many times I've
tried to brace up and be decent, but each time that
I’ve tried it and failed I've found that my will-power
was growing weaker, and at last I reached the point
where I gave up.
“It's good of you to say that you wish to help
me, but let me tell you the plain truth. If I were
to remain here in Bloomfield I might be able to bear
The Boy's Promise. - 217
the outward semblance of a man for a time, but in-
wardly I’d find myself constantly fighting a battle
against the demon that has fastened himself upon me
with unbreakable shackles. Day by day the impulse,
the desire, the longing to drink would burn fiercer
and fiercer within me. The time would conne when I
could resist it no longer. Then what would happen?
I'd get the stuff and 1 would disgrace and shame you
all. Knowing this as I do, I'll make no promise.
“Mr. Merriwell has urged me to stay here in Bloom-
field. He's even offered to give me some sort of
occupation by which I might earn a living, for, de-
graded as I am, I could not continue to live on any
man's charity. I appreciate this interest and kindness.
I shall stay here to-day, perhaps to-morrow, maybe
the next day; but eventually the demon will drive
me forth into the world once more. I shall go before
I've done anything to make you ashamed. But I'm
going to leave this boy behind me. Here's a lad who
has made a mistake , but he's young, he's strong, and
I believe he can become an honorable and respected
man. I believe Mr. Merriwell can assist him. All
the good years of his manhood are ahead of him.
I'm a worthless old derelict, but he's worth saving.
T've talked with the lad, and he's consented to remain
here.”
“But I–I don't want to force myself onto——
Frank interrupted the boy with a laugh.
“My lad,” he said, “it’s my one aim in life to help
youngsters like you. That's why I founded this school.
You're not forcing yourself on me, for I am happy
to do whatever I can for you. If you'll trust me and
3 *
**:, .
*~
218 The Boy's Promise.
accept me as your guide and mentor, I don't believe
you'll regret it.” '. -
“Oh, he will,” breathed Inza. “I know he will.”
Little Frank, who had been listening with a keen
desire to take part in the conversation, now spoke
up. - -
“Of tourse he will,” he chirped. “Everybody does
dess what my farver wants 'em to, tause they know
my farver is one of the bestest men that ever was.
You're doing to stay, isn't 'oo?”
As he made this appeal he seized the lad's fingers
with his two chubby little brown hands and looked
up appealingly.
The boy stooped with a choke and Sob and caught
little Frank in his arms, giving him a hug and a
kiss. -
“Yes, yes,” he said huskily. “I’m going to stay,
and I'm going to try my best to do just what your
father wishes me to do.”
“Now dat's jes wight,” said Frank, Jr., wisely. “I
dess you'll have a dood time and play baseball and
football and march with the west of the boys. I dot
a baseball of my own. I dot a bat, too. Bimeby will
'oo tum out and play baseball wif me?” -
The boy promised. s
Old Billy Bolivar was in a happy frame of mind as
he sat at Frank Merriwell's table that day. This
tramp, this bummer, this outcast who had slept in gut:
ters and eaten at back doors had the manners of a
gentleman, and his conversation that day betokened
that the is tincts of a gentleman were not yet dead
Within - -
The Boy's Promise. 219
In the afternoon Merriwell conducted Bolívar and
the boy, who had given his name as Harry Davis,
over the school-grounds and through the buildings.
They visited the dormitory, the mess-hall, the splendid
gymnasium, the fine library, and the manual training
school. In the latter place they found scores of boys
busily engaged at various Occupations, directed by
competent instructors. Harry Davis took the greatest
interest in this department, asking a score of questions,
which were gladly answered by Frank.
“I’ve never done any real work,” he confessed :
“but I've always thought I would like to do wood-
carving or cabinet work or furniture-making. As I'm
to stay here, I hope you'll let me try it, Mr. Merri-
well.”
“You shall have a chance to take up whatever line
of work suits your fancy, Harry,” said Frank.
Old Billy put his arm across the lad's shoulders
with an affectionate movement.
“Try it and stick to it, boy,” he urged. “You, too,
are a bit weak and wayward, as well as wilful. You've
made some good resolutions to-day don't let anything
interfere with them. If you're again tempted to go
wrong, fight against that temptation with all the will-
power you can muster. Give me your word you'll do
this.” x. -
“I give you my word on it,” said Harry soberly.
~ :---------- 4 - - - 4
CHAPTER XXIII.
T H E PHANTOM.
That night Harry Davis slept in a dormitory 1 OO111.
Bolivar could not be induced to occupy a bed in
Frank Merriwell's house, but accepted one next to
that occupied by Toots, Merry's colored man, in the
loft of the stable. This room was clean and sweet
and airy, being in many ways far more comfortable
and better furnished than one would find in some
respectable homes.
Billy called it his boudoir.
For an hour ere retiring he sat and smoked and
chatted with Toots, who had come in at his invita-
tion. The old man drew Toots out and induced him
to tell a great many things about Frank Merriwell,
and the colored boy held Merry in the greatest esteem
and affection.
“Why, Ah's known Marse Merriwell eber since Ah
was knee-high to a chicken,” chuckled Toots. “Yes,
sah. Ah done got 'quainted wif him right here in this
yere house. That was when Ah was working fo' old
Marse Asher. Marse Asher, he was Marse Frank's
uncle. He certainly was a rascible old gent. Yes,
sall. Never saw any one dat had such a spit-fire
temper as dat man. Mah old mammy she used to be
de cook fo' Marse Asher, but she done died and
lef me an orphin. So Marse Asher, he took me to
The Phantom. 22 I
brung up. Ah 'member de fust day Marse Frank
come here from dat Fardale School. Say, but he was
a terror, dat boy was He was jes' full ob de Old
'spectable, extinguished man. Ah reckon he's jes
about discomboborated my equlibrium. If anybody
ever had fun in his life, it shorely was Marse Frank.
But he's settled down now, and enveloped into a
'spectable, extinkuished man. Ah reckon he's jes'
about de mos' extinguished man in dis state, if not ob
de whole country. Everybody knows 'bout him. Can't
go nowhere dat somebody ain't heard 'bout Marse
Frank. You see Ah call him Marse Frank 'cause mah
ole mammy used to call him (lat.
“Arter Marse Asher he done died, Marse Frank's
guardeen, old 'Fessor Scotch, he come here and took
charge ob things. Old Fessor Scotch was a fine old
gentleman, but he didn't hab much sense in his haid
'cept what he'd got out ob books. So he made a big
mistake wif Marse Frank's property and money. He
done got roped into some wildcat vestments and lost
mos' every dollar. Marse Frank was in Yale college
den, an' he had to leabe (lar and go out and pull off
his coat and go to work jes' like any ordinary pusson.
Dat was mighty tough on dat boy, Ah tell you. But
say, did he squeal 2 No, sah. I le jes' went to work
on de railroad like he'd always been brung up to hard
labor. He started in right at de bottom ob de ladder,
and Ah want yo' to know dat he done some climbing.
Why, 'fore he got done wif dat job he come up so
he was fireman on a locomotive and den he got to be
engineer, an’ if he'd stuck to dat job Ah bate he'd
be president ob de road to-day.”
“How did it happen that he didn't have to stick
to the job?” inquired Bolivar, refilling his pipe.
“Well, you see, it was dis way. Marse Frank's
father, he was a man dat didn't hab much restraint
ober his disinclinations, I 'spects he was a sort ob
plunger in his day. Anyhow, he done wasted a small
fortune and got into some sort ob scrape so he had
to skip out. Nobody knowed but he was daid. He
wasn't daid; he went out West and went into de min-
ing business. Bimeby he done turned up a-owning
three or four mines, and Ah 'spects he tells Marse
Frank go back to college to polish off his eddification.
Mebbe that ain't jes' the way ob it, fol. Ah know dat
Marse Frank hisself certainly made a lot ob money.”
“In railroading 2" ---
“Oh, no. Arter he got through wif de railroad job
he went on de road as a play-actor. "He wrote a play
fo' himself and trabeled all ober the country with it.
Ah certainly hab the 'pinion dat he made a whole lot
ob money. He sold de play for a good price, too.” –
“Mr. Merriwell certainly has been versatile.”
“Ah dunno what dat word means, but he's been a
corker. When his old man up and died dat mining
property was lef' to Marse Frank an' his brother Dick.
Say, dat Dick is a wonder, too. Mebbe you've neber
met dat boy 2"
“Oh, yes, I've met him. I met him before I ever
saw Frank Merriwell. He's a nice, clean lad, and he
will make a great man.” - . -
“Say, now you're talking, Mr. Bolivar. You're
eertainly talking de straight stuff. Course Ah ain't
neber seen so much of dat boy as Ah’ve seen of Marse

The Phantoin. 223
Frank, but Ah’ve seen enough ob him to know dat
he's de genuine article. Marse Frank am mighty proud
ob dat brother ob his. Yes, Sah.”
“He has every reason to be proud of Dick. The
boy is one of the finest athletes Yale ever produced.”
“Ah 'spects he's pretty good, but he'll neber come
up to Marse Frank. Dat's unpossible. Only one man
eber was made in de mole that turned out Marse
Frank. Arter dat dey broke de mole.”
“I suppose you expect to have a life job here,
don’t you, Toots?”
“Ah 'spects Ah’ll stick by Marse Frank, sah.”
“What if some rich man should come along and
offer you more money than you're getting now—a
great deal more money?"
“Ah’d politely invite the gentleman to go chase
hisself. Ah don't want no more money dan Ah’m get-
tin'. Ah's got a bank 'count of mah own now. Wh-
wh-what yo' s pose Ah want to be a millineryair fo'?
Ah'd rather work fo' Marse Frank fo' my board and
keeps dan to hab a hundred dollars a week workin'
fo’ somebody else. Is he gwine to gib you a job,
sah P”
“He would, boy, if I was man enough to accept
it.”
“If yo' know which side your bread is buttered on
you'd better 'cept it. Ah beg your pardon for ven-
turing to offer any devise.”
“That's all right, Toots. I think you're correct.
But I’ve shunned manual labor so industriously that
I don't feel qualified to take it up now.”
For some time after Toots had retired old Billy
* ----.”
224 The Phantom.
sat biting the stem of his cold pipe, buried in deep
meditation. Finally a sigh escaped him.
“It’s no use for me to think of such a thing,” he
muttered. “I’ve told them the truth. It's too late.
Oh, if I had known this man Merriwell when I was .
at college—if I had known him and claimed him as
my friend his hand might have guided me into a dif-
ferent path Among all my friends in those days
there was not one who had the wisdom and courage
to look me in the eye and tell me that I was making
a fool of myself. They were good fellows in their
way, but they helped me along the road to destruc-
tion. I saw them hitting the pace, and I imitated their
example.
“No man knows what harm he may do through
setting such an example. I've heard men say that
they were injuring no one but themselves. Perhaps
I've said it myself. It isn't true. Every human being
has an influence on others. This knowledge has come
to me too late in life. By a good example and an
upright life any person must have power to inspire
others to emulate him. It's thus that Frank Merriwell
has inspired hundreds. I see the effect of his example
and his life here at Bloomfield. It has been a great
pleasure to know such a man.
“I wonder if Hook-hand Pete is alive or dead. All
day long I’ve worried about that. All day long I've
feared to see officers coming for me. I've warned the
boy to say nothing about that affair. I know no way
they can connect me with it if he keeps silent. If I
remain here they may come for me and entangle the
lad. To-morrow or next day I'll go. To-night I'll
The Phantom. 225
sleep like a decent man in a bed—I'll sleep in a bed for
the first time in months.”
He began to undress. When he was ready to re-
tire he turned down the spread and paused abashed at
sight of the clean sheets.
“It's almost too much,” he chuckled. “I can't real-
ize that I'm really clean myself. I feel like Old Bill
the Bum, and that bed seems to shrink from me in
horror.”
Filled with this thought, he turned out the light ere
getting between the sheets. The sensation of cleanli-
ness and comfort was so novel that he tossed restlessly
for a long time.
“Sleep, sleep,” he whispered. “To-night, William
Bolivar, you're once more almost a man.”
Finally his eyelids closed and he slept. Even then,
however, he was uneasy and troubled by dreams. At
last it seemed that he awoke. He realized that he was
there in that bed and in that room. It was very dark,
and still his eyes seemed to penetrate the darkness and
discern the objects surrounding him. A feeling of un-
speakable dread and apprehension was clutching his
heart.
Turning toward the door, he saw it opening slowly,
silently, inch by inch. He watched it as it moved,
confident that something or somebody was seeking
to creep in upon him. At last he beheld a dark figure
with a face as pale as the sheets between which he
lay. It entered without movement of hand or foot.
Instead of walking, it seemed to glide into the room.
Still bound by that unspeakable sensation of horror,
Bolivar remained like one turned to stone, staring at
226 - The Phantom.
the apparition. The ghastly face, in which were set a
pair of icy, staring eyes, was unkempt and covered
with a scraggy beard. It was the face of a bad and
vicious man. The right hand of the apparition was
missing, and in its place there was a steel hook.
Never in his life had William Bolivar seen anything
plainer than he now seemed to see this ghostly visitor.
For in every way the unwelcome intruder had the
appearance of being a ghost. Those cold eyes were
fixed intently on Bolivar. The figure continued to
move slowly toward the bed, still without taking a
single step. Nearer and nearer it came. Bolivar felt
his blood freezing in his veins. With all the strength
he possessed he strove to move or to cry out; but he
was paralyzed in every limb and his tongue lay silent
in his mouth. - -
Nearer, nearer drew that horrible phantom. It
was close beside the bed now. It stood there looking
down accusingly, maliciously, revengefully at old Billy.
Finally it moved its right arm. The terrible hook
was lifted, and it seemed that in another moment it
would fasten upon Bolivar.
At this point the tortured man made a mighty ef-
fort to break the spell. With a gasping, choking cry,
he sat upright. It did not seep that he awoke from
a dream, for, despite the darkness, he could still see
the furniture and other objects in the room. But
when he moved the phantom vanished.
“Merciful Heaven '' gasped old Billy, lifting a sha-
king hand to his forehead, which was covered with
beads of cold perspiration. “Hook-hand Pete is
dead! There's no question about it. I hoped that I
The Phantom. 227
hadn't killed him, but his blood is on my hands. No
more sleep for me to-night.”
In the morning old Billy was gone. When Frank
made this discovery he lost no time in seeking for
the man. He even went forth himself in his auto-
mobile and scoured the country for miles around.
Search and inquiry proved fruitless.
CHAPTER XXIV.
T H E B I T T E R T R U T H .
Two days later Frank Merriwell called Harry
Davis into his private office. When they were alone
Merry invited the boy to sit down.
“l want to have a little talk with you, boy,” he said
seriously. “I have been to some trouble to find out
something about you. I've learned a great deal.”
The lad's face grew pale,
“Your home is in Millrock,” said Frank. “Your
name is not Davis—it's Rankin.” -
“How –how did you learn this?” faltered the boy.
“Never mind how I learned it. I’ve been using the
telephone and telegraph of late. I don't suppose you
deny that you are Harry Rankin P’’
“No, I don't deny anything. That's my name. Of
course you know all about me now. You know that
I'm a thief—that I stole money from my own father
and ran away from home. I won’t try to make any
excuses for myself. It was wrong—it was criminal.
Still, you don't know my father.”
“I’ve talked with him over the long-distance.”
“You’ve talked with my father?”
“Yes.”
“And he knows where I am P”
“Yes.”
The boy made a despairing gesture.
The Bitter Truth. - - 229
“Then I suppose he's coming for me? He offered a
reward for my capture. I knew what that meant
when I saw it in the newspapers. It meant that he
would punish me—that he would send me to the re-
formatory, as he has often threatened to do. If he
does that—if he sends me there I'll never forgive him!
I'll hate him as long as I live! If he sends me there
he'll make a criminal of me. Do you think I can ever
be honest again after having that brand of shame put
On me?”
He was on his feet now, athrob with mingled an-
ger, fear, and resentment.
“Don’t get so excited, Harry,” said Frank calmly.
“Your father is not going to send you to the reforma.
tory.”
“He isn’t ''
“No.”
“How do you know that *"
“Because he has told me that he would not.”
With a revulsion of feeling, the lad dropped limply
upon his chair.
“But he will take me back to Millrock, and he will
shame me before all the people there. They all know
what I did. How can I go back there 2 I can't ſ”
“You won't have to go back—now.”
“Won't have to 2 What do you mean?”
“I’ve induced your father to withdraw the reward
he offered for your arrest and return to Millrock. I
could not induce him to forgive you.”
“No, no. I know that. He's hard—hard as flint it-
self.”
230 The Bitter Truth.
“He has disowned you, Harry. He says you are
no longer a son of his. This is a hard thing to tell
you, but I’ve thought it over and decided that you
should know the truth.” -
“Well, I don't care!” was the desperate cry. “If he
will let me alone I'll take care of myself. That’s all
I ask of him.”
“Have you thought of your mother?”
“Yes, yes, I’ve thought of her. I'm sorry on her
account. She has been a good mother to me. But
even she was afraid of my father. I’ve hurt my
mother, and I know it, and I shall always regret it.”
“How much money did you take, Harry?”
“Nearly three hundred dollars. I discovered the
combination of my father's safe and took that money.”
“He told me of that. He told me how much you
took to a dollar; but I wished to hear the truth from
you. It was exactly two hundred and seventy-eight
dollars. I have sent him my check for that amount
to-day.”
Harry Rankin was speechless.
“On condition that the money was returned to him,”
continued Frank, “he agreed to let you go.”
“Oh, Mr. Merriwell!” Sobbed the boy. “I’ve got
the most of that money now. I'll give it to you, and
I'll work and pay you the rest. I'll pay you every
cent of it if you’ll give me a chance.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that, Harry. I shall take
it from you, for I believe that the only way you can
ever feel like an honest lad again is to know that you
have repaid the stolen money dollar for dollar. Don't
The Bitter Truth. 23 I
worry about this. I've confidence that you'll square
yourself.” -
“I will, I will "
By this time tears were coursing down the lad's
cheeks, although he fought back the sobs which some-
times shook lis frame. f
“You are known here as Harry Davis,” said Mer-
rivell. “It will be best perhaps that you should re-
tain the name of Davis while you remain with me.
It may prevent any one from associating you with the
Harry Rankin of whom the newspapers have spoken.”
Frank rose and stepped over to the lad's side, pla–
cing a hand on his shoulder.
“We all make mistakes in our lives, my boy,” he
said. “It’s by our mistakes that we learn to do better.
Something convinces me that you have a full realizing
sense of the unfortunate blunder you have made.
I'm also confident that if you're given the right show
you'll prove your manhood, and I propose to see that
you’re given a show. I'm going to do what's right
by you, Harry.”
The boy seized Merry's hand and attempted to kiss
it.
“No, not that, lad,” said Frank, smiling the least
bit. “Stand up—stand up before me like a man and
look me in the eyes.”
Harry rose to his feet and did as requested.
“That's right,” continued Merriwell, still smiling in
that quiet, friendly fashion. “I’m going to ask no
further promises from you. I'm going to trust you.
All I want of you now is that you give me your
hand.”
**
232 The Bitter Truth.
Their palms met, and in that grasp there was a
pledge and a promise.
When Harry Rankin left that room he was telling
himself in his heart that he would lay down his life
for Frank Merriwell if necessary.
CHAPTER XXV.
THI E SN EA K.
Harry “Davis” made no friends and few speaking
acquaintances among the boys of Farnham Hall.
Judging from his manner, not one of those boys could
have imagined him as a convivial fellow who enjoyed
the companionship of other lads, and many of them
soon came to regard him as conceited, haughty, and
“stuck up.”
Before ever a word had passed between them, there
arose in the hearts of Davis and Lance Cowling a feel-
ing of dislike and enmity. Cowling never saw the new
boy without sneering. One day, as . Harry was pass-
ing, Lance spoke loudly to some friends, calling their
attention to the “big-headed aristocrat.” Involuntarily
Davis half-paused, his fists clenched, his face flushed.
His instant inclination was to attack Cowling; but he
repressed the desire and passed on without a word,
followed by the sound of Lance's insulting laughter.
About this time it became common talk that petty
thieving was going on at Farnham Hall. Almost
every day some boy complained that something had
'been stolen from his room or his locker in the gym-
nasium. There was no general looting, nothing that
could be called plundering, but continuous, persistent
sneak-thievery. The boys decided among themselves
that, instead of reporting to Frank Merriwell, they
would do their best to detect and expose the culprit.
~
234 The Sneak.
One afternoon when the members of the baseball-
team were out at practise, Davis, who had made no
effort to take part in the sport, made a discovery.
He was on the way to his room to change the “sneak-
ers” he wore for a pair of ordinary shoes, when he
saw the door of Ralph Sand's room opened sligitly
and beheld some one who peered out into the hall and
then dodged back like a flash, quickly and softly closing
the door. -
This was decidedly suspicious, for Harry knew that
Sand roomed alone and that at this particular hour
he was on the baseball-field.
Passing along to a point where the corridor turned
at the far end of the building, Harry stepped around
the corner and waited, occasionally taking a peep
'back toward the door of Sand's room.
After a few moments he saw that door opened once
more, and again the person within the room put
out his head and looked up and down the corridor.
Harry's sneakers made no sound as he stepped swift-
ly round the corner and advanced upon the person,
who had closed the door behind him and was hastily
and silently turning the key in the lock.
“Hello!” said Davis. -
The fellow jumped and turned like a flash, catch-
ing his breath. His face went white as Snow.
“Hello!” repeated Harry. “Your name isn't Sand,
is, it?”
It was Lance Cowling.
Lance seemed unable to speak for a moment; but
he quickly regained something of his nerve and com-
posure. .
. y
The Sneak. 235
“What do you mean by gum-shoeing around here
1ike this?” he demanded angrily. “I didn't hear you
sneaking up behind me, and you gave me a start.”
“Did I ?” said Harry grimly. “It seemed that way
to me. You jumped as if some one had called you a
thief.”
“What are you doing here at this hour?" ques-
tioned Lance, ignoring the insinuation in the words of
Davis. .
“What are you doing here at this hour?" was
Harry's counter question. “That's Ralph Sand's
room.”
, “Is it P”
“You know it is, don't you?”
“Well, what of it?”
“I saw you sneaking out of that room and locking
the door behind you. What were you doing in there?”
“Now, I don't know as that's any of your business,”
retorted Cowling.
“Possibly it isn't,” admitted the new boy. “But it
might be interesting to Ralph Sand to know about
it.” -
“I suppose you intend to tell him 2"
“I think I shall.”
“I think you won't.” -
“What? You think that I won't tell Sand that I
saw you coming out of his room '''
“That’s what I said.”
“Well, you've got one more think coming to you.
You can bet your life I’ll tell him.”
“I’ll bet my life you won't.”
“I’d like to know why not.”
236 - The Sneak. - ”.
“You shall know why not. To begin with, what
business is it of yours if I do go into Sand's room 2
Perhaps he sent me here for something that he wants
to use on the field this afternoon—a glove. a ball, a
bat, anything of that sort.”
“But he didn't.”
“How do you know *
“You and Sand are enemies. He has no use for
you and you hate him. He wouldn't trust you alone
in his room for a moment.” -
“You're a wise guy, aren't you?” sneered Lance. “I
don't know who told you so much, for I haven't seen
you making any friends since you came here. You
know a lot, don't you? \\ell, now I want to tell you
a little Something. I know a few things about you.
You're making a pretty big bluff here, but it doesn't
go for a minute with me.”
“I rather fancy you're the one who is bluffing,
Cowling. Anyhow, I'm going to call you. Go ahead
and tell what you know.” " ; ,
“You dare me, do you?”
“Yes, I dare you. In the meantime, my friend,
you'll have a chance to explain to Sand why you
were sneaking into his room like this. Where did you
get that key with which you locked the door * *
“I made it,” answered Lance brazenly. “I had a
chance to take an impression of Sand's door-key on a
cake of Soap, and I did it. I made this key from the
impression.” -
“It's my opinion you're the thief who has been
sneaking things from the rooms in this dormitory.
I feel sure I'm right. I know you're a ſhief "
The Sneak. 237 -
“And I know you're another!” flung back Cowling.
“This is no place for us to talk. Come on to my room.
We can talk there without being heard by any one.”
“Why should I go to your room f" -
“Because I tell you to.”
“Well, you may tell me to until you lose your
voice; but I'll decline once for good right here and
now. I wouldn't be seen coming out of your room
for any amount of money. I don't care to have any
one connect me with you in any way, shape, or man-
ner.”
“Oh, is that so?” scoffed Cowling. “Tell you what,
I'll bet you a dollar you follow me to my room in less
than thirty seconds.”
Harry started to turn away , but Cowling flung out
his hand, hissing:
“Stop! Don't hurry, Mr. Rankin.”
The new boy stopped in his tracks. The flush of ex-
citement receded from his cheeks and left them almost
ashen as he once more faced Cowling.
“Ah!” breathed Lance triumphantly. “I thought
that would hold you up a bit. I don't propose to make
any more talk here. I'm going to my room, and I'll
talk with you there, Rankin.”
As if absolutely confident that the new boy would
‘follow him, Cowling turned and walked unhesitatingly
along the corridor.
Quivering in every limb, his breath short and pant-
ing, the new boy stood and stared at the back of the
receding lad, who turned the corner and disappeared
without one backward glance.
“He knows my name !” whispered Harry aghast.
238 The Sneak. * *º-
“How does he know? I thought him bluffing when he
said he could tell me many things about myself. I
must find out how much he can tell.”
The door of Cowling's room was standing wide
open, but Harry closed it behind him when he en-
tered. -
Lance turned with a malicious smile of satisfaction.
and faced the lad who had followed him.
“You can see you would have lost your dollar if
we had wagered,” he laughed.
Harry placed his hand on the back of a chair and
surveyed Cowling from head to feet. There was
something in his manner that indicated a desire to at-
tack the fellow and give him a thrashing.
Lance detected this and shrugged his shoulders.
“You won’t frighten anybody by looking that way,”
he scoffed. “You’ll never lift your hand to me, for
you won't dare, Mr. Rankin.”
“Why do you call me Rankin?”
“Because that's your name.”
“What makes you think that's my name?”
“I don't think—I know.”
“How do you know P”
“Oh, I know a lot about you, my fine bird. I know
that your home is in Millrock. No guesswork about
that, Rankin.” sº
“Who told you this?”
“So you haven't the nerve to deny it, eh? Well, it
wouldn't do you any good, You may as well own up
to the truth. There's a lot more I can tell you. You
had trouble at home, and you stole a lot of money.
Your old an offered a reward for your arrest. It
was his intention to send you to the State Reformatory
for fellows of your class. Did you have the gah to
call me a thief—you? Of course you thought nobody
here knew your record. I suppose you fancied your-
self safe under the protecting wing of Mr. Merriwell.
I'd like to know how long it has been since Frank
Merriwell has turned this school into an asylum for
criminals. I wonder what he means by forcing us
decent, respectable fellows to associate with characters
like you. I wonder what he thinks our parents would
say if they knew about it. How long would his old
school last? Why, there's hardly a boy here whose
folks wouldn't yank him out of this school in a hurry
if, they knew the truth. I've a newspaper that tells
all about you, and contains a statement of the reward
offered by your father for your arrest. What if I
should show that paper to a few of the fellows and
tell them who you are? You've been mighty high-
headed and haughty since you came here, haven't you?
If the boys of Farnham Hall knew the truth how long
do you suppose you would stay here? Mr. Merriwell
would have to fire you in order to save his old school.
'I've got you foul, and you're going to play mighty
humble with me. When do you think you will tell
Ralph Sand you saw me coming out of his room?”
The final question was put with such a sneer that
Harry writhed inwardly. -
“You can't prove anything!” he finally cried.
In his heart he was saying: -
“I must deny it. My father has disowned me, and
it may be that he will deny that I’m his son if they
attempt to expose me. It can't be that this fellow


240 The Sneak.
has any real proof. He's read my description in the
newspapers and simply guessed who I am.”
“So you're going to brazen it out, are you?” grinned
Cowling. “Well, I can see your finish. Do you know
Ed Comstalk, of Millrock 2 He's about your age, I
think.” *
“I don't know anybody in Millrock,” said Harry
huskily, s *
“If you're going to lie you'll have to do better than
that. You would surely give yourself away. Why,
the lie is written all over your face. Oh, come at me
if you want to Double up your fists and grind your
teeth; what do I care 2 You do know Ed Comstalk.
He's my cousin. Now perhaps you can understand
how I can prove everything I claim. I've had a letter
from Ed. I did see the story about you in the news-
papers, and so I wrote my cousin in Millrock. Look
here.” * - - - -->
Lance turned and opened a drawer of his desk,
taking from it a photograph. -
“Here's a picture of Harry Rankin sent me by Ed
Comstalk,” he said, holding it up. “I think that will
hold you for a while. You can't deny that it's your
photograph.” .
The cornered lad felt his strength melting from his .
limbs, which threatened to give way beneath him. At
last he realized that this fellow really “had him foul.”
It was useless to make further denial.
Cowling exposed his teeth in an unpleasant laugh
as he watched the expression of dismay and agony
revealed upon the face of Harry Rankin.
“I might have blowed on you when I got this letter
*-
The Sneak. 241
this very morning,” he said : “but something prevented
me from doing so. I decided that I would keep still
for a while. I’m rather glad I did. Now, my fine
fellow, if you wish to tell Sand you saw me coming
out of his room just trot out to the baseball-field and
tell him as soon as you please. Carry the story to
Frank Merriwell if you like. Who'll believe you
when they hear what I have to tell about you? Every-
body will know you for what you are, a thief and a
liar. I haven’t taken anything from Sand's room.
Even if I wished to do so, I didn't find anything worth
taking. I wasn't there for that purpose. You can
accuse me of being a thief, but I’ll simply deny that
I was in that fellow's room. I'll get rid of the key
to the door. I'll tell them that I accused you of being
Harry Rankin, and I'll claim that you're trying to get
back at me by faking up such a story. Where do you
think you will get off?”
“I suppose you're going to tell anyhow º' muttered
Harry hoarsely. -
“Oh, not now—not yet a while. If you keep your
face closed about me I'll reciprocate by keeping mum
about you. That's a fair proposition, isn't it? Is it
a bargain between us?” - *
“I can see that you're right, Cowling. No one
would believe me if I told the truth and you exposed
me. I am Harry Rankin. I'm not afraid of being
sent to the reformatory, for my father has been paid
the money I took and has agreed to let me go my
own way as long as I keep away from him. Put I
could not stay here at Farnham Hall if every one
knew about me. I'll have to trust you to keep still.”
s=ºe
*
242 The Sneak.
“That's about the way I figured it,” nodded Lance.
“Now you’re coming to your senses. We can be
friends if you're decent. You and I can get along
together, I fancy. Let's shake hands on it.”
But Harry drew back, putting his hand behind
him.
“No” he exclaimed. “I won’t shake hands with
you—I can't!” -
“Well, now what do you think of that l” growled
Cowling in wondering disgust. “Wouldn't that freeze
a fellow's feet! So you—you refuse to shake hands
with me?”
“Yes, I refuse to shake hands with you. You and
I never can be friends—that's settled. If you keep
still about me I'll keep still about you; but that's the
only thing I'll promise.”
“I swear if you aren't making the terms! That's
enough to jar a chap some !”
“Those are the only terms I will make. If you
won't accept them, you may expose me. I can get out
of Farnham Hall, and I will. That's not all, either.
If you're the thief who has been operating around
here you'd better quit it.”
“Oh, I had, eh? Well, I’m not the thief. But even
if I were, why should I quit it?”
“Because as true as the thefts continue and I be-
come convinced that you're the culprit I’ll tell on you,
even if I have to leave the school.”
Cowling snarled like a savage animal.
“Well, you're a dandy 1" he cried. “You're the big-
gest fool I ever encountered I've got a few enemies
in this school, and I propose to get even with them.
The Sneak. 243
*
I'm not going to let you interfere, either. I'd ought
to be out there with the baseball-team to–day. I'm
the best catcher in this school, but they turned me
down. I've never been given a fair deal here. I've
seen Mr. Merriwell choose his favorites and leave me
out in the cold. You're one of his latest pets.”
“You can't make me believe Frank Merriwell would
treat anybody unjustly. He's Square and honorable in
everything. Don't say another word against him, for
I won't stand for it. You called me a fool. I’m just
fool enough to fight for that man, no matter what
happens to me. So be careful, Cowling—be care-
ful ''
“All right; play your own cards to suit yourself.
But don't blame me if the game goes against you.
I'm not going to waste further time on you."
“Nor I on you,” said Harry, as he turned abruptly
and left the room.
CHAPTER XXVI.
Jake, T H E Y E G G .
During the next three days there were no further
reports of thefts at Farnham Hall.
| lance Cowling kept his promise and remained silent
concerning Harry Rankin, or Davis, as we shall con-
tinue to call him.
One evening Harry took some letters to the village
post-office in order that they might get into the late
mail. .\t the post-office he saw a small, foxy-eyed
young man in somewhat shabby clothes, who eyed him
closely. Although he knew not why, he was somewhat
disturbed by this. As he was leaving the store he
heard Rufus Applesnack speaking to the stranger.
& f
ſhat's the boy,” said AppleSmack.
Harry hurried along the road that led back to
Farnham Hall. He had passed beyond the outskirts
of the village when he fancied he heard footsteps be-
hind him. Looking back, he discovered a dark figure
following him.
He quickened his steps, a throb of fear surging
through him.
Another backward glance revealed the fact that the
pursuer was gaining. Harry started to run.
“Stop, young feller!” cried a voice. “I’ve got busi-
ness wit youse.” .
The lad faced about, quivering with excitement.
Jake, the Yegg. 245
“Who are you, and why are you following me?” he
demanded.
It was the stranger he had seen at the post-Office.
“Didn't I tell yer I had business wit youse?” said
the man as he came up. “I’m lookin' for a geiser by
the name of Bolivar, and I guess mebbe you can tell
me where ter find de gent.”
The boy shook his head.
“I can't,” he declared. “I don't know where Bolivar
is.”
Fearlessly the small man seized Harry by the shoul-
der.
“Now don't yer lie to me, kid" he rasped. “If yer
do I’ll hammer the face off of youse. Come along
down de road a bit where we can talk widout no
chance dat Somebody will pike past and stop us."
“I don’t want to talk with you.”
“Mebbe you don't , but you will. See?”
“Why should I?"
“Because I say so.”
“Who are you?”
“Me name is Jake Sooper. Sometimes dey calls me
Jake, the Yegg. I wouldn't tell dis to everybody, but
I don't mind tellin' it to youse, for I know you won't
mention it ter nobody. You're a friend of Old Bill
Bolivar. Anyhow, old Bill copped yer out from Hook-
hand Pete. He went back on Pete, he did. He broke
his oath, that's what he done. Dere's something com-
in’ to dat old bloke, and it's up to me to hand it ter
him. I s'pose he got away wit de money you had in
yer jeans, eh?”
“’ ' ' (liclin't.”
246 . Jake, the Yegg.
“Is dat's 2 Den yer've got it now, has yer P : )at's
interesting. Pete said yer had a roll big enough to
choke a mule, and it was all in big yeller-backs, too.
So yer've got dat money now, kid? Where is it?”
“I haven't got it now.” * -
The yegg gave Harry a savage Shake.
“Don’t yer lie to me! It won't go wit Jake Sooper.”
“I'm not lying. That money belonged to my father,
and it has been returned to him.” - -
“What? Come off your perch Wot yer tryin’ to
give us, anyhow P’’
“I’m telling you the straight truth. I took that
money without asking for it, and I’ve returned it.”
“Tell dat ter the birds, kid. Mebbe you can fool
'em.”
“I swear it’s true !”
“Well, let dat go now. I didn't come here arter yer
long green. I come a-lookin’ fer old Bolivar. Me
and Hook-hand Pete has hung together in more dan
One job. We has been pals. Old Bolivar done Pete
a dirty turn in Wellsburg. Pete told me all about dat.
I swore dat I'd find Bill Bolivar and do him up. I'm
goin' to put dat old bum Out of commission. He's
a traitor to der brotherhood. He swore ter stand by
every brother, but he trun Pete down. He soaked
him good and plenty. When dat's done by one brother
to another it's up to any other member of de gang ter
hand de traitor six inches of cold steel, and dat's
what's coming to Bolivar.”
“You mean that you would kill him P’’
“Quicker dan you could spit, boy. I've been askin'
about yer here in dis town. I found out dat Y º
Jake, the Yegg. 247
there wit de hobo. De man at de post-office told me
about yer. He told me he didn't know what had be-
come of de hobo, but dat you was here in dis School
dat's run by a man named Merriwell. It was dead
luck that yer wandered in about when yer did. I
s'pose dat old Bolivar reckoned dat he had put Pete
down and out fer good. Do yer know what he done?
Why, he fixed Hook-hand so dat he couldn't wiggle
a leg. He paralyzed him from de hips down. While
Pete was a-layin' helpless in Wellsburg. I found him
and I heard his story. I told him I'd run old Bolivar
down and carve him. When Jake Sooper gives a pal
his word he keeps it. I don't mind tellin' you about
dis, kid, fer you'll keep yer face closed. Now dat yer
trying to live respectable here in dis town, yer can't
afford to peach on anybody. All I ask of you is that
you'll tell me where to git myºpaws on Bolivar.”
“Honestly and truly I can't tell you. If I
could—”
“You wouldn't, eh?”
“I didn't say that.”
“But you t'ought it jest the same.” .
“Bill Bolivar is not in Bloomfield.”
“Where did he go when he left here?"
“If my life depended on it I could not tell you.”
“Well, mebbe dis man Merriwell knows. It's up ter
you to find out. I want yer to ask him and report to
me. I need a little money, too, and I've got ter have
it. Mebbe you can help me get me hands on some
coin.” a >
“I cannot.”
“Dey say dis man Merriwell is tº 'ºnno just,
248 Jake the Yegg.
how it happened dat he took up wit youse, but you've
been in his house. You know de lay of de land dere.
Mebbe I'll want to go t'rough dat ranch before I leave
Bloomfield. Of course, being a rich man, he has plenty
of silverware and such valuables. I s'pose his wife
has jewelry, too?” ...
“What are you proposing to me? Do you think for
a moment that l would betray Frank Merriwell? He
‘has been a friend to me—the kindest friend I ever
knew.”
“Dat's fine ! Dat's first-rate | Dat makes it all cle
better. Now we can fix dis ting slick. You can call
on dat gent to-morrow evening, and while you're dere
mebbe you can find a way to see dat some winder in
de house is unfastened. Den all you've got to do is
meet me at some place we'll name and tell me 'bout
it, and I'll do de rest." Dere won't be no risk fer
you.” - - * - -
“I wouldn't do it if my life depended on it!” cried
Harry hotly. “You're a crook, a criminal, a thorough-
ly bad man' You'd better get out of Bloomfield before
I report this to Frank Merriwell.”
“So yer tink of reporting it, do yer? I wouldn't
do dat, kid. Do yer know where yer’ll land? I ain't
holdin’ anything up against yer for what Bolivar done
to Rete, but jest the same if it was known that you
was wit him dat night I can see your finish. You'd
get about twenty years in the penitentiary.” -
“I don't see why. You can't frighten me that way.
Bolivar simply defended himself. What if he did hit
Hook-hand Pete with a stone? What if the man is
paralyzed and can't walk?”
Jake, the Yegg. . . . . 249
“He’s worse dan dat now.”
“WOrse P’’
“Sure. He's dead.”
“Dead?” gasped Harry, in horror.
“Yep. He cashed in his chips day before yester-
day. De police over at dat town are lookin' for de
gent what settled Pete's hash. But de brotherhood
never turns dere business over to the coppers. If I
was to tell de police what I know it would be de irons
on you, kid. But dey might get me at the same time.
Dere's several counts outstanding against Jake Sooper,
So he don't care to mix up wit de law. But if yer
peached on me and I was pinched I'd tell everything.
I guess yer know what dat means. You've got to
come to terms, kid. I need to make a raise here, and
I'm going to do it. You'll help me, too. If you had
dat money you was fool enough to send back to yer
father dat might fix everything all right. But So long
as yer hasn't got any, you’ve got to do what I say.”
“Never!” cried Harry. “Better not try to drive me
into anything like that, for, no matter what happens
to me, I'll tell the truth.”
At last the yegg realized that the boy could not be
driven. He swore bitterly over this, for he was forced
to give up the idea that Harry would act as an ac-
complice.
“Den I'll have to go it alone,” he said. “If I had
a twenty it would be different.”
“Twenty?” muttered the boy. “Perhaps I might get
that much.”
The crook grasped eagerly at this.
“Den get it !” he growled. “I’ve been piking around
2% **--- - -
Jake, the Yegg.
here to-day, and I know de lay of de land pretty
well. Get me twenty dollars and meet me to-morrow
arternoon at t'ree o'clock.”
“Where can I meet you?”
“You know dere's a stream dat runs down into de
pond where de School has its boat-house?”
“Yes.” -
“Follow de east bank of dat stream about a mile
and you'll come to de forks of it. Right dere is an
old blasted pine-tree. On the west bank of the stream
is a big swamp. I’ll be at der pine to-morrow arter-
noon at t'ree, Bring me twenty plunks, and dat’ll
settle it. You might find out from Mr. Merriwell.
what he knows about old Bolivar, too. Now, kid,
don't yer fail me, fer if yer do I’ll make yer sorry as
sure as me name is Jake, the Yegg.”
“I’ll be there,” promised the boy, “and I’ll bring
the money if I can get it.”
CHA PTER XXVII.
T H E FLIGHT OF A CO W. A. R.D.
Lance Cowling was furious. Frank Merriwell had
reprimanded him before the whole school for instir-
bordination at drill. Cowling had contemplated en-
gaging in a cross-country run that afternoon, but he
was not permitted to do so. Instead he was sent to
his room in disgrace and ordered to remain there.
From his window he saw the runners, more than
twenty in all, set out from the steps of Farnham Hall
and disappear, one by one, across the distant fields
in the direction of Silent Pond.
Sand and Morton were with the runners. The
course they would be compelled to follow would lead
them through a rough and broken section of the coun-
try. . On their return it would be necessary to skirt
the edge of Twenty Acre Bog.
It was Morton who ventured to try a short cut by
crossing the treacherous bog. About midway he
plunged into a quagmire from which he could not
extract himself in spite of all his efforts. When he
realized the helplessness of his position he fell to
shouting, hoping that some of the runners would hear
him.
By a rare streak of fortune Sand had likewise de-
cided to cut across the bog, and he was not far away
when Morton uttered his first shout. In a short time
Rahph found Arthur and set about the task of helping
º
252 The Flight of a Coward.
him out. This he finally accomplished with the aid
of a broken tree-limb.
“We're both out of the running by this time, Mor-
ton,” laughed Sand. “We fooled ourselves by trying
this trick. No use to hurry. We may as well take
it easy and pick our course.”
By taking plenty of time they finally succeeded in
crossing the remainder of the treacherous bog, fording
the stream at the edge of it. On the eastern extremity
of the bog there was some scraggy timber, and they
were just issuing from these woods when Sand seized
his companion's shoulder and stopped him.
“Look!” he whispered—“look yonder, Art | Who
are those fellows P’’ -
Near an old pine-tree that had been broken and
splintered by lightning were two persons. One wore
the gray uniform of Farnham I Hall. The other was
a small, rough-looking man.
“That's the new boy, Harry Davis,” said Morton.
“The man with him looks like a thug.”
“Davis is giving that man money,” said Sand. “The
man is a tramp. Now I'd like to know what this
means.”
From the direction of the school-buildings came the
sound of a bell ringing a furious alarm.
“The fire-bell''' gasped Morton.
“That's right,” said Sand. “Let's hustle.”
But now the man and boy by the blasted pine Sud-
denly separated, the former plunging into the woods
while the boy started out and ran in the direction of
the distant school-buildings.
Sand and Morton chose another and shorter course,
*__**
The Flight of a Coward. 253
which soon brought them to the crest of a hill from
which they could see Farnham Hall. Even at that
distance they could see that the fire brigade was at
work on the dormitory, although there was no signs
of fire. t
“It can't be fire-drill,” panted Sand. “It’s not the
day for that.”
“We'll find out what it is when we get there,” said
Arthur as they still raced onward across the rough
country.
When they reached Farnham Hall and made in-
quiries they learned that the fire was about out. It
had started in the room of Davis, the new boy, who
was missing.
Only a small amount of damage had been done, as
one of the boys of the school had smelled smoke and
discovered the fire before it obtained much headway.
Sand and Morton held a consultation and decided
that it was their duty to report to Frank Merriwell.
They did so as soon as possible, telling Merry what
they had seen after floundering across Twenty Acre
Bog. Merriwell's face took on a grim expression as
he said :
“Sand, I wish you and Morton to get together
twenty fellows and go out in search of that tramp
and Davis. If you find them, bring them in.”
In less than ten minutes thirty of those Farnham
Hall lads were scattering to carry out this order. At
the advice of Sand, a number of the boys carried ropes
with which they intended to bind the suspects if they
should be captured.
Two of the boys, Cobb and Knight, skirted the
254 The Flight of a Coward.
shore of the pond, coming at last to a small wooded
point, from which position they made a discovery that
caused them hastily to crouch under cover of some
bushes.
“There's the hoboſ” palpitated Cobb. “He’s stolen
one of our boats, Jim.”
Some distance away a rough-looking, bearded man
was slowly rowing a boat along near the shore.
“He’s a tramp, sure" breathed Knight, fingering
the coiled rope which he carried, “and he has one of
our boats. But why should he row in this direction ?
He ought to be going the other way."
“Don't stop to speculate about that,” hissed Cobb.
“We’ve got to capture him. How can we do it?”
“We'll make a try at him if he comes near enough,”
muttered Knight, as he hastily formed a noose in the
end of the line. “I’ve practised throwing a rope some.
Maybe I can get him.”
The hobo was humming a merry tune as he pulled
at the oars. Utterly unconscious of the presence of
the crouching boys, he came so near the point of land
that he barely avoided grounding the boat.
“What, ho!” he exclaimed as he suddenly realized
his position and hastened to push off with one of the
oars. “Keep your weather eye to starboard, you lub-
ber. You'll wreck the ship if you don't.”
Then Knight rose, swung the noose around his head
and made the cast. It was marvelously successful, for
the noose dropped over the head and shoulders of the
man, and in a twinkling Jim had jerked the rope taut
and pinned the tramp's arms to his sides.
“Got him " he yelled delightedly.
“Avast there, you young pirate!” roared the man
in the boat. “Let up a bit or you'll have me into the
water. And I wouldn't soil this suit for a small for-
tune. Besides that, I don't like water. I take mine
straight.” -
Fifteen minutes later the boys at Farnham Hall saw
Cobb and Knight approaching with the hobo between
them, the rope wound and knotted about his arms un-
til they were held firmly at his sides. There was no
end of shouting over this, and in short order the cap-
tive was escorted into the presence of Frank Merri-
well. -
Merriwell looked surprised.
“What does this mean?” he cried.
“It means,” answered the tramp, “that your lively
youngsters have roped me like a bucking bronco.
They seem to think I’ve been up to deviltry of some
sort. But, as true as my name is William Bolivar, I
am innocent.” . * , .
“Release him, boys,” directed Frank. “Bolivar is a
friend of mine. You have made a mistake. It must
be you’ve got the wrong man.”
In the meantime Merry had telephoned to town
and called on Bill Hunker, the village constable, to
look for the suspected tramp, and Hunker had 'set out
with several assistants. By a piece of blundering luck
more than anything else, the constable found and cap-
tured Jake, the, Yegg. This man was taken straight
to the village lockup, and then the officer telephoned
Merriwell. - -- -
-Frank's touring-car soon carried him into Bloom-
field, and he was accompanied by Sand, Morton, and



256 The Flight of a Coward.
old Bill Bolivar. "The constable admitted the quartet
to the lockup, and through the bars the boys got a
Square look at the captive.
“That's the man!” they cried. “He’s the fellow we
saw taking money from Davis.”
Bolivar pushed forward and looked into the cell.
“Hello, Jake" he called. “So you've got into
trouble, have you? What have you been up to now?"
The prisoner exposed his teeth in a vicious snarl.
“Never mind dat!" he cried. “Wait till I get out
of here. You soaked me pal, Pete, and I'll soak you!”
There was a footstep in the corridor, and Harry
Davis, flushed and panting, came hurrying up.
“What's this about me?” he demanded. “What do
you want of me, Mr. Merriwell ?”
“You were seen giving this man money, my boy,”
said Frank, “You came to me to-day and begged me
to loan you twenty dollars. You told me that it was
money you needed in order to pay a debt, and you
asked me not to question you. I let you have the
money. You were seen giving money to this man.”
Davis could not look Frank in the eye.
“I lied to you, Mr. Merriwell,” he said, in a low
tone. “I didn't owe anybody that money, but that man
in there came and threatened me. He tried to get me
to help him to break into your house. When I
wouldn't do that, he promised that he would go away
if I would get twenty dollars for him.”
“And you let that wretched libel on humanity fool
you, boy?” cried old Billy, as he placed his hand on
Harry's shoulder. - -
The lad seized Bolivar and hastily whispered:
$
• *--- - -
The Flight of a Coward. - : 257
“Hook-hand Pete is dead. He told me about it.
He came here in search of you, and he swore he'd find
you and kill you.”
Old Billy laughed.
“That's a prevarication, lad,” he said. “Hook-
hand Pete is not dead. I thought he had croaked,
and so I went back to Wellsburg to find out about it.
I wanted to make sure in order to Settle my_oven peace
of mind. Peter is simply knocked out. His trilby's re-
fuse to perambulate, which is a good thing for the coun-
try in general, as it will restrain him from plundering
and marauding. It may be well enough to keep yonder
gentleman behind the bars until the officers of Cum-
berland are notified. He's wanted in Cumberland.
When they get him they're liable to put him away in
a nice little stone cell for the next few years.”
At this point Jake burst forth with a furious torrent
of language, Snarling, and raging at Bolívar, whom he
called a traitor and whom he swore to kill some day.
This, however, did not seem to disturb old Billy in the
least.
“Peace, peace, Jake,” Smiled the old hobo. “There
are some good strong irons between us, and I fancy
there will be irons between us for many a year to
come." .
>k >k × xk × >{< >k
That night Lance Cowling ran away from Farn-
ham Hall. One of the boys had seen Cowling com-
ing from the room in which the fire started not five
minutes before the alarm was given. Lance knew
... that l; was seen, and by threats he had intimidated
_-"
* --e. - -
258 The Flight of a Coward. –
the boy into keeping still about it for the time being.
But the cowardly fellow felt confident that exposure
would come, and therefore he improved the first op-
portunity to take flight. -
When he knew Cowling was gone, the other boy
went to Frank Merriwell and made a humble, tearful
confession. He was severely reprimanded for per-
mitting the rascal to frighten him into silence. But
knowing that he was naturally a timid chap, Merry
did not punish him as nearly every one fancied he
deserved.
A full report of Cowling's dastardly act was for-
warded to Lance's father. Frank Merriwell himself
did not attempt to run the boy down and bring him
back to Bloomfield, although he notified the officers
of the surrounding towns and cities and requested that
the fellow should be brought to Farnham Hall when
taken. . -
Cowling was not taken. In some manner he got
away. Later it was reported that he was in Canada.
The sheriff of Cumberland came to Bloomfield for
Jake, the Yegg. The man was given a trial and sen-
tenced to four years at hard labor in the State Peni-
tentiary. It was said that at the expiration of his time
he would be arrested on other charges which, if proved
against him, must hold him in limbo for twenty years,
at least.
Old Billy Bolivar did not worry any over Jake's
threat of vengeance.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
A DIRTY TRICK.
The trick was a stale one, but it worked to a charm.
Up to the eighth inning it looked like Wellsburg's
game. Bruno Hunt was pitching, and his work in
the box had delighted his team and dismayed Farn-
ham Hall. Martin Rifle, the regular pitcher, having
a lame shoulder, was filling Hunt's position at Second
base. Not until the eighth inning could the visitors
do anything with Hunt's delivery. At that point,
however, they fell on him with a vengeance, man after
man bingling the ball in a manner that finally broke
Bruno's nerve. Wellsburg's lead of three runs was
quickly cut down to a single tally, and, with one man
out, Frank Merriwell's boys filled the corners,
Then came the trick.
Gig Gage was the batter. Sand, Morton, and Kel-
ler were on the bases. Campbell and Knight were
coaching. Packed in a solid mass upon the seats and
wildly fluttering their colors, the Farnham Hall lads
made the welkin ring with their cheers.
Hunt was deathly pale as he stood fumbling with
the ball that had been tossed to him by the umpire
when the last ball in use was batted foul and lost.
Clarence Campbell, the “poet” of Farnham Hall,
yelled:
“Get against it, Gage, and see Bruno rage! Just
give it a bump, and see the boys hump!”
• *-ºs-s-s-p- - - -
* *- : * > -ss sm.
a60 - A Dirty Trick.
“On your toes, everybody' shouted Knight. “Gig
will hit it. Here's where we take this game. Take
a lead, Sand. Get away off. Let him throw it over
here if he wants to. He's wild; he's wild. He'll
throw it over Forbes' head.”
Forbes was Wellsburg's third-baseman.
It seemed as if Knight's words were prophetic, for
suddenly Hunt turned toward third and threw.
A snow-white spherical body went sailing high over
the head of Forbes, who made an ineffectual jump for
it.
“Go!” shrieked Knight. “Score, captain' Come
on, Morton '' -
The Farnham Hall crowd rose with a roar of joy.
They saw Ralph Sand glance over his shoulder in the
direction of the object thrown by Hunt, which went
bounding away beneath the bleachers. Laughingly
Ralph jogged toward the home plate, while Morton
came tearing up from second, and followed him in.
At the same time, Keller went down the line from
first.
Imagine the astonishment of almost every spectator
when Bruno Hunt faced Cole, the catcher, and snapped
the ball to him in time for Cole to tag Sand ere the
Farnham Hall captain could reach the plate. Morton
was not far behind Sand; but he was so amazed by
what had happened that he could not seem to stop
running, and he also was tagged by Cole. -
“Judgment, Mr. Umpire!” yelled Bruno Hunt ex-
ultantly. “Both of those men are out.”
Sudden silence fell upon the spectators in the grand
stand and on the bleachers. . .
sº-º- - --rº.
A Dirty Trick. 26t
“What are you trying to do,
Hunt P” demanded
Sand, in disgust. “Are you playing with two balls?
That trick won't go. You can't work that on us.”
“There's only one ball in the game, Mr. Sand," re-
torted Bruno. “That's the ball right there.”
“What about that other ball you threw over third
base?”
“I didn't throw a ball over third base."
“Yes, you did. Everybody saw
you.”
“Produce that ball,” invited Bruno grinningly.
Forbes now crept forth from beneath the bleachers
with something in his hand, and came running toward
the home plate.
“Here's ‘what Hunt threw,” he
baseball."
cried. “It isn't a
“Then what the dickens is it?” asked Sand.
“Look at it. Take it and see,”
invited Forbes,
thrusting the object into the hands of the Farnham
Hall captain.
Sand looked at the thing and gasped,
It was a peeled potato'
Then followed a fierce wrangle. Sand declared
that it was a dirty trick, and maintained that both he
and Morton had scored.
“You haven't any right to call it a trick," said
Hunt. “If I want to throw away a potato that I'm
carrying, I rather think I can do so.” -
“Why did you have it 2 You
purpose to fool us.”
did that thing on
“Even if I did, I don't see how you can get around
the fact that both you and Morton are out. But I
deny that I did it to fool you.
* =eº sº.
I've been carrying
$º
*
*.
262 A Dirty Trick.
around a potato for rheumatism. They say it's good
for that. I had it in the front of my jersey, and it
bothered me in my pitching, so I threw it away.”
“Who believes anything like that?” cried Ralph.
“We know all about you, Bruno Hunt. What's your
decision, Mr. Umpire?”
“I don't see but what I’ll have to declare both men
out at the plate,” said the umpire.
At this nearly all the Wellsburg players gave a
shout of exultation.
This was the third and final game of the series be-
tween Wellsburg and Farnham Hall, each team having
won one of the previous contests. Under such con-
ditions, it had been understood that the deciding game
should be played on neutral ground; but finally Wells-
burg had offered such inducements and made such
promises that Farnham Hall agreed to meet her for-
midable rival on Wellsburg Field.
Besides the lads from Frank Merriwell’s school, a
large number of citizens had come from Bloomfield to
witness the game. One and all, they were enraged
and disgusted by the trick which Hunt had perpe-
trated, and now the special officers upon the field were
having their hands full to hold the crowd back and
prevent it from Swarming onto the diamond.
Sand appealed from the umpire's decision. He
turned to Grady, the Wellsburg captain, and asked
him if he proposed to let such a dirty piece of work
go through.
Grady had been frightened by the sudden brace
which the visitors had taken. To him, as well as to
almost everybody else, it had seemed as if Farnham
~zºº.... A Dirty Trick. 263
Hall was bound to win that game in the eighth inning.
To Grady's credit it may be said that he was not a
party to Bruno's trick. Nevertheless, he now de-
clared that the umpire's decision must stand.
“Let’s quit, Captain Sand,” urged Herbert Howe.
“The last time we were here we were beaten by a
dirty trick.” .
“Perpetrated by one of your own friends,” reminded
Rifle. “No Wellsburg fellow had anything to do with
that.”
Sand seized Grady's arm and drew him aside.
“You can't afford to win this game in any such way,
old man,” he said. “You ought to know the reputa-
tion of that fellow Hunt. You know he was expelled
from Farnham Hall. Of course, you know he's lying
about carrying that potato on account of rheumatism.”
“He told me himself that he was a bit troubled with
rheumatism,” said Grady. “I’m going to accept the
umpire's decision, me boy."
“Then you back that dirty fellow Hunt up, do you?”
“Whativir the umpire says goes with me, Captain
Sand.” -
“Let's get off the field, captain,” again urged Howe.
“If ye do that,” said Grady, “the game will go to
us by forfeit.” .
“Give us another chance to play you,” challenged
Ralph. “We'll beat the stuffing out of you.”
“This is the third and deciding game. If we win,
we're the champions this season.”
“You ought to be proud of the honor" scoffed
Sand. .
For fully ten minutes they wrangled, until at last
***
264 A Dirty Trick.
the umpire pulled out his watch and gave Farnham
Hall one minute in which to resume playing.
“What shall we do, captain P’’ asked Morton.
Sand's eyes were flashing and his face flushed with
indignation. --
“We'll play the game out,” he decided grimly. “If
they win, it will be through a dirty trick of which
every decent fellow in this town must feel ashamed.
We've got one more chance at them, and we'll do our
handsomest to take the game in the next inning.”
x: :k × >k >k >k >k
Irma Forbes and Lucy Lambert were sisters of two
of the players on the Wellsburg team. They were
chums. Sitting in the stand, they watched the pro-
gress of the game with great interest. When Farn-
ham Hall began hitting and scoring in the eighth,
Irma showed great excitement—finally, to the amaze-
ment of her companion, springing to her feet and
waving her handkerchief as she cheered with the
shrieking crowd of visitors on the bleachers.
Lucy seized her chum by the arm and pulled her
back to the seat. *
“What in the world are you doing, Irma P’’ she ex-
claimed, “Have you lost your head 2 Good gracious!
don't you see that Farnham Hall is batting Bru Hunt
all to pieces?”
“I’m glad of it ! I'm glad of it!” palpitated Irma,
her cheeks flushed and her eyes flashing.
“Why, you're crazy! Any one would fancy you
wished Farnham Hall to win the game.”
“I hope they bat Bruno Hunt out of the box.”
A Dirty Trick. 265
“I thought you liked him. Every time I call to see
you he's at your house.”
“That's right. He's there altogether too much.
You see, Fred thinks he's a fine chap, and he's just
forced him onto me. Of course, l have to treat Bruno
decently, on my brother's account. I told you only *
yesterday that I didn't like him.” -
“But I thought you were fooling.
“I wasn't fooling; I was in earnest. I can't bear
that chap. He's awfully conceited. Look how he's
been throwing out his chest all through this game.
But he isn't doing much of that now. My goodness,
just see that ' The bases are full !”
“How does the score stand, Irma P"
“It’s five to four now, and Farnham Hall has only
one out. Another hit will tie the score and put Farn-
ham Hall in the lead. Why doesn't Garry Grady take
Hunt out P”
“Why, there's no one else to put in, Irma,” said
Lucy. “Jack told me before the game that Mart
Rifle’s arm was so lame he couldn't pitch, and, there-
fore, they had to use Bruno Hunt. Just because you
dislike Bruno, you can't want to see our boys beaten.
That wouldn't be loyal, Irma.”
“Perhaps not,” admitted the little brunette. “But
there are some nice fellows on that Farnham Hall
team. I think Ralph Sand is handsome.”
“Oh, he isn't nearly as good-looking as their
catcher,” came quickly from Lucy. “He’s the hand-
somest chap among them all.” -
Irma laughed roguishly.
... “So you've got one spotted, have you? Oh, you
* 5
266 A Dirty Trick.
sly thing! You never told me a word about it. Are
you acquainted with him '''
“Good gracious, no. How could I get acquainted
with him P”
“Doesn't Jack know him?”
* “Oh, yes.”
“You might get Jack to introduce you.”
“Not much. If I suggested such a thing, he would
give me a call-down. He thinks I’m altogether too
interested in strangers, anyhow. What foolish ideas
some brothers get into their heads. Just as if a girl
could not look at a strange fellow. If we do look,
they accuse us of flirting, and say we're unladylike.
Oh, Irma, look at that Isn't that dreadful ? Bruno
Hunt has overthrown third, and that gives Farnham
Hall the lead. It's a shame! It's—”
She stopped with a gasp, for at this point Hunt had
snapped the ball to Cole, who quickly tagged Sand
and followed this up by putting the ball onto Morton
before Arthur realized what was happening.
Then came the wrangle upon the field. The two
girls in the stand were bewildered and perplexed OVer
what was taking place.
“I—I don't understand it, Irma,” said Lucy. “Were
there two balls? How did it happen? Do those runs
count P”
“I don't know,” confessed Irma. “The Farnham
Hall boys seem to be claiming that they count, but .
Grady and the rest of the fellows are disputing it. It
looks like trouble.” - -
About this time some one in the stand stated that
the object thrown over third by Bruno Hunt had been
, - ~~~~ e-
A Dirty Trick. 267
found to be a peeled potato, and this statement was
passed from lip to lip. It created a great hum of
mingled wonderment and indignation. A few of the
men in the stand laughed, and declared that it was a
clever trick.
“Clever!” breathed Irma scornfully. “I don't see
anything clever about it. If Wellsburg wins this game
like that, every fellow on the team ought to be
ashamed of himself.” -
“The umpire has declared both those men out,”
murmured Lucy. “Look—look He has taken out
his watch. He has ordered them to play.”
“I’m actually ashamed of my brother,” said Irma,
her cheeks burning with indignation. “I didn't think
it of Garry Grady, either. He's a nice fellow, and I
thought him honest.”
“The rest of the players can't be blamed for what
Bruno Hunt did.”
“They can't be blamed unless they back him up,”
agreed the dark-eyed girl. “They’re going to back
him up. It's shameful! It's outrageous!”
“For goodness' sake do hush! People are looking
this way. They think it's queer for us to be so in-
terested in those Bloomfield fellows.”
“I’m not interested in them. ... I want to see fair
play, that's all. What kind of a game of baseball is
it in which a peeled potato is used to fool players? I
hope Farnham Hall refuses to play.”
“They are not going to, though. There they go
onto the field. Those runs don't count, Irma. The
score is 5 to 4, in favor of our boys.”
-4
y
268 A Dirty Trick.
The Wellsburg crowd shouted as the visitors were
finally seen to yield and take the field.
A groan came from the section of the bleachers on
which the Bloomfield lads were gathered.
Sand and Morton held a consultation in front of the
plate. There was something in their manner which
indicated that both were indignant and exasperated.
It happened that Hunt was the first man to face
Sand in the last half of that inning.
Ralph leaned forward a bit, with his toe on the
rubber slab, regarding Bruno with a look of unspeak-
able scorn and contempt. Hunt could not meet the
gaze of the Farnham Hall captain. He thumped th
rubber with the end of his bat, and cried : -
“Come on, come on Pitch the ball ! Don't be all
day!”
Ralph pitched almost instantly. He threw the ball
with all the speed he could command, and it came º
hissing straight at the head of Bruno Hunt.
Hunt dropped his bat and fell himself to a sitting-
position upon the ground, thus escaping being hit.
“Now, you quit!” he snarled. “You did that on
purpose, Sand. If you hit me, you'll be sorry.”
There was no reply from Ralph. The moment
Hunt was again in position to strike, the Farnham
Hall captain handed up the ball. Apparently, he
started it straight at the body of the batter.
In a great panic, Hunt again dropped his bat, at the
same time leaping backward. -
Sand, however, had used a wide out curve, and the
ball came sailing over the inside corner of the pan.
“Strike!" cried the umpire. . .
< *---
º-
-
~~~~
A Dirty Trick. 269
“Oh, stand up to the plate, Hunt,” muttered Arthur
Morton, as the ball spanked into his mitt, “You've
made one disgraceful exhibition of yourself to-day.
Try and avoid another.”
“Don’t you talk to me!” hissed Bruno, recovering
his bat and glaring at Arthur. “I’ve got a score to
settle with you some day.” -
“Any day you choose,” returned Morton defiantly.
“You’ve tried to make a settlement once or twice.”
“Next time I try I’ll settle with interest.”
Bruno was still greatly disturbed, and he seemed
utterly unprepared for the wonderful drop Sand de-
livered. The ball shot down past Hunt's shoulders,
and the umpire declared the second strike.
“Oh, come off, come off!” shouted Hunt, dropping
his bat and stepping onto the plate. “That was
higher than my head. What are you trying to do to
me, Mr. Umpire?”
The umpire made a gesture with his hand, indicating
that the ball had dropped across the batter's shoulders,
and then motioned for Hunt to step back into position.
“I say it was higher than my head,” snarled Bruno.
“Potatoes, potatoes!” derisively howled Gig Gage.
“Play ball !” shouted Bob Keller. “He’s delaying
the game.”
“Perhaps he's looking for the potato he so care-
lessly threw away a while ago,” grinned Phil Knight.
“Maybe he's got a kink of rheumatism, and can't
swing his bat.”
“Potatoes, potatoes!” came again from Gig Gage.
The outfielders took up the cry, and then it was
*- ge - " - -
- ***
27O A Dirty Trick.
echoed from various parts of the stand and bleach-
€1’S. ---
His cheeks scorching hot, Hunt fell back into po-
sition. He was not prepared, however, when Sand
quickly snapped a straight ball over the very heart of
the plate, and, therefore, he did not try to strike.
“Three strikes! You're out !” came from the um-
pire.
Bruno frothed with fury. -
“Never got such a rotten deal as that before in my
life,” he palpitated, as he retreated to the bench.
“There wasn't one of those three balls over the pan.”
“Oh, sit down and close yer face, me boy,” advised
Garry Grady. “The last one was straight over, and
ivirybody knew it.”
Dan Hooker was the batter who followed Hunt.
“There's your friend, Lucy,” laughed Irma, as
Hooker danced out to the plate.
Lucy Lambert's lips curled disdainfully.
“I guess not l” she said. “There's no friendship
wasted between us.”
“Why, he's been chasing you everywhere.”
“He has made himself a perfect pest. He thinks I
mustn't look at any one else. He's so jealous he can
hardly live. I don't fancy him.”
Hooker was resolved not to be fooled in the same
way Hunt had been. He was not. He was fooled in
precisely the opposite manner, for -he struck at three
wide ones in succession, and missed them all.
Garry Grady looked grim and fierce as he toddled
out with his handle-wound bat. Grady had a splendid
eye, and was one of the finest hitters on the team. His
A Dirty Trick. 271
disgust over the performance of Hunt and Hooker
made him determined to get a hit. He fouled the
first four balls pitched to him. Then came two wide
ones, which he let pass. Finally Sand crooked the
ball over a corner, and Grady failed to touch it.
“You’re out !” cried the umpire.
The eighth inning, which had threatened to be fatal
for Wellsburg, had finally terminated with the home
team one run to the good, thanks to the trick per-
petrated by Bruno Hunt.
CHAPTER XXIX.
A GAME WORT II WINNING.
“Oh, he's a splendid pitcher" breathed Irma, “I
really think he's better than Rifle.”
“My brother knows him well,” said Lucy.
“Oh, does he ”
“Yes, indeed. The last time Wellsburg played in
Bloomfield, Sand entertained Jack. Jack is going to
ask him to dinner at our house to-night.”
Irma gave her friend a resentful look. -
“And you never told me a word about it!” she
breathed reproach fully, “I was just asking you about
him, too. Oh, you needn't be afraid. I'll not trouble
you. I'll keep away from your house.”
“You little spitfire!” laughed Lucy, giving her chum
a hug. “I’ve just been thinking of something. I'm
not afraid of your troubling me. I was just thinking
it might be possible to induce their catcher to come
along with Sand. Jack tells me that Sand and Mor-
ton are chums. I'll ask him to invite Morton along,
and then you can come over, too."
“Oh, do, do!” urged Irma excitedly. “I’ve been
dying to get acquainted with both of those fellows,
but I can't seem to find any way to do it. Fred won't
introduce me. I thought you said your brother ob-
'ected?”
“To strangers; but Sand is no stranger to hint.
Jack always gives me a call-down if I as much as
glance at a stranger. He will think it all right if he
brings Sand and Morton to the house and I meet
them there that way.” . - -
“You must fix it,” insisted Irma.
Lucy promised to do her best.
By this time Gage, of Farnham Hall, was at the
plate, ready to hit.
Hunt had thrown two or three balls to first to lim-
ber his arm. Having recovered his composure, he now
felt confident that he could hold down the batters who
were to face him, especially as the first four men were
at the bottom of the list, and, therefore, reckoned as
the poorest hitters. •
“Start us off, Gage,” urged Sand. “If we can tie
the score in this inning, we'll win.”
“Twist 'em round their necks, Hunt,” urged Garry
Grady. “Hold 'em down, me boy. It will nivir do
to let 'em beat us at this stage of the game.” -
Bruno fooled Gage twice. With two strikes and
one ball called by the umpire, it seemed as if the Wells-
burg pitcher had Gig at his mercy. He grinned taunt-
ingly as he shot up a swift one over the inside corner.
Gage dropped back a bit and met that ball hand-
somely,
It was a beautiful two-bagger, and the Farnham
Hall crowd yelled like lunatics as Gage scudded over
first and went down to second.
Hunt suddenly turned pale. From the coaching-
line, Clarence Campbell jubilantly sang:
“By all the powers, the game is ours! The potato-
trick, that seemed so slick—a mean devise—will cut no
ice?”. -


274 A Game Worth Winning.
Herbert Howe received instructions from Sand, and
proceeded to lay down a handsome bunt, on which
Gage took third. Howe was thrown out at first.
But now any kind of a hit would bring Gage home
and tie the score.
Once more Hunt felt a quiver of apprehension run-
ning over him like an electric thrill. Something
seemed to whisper in his ear that, in spite of his trick
in the eighth inning, Farnham Hall would win the
game.
“Throw another potato over third base!” shouted
Some one from the bleachers.
“Look out for him | Look out for him ſ” cried an-
other. “He’s full of ‘em.”
Lemon lost no time in getting out to the plate ready
to hit. * *
Bruno dallied until the umpire ordered him to play.
Dreading to put the ball over the plate, Hunt pitched
a wide one. - -
Nevertheless, Lemon reached across the pan, and
tapped the ball into the diamond.
This was necessary, for the squeeze-play had been
called for, and Gage was coming down the line from
third.
The instant he tapped the ball, Lemon dropped his
bat and went scooting toward first. -
Gage crossed the plate safely with the run that tied
the score. - -
In his excitement, Hunt secured the ball and threw
it ten feet over the first-baseman's head. .
Lemon went all the way round to third before he
was stopped.
A Game Worth Winning. 275
The Farnham Hall crowd howled like a lot of
lunatics.
Twice Uncle Eb Small had tried to get out onto
the coaching-line, but had been kept back by a police-
man. He now stood up and waved his cane in the
air, as he shouted in his cracked old voice:
“That's the stuff, boys! You don't have ter do no
pertater-stunts ter win. Yer can do it on the Square.
Now, rub it inter 'em. Beat 'em to death !"
Clarence Campbell was the hitter. As a rule, Camp-
bell could not seem to touch a balloon ; but now he
amazed every one by slashing at the first ball Hunt
delivered to him, and knocking it far over the head
of the right-fielder and against the fence, from which
it bounded away toward center field.
Campbell's running electrified and enthused the sym-
pathizers with Farnham Hall, for he raced round to
third before the ball was restored to the diamond.
Of course, Lemon scored.
This put the visitors one run to the good.
That hit by the weakest batter on the Farnham Hall
team broke Bruno Hunt's heart. Disheartened and
hopeless, he hit Knight with a pitched ball, and then
gave Cobb a pass to first, which filled the sacks.
“He’s all to pieces, captain,” said Jack Lambert.
“Are you going to let them make a hundred runs right
here P’’
Grady held a hasty consultation with Rifle, who
agreed to do his best to stop the scoring.
Hunt, his cheeks scorching with shame and rage,
retired to second base, while Martin Rifle went in for
276 A Game Worth Winning. * ,
the purpose of checking Farnham Hall's career, if po
sible. .
The first two balls handed up to Sand by Rifle were
wide ones. Then one came over, and Ralph biffed it.
It was a grounder sent skimming straight toward
Bruno Hunt, who placed himself in position to take
the ball. - .
In some unaccountable manner, the ball got through
between Hunt's legs and went dancing onward toward
right field.
Campbell and Knight both scored before Wells-
burg's right-fielder could get the ball into the diamond.
“It’s a fine game you're playing, me boy!” said
Garry Grady sarcastically, as he looked Bruno over.
“It’s a shame your rheumatism didn't keep ye in bed
to-day !”
This was too much for the tortured lad.
“I’m done!” he cried fiercely. “I’ll play no more
on this team | I quit right here!”
“Good-by,” said Grady. “Don’t forget to l'ave yer
suit at the gymnasium.”
Then he called a spare man from the bench, and
sent him to cover second.
As if Hunt had been their hoodoo, the whole team
now braced up in a moment.
Morton hit a furious grounder in the direction of
third base, but Forbes made a marvelous stop, and got
Sam Cobb at the plate as the Bloomfield boy was trying
to score. . * -
Bob Keller smashed a long line drive into center
field. -
Dan Hooker, covering ground with amazing strides,
*º- sº o-
A Game Worth Winning. 277
scooped the ball cleanly, and this made the third man
Out. -
The score was now 8 to 5, in favor of the visitors.
“We'll never hear the last of this, Captain Grady,"
muttered Jack Lambert, as the home team came to
the bench. “It would have been bad enough to win
after Hunt's potato-trick; but it will be twice as bad
to be beaten.” . . > *.
“It's right ye are,” nodded Grady. “And so it's up
to us to get busy now and pull this game out of the
fire. It's three we made to tie and four to win. They
made four in their half, why shouldn't we make as
many in ours? Come on, Inniss, me boy. Boost us
along a bit, will ye?”
“I’ll try,” promised. Inniss.
He lifted a high fly into left field, but Cobb was
under it, and held it with a deathlike clutch when it
struck his hands.
“All over, all over !” cried Uncle Fh Small, again
bobbing up on the bleachers, “You’ll need more'n a
bushel of pertaters if you're going to beat them boys.
Gosh-darned if they ain't jest about the greatest bunch
that ever got together! They can trim anything in
their class, and I'll bate on it.”
Newton fanned once, and then hit a grounder past
Keller, who made a one-hand lunge at it, and failed
to touch the ball.
Gig, however, was playing deep, and he got his
bare right onto the ball and held it. It was a long
throw across to first, but Gage lost not a second, and
the ball spanked into Knight's hand as Newton was
making the final jump for the sack
_--~~"ºnºm- *=
278 A Game Worth Winning.
“All over, all over !” sang Uncle Eb Small once
T]]Ore.
The Farnham Hall crowd cheered wildly, for there
now seemed no question as to the result of the game.
In the stand Irma Forbes and Lucy Lambert had
grown strangely silent.
“What's the matter, Irma P” asked Lucy. “You
don't seem to be cheering.”
“I feel differently about the game, now that they've
got rid of Bruno Hunt,” was the retort. “I know
just how bad Fred is going to feel when it is all over.
He told me this morning that they had just got to
beat Bloomfield this year. Why, Wellsburg never
used to dream of being beaten by Bloomfield !”
“But that was before Frank Merriwell started his
school over there.” -
“Still, it's only fair that Wellsburg should win the
championship every other year. Bloomfield has had
it two years now. I know what made me feel the
way I did; it was because Bruno Hunt was pitching.
Martin Rifle wouldn't play a trick like Hunt’s.”
There was a sudden shout. Jack Lambert had hit
the ball. -
“Oh, good, good ''' cried Lucy. “It’s a home run.
Jack has been hitting awfully poor lately. That's why
they had him way down on the list.”
“That fielder is after the ball,” breathed Irma. “He’s
making an awful run for it.” -
The fielder was Lemon, who apparently had no
chance to get Lambert's fly, but who was doing his
best to get under the ball. With every stride he
seemed to gain speed. Finally he made a last des-
*
A Game Worth Winning. **** 279
perate leap, thrusting out his hand, and caught the
ball. -
Lucy Lambert's joy turned suddenly to dismay.
She could not seem to realize that the game was over
until she saw the Farnham Hall lads pouring onto
the diamond, to lift their heroes upon their shoulders
and march triumphantly with them about the field.
Somehow, Sand succeeded in escaping that rush,
and he dodged into the crowd of spectators that had
started from the third-base bleachers to cut across in
front of the stand toward the gate.
Lambert, downcast and sad, was also making for
the gate, hoping to escape from Sympathizing friends
and team-mates. Thus it chanced that he bumped
against, Sand.
“Too bad, old man,” said Ralph, seizing Jack's arm.
“That looked like a three-bagger, at least, Lemon
made a wonderful catch.”
“Hello, Sand,” said Lambert. “I came near for-
getting about you. That catch did break my heart.
Anyhow, I suppose you fellows deserve the game. I
was in favor of putting both you and Morton back
on the sacks, and calling it one man out, after Bruno
Hunt's potato-trick. That will queer Hunt in this
town. I hope you chaps won't think any of the rest
of our team knew anything about that.”
“I don't think you knew anything about it, or your
captain,” said Ralph ; “but certainly Cole was a party
to the trick. He held his position at the plate, and
was ready when Hunt snapped the ball to him. If
he hadn't been in on the trick, he wouldn't have been
prepared to tag Morton and myself.”
• ** - W-.
28O A Game Worth Winning.
“Well, you may be right, but I hope not. Say,
Sand, you know you promised to take dinner with me
when you came over for this game. My mother ex-
pects me to bring you home.” º
“Oh, but I–I'd forgotten, old chap. I've promised
Morton that I would • w
“Bring Morton with you. You can't refuse. Oh,
say, here's my sister.” +.
Lucy and Irma, just leaving the stand, were dis-
covered near at hand. Lambert hastened to introduce
the captain of the Farnham Hall team to the girls.
“I was just trying to take a sneak to get away
from that mob,” laughed Sand. “That's how I hap-
pened to plunge into the crowd and make for this
gate.” " .
“He’s coming home to dinner with us, Lucy,” said
Lambert. “He’s going to bring Morton, too. Why
can't you come along, Irma P’’ .
“Oh, I don't believe I can,” said Irma, who already
had made up her mind that she would. “I’ll see Fred,
and ask him about it.” -
“Lucy, you take charge of Sand,” said Lambert.
“I’ll go along with Irma and find Morton.”
During the few minutes that Lucy and Ralph stood
chatting outside the gate, awaiting the return of Lam-
bert, they became amazingly well acquainted. Finally
Jack appeared, accompanied by Fred Forbes, Irma,
and Morton. -
“It's all right, sis,” he cried. “Here's our party.”
“But we'll have to go to the hotel to change our
clothes, Morton and I,” said Sand. “Of course, you
don't expect us to go to dinner in this rig.”
-zagº"
*
9
A Game Worth Winning. -- a---
281
“We'll go along with you, Fred and myself.” said
Lambert, “The girls can take a car right here. We'll
put them on board, and then you can wait until we
change our clothes. After that we'll chase along to
your hotel. Is that satisfactory "
This arrangement was readily agreed upon, and a
few moments later the girls found themselves on a
trolley-car, both feeling somewhat elated over the
course of events.
“Isn't it strange?” breathed Lucy. “I thought I
fancied Arthur Morton more than I did Ralph Sand.
Now, don’t get jealous, Irma. But really and truly,
I believe I like Sand better.”
At this Irma burst into a merry laugh.
“I’ve never before had a chance to hear Morton
talk,” she said. “Never in my life did I get acquainted
with two fellows and not find out that I liked better
the one I first thought I didn't care about at all. I
sha'n't be jealous, Lucy. Arthur Morton suits me
very well.”
“Oh, does he, indeed?” growled a hoarse voice.
Both girls turned with startled cries, to find Bruno
Hunt leaning over the back of the seat.
Hunt had changed his baseball-suit for street
clothes, making haste to do so in order to escort Irma
Forbes from the field when the game was over. See-
ing her in company with her brother and others, Bruno
held himself aloof until the two girls boarded the trol-
ley-car. When the car started he hastily Sprang
aboard and crowded into the seat behind Irma and
Lucy. Therefore, it happened that the fellow was in
position to hear the laughing words of the little bru-
_ºmsºmº- *
282 A Game Worth Winning.
nette when she stated that Arthur Morton suited her
very well indeed. &
A pang of jealous rage shot through the heart of
the listening fellow.
“Oh, does he, indeed?” he growled.
The girls turned quickly, and saw him bending over
them. His dark, cruel, yet not unprepossessing face
was flushed, and there was a gleam of jealous rage in
his eyes.
“Gracious sakes '' breathed Irma. “Where did you
come from ?”
Bruno did not answer this question. Instead of
that, he once more growled:
“So Arthur Morton suits you very well indeed, does
he P Perhaps he wouldn't suit you so well if you
knew lots of things about him that I know. Strange
how fellows of his style always take with light-headed
girls.”
In a twinkling Irma's eyes blazed.
“I must say you're very polite and gentlemanly, Mr.
Hunt!” she breathed, her lips curling. “But then, it's
just about what one might expect from a fellow who
could perpetrate the sort of a trick you played to-day
on the baseball-field.”
Lucy seemed a trifle frightened and nervous, but
Irma betrayed no fear of the annoying fellow.
“I believe you're glad that Farnham Hall won the
game,” said Hunt.
“I am glad,” flung back the girl, in a twinkling, “It
was only right that Farnham Hall should win after
what you did.”
A Game Worth Winning. 283
“Well, I must say you're loyal to your own team?"
sneered Bruno. - . - -
“It would have been a disgrace for Wellsburg to
win in such a contemptible manner.” .
“But your own brother was willing enough to get
the game that way if he could.”
“I don't believe it! I watched him while the
wrangle was taking place, and I'm sure he was
ashamed of the trick.”
“Bah! You must be silly, Miss Forbes. Don't you
know that your brother was in on the trick all the
time? Perhaps he'll deny it now, but if he does he
will tell a-" is
“Now stop—stop right where you are, Mr. Hunt!
If my brother says he knew nothing about that trick,
I shall believe him. You'd better not tell me that he
will be lying. He has had a good opinion of you, but
I think this day will change his mind. Now, I wish
you wouldn't talk to me any more. If you still have
any gentlemanly instincts, you'll refrain.” .
She turned her back on Bruno, who ground his
teeth together in rage as he heard some of the pas-
sengers titter. A big laborer gave him an elbow-
jostle, chuckling: - .
&
“That settles your hash, young feller. She's
handed you the marble heart. When you're caught
working a trick at baseball, you must always win. If
you lose after that, you'll get no sympathy from any-
body.” * 2- •. -
“I’m not asking any of your sympathy" snarled
the enraged lad. “Go talk to yourself, and let me

284 A Game Worth Winning.
After a few moments he again bent over the girls,
“I don't suppose you'll object if I ride out as far -
as your house, Miss Lambert?" he asked. “I want
to have a little talk with your brother. He has a ten-
mis-racket that belongs to me.” -
Lucy deigned no reply. At the first opportunity,
however, she whispered to Irma :
“You must go straight home with me now. Don't
leave me. I don't care to walk ten feet with that fel-
low.” ---
The Lambert home was a cozy cottage on the out-
skirts of the city. The trolley passed within half a
block, and yet the cottage was far enough away to
escape the noise and dust of the car-line.
With locked arms, Irma and Lucy hastened along
the street, knowing that they were followed by Bruno,
for they had seen him get off the car at the same time
they did. Furthermore, they could hear his heavy
footsteps close behind them.
“What a fool he is ſ” whispered Lucy. “Hasn't he
sense enough to know that he's queering himself?"
“He’s awfully persistent,” murmured Irma. “He’s
one of the kind that never gives up.” -
Lucy had a latch-key, and she found it and fitted it
to the lock the moment the front door was reached.
Bruno was deliberately mounting the steps to the ver-
anda, when the girls darted into the house and closed
the door in his face. With a shrug of his shoulders
and a mirthless laugh, he found a comfortable veranda
chair, and deposited himself upon it, muttering :
“All right, Miss High-head. I’ll wait for vour
brother. He ought to be along pretty soon.’
. 2 º'
A Game Worth Winning. *mºimmy sº
285
It was nearly an hour before he saw four fellows
step off a car which had stopped at the corner. Two
of the quartet were the brothers of the two girls within
the house. The others were Arthur Morton and Ralph
Sand.
Hunt rose and stood on the steps as the party drew
near. He saw Lambert speak in a low tone to
Forbes, and fancied that both fellows regarded him
with some dismay.
“Hello, Lambert,” he called, as Lucy's brother drew
near. “I’ve been waiting for you. You've got a ten-
mis-racket that belongs to me. I expect I’ll need it
to-morrow.”
“Oh, all right, Hunt. I’ll get it right away for
you.” - - -
“I perceive that you've brought home some visitors.
I presume they feel highly elated over their victory
to-day. Well, I did my part to prevent then from
winning.”
In a twinkling Sand flashed :
“I should think good taste, if not shame, would pre-
vent you from speaking of that, Hunt.”
“Oh, you would, ell I don't suppose you ever did
anything like that in your life. You're a model, you
are. I haven't forgotten that you and some of your
friends tried to kill Crow foot, the Indian, one night.
You thought you had killed him, and you ran away
from Farnham Hall. Oh, yes, you're a model—lately.
You're trying to pose as a nice little Sunday-school
boy. But you can't fool some people who are onto
your curves.”
“That will do!” interrupted Jack Lambert. “These
l -msmºs--- `-s—s. i
286
A Game Worth . winning.
fellows are my guests, and I'll thank you to keep
your insults bottled up, Bruno.” -
“You can't keep me still!” snarled Hunt. “I know
both those chaps, and I can tell you some things about
then that would make them squirm.” ; ---
Forbes mounted the steps quickly, and placed a hand
on Hunt's arm. º
“You’re making an awful exhibition of yourself,
old chap,” he said, in a low tone. “You’ve lost your
head completely. For goodness' sake, let up on this!
Go along with Jack and get your tennis-racket. You'll
feel differently to-morrow.”
Bru turned fiercely upon the speaker.
“I want to tell you a little something, Forbes,” he
palpitated. “I heard your sister telling Lucy Lam-
bert that she was struck on that cheap fellow Morton.
Why, he came from just about the poorest family in
Springford. His father is a shiftless, worthless good-
for-nothing. Nobody in Springford ever would have
much of anything to do with Art Morton. He had
no chums, no friends, no associates. He wouldn't
work and he wouldn't study. I can tell you Some
other things about him, too.”
“It is true, fellows, that I was ostracized in my
own home,” confessed Arthur Morton instantly.
“That fellow was the cause of it. He hated me, and
he turned every boy in town against me. He has
sneered at my father. Even if my father is a poor
man, at least he's honest. All Springford knows Joel
Hunt misappropriated funds placed in his care.”
“That's a lie!” rasped Bruno. -
“It’s likewise well known that Joel Hunt's son was
A Game Worth Winning. 287
spirited out of town between twilight and dawn. The
Springford post-office had been entered and robbed a
short time before that, and the officers were looking
for the criminal. They say it cost Joel Hunt a lot
of money to settle the matter. One thing is certain :
Bruno Hunt has never shown his face in Springford
since that time.”
Bruno rushed down the steps as if determined to
attack Arthur, but stopped when he saw Morton
square himself for business.
“What's the usef" cried Hunt furiously. “I haven't
a friend here. But you wait, Morton—you just wait !
Maybe you think I’m done with you. You'll find out
your mistake if you do. I'll get at you yet.”
His voice choking with passion, he turned away and
started for the street.
“Hold on, Hunt" cried Lambert, “Don’t you want
that tennis-racket?”
“No, I don't want it now,” was the answer. “If I
do, I’ll call again.”
“I’ll save you the trouble,” cried Jack. “I’ll wrap
it carefully and send it to you by messenger to-night.”
Irma and Lucy came out of the house as they saw
Bruno Hunt's figure disappear around the distant
COrner.
“He persisted in following us here, Jack,” said
Lucy. “First thing we knew, he was on the trolley-
car with us. Oh, he was just as insulting as he could
be! I was afraid of him, and so was Irma.”
“No, I wasn’t afraid of him,” declared Irma. “I
know he's a coward. Don't ever tell me again, Fred,
that Bruno Hunt is a nice fellow. Why, he actually
288 A Game Worth Winning.
claimed that you were in that potato-trick this after-
noon. I knew you weren't. I told him I knew you
were not.”
Forbes flushed the least bit.
“I’m going to confess the truth,” he said. “I knew
Hunt had some sort of a trick up his sleeve, but he
didn't tell me what it was. Of course, it's all right
to fool a base-runner by an ordinary bluff, or fake
throw, and I supposed that was what Hunt was going
to try. When he threw that potato over my head I
was horrified, for I thought it was the ball. I hope
you believe this, Sand, old man. I hope you don't
think I was a party to that trick.” - -
“Of course I believe you, Forbes,” nodded Sand, as
the boys found seats upon the veranda, having been
invited by Lambert to make themselves comfortable.
“I’ve telephoned mother, Fred,” said Irma. “I told
her that we were invited to take dinner over here. It's
all right.” -
“The game to-day was a hard one for us to lose,
Sand,” said Lambert. “We counted on winning it.
Farnham Hall got the championship last year and the
year before that. We fancied we had a team to down
you this year. You've beaten us at baseball, but we're
going to take the honors in the interscholastic games
next week.”
“Perhaps so,” laughed Sand; “but you'll have to
keep busy if you outpoint Farnham Hall. We're go-
ing to push you hard in the dashes, at the hurdles, in
the hammer-throw, and at the pole-vault. I don't be-
lieve you've got a sprinter who can beat Morton "
At this Arthur blushingly protested. -
A Game Worth Winning. 289
“I don't believe Hunt will take part in those games
now,” said Forbes. “He's quit the ball-team. We
haven't got many better runners than him. Really,
that fellow is wonderfully fast on his feet.”
Morton nodded. º
“He could always outrun any boy in Springford,”
he said.
“Yourself included ?" questioned Forbes.
“I don't know that I ever tried it against him.”
“Morton is something of a wizard,” laughed Sand.
“Why, he could not play baseball when he came to
Bloomfield.” -
“Couldn't play baseball?” echoed Lambert incredu-
lously. “What do you mean by that ?"
“Just what I am telling you. He had never played
in a game in his life.”
“Oh, come off"
“It’s a fact. He had played ‘haley-over,' and he
could catch a ball, but he couldn't hit one with a bat.
I remember the first time he came out for practise.
We put him in the outfield, and he did pretty well.
Two or three days later we had to have a catcher.
Lance Cowling had quit on us. There was no one
to go behind the bat. After a while we tried Arthur.
He did fairly well until he got nervous. After that
he could not stop the ball at all. Mr. Merriwell saw
him, and decided that he could make a catcher out of
him. Without letting us know anything about it, he
began practising Morton in secret, and teachiºghim to
handle all kinds of curves, with Toots, Frank Merri-
well's colored man, Swinging a bat in front of Art's
face. That's the way they made a catcher out of him.
<sº .
290 A Game Worth Winning. -
He's a natural runner and jumper. I used to reckon
myself the best broad-jumper in the school, but Mor-
ton can beat me. At running he's my equal, if not
my superior.” -
By this time Arthur was entreating Sand to “let up.”
He was genuinely confused and distressed by this
praise. -
“You see what you're up against, Lambert,” laughed
Forbes. “If Hunt quits, we'll have to depend on you
for the dashes—maybe for the mile run, though Dan
Hooker ought to carry off the honors at that.”
They sat out there chatting in this manner until the
musical sound of chimes called them to dinner. Sand
and Morton met Lambert's parents, and found them
very pleasant people indeed.
It was a most delightful meal, interspersed with
jests and laughter. Before it was over Jack Lambert
had induced the Bloomfield lads to promise to stay
overnight.
“We'll all go down to Riverside Park and hear the
band this evening,” he said. “Irma and Lucy can
come along.” -
Mrs. Lambert looked serious. -
“Do you think it a proper place for the girls,
Jack?” she asked. “You know, it was rather rough
last summer.” .
“But they have stopped beer-selling down there now.
There's nothing drinkable to be obtained stronger
thanºla-water and root-beer. They are doing every-
thing they can to clean the place up and make it a
popular resort for the best people. Oh, it's all right,
mother. We'll look out for the girls.”
A Game worth Winning. 291
—"
In this way he won his mother's consent, and so,
after dinner, they all took an open trolley-car for
Riverside Park. The park was located a mile or
more below the city, and should have been an ideal
place at which to spend a summer evening. Band-
concerts were given each night. There were a dozen
or more cottages, a large pavilion, a number of amuse-
ment-booths, flying horses, and other attractions.
In the twilight they sat on a grassy bank and listened
to the band. A boisterous party of rather tough-
looking young men passed them, and one of the fel-
lows nearly stumbled over Lambert.
“Look out, my friend!" called Jack, annoyed.
“Can't you see where you're going?” -
“What's the matter with you?” snarled the fellow,
who seemed to be somewhat intoxicated. “What do
you want, the earth? Why don't you make room for
people to walk round here?”
In a twinkling Lambert was ready to fight, but
Forbes seized him by the shoulder, whispering in his
€ar :
“Easy, Jack—easy Don't get into a scrap with
those fellows. That's Black Sullivan and his gang.
There's Sullivan yonder.”
Black Sullivan was a noted negro pugilist who had
been making his headquarters in Wellsburg. He was
a decidedly vicious character, and even the police of
the city were disinclined to have trouble with him if
they could avoid it.
Lucy Lambert was badly frightened, and she ha-
stened to beg her brother to say no more to the
white thug who seemed spoiling for a scrap.
• *~~~~
292 A Game Worth Winning.
And so, much against his inclinations, Lambert re-
lapsed into silence and turned away, pretending he did
not hear the insulting language of the fellow who had
stumbled against him.
“These dudes make me sick!” said the young ruffian,
as he rejoined his waiting friends, “I’d a-handed that
one a couple of black eyes in a minute if he hadn't
closed his trap.” x - - -
Black Sullivan guffawed.
“That sounds first-rate, Pink,” he said: “but it’s
all wind. If that dude had called your bluff, he’d had
you backing up in a hurry. A-course, we'd had to
clean up the crowd if you'd started anything going.”
The negro himself betrayed signs of intoxication.
He strolled on with his satellites clinging to him, not
a little to the relief of Lucy and Irma.
“Those are the people who have given this place a
bad name,” said Jack. “They're trying to get rid
of them this season, but they are hard to shake.”
Finally Lambert and Forbes left the others, and
wandered away by themselves. --
This was more than agreeable to Sand and Morton,
who now gave the girls their undivided attention.
Finally the quartet went down to the bank of the
river, where there were some rustic seats. At this
distance the music was softened agreeably, and they
sat there some time, watching the glinting moonlight
on the water and the boats gliding to and fro.
Finally a fellow, with a hat slouched over his eyes
and his coat collar turned up, came prowling past and
paused to peer at them sharply,
- A Game worth Winning, Tºº--—
293
“Goodness!” breathed Irma, as the chap moved on.
“That looks like Bruno Hunt!" - -
“But it's not Hunt,” declared Sand, as the prowler
paused beneath an electric light. “See—he has a
mustache.”
This person was joined by another, who also wore
a slouch-hat and had his coat collar turned up. They
seemed to exchange a few words and then hurry
away.
Some thirty minutes later Irma proposed that they
should go in search of Jack and Fred,
“They won't know where to find us if we remain
here,” she said. “We must return home.”
Sand proposed finding the girl's brothers and en-
joying ice-cream ere they left the park. But barely
had they risen from their seats when, of a sudden,
more than half a dozen fellows came rushing boister-
ously upon them and overwhelmed them. Both Sand
and Morton were taken off their guard. Ralph made
a move to protect his girl companion, but his feet were
suddenly knocked from beneath him, and he was hurled
to the ground and pinned there by two chaps who
pounced upon him. One seized him by the throat,
while the other perched upon his legs.
Almost precisely the same thing happened to Morton.
The girls screamed and fled.
Apparently, the assailants were prepared for their
work and had it well planned. Coats were wrapped
tightly and smotheringly about the heads of the two
Farnham Hall boys, who were overcome by force of
numbers, their hands and feet being quickly bound.
294 A Game Worth Winning.
Then they felt themselves lifted and carried hastily
down the bank to the water's edge.
Sand was dumped unceremoniously in the bottom
of a motor-boat. Two men sprang in and sat upon
him, while a third pushed off and started the motor.
Of course, Ralph did his best to shout, but already it
seemed that he was dying from want of air. His
head felt on the point of bursting and bright lights
were flashing before his eyes. He squirmed and
groaned as long as consciousness lasted, but finally
blank darkness settled upon him, and, he knew no
more until he awoke to realize that water was being
dashed in his face. -
CHAPTER XXX.
THE IDLE HOURS CLUB,
One of the most infamous resorts in the vicinity
of Wellsburg was known as the “Idle Hours Club,”
and was a house-boat upon the river below Riverside
Park.
The original owner and builder of Idle Hours was
a wealthy man by the name of Higgins, who was uni-
versally conceded to be a little bit off in his upper
story. Higgins spent a great deal of money in con-
structing a huge, unwieldy house-boat, which he ex-
pected to propel up and down the river by means of
a powerful gasoline-engine.
In his first attempt to move Idle Hours from its
original mooring-place to a new location, he broke the
propeller and went aground upon a sand-bar. This
was a starter to the series of similar misfortunes which
occurred with monotonous regularity whenever Hig-
gins decided to seek a new mooring-place upon the
river.
Further than that, he soon found that the river itself
was altogether too small for a house-boat of such huge
dimensions. The swift current, which wound snake-
like from bank to bank, invariably proved too strong
and treacherous to be stemmed by the gasoline-engine
alone, and it became apparent that the assistance of a
powerful tug would be required to move Idle Hours
{rom one anchorage to another. There was no such
*-*- -
***. • sº-
*
296 The Idle Hours Club.
tug upon this portion of the river, the largest craft—
excepting Idle Hours itself—being ordinary small-
sized motor-boats. - - - - - -
Then came the spring freshet that swept the house-
boat into the cove below Beach Bend, and left it high
and dry when the waters receded. Higgins announced
that he was going to touch a match to his “White Ele-
phant.” Then Silk Maguire entered into negotiations
with the disgusted owner of the wrecked house-boat.
Maguire purchased Idle Hours for a small fraction of
its original cost, and then employed a competent man
to put it afloat once more. This was finally accom-
plished, and the house-boat swung at shore-moorings
upon the surface of Beech Cove. Maguire wisely
purchased the north shore of the Cove, where his
cables were attached to heavy piling. These cables
were connected with a drum operated by the gasoline-
engine, so that the house-boat could be drawn up
close to the piling at the north shore, or released and
carried over to the south shore by force of the cur
rent which eddied round into the Cove. -
Now, it happened that the dividing lines between
Wellsburg and Madison cut that cove Squarely in two,
running east and west. The northern half of the
cove was in Wellsburg; the southern half lay in
Madison.
Silk Maguire did not purchase Idle Hours for a
pleasure resort. He was not the sort of a man to
do anything like that. With him it was ptirely a busi-
ness proposition, and he had a scheme in his mind
which he afterward carried out with rare success.
Idle Hours was turned into a club-house, so cºlled.
* - , - . ~~" -
53.
*~~~.
The Idle Hours Club. 297
Higgins had constructed the house-boat with a gym-
nasium, bath-room, billiard-room, two sleeping-rooms,
and a large dining-hall. Maguire put up a bar
across one end of the dining-hall. The gymnasium he
converted into an arena for prize-fighting. He emi-
ployed a chef, two bartenders, a manager, and other
necessary assistants; then he opened Idle Hours as a
resort for sporting-men.
Prize-fighting in Wellsburg had been stopped by the
police. On the opening night at Idle Hours there
were a series of scraps, culminating in a ten-round go
between two well-known pugilists. The police got
wise about what was billed for that opening, and
notified Maguire to desist. He smiled on them suavely,
and informed his friends that the bouts would be
pulled off just the same. Tickets were sold at ten
dollars each, and the crowd that attended the opening
nearly swamped the house-boat. In the midst of the
prize-fighting Maguire's sentries notified him that the
police were coming. He simply released the cable and
permitted the current to swing him over to the south
side of the cove, where he lay in the town of Madi-
son and gave the officers the laugh when they ap-
peared. He even invited them on board to witness
the final go between the star Scrappers.
it was not long before Idle Hours became notorious
throughout the surrounding country. Again and
again the police of Wellsburg tried vainly to catch
Silk Maguire breaking the law within the limits of
their jurisdiction. - *
Sonºchow, it always happened that Silk knew just
when the re conting, and therefore thºv found him
* * * *
s:
208 - - - The Idle Hours Club.
floating close over against the southern shore of the
cöve.
The town fathers of Madison called upon the local
officers to raid Idle Hours, and even accompanied those
officers on two or three occasions. But, strangely
enough, Maguire's resort of iniquity was always drawn .
up to the north shore when the Madison authorities
approached Beech Cove. Still more remarkable was
the fact that it seemed impossible for the police of
Wellsburg and the officers of Madison to work in uni-
son and reach the place at a fixed time. Whenever
such a thing was attempted the Madisonites arrived
too early or too late, to find the Wellsburg cops on the
job. -
Many were the dark stories told of the doings at
Idle Hours. The contamination of the place spread to
Riverside Park, which had been opened as a respectable
resort for the people of Wellsburg who wished to
escape from the heat of the city for an afternoon or
evening. It was said that a regular line of motor-
boats ran under cover of darkness from the park to
Idle Hours.
Not only were the patrons of Maguire's made up of
dissolute men, but it was known that boys yet in their
teens visited the disreputable club upon the river.
Fathers warned their sons against the place, mothers
shuddered at the mere mention of it, and the parsons
preached against it from the pulpits.
At last the respectable element of Wellsburg brought
about the downfall of the city's chief of police, whose
position was filled by a man who pledged himself to
put Silk Maguire and Idle Hours out of business.
**- wº- -
The Idle Hours Club. 299
The new chief began by cleaning up Riverside
Park, but, to the surprise of many, he did not seem in
any great hurry to go after Maguire. One night,
however, the chief himself, without a single companion,
set out for Beech Cove. Ere he arrived there he was
joined by two deputies from Madison. He had found
that these two men were the only ones he could trust.
Between the three a plan of procedure was arranged.
To the surprise of the chief, on reaching the river he
found that the house-boat was swinging at its moor-
ings, with the cables let out until Idle Hours lay mid-
way between the north and south shores of the cove.
Now, it happened that he had brought a pocket-
hatchet, and with this instrument he proceeded with-
out delay to attack the cables.
At the very first blow the sudden glare of a search-
light shot forth from the house-boat and fell upon
him dazzlingly. He was blinded for the time being,
From the darkness beyond the search-light a voice
called to him—the voice of Silk Maguire :
“Don’t yer think yer'd better let up on that, me
boy P You're destroying me property. It's any man's
right to difind his property. Really, Chafe, I'd hate.
to hurt ye, but if ye persist in hackin' at them cables,
I’ll have to use me pistol.”
“Pull up here to the shore, Maguire!” commanded
the chief.
“I’d like to accommodate ye, really I would. But
my engine it do be out of commission. I can't pull
p >
up.
“Then swing over to the south shore. You can do
that.”
*
*
3oo The Idle Hours Club.
“The water is gettin' a bit low, Chafe, and there's a
dangerous rock over yonder, Your fri'nds Brown
and Taggart will have to come aboard if they wish
to see me to-night.”
Brown and Taggart were the Madison officers now
waiting upon the south shore of the cove. The words
of Maguire told the chief of police that the proprietor
of Idle Hours had been informed well in advance of
his plans. -----.
Disgustedly he tramped round the shore of the cove
to the southern side, where he found Brown and Tag-
gart ready to put off in a small row-boat. The search-
light had followed the Wellsburg officer round the
shore. It fell full upon the three as they started to-
ward the house-boat. They were about half-way from
the shore to the house-boat, when they heard the low
hum of a muffled gasoline-engine, and saw a dark
hulk rapidly bearing down upon them. It was a
motor-boat, cruising unlawfully without signal-lights.
“Look out, look out !” they shouted. “You’ll run
us down | Keep off!” *
But the boat struck them and smashed a hole in
their frail craft, although the collision was made
glancingly. Without a word, without checking his
engine in the least, the solitary man in the motor-boat
swerved away and swept on into the darkness.
By desperate bailing and hard work at the oars,
the trio succeeded in getting into less than five feet
of water when their boat swamped. They waded out,
followed by the full glare of the search-light, and
stood on the shore, swearing in disgust as Silk Ma-
guire's voice floated across the water to their ears'
A.,’ sººt-
The Idle Hours Club. 3o
“It’s worried I were for fear that you'd be drowned,
boys. You've got to do something to stop these care-
less divils from running their gas-boats without lights.
Call again some night, when me engine is working,
Chafe, so that I can pull up to the shore for yez. Yer
see, it's dangerous takin' chances with thim gas-boats.”
The next day Wellsburg was laughing at its chief
of police. It was the general conviction that Maguire
was too sharp for him.
The chief knew this, and he set about trapping Silk
Maguire after his own fashion.
Maguire decided that he had skimmed the cream
in the early days of the Idle Hours Club. Being a
shrewd fellow, he realized that there were unpleasant
times in store for him. Although business was excel-
lent, he knew the whole thing might come to an abrupt
termination any day. Therefore, he resolved to find
a customer to whom he could sell out. Nobody around
Wellsburg cared to shoulder the risk of managing
such a place, and so Maguire advertised in the sport-
ing-papers of several large cities.
Among the many answers he received to his adver-
tisements was one coming from a man by the name
of Kratsmire, of whom Silk had heard a great deal,
although it had never been his fortune to meet the
gentleman. *
Otto Kratsmire was a blundering young Dutchman
who had bungled his way into a small fortune made
by sheer bull-luck on the race-track. He owned im-
mense stables, and played the game to its limit. But
eventually he made a mis-step, and was caught in a
crooked piece of work, for which he was barred from
*.
__ º - - –
302 “ The Idle Hours Club.
the track. With that occurrence his star began its de-
cline. In less than six months he was forced to dis-
pose of his horses, his stables, and the most of his
property. In his letter to Maguire he stated the facts
plainly, confessing that it was necessary for him to
Strike Something through which he could make a good
living outside of the race-course. - .
Maguire singled out Kratsmire as a victim, being
convinced that the fellow was a dull-headed chap who
could be worked to the limit. He wrote the most
glowing accounts of Idle Hours and the money that
could be made running the place. At the same time he
made an excellent excuse for wishing to dispose of
the property.
Then a day was set on which Kratsmire agreed to
meet Maguire in Wellsburg. Silk was at the train
with a touring-car, and spotted his game as a flashily
dressed, ruddy-cheeked, tow-headed young man stepped
off, followed closely by a colored youth who carried a
large traveling-bag. -
“Are you Mr. Kratsmire?” asked Silk, stepping for.
ward and speaking to the Teutonic-looking young
11] a ſl.
“Yah,” was the answer. “Kratsmire iss my name.
Meppe you was Mr. Maguire? Yes? No?”
“You’re right,” purred Silk, as he shook Krats-
mire's hand. “Here's my touring-car. Have the por-
ter put your bag aboard.” -
“Dotiss nod de porter,” chuckled the young Dutch-
man. “Dot iss my boy Chim. Didn't you ever hear
of Chim Vashington? Py Chorch, dot iss strangeſ
, ºr
**
; :
-a, -- The Idle Hours Club. 303
Chim rode Silfer Heels at New Orleans the day I
had my trouble. Yah.”
“Oh, yes; oh, yes,” nodded Silk, with a laugh.
“Silver Heels was the favorite, but he didn't even get
a look at the money.”
“Yah. Chim was nod to planne. He pulled Silfer
Heels peautifully. A chent I pelieved was my friendt
he gife me avay. I toldt him how to put his money,
unt he rigged a chob on me. Yah. I will not forget
him. He come to me unt say, Otto, my poy, I want
to speak by you in secret.' Then he take me to a
place were three men listen to vat ve say. He asks me
iss it a sure thing that Silfer Heels will nod vin. I
tell him I haf every dollar I can pet on Sancho to beat
Silfer Heels. Then I toldt him my boy Chim haſ or-
ders to come under de vire pehindt Sancho. Sancho
comes in third, and so Chim he hass to pull Srifer
Heels to peat the pand. That's the way it was. That's
vot fixed me. The chents vot hear me make dot state-
ment, dey swears to it, unt then I was barred. Dot
was tough luck.”
“That's right,” agreed Maguire, as he opened the
door and motioned for Kratsmire to step into the car.
The colored boy seated himself beside the driver,
and away they went. Shortly after leaving the sta-
tion they passed the Wellsburg baseball-grounds, and
saw the crowd of spectators coming forth from the
gates. Kratsmire seemed interested, for he asked
what teams were playing that afternoon. When told,
he called to a man in the crowd through which they
were making their way slowly, and asked the score
of the game. -
3o4 - The Idle Hours Club.
“Wellsburg got peat,” he said, turning to Maguire.
“I like dot game of paseball. It was not quite as good
as de horse-race, but it was some fun. Yah.”
“Oh, a professional game is all right,” agreed Silk;
“but I niver waste time watching these games be-
tween kids. Now, if Frank Merriwell himself had
appeared here as a player to-day, I'd been after taking
the trouble to see him.” -
“Who was it this Frank Merrivell ?”
“Why, haven't you iver heard of him, Kratsmire?
He's a great baseball-pitcher—or was in his day.”
“Vat team did he efer pitch on ? New York? Yes?
No P” .
“He was not a professional. He niver pitched on
any of the big teams. He did most of his pitching
for Yale College. After that he ran an amateur team
of his own for a while. Just now he has an athletic
school over at Bloomfield, where he trains wake boys
to become strong and hilthy. It was his team that
beat Wellsburg this afternoon.”
“Vot sort of a graft iss it he hass py his athletic
school P”
“Ask me!” cried Maguire. “I swear I don't under-
stand it. I don’t see how he iver keeps his old school
running. It's a dead-sure thing there's no money in
it.” 4,
“Vat? No money in it? Then vy iss it he spends
his time dot vay ?”
“He’s one of the kind of people they call a philan-
thropist. He's after spinding his time trying to make
great men out of boys. He don't seem to nade money
at all, at “all.”
*~~~
The Idle Hours Club. 305
“He peen a great deal different from Otto Krats-
mire,” laughed the young Dutchman.
Wellsburg was soon left behind, and finally they
arrived at a landing of the river where a large, com-
fortable motor-boat awaited them. Boarding the boat,
they were carried down the river past Riverside Park,
swinging at last into Beech, Cove, where Idle Hours
lay tugging gently at her cables.
“My gootness, vot a peautiful spot!” breathed Krats-
mire. “But it iss so quiet here.”
“It's quiet jist now,” agreed Maguire. “But I'll
guarantee we'll find twenty customers there whin we
arrive. It will be strange if there's not a little game
going on this afternoon. To-night you'll see things
moving wid a rush. From siven o'clock until one or
two in the morning is the time we do business here."
“How do the people get here, Mr. Maguire 2''
The proprietor of Idle Hours motioned toward a
number of small motor-boats that lay tied to a float-
ing hull of the house-boat,
“Those boats run between the city and Idle Hours
ivery evening,” he explained.
Vic Foxgrove, Maguire's manager, was on hand
to receive them. Kratsmire was given a private room,
and told to make himself comfortable, Ten minutes
later he came forth, and found Maguire waiting for
him.
“We'll look around now,” said the proprietor of
Idle Hours. “There's a rather small bunch here to-
day, but still there's something going on, jist the
same."
Indeed, half a dozen men were industriously patron-
306 The Idle Hours Club.
izing the bar. In the same room a poker-game was in
progress, and the five players seemed wonderfully
thirsty individuals. Maguire explained that he made
a specialty of fish-chowders and such things on certain
days. The dining-room could accommodate a sur-
prising number of guests. The bath-room, with its
showers, was next inspected. Then Kratsmire was
shown the remodeled gymnasium which had been
turned into an arena for prize-fighting. In the center
-Of this room was a raised platform, roped off in the
usual manner. Tiers of seats rose all around the
platform. -
“It was peautiful, peautiful" said Kratsmire, in ad-
miration. “How often do you haf something doing
here, my boy?”
“Oh, two or three times a wake in the summer.”
“Vill there pe anything to-night? Yes? No?”
“Well, we are ixpecting a little amateur go this
evening. I think ye'll be after seeing some fun, Mr.
Kratsmire.” s
They mounted to the upper deck, which was shaded
by awnings. There they seated themselves comfort-
ably, and Maguire pushed a button. In a few min-
utes a white-aproned waiter appeared.
“George,” said Maguire, “you'll take Mr. Krats-
mire's orders. What will ye have, Kratsmire? I
think I can supply you wid almost annything from beer
to champagne.”
“My poy,” said the young Dutchman, with a smile,
“did you nefer hear that Otto Kratsmire was on the
vater-wagon? That peen one of my rules, and I vill
The Idle Hours Club. 307
haſ never it broken yet. I thank you, but I do nod
drink.”
“Well, who iver heard of a Dutchman that didn't
drink?” cried Maguire. “Won't you have anything—
something?”
“Vale, I would take a glass of vichy, or plain soda,
Mr. Maguire.”
“I’ve got plain soda, but no vichy. Bring Ine a
whisky, George, wid soda on the side. Bring me some
cigars at the same time. Do you loike a mild weed,
Kratsmire?”
“Again you will me haf to excuse, Mr. Maguire. I
do not smoke.”
“Say, Krats, you ought to be a blooming million-
aire. A man who doesn't drink or smoke can Save a
barrel av money if he tries. That's been wan of my
mistakes right here. I've drank wid ivery good fe'
low that came along. I've been my own best cus-
tomer at the bar. Av course, I couldn't drink wid one
man and refuse another. If you start on the no-drink.
no-smoke rule, Krats, you'll be all right. Let it alone
yoursilf, but don't forget to blow when your turn
comes. That's me advice. Don't be mean wid your
booze or your cigars. I'm talking as if this bargain
was the same as settled betwane us.”
“Yah. I observe dot. But I haſ yet some ques-
tions to ask you. How it iss you get avay by the
police uf Vellsburg unt the officers uf Madison? You
wrote me apout dot, but I dit not quite understood
you.” -
“It’s a cinch, me boy. I have the polace fixed.
*-** -
308 i he idle Hours Club.
They have elected a new chafe lately, and he thinks
he's going to do something; but he niver made a
bigger mistake in his life. It's not a thing he can
do, for there are not foive men on his force that I,
haven't fixed wid me long green. Of course, those
cops don't dare to come here. But it's different with
the good old town fathers of Madison. I’ve had them
all here on the q. t., and I'll have old Seth Bullock,
the head of the board, here this avening. He will
come as Soon as it's dark enough for him to do so
widout being seen. He's a fine old boy, the head of
his town. He likes his whisky straight, and av there's
anything he enjoys it's a scrap, whether it's betwaen
game cocks, bulldogs, or men. Just to show you that
this graft is safe and solid, I made him promise to
show up to-night for the purpose of making a dale wid
you. You'll have to pay him fifty plunks a month
during the season. It's worth twice that, but he
doesn’t know it.”
“Unt in return for dot vat do I get?”
“Why, Bullock lets you know whinever the people
of Madison are upon their ear and insisting on a raid.
He lets you know whin the constables are coming.
As long as Wellsburg and Madison decline to act in
unison, it's a snap. Whin the Madison officers come,
you start up your engine and pull Idle Hours over to
the north shore yonder. Then you're in Wellsburg.
Whin the Wellsburg officers come, you pay out the
cable, and let the current take you over to the south
shore. Then you're in Madison. It's what I call a
clever dodge, me boy.” .
&.
The Idle Hours Club. 309
“Yah,” nodded Kratsmire. “If it will work, it was
goot.” -
“It will work; no question about that.”
The waiter returned with a tray bearing cigars,
whisky, and soda. Maguire scoided him for being so
slow, and the fellow departed humbly.
“Well, here's to our bargain, me boy," said the pro-
prietor of Idle Hours, lifting his glass of whisky.
Kratsmire sniffed suspiciously at the soda and then
clinked glasses with his host. They drank, and then
Maguire lighted a cigar. As the twilight gathered
softly over the bosom of the river they remained sit-
ting there chatting. Finally they descended to Ma-
guire's private room, where the books were opened
for Kratsmire's inspection. The young German was
shown that Idle Hours had paid its proprietor more
than ten thousand dollars profit the first season. Theu
TMaguire placed on paper the figures which represented
the sum he would take for the house-boat and the busi-
ness. Kratsmire looked doubtful and shook his head.
“Maype ve vill vait a vile,” he said, “ſ vant to see
vat iss doing hereabouts to-night. Yah. I vant to
see your customers come to patronize you here to-
night. Yah. I want to haſ dot little talk with Pul-
Hock, of Madison.”
“Then I guess, by gunn, I've got along at jist abeout
the right time,” said a voice, as a man with sandy
chin-whiskers and a red nose thrust his head into
the room.
“Just about the right time,” chuckled Maguire.
“Come in, Mr. Bullock—come in and have a drink on
! •
Iſle.
ºsmººr "
** “ºrº. -ss-- * > *- : - -
3 IO The Idle Hours Club.
Bullock entered, and was introduced to Kratsmire.
He proved to be a farmerish individual, with a shrewd
and crafty eye and a marvelous thirst for whisky.
After Bullock had lapped up three big drinks,
Kratsmire began talking business with him.
“I haf some figures gif me by Mr. Maguire,” he
said, “Not yet already haf I accepted them. I want
to haſ this matter understood between us before I
do dot. I want to make it sure that my pusiness will
not pe Stopped the moment I get my hands on it al-
ready. Mr. Pullock, vat do I haf to pay you to let
me run my pusiness witout interference?” .
Maguire winked at Bullock, who promptly an-
swered :
“Waal, I guess abeout fifty a month will fix me all
right, mister.”
“I don't vant no guesswork apout it !” cried Krats-
mire. “I want it understood. Vill you gif me your
word and your signature for dot?”
“Neow, hold on. I guess mebbe we both better
understand this business. What is it you want me
to sign?” •. -
“I vant you to sign a receipt. I will pay you for de
first month, unt you will gif me your receipt for dot
money. Yes? No?”
Behind Kratsmire's back Maguire nodded his head
violently. -
“Why, gaul-darn it, of course I'll do that,” agreed
the town father of Madison.
“Mr. Maguire, vill you sent for my boy Chim?”
requested the young German. X-
sº-º-º-º-º-º-º:
The Idle Hours Club. 3 II
- “What do you want av him, Krats?”
“I vant a vitness. Dot boy always keeps his mouth
shut tight. He can pe trusted. If I make a pargain
here vid Mr. Pullock I must haf my boy Chim as vit-
ness.” -
“I dunno 'bout that,” objected Bullock. “I don't
want to git in no mess. Some folks over in our teown
are getting after me neow. They say I must be in
cahoots with Silk here.” -
“Oh, well, if you don't vant to do dot it iss no use
to talk,” said Kratsmire, with an outflinging of his
hands.
Behind the German's back Maguire frowned at Bul-
lock and again nodded violently. There was an un-
derstanding between him and the man from Madison.
In case Idle Hours should be disposed of for a cer-
tain price Seth Bullock was to have a rake-off. As
this rake-off amounted to several times his yearly sal-
ary received from the town of Madison, Mr. Bullock
was ready for almost anything.
“Waal, go ahead,” he agreed. “I guess I can trust
you if you can trust me.”
Therefore, the colored boy was sent for and arrived
in a few minutes. He was a witness when Kratsmire
handed over fifty dollars to Bullock, stating plainly
that it was the first month's payment for protection
on the part of the respected town father of Madison.
Bullock was careful that the receipt he signed should
not be of an incriminating nature, but he did not re-
fuse to sign a receipt which acknowledged his accept-
ance of fifty dollars from Otto Kratsmire. The young
S------
312 The Idle Hours Club. T
- *** ****
German seemed very well satisfied as he pocketed the
receipt. - ... . . . . . "
“Now, Mr. Maguire,” he said, turning to the pro-
prietor of Idle Hours, “if your business is goot this
efening I pelieve maype we vill come to terms pefore
to-morrow morning. Yah.” -
* ©
CHAPTER XXXI.
IN THE TRAP.
With a shivering gasp, Sand opened his eyes and
looked around. He was lying upon the floor of a
small room, and over him stood two tough-looking
young men, one of whom held a bucket of water; a
dipperful of which had just been dashed in Ralph's
face.
“He’s all right,” said the other chap. “Now try
his pal.” ----
Sand turned his head and saw the fellow with the
water deliberately dash a dipperful in the face of
Morton, who lay near-by upon the floor. Apparently
Arthur was conscious when this occurred, for he sat
up, spluttering and gasping.
The two young thugs laughed.
“They’re both good and lively,” said the one with
the bucket. “I reckon they'll be all right in half an
hour or so.”
There came a sharp knocking upon the door of the
little room. When the door was flung open, three or
four young men crowded in. Among them were Bruno
Hunt and Dan Hooker.
“Well, well,” cried Bruno, with pretended surprise,
as he surveyed Sand and Morton. “I didn’t believe
them when they told me they had a couple of my
friends here.”
“What ºr you fellows doing here, anyhow P” in-
−-...s *—.
y
3.14. - - In the Trap.
--~~~~. ------, * -
quired Hooker, with a malicious grin. “Didn't know
you ever patronized such places as this.”
“We don't—voluntarily,” answered Ralph. “I’m
furthermore compelled to confess that as yet we don't
know what sort of a place this is.” . S.
“Why? How's that?” cried Bruno.
“Oh, you know all about it, Hunt!” exclaimed Mor-
ton angrily. “Don’t play innocent. It won't go with
us. You know we were attacked at Riverside Park
by a lot of ruffians. You know that we were brought
here against our will. If those brutes hurt either one
of the girls * }
“Now, what do you suppose the fellow is talking
about?” interrupted Bruno, turning with a gesture of
wonderment to his companions. “Does any one here
know what he's driving at P''
The entire party of youthful toughs promptly de-
clared they had not the slightest idea what Arthur
could mean.
“These two young fellers come here a while ago and
said dey were lookin' for sport,” declared one of the
crowd, who had a hideous scar on his left cheek. “IDey
tell me dey're both scrappers. Dey tell me dey're
great prize-fighters. Does anybody here know any-
thing about dat?”
“Oh, yes, they think they're great scrappers,”
sneered Bruno Hunt. “Why, I’ll wager either one
of those fellows has an idea he could do up Black
Sullivan.”
Outside the door there was a sudden roar, and a
human figure came bulging and bursting into the room,
flinging the young thugs right and left. It was the
in the Trap. 315
negro known as Black Sullivan, and his breath smelled
of whisky. - -
“Who is it says he can do me up 2" demanded the
colored pugilist. “I’m in fighting form to-night. I'm
aching for a go.”
“Why, Sully,” said Bruno Hunt, with a gesture to-
ward Morton and Sand, who had risen to their feet
and retreated to the far end of the tiny room, “those
chaps were just telling us that you were a lobster,
a bluffer, a has-been. They think they can fight. They
came here looking for trouble.”
“They will get it a-plenty" growled the colored
man, glaring at the two boys. “Why, I can trim 'em
both at the same time. There's a bunch here to-night
lookin' for fun, and those two bantams, Jack Sawyer
and Mugsy Gray, ain't showed up. Tell you wot, Bru,
old boy, me and youse will take on these two swift
guys. Wot do yer say? We'll fight 'em. We'll give
the crowd their money's worth, too. As long as these
fellows want to scrap, why we'll accommodate them.”
“We would,” said Bruno, “but they haven't the
courage to fight. They are both cowards.”
“You sneak!” panted Sand. “So you've engaged
a nigger to help you! Morton gave you your medicine
Once or twice, and now you've got this colored pugilist
to beat us up, have you? I rather think we know where
we are now. I've heard of this place called the Idle
Hours Club. What sort of a show are you going to
give us, Hunt 2 If we've got to fight, all we ask is
something like fair play.”
“That's all we ask,” nodded Morton. “Have it un-
* ,
316 In the Trap.
derstood that we're to go away free when the fight is
over, and we'll meet you and your colored chum.”
“Furthermore, we rather insist on it,” said Sand.
“All we ask is a chance at you first.”
“Perhaps you have an idea that I'm a fool!” sneered
Bruno Hunt. “You'll get all the fight you want. Sul-
livan and I will take you both on at the same time. It
will be a four-cornered scrap. There's a bunch here
looking for just such a go. You've got twenty min-
utes in which to get ready."
The thugs retired from the room, closing and bolt-
ing the door behind them.
Sand and Morton tried to look out of the small
square window, but it was too dark for them to dis-
cern anything save the shadows of the distant trees
against the sky.
“We're in for it, .\rthur,” said Ralph. “There's
only one thing we can do. They have brought us
here to beat us up. Bruno Hunt thinks that coon,
Black Sullivan, can pound us to death. Let's go into
this scrap to trim them both, if we have to fight.”
CHAPTER XXXII.
T H E G R E A T F I G H T.
-- essee" -
Silk, Maguire and Kratsmire made a successful
deal. Maguire, though somewhat dazed by the undue
amount of liquor which he had imbibed, realized that
he had made a good deal for himself. At the same
time he got permission to turn over the arena to the
fight between the boys. --
The arena was crowded as Brick McGann climbed
over the ropes and announced himself referee for the
fight which was to be fought straight through in one
round with four people going at it at one time.
Then the fighters appeared. Of course Bruno and
Sullivan were received with loud applause, but when
Morton and Sand appeared, only Kratsmire raised
any objection over the obvious handicap under which
they would fight. Their young gleaming bodies
seemed no match for the heavy-muscled brawn of
the other two. - -
‘But the bell soon clanged, and the fight was on.
Sullivan and Sand, and Bruno and Morton, all
went into it with a vim. That was a fight which they
were all to remember. Sullivan, dazed still from his
potations of the day, was startled by the fury of
the young man who sent him again and again to
the ropes. His great fists flailed out angrily, but
the lad was too quick.
... *.***
* -: * * * * *
3.18 The Great Fight. • *"
Bruno had studied boxing for the purpose of beat-
ing Morton when he had the chance, but he dis-
covered also that his opponent was far more danger-
ous than he had thought. The spectators who had
expected to See a rather boring game with the two
young men Soon beaten were agreeably surprised to
be entertained with such a fine fight. -
Then treachery entered the ring. When the two
fighters saw that they were being beaten, they be-
gan to help each other. Sullivan would deliver great
blows whenever Morton got near enough; Bruno suc-
ceeded in tripping Sand, and Sullivan delivered a
kick to the side of his head while he was down.
Morton, indignant at this treatment, and free for
a moment of Bruno, bent over his comrade. Bruno
saw his chance, and in a moment had hit Morton a
foul blow behind the ear, that sent him sprawling
to the ropes. g --- -
At this Kratsmire rebelled. He had been boiling
over at the foul play, but now he leaped upon the
platform, swearing that he would finish the negro
himself. The spectators expected him to be knocked
out at once, but to their surprise the Dutchman
avoided the big hammer blow aimed at him and sent
in a snappy blow that sent the negro down like a
rock. And Bruno then received a lightning blow,
to O. - -
Suddenly some one in the astonished crowd yelled:
“That ain’t no Dutchman l’’ .
/ It was true. Kratsmire's wig had fallen off in
his exertions, and Frank Merriwell stood revealed.
The Great Fight. 319
Instantly there was a stampede. And when the
Farnham lads came to take possession of Idle Hours
they found it empty.
Farnham Hall led in the Interscholastic Meet, the
final score showing that she was ninteen points ahead
of her nearest rival, Wellsburg. Much of her suc-
cess was due to the work of Ralph Sand; but even
Sand acknowledged that Morton's triumph in the
mile run had turned the tide of victory in Farm-
ham's direction.
T H E E N ID,
No. 166 of the MERRIWELL SERIES is entitled
“Dick Merriwell's Example,” by Burt L. Standish.
RATTLING GOOD ADVENTURE
sport stories
Stories of the Big Outdoors
There has been a big demand for outdoor stories, and a very
considerable portion of it has been for the Maxwell Stevens stories
about Jack Lightfoot, the athlete. -
These stories are not, strictly speaking, stories for boys, but boys
everywhere will find a great deal in them to interest them.
All TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT
1–Jack Lightfoot, the Athlete. . . . . . . . . . . . By Maxwell Stevens
2—Jack Lightfoot's Crack Nine. . . . . . . . . . . . By Maxwell Stevens
3–Jack Lightfoot Trapped . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . By Maxwell Stevens
, 4–Jack Lightfoot's Rival . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . By Maxwell Stevens
5–Jack Lightfoot in Camp. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . By Maxwell Stevens
6–Jack Lightfoot's Canoe Trip . . . . . . . . . . By Maxwell Stevens
7—Jack Lightfoot's Iron Arm . . . . . . . . . . . . By Maxwell Stevens
8–Jack Lightfoot's Hoodoo . . . . . . . . . . . . . . By Maxwell Stevens
9—Jack Lightfoot's Decision . . . . . . . . . . . . . By Maxwell Stevens
10–Jack Lightfoot's Gun Club . . . . . . . . . . . . By Maxwell Stevens
11—Jack Lightfoot's Blind . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . By Maxwell Stevens
12–Jack Lightfoot's Capture . . . . . . . . . . . . . . By Maxwell Stevens
13—Jack Lightfoot's Head Work . . . . . . . . . By Maxwell Stevens
14–Jack Lightfoot's Wisdom . . . . . . . . . . . . . . By Maxwell Stevens

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