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                          BOOKS FOR YOUNG MEN

                            MERRIWELL SERIES

                  Stories of Frank and Dick Merriwell

                         =PRICE, FIFTEEN CENTS=

                  _=Fascinating Stories of Athletics=_

A half million enthusiastic followers of the Merriwell 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 thrills in all branches of sports and
athletics. They are extremely high in moral tone, and cannot fail to be
of immense benefit to every boy who reads them.

They have the splendid quality of firing a boy’s ambition to become a
good athlete, in order that he may develop into a strong, vigorous
right-thinking man.

                      _ALL TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT_

     1—Frank Merriwell’s School Days             By Burt L. Standish
     2—Frank Merriwell’s Chums                   By Burt L. Standish
     3—Frank Merriwell’s Foes                    By Burt L. Standish
     4—Frank Merriwell’s Trip West               By Burt L. Standish
     5—Frank Merriwell Down South                By Burt L. Standish
     6—Frank Merriwell’s Bravery                 By Burt L. Standish
     7—Frank Merriwell’s Hunting Tour            By Burt L. Standish
     8—Frank Merriwell in Europe                 By Burt L. Standish
     9—Frank Merriwell at Yale                   By Burt L. Standish
    10—Frank Merriwell’s Sports Afield           By Burt L. Standish
    11—Frank Merriwell’s Races                   By Burt L. Standish
    12—Frank Merriwell’s Party                   By Burt L. Standish
    13—Frank Merriwell’s Bicycle Tour            By Burt L. Standish
    14—Frank Merriwell’s Courage                 By Burt L. Standish
    15—Frank Merriwell’s Daring                  By Burt L. Standish
    16—Frank Merriwell’s Alarm                   By Burt L. Standish
    17—Frank Merriwell’s Athletes                By Burt L. Standish
    18—Frank Merriwell’s Skill                   By Burt L. Standish
    19—Frank Merriwell’s Champions               By Burt L. Standish
    20—Frank Merriwell’s Return to Yale          By Burt L. Standish
    21—Frank Merriwell’s Secret                  By Burt L. Standish
    22—Frank Merriwell’s Danger                  By Burt L. Standish
    23—Frank Merriwell’s Loyalty                 By Burt L. Standish
    24—Frank Merriwell in Camp                   By Burt L. Standish
    25—Frank Merriwell’s Vacation                By Burt L. Standish
    26—Frank Merriwell’s Cruise                  By Burt L. Standish
    27—Frank Merriwell’s Chase                   By Burt L. Standish
    28—Frank Merriwell in Maine                  By Burt L. Standish
    29—Frank Merriwell’s Struggle                By Burt L. Standish
    30—Frank Merriwell’s First Job               By Burt L. Standish
    31—Frank Merriwell’s Opportunity             By Burt L. Standish
    32—Frank Merriwell’s Hard Luck               By Burt L. Standish
    33—Frank Merriwell’s Protégé                 By Burt L. Standish
    34—Frank Merriwell on the Road               By Burt L. Standish
    35—Frank Merriwell’s Own Company             By Burt L. Standish
    36—Frank Merriwell’s Fame                    By Burt L. Standish
    37—Frank Merriwell’s College Chums           By Burt L. Standish
    38—Frank Merriwell’s Problem                 By Burt L. Standish
    39—Frank Merriwell’s Fortune                 By Burt L. Standish
    40—Frank Merriwell’s New Comedian            By Burt L. Standish
    41—Frank Merriwell’s Prosperity              By Burt L. Standish
    42—Frank Merriwell’s Stage Hit               By Burt L. Standish
    43—Frank Merriwell’s Great Scheme            By Burt L. Standish
    44—Frank Merriwell in England                By Burt L. Standish
    45—Frank Merriwell on the Boulevards         By Burt L. Standish
    46—Frank Merriwell’s Duel                    By Burt L. Standish
    47—Frank Merriwell’s Double Shot             By Burt L. Standish
    48—Frank Merriwell’s Baseball Victories      By Burt L. Standish
    49—Frank Merriwell’s Confidence              By Burt L. Standish




                       Dick Merriwell’s Assurance

                                  OR,

                       IN HIS BROTHER’S FOOTSTEPS

                                   BY
                            BURT L. STANDISH

                Author of the famous MERRIWELL STORIES.

[Illustration]

                       STREET & SMITH CORPORATION
                               PUBLISHERS
                     79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York

                            Copyright, 1904
                           By STREET & SMITH

                                -------

                       Dick Merriwell’s Assurance

               (Printed in the United States of America)

    All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign
                 languages, including the Scandinavian.

                      DICK MERRIWELL’S ASSURANCE.

                                  ---

                               CHAPTER I.
                       ARLINGTON GETS THE CHANCE.


When the Fardale Military Academy arranged to play a baseball game with
the Great Northern A. A. it was generally believed that the cadets would
be “snowed under.” The Great Northern was a semi-professional
organization, and it had been necessary to give the team a large
guarantee in order to bring it to Fardale.

Captain Merriwell, of the Fardales, had taken no part in the
arrangements for this game. He had advised neither for nor against it.

The success of the Fardale team had been such that the athletic
committee of the school, on receiving the proposition from the Great
Northern, had decided to make the game, even though it was known that
the schoolboys would be pitted against semi-professionals who were much
older and many of whom made a regular business of baseball. It was
generally believed among the cadets that their team had risen superior
to the school nines with which they were scheduled to play.

This being the case, there was a great rejoicing at the academy when it
was known that the Great Northern A. A. would appear there. There were a
few who predicted overwhelming defeat for Fardale. These, however, were
greatly in the minority; the main body of cadets were confident of
victory.

When Captain Merriwell’s opinion was sought in advance, he simply
declared that Fardale was going to capture the game if possible. On
being asked if he did not consider it almost a sure thing, he replied
that no baseball game could be a sure thing unless one team greatly
outclassed the other, for that element called “luck” often decided the
result of a contest on the diamond.

Brad Buckhart, Merriwell’s chum and roommate, was the only one who knew
Dick was in no condition to pitch his best. Dick’s side had been injured
by an assault upon him in a billiard room, when he had been thrown
against a table. It had not recovered, and if he went into the box with
the idea of pitching nine innings when the Great Northern appeared, it
was quite likely he would retard his recovery to such an extent that he
might remain out of condition for the rest of the spring season. It was
Brad who urged Dick to let some one else pitch against the athletic
organization. The Texan chose the opportunity to do this privately in
their room.

“If you get knocked out for fair and can’t pitch any more this season, I
certain see where we land in the ditch,” said Brad; “this yere game
don’t amount to such a lot, pard; what if we do lose it? It won’t hurt
our standing any at all in the school series, and it certain will be the
natural thing any man with a good nut on him will expect. What if you
did go in against these Great Northern chaps and win, but knocked
yourself out so you had to stay on the bench and see Fairport,
Rivermouth, Hudsonville, Springvale, and the rest of them eat us up?
Wouldn’t that be fine! Wouldn’t that make you tired! You didn’t have
anything to do with arranging for this game, and so there’s no
responsibility on your shoulders.”

Dick shook his head.

“I have little to do with arranging any of the games,” he said; “but I
feel just as much responsible, Buckhart. Every one knows this is going
to be a tough old struggle. If I put some one else in to pitch they will
have the impression that I was afraid to go against the Great Northern.”

“What do you care! You’re a whole lot independent, and I certain never
knew you to mind what any one thought, as long as you believed you were
right.”

“It’s not that, Brad. I can’t afford to lose the confidence of the team.
As long as the fellows behind me believe in me implicitly, they play
better baseball. Let them lose confidence in me, in even a small degree,
and it will affect their playing.”

“Then it’s up to you to let them know your condition. It’s up to you to
keep it secret no longer that your side is hurt. Pard, you’re a plenty
queer. Why, some pitchers squeal and say they have lame arms, or
something, every time there is a tough game in sight. But you never want
to let any one know you are in bad shape, no matter what the
circumstances may be. Tell you what, partner, if you don’t explain about
your side so it will be understood, I sure am going to do it myself.”

“You will do nothing of the sort, Buckhart; when I get ready to tell,
I’ll tell. If you stop to think a moment you will see the bad effect of
putting another man into the box. It will look as if I felt shaky about
going against these fellows, and put some one else in to take chances
and suffer blame and defeat if we are beaten.”

“Oh, rot! Any one who knows you well knows you better than that. And
there is Chet Arlington. He is just seething to pitch a game.”

Dick smiled.

“You can see yourself how it would seem if I should ask Arlington to
pitch this game. He wanted to pitch against Hilsboro, and was not given
the chance. He felt that he might win that game. If I should put him in
now, and Fardale lost the game, which it is quite possible she may,
there would be many who would fancy I had not given him a fair show. He
might think so himself. You can see that, old man.”

“Well, I suppose that’s so,” admitted the Texan. “Never thought of it
that way. No, pard, you can’t ask him to pitch; but, all the same, you
can’t pitch yourself. What are you going to do?”

“It’s a problem I can’t answer now,” said Dick.

Arlington was the one who settled the problem. That very day he stopped
Merriwell on the parade ground, drew him aside, and said:

“See here, Captain Merriwell, I am going to ask you just one more favor.
If you don’t grant it, this will be the last time I’ll ever ask anything
of you.”

“What is it?” demanded Dick.

“I want to pitch Saturday.”

“Do you?”

“Sure thing. May I?”

“Do you realize what you are asking?”

“You bet I do!” warmly retorted Chet. “You turned me down the last time
I asked such a favor, and I thought I’d never ask another.”

“I didn’t turn you down. I thought seriously of using you against
Hilsboro, but you went round telling that I had promised to put you into
that game when I had done nothing of the sort. You knew I had done
nothing of the sort, but you tried to force me into it by circulating
the report that I had. This is true, Arlington, and you cannot deny it.”

“Well, maybe that’s right,” confessed Chester. “I did wrong about that,
Merriwell. I am willing to acknowledge it to any one.”

Instantly Dick’s face cleared.

“Now that you have acknowledged it to me you don’t have to say anything
more about it,” he nodded. “We’ll let it drop. But I want you to think
this matter over before you plunge. You know the kind of a team we have
to meet Saturday. Those fellows are professionals. Our chance of beating
them is a small one. I don’t want you to go around telling that I said
this, but you should understand the facts. If you pitch that game you
may lose it. If I put you in, there will be many ready to say I did it
because I didn’t dare pitch myself.”

“Any one who says such a thing is a chump!” exclaimed Chester. “You
don’t have to pay any attention to such talk.”

“But you know it will be said.”

“Put me in and I will tell everybody the truth-that I begged you to do
so. Why should you pitch this game, anyhow? It’s not a school game, and
it will be no disgrace to lose it. If I pitch, I am going to do my
utmost to win. You know what it will mean to me if I do win. It will put
me on my feet here. It will give me a reputation. The actual fact is
that by letting me pitch you will be doing a great favor to one who has
done you no favors.”

“Is that the way you look at it, Arlington? Tell me the truth. Is that
the way you look at it?”

“I swear that’s the way I look at it.”

“Then say nothing and get into the best condition possible for that
game.”

Chester’s face brightened.

“Now, that’s great stuff, Captain Merriwell!” he said. “I won’t forget
this of you, and you see if I don’t work like a dog to take that game!”

“I hope you take it,” said Dick.




                              CHAPTER II.
                      FARDALE’S BRILLIANT OPENING.


The game of the Great Northern being well advertised and the day fair
and bright, a large crowd turned out. The Great Northern boys seemed to
think the whole thing something of a lark. They looked on the cadets
with amusement, fancying they could win the game with ease.

At the usual hour the game was called, with the visitors at bat. When
Chester Arlington went into the box for Fardale and Dick Merriwell was
seen sitting on the bench, there came from the cadets a murmur of
surprise and disappointment.

“Well, what do you think of that?” exclaimed Hector Marsh, who was
seated with his usual companions, Walker, Preston, and Shaw. “Arlington
is going to pitch this game.”

“This is clever of Merriwell,” said Preston. “He is sending a lamb to
the slaughter. He knows which side his bread is buttered on. We can’t
beat those fellows.”

“Well, I will say one thing,” observed Walker. “This is the first time I
have ever known Merriwell to decline to face the music.”

“It shows just how big a chump Arlington is,” growled Marsh. “Why, poor
fellow! he oughter know better!”

“I was counting on seeing the mighty Merriwell knocked out of the box
to-day,” said Preston. “This is a great disappointment to me.”

“It’s ten to one Arlington won’t last three innings,” nodded Walker.
“Perhaps Merriwell will go in after that, and we will have the pleasure
of seeing both of them get their bumps.”

Chester had been taking good care of himself for several days and was
feeling in fine fettle. He was full of confidence, as usual, and
believed he would be able to astonish every one by his work that day.

“Well! well! well!” roared one of the Great Northern players from the
bench, as their first batter stepped out. “See him pound the leather!
Watch him drive it a mile!”

Up popped Ted Smart, who cried:

“Please don’t drive it a mile, sir! Please don’t drive it more than half
a mile! I know you will hit it very, very hard, but I hope you won’t
spoil the ball!”

Arlington was ready to pitch, and now the players behind him opened up.

“Put it right over, old boy,” said Earl Gardner.

“Trim his whiskers!” chattered Chip Jolliby.

“Let ’im see ’ow ’ard ’e can ’it hit,” advised Billy Bradley, the
English boy.

“Dern my picter! I am right here behind ye!” piped Obediah Tubbs.

“Put it into the pocket!” growled Buckhart, holding up his big mitt.
“Put it right there, old man!”

Having toed the slab, Arlington whistled in the first ball, which was a
sharp inshoot.

The batter struck, and the ball plunked into the Texan’s glove.

“Oh, dear me!” came from Ted Smart. “Didn’t he hit it hard!”

The entire Fardale team was chattering away now in a lively fashion,
every player on his toes and ready to do his duty.

Having led the batter to swing at the first one, Chester sought to
“pull” him with an outcurve.

Ligner was wary, however and refused to go after it.

“Get ’em over! Get ’em over, young feller!” he growled. “Can’t you find
the plate?”

Chester tried a high one, and again Ligner missed it.

“Wasn’t that an awful hit!” came from Smart. “I didn’t expect him to hit
it so far!”

Arlington was doing his best at the very outset. He could not lead
Ligner into reaching for wide ones. As a result, he was compelled to put
the ball over.

Then the batter did hit it. He drove it like a shot straight at Gardner,
who never flinched. The ball struck in Earl’s hands, but dropped to the
ground. Quick as thought Gardner picked it up and sent it across to
first, and the first batter was out.

Ligner paused near the base and stood with his hands on his hips,
staring at Gardner.

“Burned your mitts a little, kid, didn’t it?” he cried. “Next time I
will take your paws off. You will learn better than to stand in front of
those after a while.”

At this the cadets set up a derisive shout.

“That fellow is foolish, Mr. Man!” cried Smart, as soon as he could be
heard. “He never will seem to dodge ’em!”

“That’s the first one, Arlington,” said Gardner. “They’re half gone—half
gone!”

“You must be good at arithmetic!” derisively called one of the visitors
from the bench.

“Beautiful work, Gardner!” said Arlington, in satisfaction. “A fellow
can pitch with that kind of support!”

The second hitter was a stocky young Irish lad by the name of O’Rouke.

“He’s easy,” asserted Ligner. “All you have to do is wait, and he will
put a pretty one right over.”

Chester surveyed O’Rouke critically, his toe on the pitching plate. His
pose was one of grace, and he knew it. He knew also that in the grand
stand were several girls who were watching him anxiously. He had seen
his sister, accompanied by Doris Templeton and Zona Desmond, enter the
grand stand, and occasionally his eyes sought them.

“June,” said Zona, “I think your brother is just splendid! I think he is
the handsomest fellow in the whole school!”

June smiled.

“I am glad you think so,” she said.

“I know lots of girls who think so,” declared Zona, flashing Doris a
glance.

“I hope he wins this game to-day,” murmured June. “It will mean so much
to him. It will give him courage and confidence.”

“Of course he will,” nodded Zona.

“Oh, it isn’t sure. It is going to be a hard game. Every one says Dick
Merriwell acknowledged it would be a hard game.”

“Why didn’t he pitch?”

“Yes, why didn’t he?” broke from Doris.

“I don’t know,” June confessed. “It does seem strange he should use
Chester in such a game.”

“Perhaps he was afraid,” suggested Zona.

“Oh, I don’t believe that!” June exclaimed immediately.

“Nor I,” said Doris.

“Still you can’t tell,” persisted Zona. “Of course, he would hate to
lose a game. It would hurt his record.”

“I don’t believe he would put any one else in to pitch for that reason,”
declared Chester’s sister. “It’s not like him.”

“You think it isn’t like him,” smiled Zona, in a knowing manner. “But I
believe you’re mistaken.”

“Why are you always against Dick, Zona?” demanded Doris, with a touch of
resentment.

“Oh, I’m not! You’re quite mistaken if you think I am. Only I don’t
believe he is such a very superior boy, anyway. Even Chester says his
success is mainly good luck.”

“Like other fellows,” observed June, “Chester says many things he
doesn’t mean.”

At this point O’Rouke hit the ball and drove out a liner, which Obediah
Tubbs failed to reach, although he jumped for it.

The batter was a swift runner, and he started instantly when the bat hit
the ball. Getting such a good start, he crossed first and dashed for
second.

Both Jolliby and Flint raced after the ball, but Jolliby’s legs carried
him to it first. He caught it up and wheeled, seeing that O’Rouke was
trying to stretch the hit into a two-bagger.

In the matter of throwing the lanky centre-fielder of the home team was
a wonder. He now sent the ball on a dead line into the hands of Obediah
Tubbs, who received it and jumped into the air as O’Rouke slid, spikes
first, for the bag. The runner made the slide in that manner in order to
drive Tubbs away; but the leap of the fat boy in the air permitted him
to escape being spiked, and he came down with all his weight fairly on
the sliding player.

Obediah’s bulk stopped O’Rouke as if the fellow had struck a stone wall.
His foot was six inches from the bag, and Tubbs had fallen on him.

“Judgment!” cried the fat boy shrilly. “Dern my picter! He came near
opening a seam in me that time! But, by Jim! I bet he won’t try to put
his calks into me again!”

In truth the breath had been knocked out of O’Rouke, and he lay still
for four or five seconds after Obed got up.

“The man is out!” was the umpire’s decision.

“What a shame!” yelled Ted Smart.

Arlington walked down toward second, receiving the ball from Tubbs as
the latter tossed it to him.

“You nailed him fast, Obed, my boy,” he said.

“You bet I did, by jinks!” grinned Tubbs.

“Why didn’t they get an elephant to play second base!” snarled O’Rouke,
as he brushed the dust from his suit and walked off the diamond.

“Struck a snag, didn’t you, Mike?” asked Tom Grace, the captain of the
Great Northern, as O’Rouke returned to the bench.

“That’s what I did,” nodded the fellow. “I thought I’d fix him with my
spikes that trip, but he just jumped into the air and came down on me
like a brick block. I thought he had broken every rib in my body. You
fellows want to look out for him when you slide to second.”

Hardy, the next batter, sent a nasty little bounder down to Bradley, who
fumbled it long enough for the batter to safely reach first.

“Now we’re going, boys,” laughed Grace, as he stepped out to hit. “We
might as well clinch the game right here in this inning.”

“Of course you will do it!” cried Ted Smart. “We know you will! We’ll
take delight in seeing you clinch the game!”

Chester held Hardy close to first, but the fellow was a good base
runner, and he started to steal on the second ball pitched.

Grace gave his bat a wild flourish in front of Buckhart, but the Texan
was undisturbed by this, and he proceeded to snap the ball on a line to
Tubbs, who caught it in time to be waiting for Hardy as the latter made
a desperate lunge for the bag.

“Tag, you’re it!” piped the fat boy, as he “nailed” the ball onto the
runner.

Three men were out, and the Great Northern had not scored in the first
inning. Although they were surprised by the result, the players trotted
onto the field, laughing and joking. There were three pitchers with the
team, and they had decided to use their weakest man in the box, for they
were sure he would be good enough to hold the cadets down.

The next surprise came when Gardner bunted the second ball pitched and
scudded down to first with such speed that he reached the bag safely.

“Dear me, isn’t that too bad!” cried Ted Smart, as the Fardale cheer
died away.

“That’s the tut-tut-tut-time you fuf-fuf-fuf-fooled him!” laughed Chip
Jolliby, prancing about on the coach line back of first base.

Barron Black, the second hitter, finally picked out a good one and
sacrificed himself in driving Gardner down to second.

With one man out, Dave Flint came up. Flint was beyond question one of
the finest batters on the Fardale team. He seldom lifted a ball into the
air, and his line drives were generally safety placed. On this occasion
he selected an outcurve that was on the outer corner and lined it into
right field.

With a good lead off second, Gardner literally flew over third and came
home on the throw to the plate. This throw enabled Flint to reach
second.

“That doesn’t amount to anything,” declared the captain of the visitors.
“We can give you a dozen runs and then beat you out.”

“’Ow remarkable!” drawled Billy Bradley. “’Ow hextremely confident you
hare!”

Dick was directing the game by signals from the bench, having a bat in
his hands, which he held in various ways understood by all the players.
At the same time he was talking to Arlington.

“You’re getting the support,” he said. “If they back you up that way you
will make those fellows hustle to win this game. They are overconfident
now and think they can take it anyhow. The time for us to get a start is
right away.”

“But they are hitters!” retorted Chester. “By George! I did my best to
fool those fellows and they got at the ball!”

Dick nodded.

“They know how to hit, all right,” he admitted. “It depends a great deal
on your success in keeping them from hitting safely at critical times. I
want you to win this game, Arlington, and I sincerely hope you do.”

Billy Bradley was the batter, but his hit to right bounded straight into
the fielder’s hands, and he was thrown out at first. At the same time
Flint was held on third by the catcher.

Chip Jolliby now strode out, and Factor, the pitcher, paused to laugh at
him.

“Where did this chalk mark come from?” chuckled Factor. “Bet you have to
stand twice in a place to cast a shadow.”

“You’re awful fuf-fuf-fuf-funny!” chattered Chip. “Just you
pup-pup-pup-pitch the ball, and perhaps you won’t fuf-fuf-fuf-feel so
fuf-fuf-fuf-funny!”

“Try this,” invited Factor, as he sent in a high one.

Jolliby caught it on the end of the bat and drove it over the infield,
bringing Flint home.

Then came big Bob Singleton. The cadets were wildly excited, for they
believed Bob would improve this opportunity to slug the ball. Singleton
went after it hard, but Factor was on his mettle, and big Bob finally
fanned, which retired Fardale with two runs in the first.

“What are you doing, Factor?” muttered Grace, as he walked in with the
pitcher. “They hit you that trip.”

“Oh, what’s the use!” returned Factor. “We can take this game any time
we want it. I am not going to pitch my arm off for a lot of kids like
these.”

“Better not fool with them too much. We can’t afford to let them beat
us.”

“They can’t win this game in a thousand years!” was the retort.

Although the Great Northern went after runs in the second inning and
succeeded in getting a man on third and another on second, with only one
man out, a beautiful play extinguished their hopes and shut them off
with startling suddenness. At this the cadets rose in a body and gave
the Fardale cheer.

“That was squeezing out of a tight corner,” confessed Arlington, as he
reached the bench. “They had me guessing then.”

“Get at it, boys, and make some more runs!” urged Dick.

Obediah Tubbs was distinctly seen to shut his eyes and dodge awkwardly
as the first ball was pitched. It struck him glancingly, and the umpire
sent him to first.

“The next time I will take a wing off you, Fatty!” declared Factor. “You
want to look out for that!”

“Dern your picter! You will have to put more speed into it than that!”
retorted Obed, having reached the bag. “I’d never knowed I was hit if
the empire hadn’t told me to take my base.”

Buckhart seemed eager to hit, and Factor now tried to coax him into
going after bad ones. The result was that Brad finally worked out a pass
to first, and two runners were on the bags when Arlington stepped out to
the plate.

There was a hush.

“Now watch him!” growled Hector Marsh, nudging Fred Preston. “He thinks
he will do something great! Bet he strikes out.”

“I will bet he doesn’t get a safe hit,” said Preston.

“Look at the pose he assumes!” sneered Walker. “Wouldn’t that freeze
your feet!”

After a wide out, Chester let a good one pass, and a strike was called
on him. Factor tried to deceive him with a drop, but Chester was wary
and stopped the swing of his bat so quickly that the umpire declared it
a ball.

“Oh, hit it! hit it!” exclaimed the pitcher. “What are you making
motions like that for?”

Arlington did not reply. With the next ball pitched, however, he swung
and met it full and fair. At first it seemed certain the ball would go
over the fence, and a roar of delight rose from the cadets. It struck
against the top of the fence, however, and bounded back. Although it did
not go over, this hit was sufficient to let both Tubbs and Buckhart
score.

Immediately the cadets began to sing “Fardale’s Way.”

Factor now keyed himself up and pitched at his best. Gardner drove out a
short fly that was captured, while Black followed with a longer one that
was taken by an outfielder, on which Arlington reached third. Flint now
came up once more and was given an ovation. This time he drove a hot one
along the ground, and Grace barely touched it as it went bounding past.
On this Arlington scored.

The Fardale boys were wild with delight. They shouted until they were
hoarse.

Bradley did his best to follow the good example that had been set for
him, but at last Factor woke up and struck the latter out, which retired
the home team; but not, however, until three tallies had been added to
their score, which left them, at the close of the second inning, five in
the lead.




                              CHAPTER III.
                    GREAT NORTHERN FINDS ARLINGTON.


By this time the cadets were jubilant, and Chester Arlington was greatly
puffed up over his success. The Fardale boys had anticipated nothing
like this, and they were beginning to believe their team would take the
game with ease.

“This is Arlington’s day,” declared Clint Shaw. “He struck it right this
time.”

“He’s pitching a great game,” muttered Tom Walker.

“Rats!” growled Marsh. “Pitching nothing! It’s the support he’s had.
Those chaps have hit him right along, but good luck has prevented them
from piling up runs.”

“There has been lots of luck to it,” nodded Preston.

“I should say so!” snarled Marsh; “but you fellows wait—wait and see! If
they keep on hitting the ball that way, they will put him to the stable
before the game is over.”

Again Arlington’s support enabled him to hold the enemy down and keep
them from scoring.

Chester was in high spirits as he came in to the bench and sat down
beside Merriwell.

“I thought I could hold them down to-day,” he laughed.

“You’re doing well,” declared Dick. “Keep the good work up.”

At the first opportunity Buckhart slid up to Dick’s side and muttered:

“You want to watch him close, partner. See how those fellows found the
ball. Don’t sit still and let them pound out a victory when they get
started. If we can hold them down now we have got the game. Arlington
will take all the credit if we win.”

“He deserves some credit,” declared Dick.

“But you can see the kind of support he is getting. Why, Gardner could
pitch a winning game with that support!”

Although June Arlington was well pleased by what was happening, she knew
enough about baseball to understand that great credit was due her
brother’s backers for the success he was having.

Zona Desmond, however, did not look at it in this light.

“I knew what he could do if he had the chance,” laughed Zona. “He hasn’t
been given a fair show before this. Now, just look what is happening,
and he is pitching against the hardest team Fardale will have to face
this season. Aren’t you delighted, June?”

“Of course I am,” nodded June.

“But I think it was funny of Dick to put him into such a hard game,”
declared Zona. “If Dick is the greatest pitcher in this school, why
doesn’t he pitch the hard games and let the other fellows pitch the
easier ones?”

“Perhaps he has a good reason for not pitching to-day.”

The yellow-haired girl gave her head a toss.

“Very likely he didn’t care about taking chances himself. He was
afraid.”

“You know better, Zona!” burst from Doris. “You know Dick is not afraid
of anything!”

“Oh, that’s what you think! Other people may think differently.”

“I am sure Doris is right,” said June quietly. “I know Dick is afraid of
nothing.”

“Well, it is a fine thing for a fellow when every girl he knows seems to
fancy him such a wonder!” retorted Zona, with an unpleasant laugh.

The third inning proved to be a whitewash, Fardale not even succeeding
in getting a player down to first.

In the fourth inning the Great Northern got a man to third base with
only one out. But Chester’s success made him confident of shutting off
the score. His confidence vanished, however, when the next player lined
the ball out for two bags and the enemy secured a run.

Buckhart glanced toward Captain Merriwell and shook his head.
Nevertheless, Dick did not seem at all disturbed, although Tom Grace was
roaring with laughter on the coaching line and declaring that the
slaughter had begun.

“Accidents will happen, old man,” said Gardner, as he returned the ball
to Chet. “Don’t mind that.”

“But you should have stopped it!” declared Arlington.

“Why, I couldn’t touch it!”

“You didn’t try!”

Earl’s face flushed.

“Oh, he has had his lesson!” averred Grace. “He knows how those liners
feel! Bet his hands are burning yet!”

“If you’re afraid,” said Chet, “you had better let some one else play
that position.”

This injustice touched Gardner keenly, but he made no retort.

The following batter lifted a long one into the field, and the runner on
second believed he saw his opportunity to score.

By a splendid run Black succeeded in pulling the fly down, upon which he
immediately threw to Gardner, who wheeled and snapped the ball to Tubbs
for a double play.

This splendid work delighted the cadets and relieved Arlington. As he
came in to the bench, however, Chester was growling at Gardner.

“If you had stopped the liner,” he said, “they could not have scored!
You didn’t go after it until it was past you!”

Earl was beginning to get sore over this, and he gave Chet a resentful
look as he warmly retorted:

“If you’re not satisfied with my playing I will get out of the game!”

“That will do, both of you!” said Dick sharply. “No one was to blame for
that run. And no man in Gardner’s place could have touched the ball.”

At this Chester suddenly shut up, although he continued to feel angered
because the run had been made.

“We still have a good lead,” said Dick. “Get into it, fellows, and hold
them down! Perhaps you can add a few tallies right here!”

The cadets had not lost their confidence, and by a combination of good
work and good luck they also landed a man on third with only one out.

By this time Factor was nervous. He had not anticipated this sort of a
game, and he realized that his reputation with his own team depended on
his success in the present contest. Fully aware that he was regarded as
the weakest pitcher the Great Northern had, and that he had been used
against the schoolboys because Grace did not wish to wear out a better
man, he saw before him the prospect of release in case Fardale should
win.

The cheering and singing of the cadets seemed once more to put vigor and
determination into the players, and they went after Factor hotly. The
next batter happened to be Singleton, and big Bob got in one of his
wonderful long drives to the fence, on which he took three bags and sent
a man ahead of him home.

Factor’s nervousness increased.

“What’s the matter with you, Bill?” growled Tom Grace. “Are you going to
let those kids blanket you? You claim to be a pitcher!”

Factor set his teeth, determined to end it right there.

Once more Obediah Tubbs managed to get hit by the ball, and this added
to the unsteadiness of the visiting pitcher. Then came Buckhart, who
smashed the leather a fierce one, scoring Singleton and landing Tubbs on
third, while he himself took second.

Arlington walked out, smiling and confident, resolved to clinch his own
game then and there. As a result of his overconfidence Factor was able
to make him swing ineffectively twice and might have struck him out had
he not lost control and hit Chet with the ball.

This filled the bases.

Grace called for “time” and walked into the diamond.

“See here, Bill Factor,” he said under his breath, “if you’re off your
trolley you had better go to the bench. I will put Peterson in.”

“Don’t,” begged Factor. “I’m all right! I can win this game!”

“Play ball! Play ball!” roared the cadets.

“Dear me!” shouted Ted Smart, waving his arms in the air. “It can’t be
you’re frightened! Why, of course you’re not frightened! We know you
will win! You can’t help winning! It’s just as easy as can be. You’re
only playing a lot of kids, you know.”

“Poor old Factor! Poor old Factor!” sang a lot of the cadets in unison.

“I will give you one more show,” growled Grace. “It’s your last chance!”

This knowledge did not add to Factor’s steadiness, and, after having one
strike and two balls called, Gardner tucked in a beautiful little single
that scored two men.

Immediately Grace ordered Factor out of the box and replaced him with
Peterson, who was a left-hander. Peterson had a nasty drop that curved
in toward the batter’s ankles, and in short order he retired the home
team.

At this stage of the game, however, the score was eight to one in favor
of Fardale, and Arlington confidently declared he would never let the
enemy overtake them.

The next two innings proved to be hard ones, and neither side scored.

The cadets saw that in Peterson they had a problem that was difficult to
solve. Had this pitcher been put in at the beginning of the game, it is
doubtful if Fardale would have obtained a run. As it was, it began to
appear as if the schoolboys had secured a lead sufficient to give them
the game.

No longer were the members of the athletic team laughing and joking, for
at last they realized that they were “up against the real thing.”

As the innings passed and the home team continued to hold its lead,
Arlington’s confidence increased until it reached the point where he was
altogether too sure. Overconfidence is often as fatal in a hard game of
baseball as lack of confidence. It has defeated many a team that should
have been victorious.

The seventh proved to be a disastrous inning for Fardale. The visitors
came to bat with the head of their list up.

Ligner justified his name and his position by catching an outcurve near
the end of the bat and driving out a two-bagger. O’Rouke followed with a
clean single to right field, and Ligner came home with three feet to
spare. The throw to the plate in an effort to stop this run let O’Rouke
advance to second.

Yet Arlington had lost none of his confidence, and it still seemed that
the cadets had a safe lead.

Chester believed he had found Hardy’s weak spot, which was a high ball
close to the shoulder, but he had not discovered that the batter was one
of those rare men who have no weak spots. This being the case, Chet was
not a little surprised and disgusted when Hardy dropped back on a close
one, caught it fairly, and singled. O’Rouke was held at third by the
catcher, although it seemed that he might have scored.

It was now up to Tom Grace, the captain of the Great Northern, and the
look on this man’s face indicated he meant business. Chester was smiling
as Grace took his position to hit.

“Having a good time, my boy?” inquired the batter.

“Splendid!” retorted Arlington.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself. I hope you don’t meet with any
disappointment.”

“Don’t worry about me,” advised Chet, as he whistled in a high ball.

“Get ’em down, kid! Get ’em down!” cried Grace. “You have got to do it
or furnish me with a stepladder! I am only five feet ten, and I can’t
reach that high!”

When Arlington tried a slow drop, Grace stepped forward to the limit of
his box and picked it up with a sweep of the bat that drove it over the
infield and out between Black and Jolliby, neither of whom could catch
it.

O’Rouke scored and Hardy followed him to the plate, making the third run
of the inning without a man retired.

No wonder the smile faded from Arlington’s face.

By this time Hector Marsh was convulsed with delight, although he was
trying to conceal the fact.

“Here’s where they make a hundred!” he muttered in Preston’s ear. “They
are onto little Chet at last, and he will never stop them.”

“It begins to look that way,” confessed Fred. “Wait a minute and you
will see Merriwell take Arlington out.”

“He’s a fool if he does!” declared Hec. “This game isn’t important, and
this is Merriwell’s opportunity to let Arlington stay in and get his
bumps.”

June Arlington had grown pale, for she realized the danger, and it was
with difficulty she repressed her agitation.

“Why don’t they catch those balls?” exclaimed Zona Desmond.

“They can’t,” asserted Doris.

“I don’t believe they’re trying,” declared Zona. “They are jealous
because Chester is pitching so well, and they don’t want to catch them.
What do you think, June?”

“I am afraid Dick will have to go in to save the game,” confessed June.

“Nonsense!” cried Zona, tossing her head. “How can he save it?”

“He might stop that hitting.”

“If those fellows will catch the ball it will be all right. I tell you
they are not supporting your brother, June.”

“I don’t think that is the matter.”

“Well, I do! Any one can see it is!”

Again Brad Buckhart had cast an appealing look toward Dick. All along
the Texan had felt the visitors had a hitting team and might make a
spurt any time, and now he was sure the dangerous moment of the game had
been reached.

Chester set his teeth and faced Minot, the next batter.

Minot was a good waiter, and he compelled the Fardale pitcher to put the
ball over the plate. Getting one that satisfied him, the batter drove it
swiftly along the ground between first and second.

By a rapid play, which was astonishing for one so corpulent, Tubbs
cuffed the ball to one side, although he did not capture it. Singleton
was compelled to get off first to secure the ball, which permitted Minot
to reach the bag in safety.

With two men on the bases, Brinkley followed the example that had been
set by his companions and drove out a two-bagger, which scored Grace and
Minot.

Still not a Great Northern man had been put out in the inning.

Although the cadets had cheered Tubbs for stopping the ball, there
seemed a note of apprehension in their voices.

Hal Darrell was talking with Day and Whitney, and now Darrell said:

“See here, Day, old man, we’re going to lose this game if something
isn’t done right away.”

“What do you think ought to be done?” questioned the chairman of the
committee.

“I think Merriwell ought to get in and pitch the game out.”

“Why doesn’t he do it?” exclaimed Whitney. “He is there on the bench,
and he can go in any time.”

“Perhaps he thinks it won’t be right to take Arlington out now.”

“Do you favor interfering?” asked Day.

“Surely I am not in favor of keeping still and seeing this game lost,”
answered Hal.

“Perhaps Arlington will take a brace,” observed Whitney.

“He’s got to take a brace pretty quick,” said Darrell. “If he doesn’t
this game will be gone to the dogs before he knows it.”

“If the next man hits safely,” said Day, “I will speak to Merriwell.”

He had his opportunity a moment later, for Costigan, after fouling
twice, drove out a grounder that could not be touched by the infield,
and Brinkley took a chance to score on it. The ball was thrown to the
plate, but the throw was bad and pulled Buckhart off so far that he
could not tag Brinkley in time to stop the run.

The Great Northern had now made six runs in this fatal inning, and
Fardale was but one score in the lead. Costigan was on second, and not
one of the hilarious visitors was out.

“The game is lost!” declared Darrell.

Immediately Day hurried to Dick.

“Look here, Captain Merriwell,” he panted, “you have got to take that
fellow out.”

“Is that an order from you?” asked Dick.

“It is an order from the committee.”

“All right,” said Dick, as he quickly rose to his feet and made a
signal.

Immediately Buckhart stepped onto the home plate to prevent Wallace from
hitting.

Dick walked onto the diamond.

Instantly the cadets rose in a mass and roared his name.

“Well! well! well!” laughed Tom Grace. “At last we have put a blanket on
your pitcher. He gets to the stable. Back, back to the stable, my pretty
boy.”

Chester was white as a sheet. The moment he saw Merriwell rise from the
bench he dropped the ball and walked out of the box.

“I am sorry, Arlington,” said Dick, in a low tone; “but I have got to
take you out.”

“I am glad of it!” declared Chet. “It is fiendish luck! What’s the
matter with those duffers behind me? Have they gone to pieces?”

“You are being hit hard, that’s all,” said Dick. “You’ve pitched a fine
game up to this inning, but those Great Northern chaps are hitters, and
they have solved your delivery.”

“That’s what you think,” retorted Chet; “but I know I’m not getting
proper support. I am ready to go out.”

Although he was in no condition to pitch, Dick warmed up a little and
went into the box.

“Now we will give this baby his bumps,” laughed Grace.

Merriwell had been studying the batters, and he felt that his only
chance to stop the hitting was to “use his head.” He could not depend on
his best curves, for his side was too lame to permit him to throw them.

Chester had been using speed, and now Dick began pitching a slow ball,
which proved troublesome to the batters. After swinging twice at these
slow ones, Wallace snapped:

“Oh! put a little ginger into your arm! What’s the matter with you?
Speed up, kid—speed up!”

“Well, here’s speed for you,” retorted Dick; but again he threw a
provokingly slow ball, with the result that Wallace popped up a little
fly that dropped into Merriwell’s hands.

Like a flash Dick whirled and threw to second, catching Costigan off the
bag, and two men were out.

“Ha! ha! ha! ’Rah! ’rah! ’rah! Ziggerboom! Riggerboom! Merriwell!
Merriwell! Merriwell!” burst from the cadets.

“Talk about luck!” grated Chester Arlington, who had witnessed this
play. “That’s his luck! Why can’t I have some of it?”

“Say, youngster,” called Tom Grace, “let me see your horseshoe. Where do
you keep it?”

Dick paid no attention to this. He concentrated every faculty on the
effort to retire Peterson, knowing the Great Northern pitcher was not
nearly as good a hitter as Ligner, who followed him.

Peterson finally lifted a high infield fly, which Earl Gardner
smothered, and the joy of the cadets was expressed in another wild
cheer, for at last the enemy had been checked, with Fardale still one
run in the lead.

Arlington was savage enough when the boys came in to the bench.

“I had that game won,” he declared. “It was not my fault they made those
runs. Why didn’t you chaps keep on playing baseball?”

This was more than Chip Jolliby could stand.

“Oh, go sus-sus-sus-soak your head!” he chattered, in disgust. “You need
something to take the sus-sus-sus-welling out of it.”

“Be careful!” panted Chet. “I won’t stand that from anybody.”

“Don’t talk to us about support!” indignantly exclaimed Earl Gardner.
“No fellow ever got better support on this field than you got.”

“That’s all right,” muttered Chet. “I saw you shirk. I saw you dodge a
liner.”

“After the game I will tell you what I think about that,” returned Earl.
“I can’t waste breath on you now.”

Although Fardale made a great effort to again increase her lead,
Peterson was too clever for the boys, and they could not score on him.
In the eighth inning Dick again worked his slow ball with success, only
one single being made off his delivery.

“We have got ’em, pard!” muttered Buckhart, as the cadets again gathered
at their bench. “You saved the game!”

“I hope so,” said Dick; “but we ought to have a few more runs.”

“Don’t fool with the kids, Peterson,” called Grace.

Peterson had no intention of fooling, and he struck out the first two
hitters who faced him in the eighth. The next man lifted a foul that was
captured by Wallace.

The Great Northern now came up for their last time at bat, and their
captain urged them to wait for Dick’s slow ones.

“He can’t use speed,” said Grace. “He’s got a lame side. A fellow told
me that before the game. Don’t get eager, fellows. Make him put the ball
over, and don’t go after it too soon.”

This advice was taken, and the first batter got a safe hit.

The next man sacrificed him to second, and there seemed a possibility
that the visitors would tie the score. At this point the strain and
excitement was intense.

By steady headwork Dick caused the next hitter to bat an easy one to
Bradley, who threw the fellow out at first.

“Whoop!” roared Buckhart, relieved and delighted. “We’ve got them now.
They are done to a turn. You hear me warble!”

There is an old saying that “no game is over until it is finished.” This
proved to be the case now, for the next hitter met one of Dick’s slow
ones and drove it far into the outfield. In their desperate dash to
catch this fly neither Flint nor Jolliby heard Dick’s warning cry to
them.

“Take it, Jolliby!” was Merriwell’s command.

Flint did not stop, and the two collided just as the ball struck Chip’s
hands.

Both went down, and the ball bounded away.

Right there misfortune fell heavily on Fardale, for both of the fellows
were temporarily stunned and so bewildered that they had lost sight of
the ball. It is certain that the Great Northern would have scored one
run, but she could not have made two scores had either Jolliby or Flint
found the ball quickly and returned it to the diamond. By the time Dave
got the ball the man who had hit it was past third and coming home.

Flint made a magnificent throw to the plate, but Buckhart received the
ball a moment too late, and at last the Great Northern was in the lead.

“There you have it!” muttered Chester Arlington, a gleam of satisfaction
in his eyes. “There is support for you, Mr. Merriwell.”

“Why, we knew how it would be!” laughed Tom Grace. “We were fooling with
you youngsters all the time.”

“Talk about horseshoes!” roared Buckhart. “If that wasn’t a case of
horseshoes for you fellows, I hope to be lynched for a horse thief!”

Now, for all of his side, Dick set his teeth and began to use speed and
curves. Buckhart shook his head warningly, for he knew every speedy ball
pitched by Merriwell was injuring his lame side. The jump ball and the
combination curve proved too much for the next hitter. He fanned three
times without touching the leather.

The Great Northern was out at last, but she had a lead of one run, and
the general impression was that Fardale had lost the game.

Nevertheless Dick encouraged his players to struggle to the last, and
they made a magnificent effort to win the game in the final half of the
ninth. With one man out a runner was advanced to third, but Peterson
again deceived the following batters, and Fardale failed to score.

The Great Northern had won the game, by a score of nine to eight.




                              CHAPTER IV.
                         BY FAIR MEANS OR FOUL.


It was a hard game to lose, and the Fardale boys felt pretty sore over
it. Not a few blamed Dick for not putting Arlington out earlier in the
fatal seventh. It was generally admitted that Fardale would have won had
Flint heard Dick’s cry to Jolliby as he was running after that long fly.

Among the cadets, there were a few fellows who seemed to feel well
satisfied over the result, although they took care not to let this be
generally known.

Hector Marsh found it difficult to repress his pleasure and pretend to
be regretful. To Preston he secretly said:

“If I had planned that game it couldn’t have pleased me better.
Arlington got his bumps and was taken out by Merriwell, and then
Merriwell lost the game. Two mighty idols have tottered a little this
day. You bet your life Arlington is sore!”

“I know he is,” nodded Preston. “Any one could see that when he went to
the bench.”

“He will hate Merriwell for taking him out.”

“I don’t think Merriwell did it on his own responsibility. I saw Day
speak to him.”

“That won’t make any difference to Arlington; he will be just as sore
with Dick.”

In truth Chester was in bad humor. Having pulled on his sweater, he
refused to accompany the rest of the team to the gymnasium when they
retired there to bathe and change their clothes. He watched for his
sister and her companions as they came down from the grand stand, and
joined them.

“Well, what do you think?” he asked, with a sneering smile on his face.
“Wasn’t that a fine game?”

“Oh, Chester, I am awfully sorry!” exclaimed June. “It was too bad!”

“Well, I am not sorry. I am glad of it! If those fellows had supported
me right through the game the way they started off we might have won in
a walk.”

“Just what I said,” agreed Zona. “I knew I was right about it!”

Seeing the mood her brother was in, June said nothing to arouse him
further. As they left the grounds they found Mrs. Arlington’s carriage,
with a driver on the seat, waiting outside.

“Come, girls,” said June; “there is room for all of us.”

Doris, however, who was on the verge of shedding tears over the game,
was anxious to get away by herself, and declared she meant to make a
short cut to Lakeside Academy.

“I will go with you,” said Zona. And they started off while Chester was
helping his sister into the carriage.

Arlington did not permit them to go far alone, for he hastened to
overtake them, expressing his desire to accompany them.

“We don’t need any one,” said Doris, immediately feeling sorry she had
not accepted June’s invitation.

“You can’t be sure about that,” said Chet. “You have to go through the
woods, and there are tramps in this vicinity.”

“I am glad you’re going along with us,” said Zona. “I told the girls you
were not being supported. They couldn’t seem to see it that way, but I
knew it.”

“Oh! June doesn’t know much about baseball, anyway,” said Chet. “She
couldn’t tell whether I was getting proper support or not. But I think
even Miss Templeton will acknowledge that Merriwell wasn’t supported.
Look how those two chumps ran into each other and lost that fly.”

“That was too bad,” confessed Doris, in a low tone. “I think Dick would
have saved the game but for that.”

Arlington laughed.

“Why didn’t he leave me in the box?” he cried. “It would have been just
as well, and it might have been better. I could have stopped that streak
just as well as he did. After putting me in to pitch this kind of a
game, it was up to him to let me finish it.”

“Did he ask you to pitch?” inquired Doris.

“Of course he did! I didn’t want to pitch that game. I knew what I was
going against. He didn’t want to pitch it, either, and that’s why he put
me in.”

“You can’t mean that he was afraid to pitch this game?”

Chet shrugged his shoulders.

“I don’t know what you call it. If he wasn’t afraid, why didn’t he pitch
it? He’s ready enough to pitch a game he thinks he can win.”

“Now, that’s just what I said,” cried Zona. “I thought it strange he
should put you in to pitch such a game, when he thinks himself the
greatest pitcher in the school.”

“Well, you know he is a fine pitcher!” flashed Doris. “Every one knows
that.”

“Oh, of course, of course!” laughed Chester. “But he’s got brains enough
to know when he is outclassed. Those chaps are professionals. What makes
me tired is the fact that every one seems to think Mr. Merriwell perfect
in every respect. I don’t pretend to be perfect myself. I have one or
two faults, and he has his. For one thing, he talks too much to fellows
he is friendly with. I could tell you something that would interest you,
Doris.”

“Me?”

“Yes, indeed!”

“Why, what could you tell me?”

“Oh, never mind,” said Chet tantalizingly. “You think he is all right. I
won’t say anything about it.”

Doris flushed.

“Do you mean to insinuate that he has been talking about me?” she asked.

“I won’t say another word,” declared Arlington, shaking his head. “I
didn’t mean to say that much.”

At the same time he winked slyly at Zona.

They walked on in silence, Doris having grown pale. After a time she
suddenly turned to Chester, saying:

“I don’t think it right for you to insinuate anything without making an
explanation. You ought to tell me what you meant.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” he declared. “Forget it!”

But it was not easy for Doris to forget, and when they came to the
rustic bridge over Ripple Brook she paused there, looking down into the
water.

Behind Doris’ back Chet made a signal to Zona, who did not understand it
at first; but she finally drew aside.

Arlington leaned his elbows on the rail close beside Doris, speaking in
a low tone.

“Do you want me to tell you the truth?” he asked. “Do you want me to
tell you just what Dick Merriwell said?”

“I don’t believe he said anything.”

“All right; we will let it drop.”

But, girllike, Doris’ curiosity was aroused, and she felt a strong
desire to hear what Arlington seemed willing to tell.

“If he did say anything, go ahead and tell me,” she finally urged. “But
don’t tell me anything save the truth.”

“No danger that I will do that,” he asserted, with an air of apparent
sincerity. “Of course, you met Dick first and were friends with him
before my sister came to Fardale. I have heard all about it. I know the
whole business. I know, too, that you and Hal Darrell were pretty good
friends before Dick interfered between you.”

“He never interfered.”

“Well, that’s what I have heard. Why, a fellow at school told me that
Merriwell himself said he cut Darrell out with you.”

Again the girl’s cheeks blazed.

“I don’t believe he said it,” she indignantly declared.

“Well, that’s the talk at school. They say he brags about it to his
friends. He claims he can get any girl stuck on him if he tries.”

“Somebody has been lying about him.”

“If that is true, how do the boys know that your father and Hal’s
father, who were great chums, put it up to make a match between you when
you were old enough? Who told that? Isn’t that one of the secrets you
told Dick Merriwell yourself?”

Doris refused to answer. Her heart was beating furiously and she felt
herself trembling a little.

“Miss Templeton,” Chet went on, “I don’t like to see you deceived by any
fellow. You ought to know by this time that Dick Merriwell thinks more
of my sister than he does of any one else. I will tell you what I have
heard that he has said about this affair. He has told his friends that
he hoped you would let him alone and take up with Darrell again.”

Quick as a flash, Doris straightened up, her eyes full of fire.

“Whoever has said such a thing, Chester Arlington, has lied,” she
blazed.

Again he shrugged his shoulders.

“Perhaps they have,” he admitted. “I am only repeating the gossip of the
school.”

“Well, I wish to hear no more of it. I wish you to let me alone. Come,
Zona!”

Doris stamped her foot.

“You will leave us this minute!” she cried. “You pretend to be a
gentleman. If you are you will not force yourself on us any more!”

“Oh, very well,” smiled Chester. “Sometime you won’t feel this way
toward me. Good day!”

He lingered on the bridge and watched the girls as they climbed the path
and disappeared into the budding woods. Zona turned to look back and
waved her hand at him, to which he replied in like manner. When they had
vanished, he muttered:

“The seed is planted; we will see what it grows into. I will win by fair
means or foul!”




                               CHAPTER V.
                           A TROUBLED HEART.


“What is the matter, Doris?” asked Zona, as the path at length brought
them through the woods and in sight of Lakeside Academy.

Doris shook her head and swallowed down a choking lump in her throat.

“Nothing,” she answered.

In a moment Zona’s arm was about her.

“Tell me,” she urged. “I am your friend. What was it Chester said to
you? I could hear but little of it.”

“He said enough to prove conclusively that he is no gentleman!” declared
the troubled girl.

“Oh! I am sure you’re wrong about that. He is naturally a gentleman,
Doris. If he told you anything, he told it because he believed you
should know.”

“But it isn’t true—it can’t be true. Dick wouldn’t say such things to
his best friends. I will never believe the academy boys are talking such
gossip.”

Again Zona urged her companion to tell, and Doris finally consented.
With her cheeks burning, she repeated what Chester Arlington had said.

“What do you think of that, Zona?” she demanded.

The girl with the yellow hair turned her face away.

“I—don’t—know,” she murmured, finding it difficult to reply.

“You don’t know,” cried the other, grasping her arm. “Why, you don’t
believe the boys are saying such things, do you?”

Suddenly, with a burst of absolute frankness, Zona turned toward her
friend:

“Do you want me to tell you the actual truth?” she asked. “Perhaps it
will be the best thing I can do. It will be better for you, better for
Hal, better for Dick, better for every one.”

Although her heart was seized with apprehension, Doris urged Zona to
speak.

“To begin with,” said Zona, “you know it’s true that your father and
Hal’s, who have always been true friends, agreed long ago to make a
match between you, if possible.”

“I know that,” murmured Doris. “And that’s the very thing I have
resented most. As if we had no minds of our own. In France they make
such matches, I believe, but not in this country. Any girl with the
least spirit would resent it. It’s the very thing to make a girl detest
a fellow.”

“But you don’t detest Hal?”

“Well, I thought I did. But for this foolish agreement between our
parents I might have liked him very well.”

“Of course you would; you couldn’t help it. He’s a splendid fellow, and
he’s done everything for you. All the girls like him, but as soon as you
gave him the shake, he would have nothing to do with any of them.”

“I wish he would,” passionately exclaimed Doris. “I’d like him better
myself if he would!”

“No doubt of that,” smiled Zona, showing her fine teeth. “At the same
time down in your heart you know you like him very well as it is. You
have given him the cold shoulder simply because you were provoked over
that agreement, and because Dick Merriwell happened to be convenient as
a friend. Hal has been too earnest in his attentions, Doris.”

“Not of late. He despises me now.”

“Don’t think that! He is paying you back in your own coin, that’s all.”

“But this has nothing to do with the gossip Chester Arlington spoke of.
How does this prove Dick said he was sorry he had ever become so
friendly? I know he is not the boy to boast that he cut Hal out.”

“If there was no such gossip, Doris, how did Chester know about it? You
say you want me to tell you the truth? Well, I will, even though you get
angry with me. I have heard such talk myself.”

“You?” breathed Doris, as she started away and stared at her companion,
her hands clinched. “You, Zona?”

“Yes,” nodded Zona grimly. “Why, it is the most natural thing in the
world. Dick has his friends and confidants, and he is liable to trust
them with his secrets and tell them his thoughts. You know girls have to
talk; they can’t help it. They have their little secrets, and it often
happens these secrets are betrayed by the ones they trust. Brad Buckhart
is Dick’s closest friend. Why shouldn’t he talk things over with Brad?
It’s perfectly natural. Brad might tell some one else, and in that way
it could leak out. If there was no foundation of the truth in it you may
think it never happened.”

“But I can’t—I can’t believe it!” murmured the distressed girl. “I shall
go to him and ask him about it myself.”

Zona shook her head.

“You will do nothing of the sort,” she asserted.

“Why not?”

“You have too much pride.”

“Pride?”

“Yes. You know you can’t face Dick and ask him about it. What would he
think of you? He would fancy you were running after him, and I am sure
you don’t want him to believe that.”

“No, no!” panted Doris.

“Now, be reasonable, dear. When you think it over you know well enough
that you like Hal Darrell as well as you do Dick. It is only because you
were proud and spirited that you gave him the cold shoulder. At the same
time you must see that Dick likes June Arlington. Of course, it is
nothing but friendship, but it is friendship of a sort that means
something. Many a time you have told me how much Dick has done for
Chester. Why should he do all those things? Wasn’t it for the sake of
June, and not for Chester? You’re not the girl to run after any fellow.
You know a fellow gets tired of a girl who chases after him.”

“Oh, I decided long ago that Dick and I could never be anything but
ordinary friends.”

“Then let him see it—let him understand it.”

“How?”

“That’s easy. Suppose you receive attentions from Hal? That will open
his eyes. He will understand what you mean quick enough. At the same
time, if he still likes you more than he does June, it will bring him
round pretty quick.”

“I don’t want to bring him round. If he bothered me I’d soon show him
that I didn’t want his attentions.”

“Well,” laughed Zona, “at least you would have the satisfaction of doing
that. If he didn’t come round you would know beyond question that he
liked June better.”

“Oh, I don’t know what to do!” cried Doris. “I am just as miserable and
wretched as I can be. It seems to me that every one is false and
treacherous.”

“Not every one, dear,” murmured Zona, again clasping her friend. “You
know you can trust me.”

Doris began to quiver:

“I—I—believe I—must cry!”

She could not keep back the tears of vexation and injured pride which
welled from her eyes.

When the two girls reached the academy and were met by others who
inquired about the game, Zona explained how Fardale had lost, and
declared that both she and Doris had felt so badly over it they came
near “crying their eyes out.”

Alone in her room, Doris gave way to her feelings, and the result of
that “good cry” relieved the strain on her nerves so that she felt much
better after it. Still she continued to think with perplexity and
vexation of what Chester Arlington had told her.

Shortly after sunset, with the dusk of evening coming on, a carriage
stopped before the academy, and June Arlington ran up the steps. She
found Doris and Zona together in their room.

“Oh, girls!” she exclaimed. “I have a splendid plan! Mother has agreed
to it, and I think it will be just fine! I am going to have the members
of the baseball team and a few others at my house this evening, and I
want you to come. I am going to invite several of the girls here, and we
will have a jolly time. You know the boys feel so badly over that game
that I think we ought to cheer them up. Now, what girls shall we
invite?”

“That’s splendid!” laughed Zona. “Why, it’s almost an impromptu party! I
wonder if we can obtain leave to go, Doris?”

“I think I can fix that,” said June. “I will see Miss Tartington about
it myself. I don’t believe she will object.”

June and Zona eagerly talked over the plans, deciding on the girls to be
invited. Doris took little part in this, which June finally noticed.

“What’s the matter?” she questioned.

“Oh, she was just about heartbroken over that game,” quickly explained
Zona. “She can’t seem to forget it.”

“Nor I,” confessed June. “And I think I should feel worse than any one,
for my brother pitched. We will make you forget it to-night, Doris.”

“I am not feeling well,” said Doris. “I—I don’t know as I can go.”

“Oh, goodness! What nonsense! Of course you will come. Why, we couldn’t
get along without you.”

“Of course you will!” Zona joined in.

Suddenly through Doris’ mind flashed the thought:

“It is my opportunity to show him I don’t care.”

Immediately she said:

“Well, June, if Miss Tartington gives permission I will come.”




                              CHAPTER VI.
                            A RISING CLOUD.


June’s party came off as arranged, and a jolly party it proved to be.
Besides the members of the baseball team, Darrell, Smart, and one or two
others were invited. Obediah Tubbs was on deck, with his “weather eye”
peeled for pie. Chip Jolliby, stammering and awkward, yet bubbling with
good nature, provided considerable amusement. There were games of
various sorts, card-playing, music, and singing. Billy Bradley found a
jolly little black-eyed girl, who interested him immensely, and to whom
he gave pronounced attention. He was trying to entertain her when Ted
Smart drifted up.

“When do the drinkables float on?” inquired Ted. “I suppose they are
going to have lemonade, or fruit punch, or something? It’s about time.”
He pulled out his watch and looked at it. “By the way,” he chirped, “why
should a thirsty man always carry a watch?”

“’Anged hif Hi ’now!” confessed Billy. “’E surely can’t drink hout hof
hit.”

“Why not?” chuckled Ted. “Every watch has a spring inside.”

At this the little dark-eyed girl laughed heartily, while Billy slowly
scratched his head, a puzzled look on his face.

“Hi suppose that’s one hof your blooming Hamerican jokes!” he half
growled. “Still Hi dunno ’ow ’e can get a drink hout hof hit.”

“Oh, Mr. Bradley!” laughed the girl. “How funny you are!”

“Lordy! Lordy!” muttered Ted. “I will have to show him the spring. Why,
don’t you see, Sir William, any watch has a spring in it? A man who is
thirsty can wet his whistle at a spring.”

Still it was some moments before Billy managed to grasp the point. When
he did he suddenly hit his knee a slap and gave a shout:

“By Jove!” he exclaimed. “That’s a good one, don’t y’ ’now!”

“How wonderfully quick you are to catch on!” chuckled Ted. “But I know
another good one.”

“Go a’ead and give hit to hus,” urged the Cockney youth.

“What’s the hardest kind of soap?” asked Ted.

“The ’ardest kind?” repeated Bill. “Why, there’s lots of ’ard soaps.”

“But what’s the hardest kind?” persisted Ted. “Give it up?”

“Hi suppose Hi’ll ’ave to. What his the ’ardest kind hof soap?”

“Why, Castile, of course. Don’t you see, Sir William—cast-steel soap
must be very hard.”

Still Bradley failed to tumble, and his perplexity added to the
merriment of the dark-eyed girl.

“He’s a wonder, Billy is!” exclaimed Ted. “But just wait till he springs
these conundrums and see how he will convulse everybody.”

“The ’ardest kind of soap,” muttered Bradley, wrinkling his brows.
“Castile is the ’ardest kind hof soap.”

“Why, of course,” said the girl. “Steel is hard, isn’t it? He made it
plain enough. Cast steel, Mr. Bradley, don’t you see?”

“Ow-wow!” gasped Billy. “Dear me! I hunderstand!”

“Let me whisper something in your ear,” said Ted. “Those are strictly
new. I don’t think any one here has ever heard them before. If you want
to bump this bunch good and hard, just spring them.”

“Hall right,” said Billy. “Hif Hi hever get a chance Hi’ll double them
up.”

Ted went on his way, and soon he had the entire party puzzling over the
answers to his conundrums, which he sprang one after another.

Suddenly Chip Jolliby unfolded himself and rose by sections to his full
height.

“Wait a minute!” he cried. “I have a gug-gug-gug-good one!”

Instantly all gave him their attention.

“What is the difference between an auction and seasickness?” grinned the
tall boy.

There were several guesses at the answer, but no one gave it. Finally
Jolliby was urged to explain the difference between an auction and
seasickness.

“Why,” he laughed, “one is a sale of effects and the other is the
effects of a sail.”

Smart produced his handkerchief and began to sob.

“What’s the matter?” asked one of the girls.

“I have been robbed!” moaned Ted. “That was my pet property. I owned
that. My happiness is ruined!”

“I’ll tell you where you can always find happiness,” declared Dick at
once.

“Where?” cried Ted.

“In the dictionary,” answered Merriwell.

And immediately Smart fell off his chair with a thud.

“Don’t feel so bad over it, my little man,” said Buckhart, as he patted
Ted on the head. “You’re a bright little fellow. You’re a wonderfully
witty little chap.”

“Say, Texas,” chirped Ted, looking up, “bet you can’t tell what makes
every one sick save the one who swallows it.”

“I am not good at guessing,” said Brad. “What is it?”

“Flattery,” answered Smart, and cheered up at once.

Catching Billy’s eye, Ted winked at him and nodded. Billy fancied he saw
his opportunity.

“Hi have a beautiful conundrum, don’t y’ ’now,” he declared, and
immediately received the attention of every one. “What’s the ’ardest
kind hof soap?”

When all professed their inability to answer this conundrum and demanded
the answer from him, the Cockney youth threw out his chest.

“Why,” he said, “that’s heasy. The ’ardest kind hof soap his cast-hiron
soap, hof course.”

Having told this, he fetched his knee a resounding crack and then clung
to his sides, as he doubled up with laughter. When he straightened up
and looked around he was astonished to see a lot of blank faces, for no
one save himself was laughing. Ted Smart had crammed his handkerchief
into his mouth to keep from shouting.

“I am afraid we don’t catch the point, Billy,” said Dick. “You will have
to explain it again.”

“What’s the matter, hanyhow?” exploded Bradley. “Hit’s dead heasy! You
will see hit in a minute. Hi didn’t see hit at first. Why, think of it!
Why, of course, cast hiron is the ’ardest kind hof soap!”

“Not having seen any cast-iron soap,” said Singleton, “we will have to
take your word for it.”

Bradley was both disappointed and disgusted.

“Hit’s mighty queer, don’t y’ ’now!” he growled, “that nobody sees the
point when Hi spring a joke! Some’ow, Hi can’t see the point now,
myself. Hi thought Hi could, but Hi ’ave forgotten just what hit was.
Now Hi ’ave got another one, and hit his better than that.”

Smart started to crawl behind the piano.

“Give us the other one,” urged the boys and girls.

“Well,” said Bill, “why should a thirsty man halways carry a watch?
There you hare!”

Again, after a little, they gave it up and urged him to explain why a
thirsty man should carry a watch.

“Why, don’t you hunderstand?” said Billy. “A watch ’as a well in hit.”

Once more, being satisfied he had hit the nail on the head this time,
the Cockney youth laughed loudly. In the midst of his laughter he
stopped with his mouth wide open, suddenly realizing that no one else
was laughing.

From behind the piano came a sound like sobs of distress.

“Say, what’s the matter with you now?” snapped Billy.

“I don’t think I ever saw a well in a watch,” confessed Gardner.

“Did Hi say a well?” gasped Billy. “That was a mistake; Hi meant a
cistern. That’s hit! Don’t you see?—a cistern!”

Then, when they failed to laugh, he gripped Tubbs by the shoulder and
shook him.

“Why don’t you laugh, you fat chump?” he shouted. “If you don’t laugh Hi
will ’ave to ’it you.”

“He! he!” said Obediah moanfully.

Somehow this was more than they could stand, and suddenly the entire
party burst into shrieks of laughter. Immediately a look of happiness
and relief overspread Billy’s face, and in the midst of all this
commotion and merriment he stood in the middle of the floor repeatedly
slapping his knee and crying:

“Hi knew you would see the point! Hi thought you couldn’t ’elp seeing
the point! Hit’s hawful funny! Hit’s the funniest joke Hi hever ’eard!”

Out from behind the piano rolled Smart, who lay on the floor, clinging
to his sides and gasping for breath. From one side to another he rolled,
and his merriment caused tears to fill his eyes.

“You little wretch!” chuckled Dick, as he pounced on Ted. “This is some
of your work.”

“Kill me!” gasped Ted. “Put me out of my misery. Kill me and save my
life!”

At last Bradley was satisfied, but he was not destined to be left in
peace. One after another the boys came round to him with a watch, asking
him to point out the cistern in it. Those who had no watch borrowed one
in order to put the question. Finally Billy became indignant.

“Hi ham no blamed watchmaker, don’t y’ ’now!” he shouted. “Get haway
from me, the ’ole hof you!”

All through the evening Doris gave Dick scarcely a look or a word. Once
he spoke to her and tried to enter into conversation with her, but she
quickly excused herself and left him. On the other hand, she had nothing
but smiles for Darrell. At first Hal remained reserved, but beneath her
sunniness he gradually thawed.

Zona Desmond improved the first opportunity to speak privately with
Arlington. They were standing in a little alcove, and she observed that
Chet was watching Doris closely.

“You have something to thank me for, Mr. Arlington,” she declared.

“Indeed,” he said, lifting his eyebrows. “How’s that?”

“I have saved you from a lot of trouble.”

“Have you?”

“Yes.”

“Then be sure of my thanks. But I am certain I do not understand what
you mean. How have you saved me a lot of trouble?”

“You know what you told Doris on the bridge this afternoon?”

Chet shrugged his shoulders.

“Yes.”

“Well, do you know what she was going to do?”

“I am sure I do not.”

“Well, she was just determined to go straight to Dick Merriwell and
demand to know if it was the truth. What if she had done that? You would
have found yourself in a fix.”

“I knew well enough that she wouldn’t.”

“How did you know?”

“Well, if I’m not mistaken, she has a little pride of her own. She could
not do that without humbling her own pride.”

“Still, Chester, she was just angry enough to do it. And it was I who
stopped her. If it hadn’t been for me you never would have known of
those things you told her. You know you fibbed when you said it was the
gossip of the school.”

He laughed easily.

“There is such a thing as lying in a good cause,” he said. “Merriwell
doesn’t care a snap for her, and any one can see that. Look at him now.
There he is in the corner, talking to my sister.”

“At least,” said Zona, watching her companion slyly, “you have done a
good thing for Hal Darrell.”

Instantly a cloud came to Arlington’s face.

“I am not spending any time doing that fellow good turns!” he muttered.

“But see how Doris is taking up with him to-night.”

“I see!”

Inwardly Zona was laughing. Things were occurring to satisfy her. She
knew well enough that Chester had sought to break the friendship between
Doris and Dick, with the object of placing himself in favor with Doris.
In this he had failed completely.

“It was a shame for Dick Merriwell to come between them,” asserted Zona.
“And your fib will be pardonable if Doris and Hal again become friendly
as of old.”

“Oh, yes!” he grated. “It will be a fine thing, won’t it!”

“Why not?” she innocently asked.

“Never mind!” he growled. “Let it go!”

When refreshments were served in the dining room, Arlington made a
desperate venture in offering Doris his arm to escort her to the table.

“I hope you will give me that much pleasure to-night,” he said.

“You will have to excuse me,” she murmured. “I have promised Hal.”

Even as she spoke Hal appeared, and she accepted his arm.

Chester clinched his hands and glared after them.

“I don’t see that I have made much out of this,” he thought savagely. “I
have simply smoothed out things for Merriwell and left myself in a hole.
But I won’t give it up! I am not beaten yet. I will trap Mr. Darrell if
I live long enough.”

Zona appeared at his side.

“Come Mr. Thundercloud,” she laughed. “Why, you’re the picture of
tragedy and revenge! Don’t let anybody get onto it.”

“What do I care for this bunch of flubs!” he exclaimed.

“We’re the only ones left,” reminded Zona, as Billy escorted the little
dark-eyed girl from the room. “Aren’t you coming?”

“No!”

“You’re not? What are you going to do?”

“I am going upstairs,” said Chet. “I have got a headache.”

Although she urged him not to do this, he persisted, and to her chagrin
she was left to enter the dining room alone. June met her at the door.

“I was just looking for you,” she said. “Where is Chester?”

“He has a headache,” said Zona. “He’s gone upstairs.”

Having excused herself for a few moments, June went in search of her
brother. She found him pacing the floor in an upper room.

“Come, Chester,” she urged; “aren’t you going to join us?”

“Oh, what’s the use! I don’t want anything. Let me alone.”

“But you must come. Think how it looks! What will the others think?”

“I don’t care!”

“But I care, Chester. You must come down for my sake.”

“Tell ’em I’ve got a headache! Tell ’em anything.”

“No, no; I can’t do that! They will know better. You must come down.
Please come, Chester. I am sure I would do as much for you.”

“All right. I will come, June; but it’s a mistake. The best thing you
can do is to leave me here. I am dangerous to-night.”

Nevertheless, she succeeded in leading him down to the dining room, and
he took a seat at the table. However, he did not participate in the talk
and laughter of the company, and after a while his gloomy spirits began
to dampen the pleasure of the others.

Obediah Tubbs seemed to be the only one who was not disturbed, and he
was so absorbed in eating pie, several of which had been provided for
him, that he failed to notice the growing shadow.

When refreshments were over June urged some of the boys to sing, and she
accompanied them on the piano. They sang “Fardale’s Way,” “Fair
Fardale,” and two or three similar songs; but at last the party began to
break up.

In turning from the piano, Darrell bumped full and fair against
Arlington.

“I beg your pardon,” said Hal.

“Well, you’d better,” flashed Chet. “You ran against me on purpose.”

“Nothing of the sort.”

“You mean to call me a liar?” hissed Arlington. “I won’t take that front
any fellow anywhere.”

In another moment he would have struck Hal in the face, but his wrist
was seized by Dick, and some of the others stepped quickly between them.
The girls were frightened, and June’s distress was completed by this
ungentlemanly act on the part of her brother.

“Chester!” she entreated. “For my sake—please! please!”

“All right,” he said. “Take your hands off me, Merriwell. I will see
that fellow again.”

Then he strode out of the room, and the departing guests saw no more of
him that night.




                              CHAPTER VII.
                     ARLINGTON MAKES MORE TROUBLE.


In making their trip through that section the Great Northern Athletic
Association had succeeded in arranging a game with Rivermouth, to be
played the following Monday morning after the game with Fardale.

Having been defeated by the Great Northern, the Fardale boys anxiously
awaited the result of the game at Rivermouth.

It was generally believed that Rivermouth would be disastrously
defeated. This being the case, when a telephone message was received,
late Monday afternoon, that Rivermouth had won by a score of five to
three, few were willing to believe it. His disbelief led Anson Day to
call up the captain of the Rivermouth team and ask for the actual facts.
To do this Day was obliged to visit a telephone pay station in the
village, and his return was eagerly awaited by the boys at the academy.

It was one of those times when there were no drills or exercises of any
sort, and the cadets were enjoying a brief leisure, many of them
rambling over the parade ground, when Day, accompanied by one or two
friends, came down the road from the village.

“’Ere ’e comes!” exclaimed Billy Bradley. “Now we will know ’ow ’ard
Rivermouth was beaten.”

The boys flocked around Day.

“What was the score?” they eagerly demanded.

“Five to three,” answered the chairman of the athletic committee.

“Dern my picter!” squeaked Obediah Tubbs; “that was close! I s’posed the
Great Northern would beat ’em worse than that.”

“But the Great Northern didn’t win,” declared Anson. “The report that
Rivermouth took the game was correct.”

“I knew it!” cried Ted Smart. “I was certain Rivermouth would win.”

Somebody gave him a punch in the ribs.

“You’re a fibber!” roared an excited cadet.

“Look here, Day,” said Bob Singleton, “are you sure you have this
straight? Why, it can’t be possible!”

“I have it straight,” asserted Day positively.

At this the boys groaned.

“Well, wouldn’t that skin you alive!” chattered Jolliby.

“Great Cæsar!” muttered Barron Black. “If Rivermouth defeated those
fellows what are we going to do against Rivermouth Saturday? We have to
play her then, and it begins to look as if we were due for a trimming.”

“Oh! we could have beaten the Great Northern all right with Merriwell in
the box,” asserted Hector Marsh, who had forced his way into the group.
“We all know how the game was lost.”

“Hold on!” exclaimed Mel Fraser, Arlington’s roommate. “You can’t say
that. Didn’t Merriwell go in? Wasn’t the game lost with him in the box?
Don’t pile this whole thing onto Chester.”

“Waugh!” exclaimed Brad Buckhart. “They made two runs off Dick and seven
off Arlington. That’s the size of it. And one run was made through a
fielding blunder.”

At that moment a stocky, square-shouldered boy, who had remained silent,
spoke up:

“I lost the game,” he said. “I am the only one to blame. Every one tells
me that Merriwell shouted for Jolliby to take that fly. I didn’t hear
him.”

The speaker was Dave Flint.

“I suppose that lets Merriwell out,” half sneered Fraser. “All the same
he was in the box when the game was lost.”

Instantly Buckhart was aroused.

“I want to tell you fellows one thing,” he said. “I am going to tell it
right here and now. I have kept still just as long as I propose to. My
pard had no business to go in to pitch. He was not in condition.”

“Oh, was that it?” inquired Fraser insinuatingly. “Strange we never
heard about it before.”

“Nothing strange in it!” fiercely retorted the Texan. “Dick don’t go
around any whatever telling his troubles. Any one who knows anything
about him could see Saturday that he used neither speed nor curves. He
couldn’t. He was a heap used up. He had a lame side that kept him from
pitching at his best. He had it a week ago, too, and he won that game by
setting his teeth and pitching when every ball he threw nearly cut him
in two. If he hadn’t pitched against Hilsboro his side would have been
all right last Saturday. That is straight goods, and any galoot who says
different is a prevaricator. You hear me warble!”

“Why didn’t he tell us about his side?” asked Earl Gardner.

“Why didn’t he? Because he didn’t want to knock the confidence out of
his team. That’s why he didn’t tell.”

“How did he get this lame side?” inquired Fraser, still in a sneering
manner.

Buckhart took a stride and confronted Arlington’s roommate.

“I will tell you how he got it,” he snorted. “He got it while doing Chet
Arlington a good turn. He was jumped on by a bunch of Arlington’s
associates and knocked against the edge of a pool table. That’s how he
got it, Cadet Fraser.”

“We will take your word for it,” said Fraser, backing off, as he was
somewhat afraid of the fighting Texan.

“Well, it’s a right good thing that you do,” growled Buckhart.

At this point a burst of laughter caused the boys to start and turn.
They saw Chester Arlington pushing into the crowd.

“Well, I have expected something like that,” cried Chet. “I didn’t
believe Dick Merriwell would take his medicine without making some sort
of an excuse. A lame side, eh? Well, that sounds first rate; but, if you
fellows have noticed it, it is a fact that a pitcher who loses a game
always has a lame shoulder, a lame arm, or a lame side to put the blame
on after the game is over.”

Buckhart’s face grew dark as a thunder cloud. He confronted Chester, who
continued to laugh in that aggravating manner.

“Look here, you,” said the Texan in a low tone; “do you mean to call me
a liar?”

“Oh, not at all!” said Chet easily. “Of course Merriwell told you all
about his lame side. I don’t doubt that a bit.”

“Then do you mean to say that my pard lied? Waugh! I’d swallow it a heap
better if you called me a truth twister. Maybe Dick will swallow these
yer things from you, but hang me if I do!”

The fury of the Texan burst forth in a twinkling, and he struck full and
fair at Chester’s face; but Arlington ducked, and his cap was knocked
from his head. Instantly the boys pressed between them and pushed them
apart. They remonstrated with Brad, who for the time being seemed to
have wholly lost control of himself.

Hal Darrell was one of those who seized Buckhart.

“Hold on there, old man!” hissed Hal in Brad’s ear. “I am the one who is
laying for that fellow. I am the one to settle a score with him.”

At last the Texan was quieted and led away.

After this the boys knew that at any time there might come a clash
between Arlington and Darrell or between Arlington and Buckhart.

Chester, however, kept by himself a great deal of the time, and the days
slipped by without the expected encounter taking place.

Dick took little part in practice during the week, although he was on
the baseball ground every day and saw that the team put in the proper
work and was given needed coaching.

As Saturday grew near the apprehension of the cadets over the result of
the game with Rivermouth increased. There were all sorts of rumors about
the great improvement of the Rivermouth team, which was said to be
superior to anything the place had turned out in many seasons.

Brad’s statement concerning Dick’s lame side was also accepted as a fact
by the great mass of cadets. With Dick out of condition to pitch, it
seemed that Rivermouth would have an easy thing.

“I am sorry you said anything about my side, old man,” declared Dick one
day. “It was a mistake. I told you to keep still.”

“Pard,” cried the Texan, “I couldn’t do it—I just couldn’t keep my face
closed and hear what they were saying. I had to spit her out.”

“And the result has been the very thing I feared. The boys have lost
confidence. They are afraid of Rivermouth.”

“I am plumb sorry, partner. I reckon you’re right. I am tired of
answering questions about your side.”

“Yes; they all want to know about it. Even Professor Gunn has heard
about it and made inquiries.”

“We will never have any peace in this yere school until Arlington gets
out,” averred the Westerner. “I have it pretty straight that he has been
telling some rotten things about you lately. Just what he has told I
don’t know, but I am going to find out if I can.”

“You pay too much attention to Arlington,” declared Dick. “I have found
that the fellow who lies about another usually hurts himself the most.
Lies, like curses and chickens, come home to roost.”

“That may be the way you look at it, pard; but the galoot who lies about
me has to fight or run.”

“It’s useless to fight Arlington. If you whip him it simply makes him
worse. Unless he straightens out of his own accord, he will eventually
bring about his destruction.”

“Mebbe that’s right, but I can’t look at it just that way. Say, pard,
are you going to try to pitch this game against Rivermouth?”

Dick nodded.

“I am going to pitch that game!” he grimly declared.




                             CHAPTER VIII.
                             FARDALE WINS!


Never in all her baseball career had Rivermouth been more confident of
victory than she was on that gray Saturday when she came to Fardale.
Accompanied by a hundred rooters, the players marched from the station
to Fardale field.

The cadets were waiting for them, and a crowd of spectators had
assembled.

“Here they come!” was the cry, as the visiting team and its supporters
were seen marching down the hill.

As the Rivermouth boys poured through the gate, and the visitors marched
onto the diamond, Fardale received them with a welcoming cheer.

Little time was wasted. The visitors took the field for practice, and
went at it in a sharp and snapping manner, which seemed to denote what
they could do. Their supporters packed in a solid mass on the side
reserved for them, and cheered the clever plays made by the practicing
boys.

“Well, what do you think, pard?” asked Buckhart, as Dick stood watching
the enemy.

“They’re overconfident,” declared Merriwell in a low tone. “It may be
the cause of their defeat. If we get down to business at the very start
and fight hard we may take some of the assurance out of them.”

“How’s your side?”

“Oh, it’s still lame; but I find I can pitch with my left hand without
straining it. I am going to see what I can do that way.”

“Great tarantulas!” gasped Buckhart. “Why, do you know that Peterson, a
left-hander, pitched against them Monday, and they biffed him for eleven
clean hits? You know how hard it was for us to hit him. Well, they found
him pie.”

“All the same,” said Dick in the same quiet manner, “I shall begin with
my left hand, and use it as long as possible. When I am compelled to do
so, to save the game, I may use my right.”

Ted Smart left the seats and came out to Dick.

“Say! Guess!” chirped the little fellow. “Arlington feels sure you will
win, doesn’t he?”

“I dunno.”

“He must!” said Ted in his queer way. “He’s betting on Rivermouth!”

“Is that so?” muttered Buckhart.

“That’s what they say,” nodded Ted. “Of course he wants to give his
money away. It’s just like him. He loves to give his money away. That’s
why he’s betting on Rivermouth.”

“Well, we will do our best to see that he gives it away this yere day,”
asserted the Westerner.

It was a fact that Chester had bet on Rivermouth. He made no effort to
hide his belief that the visitors would win.

The game began promptly on time, with Rivermouth at the bat. The first
man started off in a manner to delight the visitors, for he drove out a
single with perfect ease.

Buckhart shook his head a little and pounded his fist into the hole in
his big mitt.

Still Merriwell continued to pitch with his left hand, and the next
batter, in an effort to sacrifice the base runner to second, rolled the
ball into Dick’s hands. Scooping it up quickly, Dick snapped it to
Gardner, who covered the bag for Tubbs. Earl whistled it up to
Singleton, and the handsome double play set the cadets into a roar.

“Dern my picter!” squeaked Obediah Tubbs. “That was too easy!”

The third batter tried hard for a hit. He simply lifted an infield fly
that was easily captured, and Rivermouth was quickly retired in this
manner without accomplishing anything, for all of her propitious start.

The visitors had a new pitcher, a long, lank, green-looking freshman,
whose movements were very awkward, but who soon revealed the fact that
he had an exasperatingly hard ball to hit safely. He was not a
“strike-out” pitcher. He was one of the kind who kept batters popping up
little flies or knocking easy grounders into the diamond.

Gardner and Black were both thrown out at first, and Flint reached the
bag only through an error by shortstop. Bradley tried hard for a single,
but popped a little fly into the lank pitcher’s hands.

The second inning was a fast one, for once more only one cadet reached
first, and there he “died.”

“They can’t do anything with you!” yelled a Rivermouth rooter. “They are
up against it to-day! You will make monkeys of them, the same as you did
the Great Northern chaps.”

Three innings passed without a score. In the fourth Rivermouth got a
runner to third; but two men were out, and, with three balls and no
strikes called against him, Dick braced wonderfully, putting two
straight ones over the plate and then fanning the batter with a drop.

This seemed to revive the confidence of the home team somewhat, and
Jolliby started off with a hit in Fardale’s half. On Singleton’s out at
first Chip reached second.

Tubbs bunted and came near beating the ball to first. Although he was
thrown out by a narrow margin, Jolliby was landed on third.

Buckhart tried his best for a hit, but drove the ball along the ground
at Armstrong. The pitcher snapped it up, whirled toward third, and held
Chip close to that bag, after which he turned and threw to first. The
throw was a trifle wide, and it bounded out of the baseman’s mitt. By
the time the ball was picked up Buckhart had crossed the bag.

“Well! well! well!” roared the cadets in great relief.

“Up!” shouted the leader of the cheering, with an upward motion of both
arms. “All up for Merriwell!”

Every boy in blue rose to his feet as Dick advanced to the plate, bat in
hand.

“’Ere’s where we win the game, don’t y’ ’now!” shrieked Billy Bradley.
“He will do the trick!”

When Dick struck wide of the first ball with an awkward swing of the bat
some were surprised. Others, however, saw the object, for Buckhart took
second on that pitch, and Merriwell’s flourish had been for the purpose
of bothering the catcher. He had not tried to touch the ball.

“A hit now will win this game!” panted Earl Gardner.

“He will get it,” said Barron Black confidently.

Armstrong was on his mettle, and did his best to deceive Merriwell. He
led the batter to swing at a deceptive in-drop, and two strikes were
called.

“Sit down! sit down!” yelled a Rivermouth fellow. “The inning is over!
He will never disturb Armstrong!”

Barely had the words been uttered when Dick met one of Armstrong’s
curves and sent the ball skimming along the ground at great speed.

The shortstop sprang to get in front of it, while Jolliby made a daring
dash for the plate. The ball took an erratic bound just before reaching
the shortstop and went over his shoulder.

Then there was a shriek from the cadets.

“’Ome! ’ome!” yelled Billy Bradley, who was on the coaching line near
third.

Buckhart dashed over the bag and swung toward the home plate.

The left-fielder had come in for the ball, and he made a beautiful throw
to the plate. Buckhart was tagged barely a second before he reached
home, and was out.

However, Fardale had scored a run, as Jolliby had reached the plate
safely.

The game continued to be of the sort to keep every one keyed to a high
pitch. Repeatedly Rivermouth seemed to be on the verge of scoring, but
in each instance the home team managed to crawl out of the hole and save
itself.

With seven complete innings played and no other run secured, it began to
seem as if one score would settle that game.

In the first half of the eighth, however, a peculiar thing happened. The
first two batters were easy outs. By this time, although they continued
to cheer their team valiantly, the hearts of the Rivermouth cheerers
were growing faint. The next hitter managed to drive out a clean one
that looked to be good for two bases. It passed over Tubbs’ head just
out of reach and went bounding away toward the fence.

Jolliby raced for it. The ball reached the fence and disappeared.

The Rivermouth runner was astonished on reaching second to find a
coacher back of third wildly shrieking and motioning for him to come on.
Wondering what had happened, he made for third, feeling certain he must
stop there. In the meantime, Jolliby and Flint had reached the fence
where the ball had disappeared, and were seen kneeling on the ground.

At that spot there was a small hole in the fence, and by a rare freak of
fortune the ball had passed through this opening. Jolliby peered through
a crack and could see the sphere outside the fence at a little distance,
lying on the ground. He thrust his long arm through the hole and found
himself barely able to touch the ball with the ends of his fingers. In
trying to get hold of it he pushed it farther away.

Thus, while Chip was vainly seeking to stretch his arm far enough to get
the ball, the Rivermouth runner came home with the tying score.

The spectators of both sides were shaking with excitement. The eighth
inning ended with a score of one to one. In the ninth Rivermouth
apparently started off with grim determination to win the game then and
there. Two hits and a bad error filled the bags, with only one man out.

Chester Arlington, who had been watching the game with intense interest,
now nodded and smiled.

“She’s over!” he declared. “The jig is up! Rivermouth wins right here!”

For the first time during the game Dick began to pitch with his right
hand. Regardless of his right side, he used speed and curves. The next
batter fanned twice in his eagerness to get a hit.

“Steady, old man!” cautioned the Rivermouth captain. “We have this thing
clinched.”

Then the batter hit the ball a savage crack, and it shot on a dead line,
so that it seemed certain to pass over Obediah Tubbs at least eight feet
from the ground and somewhat to one side of the fat boy.

Obediah made a marvelous leap into the air.

Spat!

He had the ball! It was a most astonishing catch, and a wild cheer of
delight went up from the cadets as the fat boy quickly stepped onto
second and made a double play, the runner having left the bag.

Somehow this strange blighting of their high hopes seemed to take the
snap out of Rivermouth.

The first Fardale batter drove an easy one to third base, but the
baseman fell all over himself in trying to pick it up. A comedy of
errors followed. The infielders apparently sought to outdo one another
in bungling plays, and the bags were filled.

Then Armstrong took a brace and struck out a batter. The next player
connected with the ball in time to settle the game. The ball was lifted
over the infield, the shortstop failing to get back for it, and Fardale
scored the winning run in the last half of the ninth, thus capturing one
of the hardest games ever played on that field.




                              CHAPTER IX.
                     THE POWER OF A SUPERIOR MIND.


Near noon Saturday a steam yacht ran into Fardale harbor and lay
alongside the wharf to coal. This yacht was the property of Mrs.
Arlington. During the game June had invited Doris Templeton to accompany
her on board the yacht that evening.

“I will call for you at Lakeside Academy,” said June. “If you can go, I
will take you over in a carriage.”

Doris readily agreed to go if possible.

June was on hand according to agreement, and Doris was able to accompany
her. As they were driving away from the academy, June said:

“I wasn’t sure you would come. I almost thought you might not.”

To the surprise of Doris, it seemed as if there was something of
disappointment and regret in her companion’s voice.

“Why, don’t you want me to?” she asked in surprise.

“Oh, yes—yes, of course.”

Still Doris was not satisfied, and a feeling of uneasiness began to
creep over her. Having reached the wharf at which the yacht lay, they
left the carriage and went on board. The captain was on hand and
apparently expecting them. He escorted them to the cabin.

Somehow June seemed strangely nervous and excited; Doris fancied she was
not at all like herself. The yacht was commodious and comfortable,
although not extremely large, and it interested Doris exceedingly.
Indeed, she was so absorbed in looking about that she did not notice a
strange tremor of movement which ran over the craft. June observed it,
and her face paled, but she said nothing.

At length Doris noted with surprise that something of a suspicious
nature was happening.

“Why—what is it?” she questioned, looking at June in alarm. “The yacht
is moving! How is that?”

Even as she spoke a boy appeared in the doorway and bowed smilingly.

“It means that we are going to take a little cruise,” he declared. “I am
delighted to have such agreeable company.”

It was Chet Arlington!

Doris turned even paler than June.

“Chester Arlington,” she cried, “you don’t mean that? You can’t mean it!
Why, you wouldn’t dare!”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“It’s plain you don’t know me. I have taken a fancy to make a little
cruise on this yacht, and, of course, I am not to blame if you chance to
be aboard at the time, I am sure you will enjoy it. You can’t help it. I
will do my best to make it pleasant for you.”

At this June suddenly sprang toward her brother.

“Chester!” she exclaimed, catching her breath; “you promised me——”

“Oh, never mind. That’s all right, sis. Don’t get excited.”

“But you promised me we would take a run only a short distance and then
return.”

“I have not said how far we are going,” he coolly answered. “But it
seems to me we may not be able to get back into the harbor to-night.
It’s a little dangerous after dark.”

“You can get back if you can get out.”

“We will talk that over later. Make yourselves at home, girls.”

“Chester, order Captain Long to run back at once!” cried June.

“Sorry I can’t oblige you, sis.”

“You won’t do it for me?” she questioned.

“No, not even for you, June.”

“Perhaps he will do it for me,” said a calm voice, and the sound of that
voice caused Chester to give a mighty start and turn, his own face
blanching.

Another boy had descended the companionway and stood just outside the
door.

“Merriwell!” gasped Chet.

“Exactly,” said Dick.

“How did you get on board?”

“Never mind that now,” said the uninvited guest, as his dark eyes were
steadily fixed on Chester. “I want you to give your captain immediate
orders to run back to the wharf!”

“Hanged if I do!”

“But you will!”

“I won’t!”

Another step Dick took, and this brought him into the cabin, where the
light was full and fair upon his face. In his dark eyes there was a
strange magnetic power which Arlington felt. Chester experienced a queer
thrill and gazed in fascination at those intense eyes. Dick lifted his
hand and seemed by some marvelous power to keep Chet’s gaze steady and
unmoved.

The two girls looked on in awe, feeling that between these lads there
was now a mighty battle of minds. Arlington felt that his own
determination was weakening and surrendering. He struggled to the last,
but was not equal to the conflict.

Finally Dick spoke once more, and to Chester it seemed that the words he
uttered came from a great distance.

“Chester Arlington, a week ago you told Doris Templeton something about
me. Did you tell her the truth, or did you lie?”

“I lied!” was the whispered reply.

“Now,” said Dick, stepping forward and taking Chester’s arm, “we will go
and tell the captain to put back to the wharf.”

Arlington permitted Merriwell to lead him from the cabin.

“Oh, June!” palpitated Doris, “I don’t understand it yet! Can’t you
explain?”

“Yes, I will,” said June, although it plainly cost her a great effort.
“Chester made me promise to bring you on board. He threatened to do
something reckless if I didn’t. He said he would simply back off into
the harbor as a joke. But I feared he might not be telling the truth. I
was afraid I couldn’t trust him, and I sent a note to Dick Merriwell,
asking him to come on board. I also arranged with the captain that he
should be permitted to do so. That’s how he happened to be here.”

“June,” said Doris, “do you think Dick will make the captain turn back?”

“I think my brother will give that order, as Dick requested. Let’s go on
deck.”

When they reached the deck they discovered that the yacht was already
slackening headway. It came to a full stop, backed up a short distance,
and then swung slowly around.

The girls stood, each with an arm about the other, as the dark buildings
on shore drew nearer and nearer. At length, with the sound of signal
bells in the engine room, the yacht came softly to the wharf, and two
sailors threw out a plank after the hawsers were made fast.

Dick appeared before June and Doris, while in the background was seen
the form of another boy, who stood there without approaching or
interfering.

“Come, Doris,” said Merriwell, “I will take you to the academy. June,
you did well to write me that note and arrange it for me to come aboard.
Good night, June!”

“Good night, Dick!” she murmured. “Good night, Doris!”

They passed over the plank, and the gloom on shore soon hid them from
June’s eyes.




                               CHAPTER X.
                          PERSISTENT CHESTER.


Spr-rr-rr-rr—crash!

“Hooray! A strike!”

“That does it!”

It was a rainy afternoon, and the members of the team were putting in
the usual hour for the baseball practice in the gymnasium.

Darrell, Jolliby, Tubbs, and Merriwell were just finishing a bowling
match on the new alleys, Dick and Obediah being matched against Hal and
Chip.

Up to the last frame it had seemed as if Darrell and Jolliby were the
winners. It looked like a forlorn hope when Merriwell took his place to
bowl for the last time, as he needed eighteen pins to tie and nineteen
to win. Nothing but a spare or a strike could save him. With a spare,
his chance of getting nine pins on the last bowl would be very slim.

This being the situation, there was great excitement when Dick sent his
first ball curving into the pins, striking number one quarteringly, and
raking down the whole bunch.

“Dern my picter!” palpitated Obediah Tubbs, his eyes bulging.

“Wouldn’t that sus-sus-sus-sus-scald you!” chattered Jolliby.

“How sorry I am!” shouted Ted Smart, who was setting up the pins.

“Talk about luck!” sneered Arlington, who was one of the spectators.
“What do you think of that? That was a case of horseshoes, all right!”

“Luck! Waugh!” snorted Buckhart. “Didn’t he hit ’em right?”

“I have seen them hit a hundred times in that way without making a
strike,” retorted Chet. “But he has to get nine pins with his next ball
in order to tie. He can’t do it.”

Up to this point Dick had been bowling for sport and for the fine
exercise it provided. It must not be understood that he was not trying
to do his best, for he always did at anything. But now Arlington’s words
aroused him, and he was seized with a sudden powerful desire to win.

“Bet you a horse he gets them!” exclaimed the Texan.

“If he does,” declared Chet, “it will be more of his slobby luck. When
it comes to bowling he is a mark. I can bowl a little myself. I’d like
to get at him once at this. But he doesn’t dare to give me a show on
these new alleys.”

“Hi suppose you’re a wonderful bowler?” put in Billy Bradley. “I suppose
you ’ave an hastonishing record?”

“I have bowled one hundred and thirty-eight in a single string of
candlepins,” asserted Chet.

“And then you woke up!” observed Buckhart. “You’re pretty clever—let you
tell it.”

Chester was not a whit abashed. He continued to boastingly assert that
he knew he was able at any time. barring accident, to defeat Merriwell
or any other boy in the school at candlepins.

“Dern his picter!” muttered Obediah Tubbs, nudging Dick, who was
apparently unconscious of Arlington’s presence. “Don’t you hear what he
is saying? By Jim, he needs a good lesson!”

Merriwell, however, felt it was an impossibility to teach Arlington a
lesson he would remember, for even his experience on the yacht had had
no lasting effect.

“Ken you git nine pins?” anxiously whispered the fat boy.

“I can try,” was Dick’s quiet answer, as he lifted the polished
candlepin ball and stood with his eyes fixed on the pins.

“Watch him!” muttered Arlington, seeking to divert the bowler’s
attention. “He knows we’re all looking at him. See him get two pins with
that ball.”

It’s a sure thing that mind as well as body plays a prominent part in
scientific bowling. Not only does it require brains to secure the best
result, but the bowler must fix his mind on the object he desires to
accomplish most, seeing in advance what success he would attain, and
must, in rolling a curving ball, behold in advance the sweeping movement
he wills the ball to take. It is sometimes the case that a player may
secure a good string by rolling carelessly, without any particular
mental effort. This is always a matter of chance. But the heady bowler
who uses his brains, and seems to control the ball with his mind, is one
who persistently and repeatedly accomplishes surprising results.

Arlington knew something of this, and he understood that it was often a
fatal mistake for a player to let his mind be diverted in the least, at
the moment when he starts to deliver the ball. This being the case, it
was Chester’s object to “rattle” Dick if possible. He failed utterly.

Advancing three steps to the line, Dick sent the ball down the polished
alley, striking the pins with a clattering crash, leaving but one
standing on the corner.

Dick had won the string with a ball to spare.

The boys gave a shout of satisfaction, while Arlington bit his lip in
disgust.

“Dern my picter!” cried Obediah Tubbs. “I kinder thought that I was
going to beat you by my rotten bowling, Dick; but you pulled us out of
the hole.”

“That was clever,” laughed Chet, as he stepped onto the runway of the
alley; “but still I believe it was nothing more than luck. As I have
just said, I can bowl a little myself, and I don’t depend on luck. I
challenge you to go me a string, Merriwell.”

Dick was becoming wearied by these repeated challenges on the part of
Arlington. Defeat after defeat made no difference with Chester. He
persisted with bulldog determination in his efforts to beat Merriwell at
something.

Hal Darrell was annoyed by the insolent manner in which Chester forced
himself among them. His eyes blazed as he said in a low tone:

“This party is made up. We’re bowling among ourselves now! When we have
finished, get your friends and take the alley! Don’t butt in!”

“I am not speaking to you, sir!” retorted Chet haughtily. “I have issued
the challenge to Mr. Merriwell. Perhaps he doesn’t dare accept. If
that’s the case, of course I will retire.”

“Gug-gug-gug-gug-go chase yourself!” said Jolliby. “You know he isn’t
afuf-fuf-fuf-fuf-fraid of you!”

“Actions speak louder than words,” said Chet. “I am here on the spot,
and I have issued my challenge. I am feeling just like bowling him now,
and it will show he hasn’t the nerve if he tries to put it off.”

“Dern his picter!” whispered Obediah Tubbs. “You will have to trim him,
Dick. There ain’t no way out of it.”

Suddenly Dick’s mind was made up.

“One string settles it, does it, Arlington?” he asked.

“That will be all you will care for,” laughed Chet. “You will get all
the satisfaction you want in one string.”

“Get off your coat,” said Dick. “I will bowl you one string.”

Among the spectators who gathered around were a few sympathizers with
Chester. These chaps were in every instance dissatisfied fellows, who
themselves had failed to be particularly successful at anything, through
lack of determination or industry, and who were envious of others who
succeeded.

Chet joyously removed his coat and hung it on a hook. He also took off
his collar and tie and rolled up his sleeve, displaying his forearms.

A coin was flipped to decide who should lead off, and the lead fell on
Arlington.

“Get them right on the spot, every one of them, boy!” he called to
Smart.

“I will do it,” retorted Ted. “It will be such a beautiful sight to see
them standing there after you roll! They will be all up for Merriwell
when you get through!”

Arlington examined the balls, and picked out and placed aside two that
were slightly marred. Then, having weighed several of them in his hands,
he selected one and slightly dampened his fingers with the sponge.

As Chet started to roll Buckhart started to say something, but Dick
silenced him with a gesture and a look.

With his eyes on the pins, Arlington balanced himself on the balls of
his feet, ran lightly forward three steps, and sent the ball spinning
whirringly down the polished surface of the alley. It struck the head
pin squarely and cut a hole through the bunch, leaving five standing,
three on one side and two on the other.

“Hard luck!” exclaimed one of the fellows who sympathized with him.

“Oh, that’s all right!” retorted Chet with supreme confidence. “I will
clean them off.”

He then assumed a new position on the alley and rolled for three pins on
one side. It seemed that he would hit them perfectly, but the ball
missed the pin in advance by the narrowest margin and clipped off the
other two.

“Now that was hard luck!” he exclaimed. “Never mind; I will take the two
on the other corner and start with nine.”

“That’s the talk!” cried a spectator.

Chester rolled with care and hit the nearest pin, which set its mate
swaying, and the latter finally fell.

“Nine pins!” announced Gardner, who was scoring.

“I don’t believe Smart had them on the spots,” declared Chet, standing
with his hands on hips and glaring at the two pins left upright. “That
ball should have taken them, sure.”

“What a shame!” cried Smart. “I am so disappointed!”

“That will do for you!” flared Chet. “While you’re setting up pins,
you’re supposed to be dead!”

Arlington sat down with an air of dissatisfaction.

It was now Dick’s turn, and he was ready by the time Ted had the pins
up.

Dick’s ball seemed to strike them handsomely, and he swept down eight
pins, leaving, however, one standing on each corner.

“Now that was hard lul-lul-lul-luck!” came from Jolliby.

Merriwell said nothing. Picking up another ball, he took his position on
the left side of the runway and prepared to try for one of the pins. As
he started to bowl some of his friends uttered low exclamations of
dismay, for it seemed that the wooden sphere would leave the alley four
or five feet before it reached the pin. Nevertheless, this did not
happen, for the ball took a pretty curve and clung to the edge of the
alley until it struck the pin fairly and sent it spinning against the
buffer.

“Ha!” was the cry. “He did it!”

“Well, there is one remaining on the other corner,” laughed Chet. “Let’s
see him pick that off.”

“He will do it, you bet your boots!” declared Buckhart.

Dick now got into position at the right hand of the runway and rolled
what is called a “cross-alley” ball. That is, he rolled the ball so that
it started on the right side of the alley, crossing diagonally to the
left on a perfect line for the pin at the corner. In this manner this
pin was picked off, and Gardner called:

“Ten pins for Merriwell!”

“Beautiful work!” exclaimed one of the boys, while several clapped their
hands softly.

“Evidently you’re going to stretch yourself, Merriwell,” laughed
Arlington, maintaining that insolent atmosphere. “You will have to
stretch yourself, all right, my fine fellow. I haven’t started to bowl
yet.”

“You’d better start right away,” said Buckhart, whereupon Dick promptly
stepped over to Brad, to whom he spoke in a low tone.

“Don’t make any talk, old man,” he said. “I have more friends here than
he has, and I want him to have just as good a show as I do. If he beats
me let him do it fairly; if I beat him I will do so without taking any
advantage.”

“Well, you’re a whole lot scrupulous!” growled the Texan. “That galoot
certain has missed no opportunity to take advantage of you.”

“Do you wish me to put myself on the same level?”

“You can’t get down to his level in a year if you try!”

The pins were up and Arlington was ready. He thrust up his right sleeve
a little farther, so that the lower portion of his swelling biceps could
be seen.

Chester did not use a curve, but rolled a ball with a moderate amount of
speed, starting his first one in each set from the right side of the
alley and sending it toward the head pin. This time he barely missed the
pin in advance, and the ball lopped off the entire side of the bunch,
leaving four standing on the opposite side.

“That would have been a strike if he had touched the head pin,” declared
one of the spectators.

“It is a spare now,” averred Arlington, with unshaken confidence. “I
can’t miss them.”

At this statement some one laughed.

“Oh, laugh away!” exclaimed Chet. “But just watch this ball a moment!”

Chester rolled his second ball. This time he used a trifle too much
speed. The ball seemed to hit the head pin squarely, and the pin took
one of those peculiar, freakish jumps that carried it clean over the
others without touching them.

Arlington stood still in the middle of the runway with his hands on his
hips, glaring at the pins.

“I’d like to have some one tell how that happened,” he finally cried.

“Hard luck!” said a voice. “You should have had your spare!”

“I know it!” growled Chet, picking up another ball.

He then did a foolish thing, for, having missed the spare, he rolled the
final ball carelessly, the result being that it simply clipped off the
corner pin.

In a close candlepin bowling match every point counts, and the winner
often is the man who can best pick off single pins.

“Eight pins for Arlington!” said Gardner, as he recorded it on the score
board, making a total of seventeen.

Dick had hard luck with his first ball, cutting two pins out of one side
of the bunch.

“That’s a shame,” said Chester, laughing.

Although Dick took the greatest pains, his next ball cut out two pins on
the opposite side, and left in the worst possible position the ones
standing.

At this Chester laughed heartily.

“A wooster!” he shouted. “You’ll get five pins on this roll, if you’re
lucky.”

Brad Buckhart was both angry and disgusted.

“Well, that was beastly luck!” he muttered.

“Pick off two of the corner ones, Merriwell, old man,” advised Barron
Black, who was an interested spectator.

Dick paused a moment in consideration. He had once been able to get
eight pins out of a similar break by hitting the head pin, although he
knew the chances were ten to one that he could not score more than two,
while the odds were decidedly against obtaining more than one in hitting
them in that manner.

Nevertheless he decided to take chances and roll for all he could get.
With this in his mind, he sent the third ball straight for the head pin.
He gave it a twisting whirl as it left his hand, using great speed.

The head pin was struck and sent flying against the others. To the
astonishment of Arlington and the surprise of every one, those pins flew
in such a peculiar manner that all save one went down.

“Well, what do you think of that?” exclaimed Chet.

“I think it was great luck,” smiled Dick quietly, as he turned to sit
down on the bench.

“Luck!” said Buckhart. “It was science. You hear me chirp!”

“Science!” sneered Arlington. “Why, it wouldn’t happen in a hundred
times! Science, indeed!”

Gardner recorded the score on the board, the total giving Dick nineteen
points and putting him two in the lead.

“I think I will have to let myself out if I am going to beat his luck
with my science,” said Chet.

When the pins were up, he sent the first ball into them in such a manner
that they all fell, save two. Those two were widely separated, but at
one side of the alley a deadwood fell, lay spinning a moment, and then
began to roll toward the other side.

“Look at that deadwood!” burst from Arlington. “Why, the confounded
alley isn’t level! The left-hand corner is lower than the other, or that
pin wouldn’t roll across in such a manner.”

“The left-hand corner is lower,” immediately agreed one of the
spectators. “We discovered that several days ago.”

“Well, that puts a big element of chance into the game,” declared Chet.
“When the pins roll like that there is no telling what may happen.”

The rolling pin, however, stopped against one of the two left standing,
and Chester studied its position.

“That isn’t so bad,” he finally declared. “If I can hit that deadwood
fairly I know I can get the pin it rests against, and the deadwood ought
to drop the other pin. Watch me do it.”

Having called their attention in this manner, he chose his ball and with
careless ease and assurance sent it straight at the end of the deadwood.

The ball did not swerve a fraction of an inch during its course down the
alley. It struck the deadwood perfectly, and in a twinkling both pins
were down.

Arlington had made his first spare.

Exclamations of satisfaction and applause burst from a number of the
witnesses, while Dick Merriwell generously clapped his hands and said:

“That was a beautiful shot, Arlington.”

“Oh, I knew I could do it!” smiled Chester in a most conceited and lofty
manner. “I can always do a thing like that when I have to. You can’t
beat me at this little game, Merriwell.”

Ted Smart heard these words, even though he was standing up the pins at
the far end of the alley.

“If there’s anything I admire it’s a chap that never boasts!” cried Ted.
“There’s the modest fellow for you!”

“Until you finish setting up those pins you’d better be seen and not
heard!” warmly retorted Arlington.

Dick followed with a handsome break, leaving only two pins standing.

“There is a spare for him,” declared Black.

“If he gets it,” said Chet instantly.

A deadwood had fallen in such a manner that it seemed certain Dick could
not miss sweeping down the pins with it. While he was picking up his
next ball, however, this deadwood began to roll toward the lower side of
the alley, and by the time he was ready it was too far from the standing
pins to be any use against them.

“Fine old alley!” laughed Arlington. “That’s how, by being out of level,
it robs him of almost a sure spare.”

Dick used a curve, and again it seemed that his ball would leave the
alley on the right side. Once more it curved in time to cling to the
edge, but it failed to touch the pin in advance and simply removed the
one on the extreme corner.

“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed Chet. “That’s the time he didn’t do it! The cant
on the alley surely did me a good turn then. He would have made it had
the deadwood remained where it fell.”

Merriwell made no complaint, but chose his third ball, and with it sent
the last standing pin against the buffer, which gave him another score
of ten, with a total of twenty-nine.

“Twenty-nine,” said Chester, as he rose and looked at the score board.
“I must get two pins with my first ball in order to tie him. Well, here
goes for eight pins.”

Crash! He sent the ball into the pins. Six fell.

“Only six!” he exclaimed, as if disappointed.

“That puts you four in the lead in the third box,” said one of the
spectators.

“That ball should have been good for eight or nine,” asserted Chester.

“Dern my picter!” exclaimed Tubbs. “He beats the earth!”

“Sus-sus-sus-sixteen looks pretty good for him in that box,” stuttered
Jolliby.

“Sixteen is better than the average spare,” confessed Mel Fraser, who
had heard the match was taking place and hurried to the gymnasium to
witness it.

“No bigger than the ordinary spare that I make,” declared Chet, wagging
his head.

“Well, there is another spare for you, if you hit them right,” said
Fraser.

“Oh, I will get it, all right,” promised Arlington, posing with his
second ball ready. “Just watch this!”

Once more, however, his confidence was too great, and to his unspeakable
disgust he missed the pins entirely.

Instantly he caught up the third ball and sent it with a snapping
movement flying down the alley. This ball took off only one pin, which
gave Chester seven in his fourth box and a total of forty.

“If the alley had been level, I must have made another spare with my
second ball!” he growled as he sat down.

This was not true, for the ball had swerved, at most, less than half an
inch in its course.

Dick slowly moistened his fingers with the sponge.

“Now let’s see him get another ten!” cried Arlington. “He can’t make all
nines and tens.”

Dick’s curve was a fraction too wide, for the ball missed the head pin
and gave him a poor break.

“I told you!” laughed Chet. “He couldn’t keep up that string of tens.”

Buckhart started to say something, but remembered Dick’s warning and
stopped.

For all of the bad break, Merriwell sent his next ball into the pins in
such a manner that they fell handsomely and only one was left standing.

“Well, he has nine!” nodded Chester. “I think he will leave that one
standing.”

“You’ve got another th-th-th-th-think coming!” burst from Jolliby, as
Dick picked off the tenth pin.

“Ten!” called Gardner, making the record on the board. “Thirty-nine for
Merriwell in the fourth box!”

Arlington rose and stood with his hands on his hips, looking at the
score board. He whistled softly.

“Thirty-nine,” he said. “Why, he’s only one behind!”

“And he hasn’t made a spare yet,” observed Barron Black.

“I see I must get down to business,” said Chester. “I have fooled with
him just as long as I can.”

Having made this remark, he chose a ball and rolled.

Crash!

Every pin fell!

“A strike!” shouted Fraser.

“Well, wouldn’t that ju-ju-ju-jar you!” chattered Jolliby.

“I rather think it will jar Mr. Merriwell a little,” said Chet, as he
gracefully sat down, his face wreathed in smiles.

Dick did not look disturbed. There was in his eyes that strange, grim
determination so often seen there on the diamond and the gridiron.

“There’s a strike!” cried one of the watchers, as Merriwell’s first ball
smashed into the pins, sending them flying.

It was not. On the corner one pin remained tottering and swaying a
little until it settled and stood still.

Not a word of complaint came from Dick. Instead, he rolled his next ball
with great precision, and removed the standing pin, thus getting a
spare.

“That’s all right,” exclaimed Black. “It wouldn’t surprise me to see him
get as many pins on his spare as Arlington does on his strike.”




                              CHAPTER XI.
                              THE WINNER.


“Oh! it wouldn’t surprise you, eh?” sneered Chet. “Well, if he gets as
many pins on his spare as I do on my strike, I’ll eat my hat!”

This confidence on Arlington’s part caused more than one to smile.
Chester sent his first ball smashing into the pins, and five fell.

“Here’s where I get another spare!” he laughed, picking another ball
from the return.

In truth, the standing pins were in such a position that a spare could
be made without difficulty in case they were hit correctly. Arlington
took pains to be very graceful in his movements as he sent the ball down
the alley, and the mere fact that he thought of himself, without fixing
his mind on the object he wished to accomplish, may have kept him from
success. At any rate, he missed the pin he wished to hit and secured
only two of the remaining five.

“Seventeen on his strike! Fifty-seven in all!” announced Gardner, as he
jotted down Chet’s score in the fifth box.

With his last ball Chester obtained two more pins, making nine in the
sixth frame, with a total of sixty-six.

“There, I guess that will hold you for a while,” he said, with a glance
at Dick, as he sat down. “Let’s see you get seven pins with your first
ball!”

Dick did his best, and hit the pins in what seemed to be a perfect
manner, yet he secured but five of them, which gave him fifteen on his
spare and fifty-four as a total in the fifth box. This left him three
points behind Chester.

A moment later, however, a shout arose, for with his second ball Dick
cleaned the alley.

He had made another spare.

“What do you think of that for luck?” cried Arlington.

“Luck!” burst from Buckhart. “Why, he earned it! It was good bowling.”

Rising and facing the score board, Chester saw at once that Merriwell
needed only two pins on his spare to get sixty-six in the sixth box.

A grim look came to Chet’s face. At last he realized that the game was
not going to be as easy as he had anticipated.

“It’s up to you to get a spare yourself, Chester,” said Mel Fraser.

“Dern my picter!” piped Obediah Tubbs. “I’ll bet he’ll need it.”

“Pretty poor bowling! Pretty poor bowling!” cried Smart, as he reset the
pins.

Arlington stood quite still with his ball poised and his eyes fastened
on the head pin.

Sp-rr-rr-rr—crash!

Then there was a shout, for Chester had made another strike. Instantly
his look of anxiety disappeared, and he smiled again as he sat down.

“I can’t bother with spares now,” he said. “I will have to scoop a few
strikes.”

“Gug-gug-gug-gug-great thutteration!” stuttered Jolliby. “This is
gug-gug-gug-gug-getting almighty hot!”

Although Dick rolled with the greatest care, he made a bad break with
his first ball and was able to secure only eight pins in the seventh
box, making a total of seventy-four.

Arlington seemed on his mettle, for his first ball gave him eight pins,
and he followed this up by cutting off the remaining two, thus making
another spare, which gave him twenty in his seventh box and a total of
eighty-six.

“That clinches it,” he nodded.

“Sure thing!” agreed Mel Fraser. “This is going to be a corking old
string!”

Of all Dick’s friends Brad Buckhart was the only one who seemed entirely
unshaken in confidence. The Texan remained firm in his belief that Dick
would win.

With only three boxes to roll and Arlington twelve points ahead in the
seventh box, the case looked desperate indeed. But Merriwell was one who
never gave up as long as there was a shred of hope left, and now he
delighted his friends by sending a graceful curve into the pins and
sweeping them all down except one on the corner. This pin stood and
tottered until a rolling deadwood struck it.

Then it fell!

“Whoop!” burst from the Texan, as he smote his thigh a crack. “There it
is! There’s a strike for you!”

“He needs it,” said Fraser.

“Well, he has it,” retorted Buckhart. “This yere game isn’t finished
yet, not by a long shot! You hear me chirp!”

Arlington was not disturbed by Dick’s success. With his nerves perfectly
steady he prepared for the next effort. But he only got six pins, which
gave him sixteen on his spare and a hundred and two, all told, in the
eighth frame.

“Look at that! Look at that!” smiled Fraser. “There’s a score for you!
One hundred and two on eight rolls! He will make a hundred and twenty!”

“I am afraid he is out of reach,” muttered Barron Black. “I am afraid
Merriwell can’t touch him.”

“Hi dunno habout that,” said Billy Bradley. “There’s a chance left,
don’t y’ ’now!”

“A mighty slim one!”

“Well, Dick his the boy to make hit hif hit can be done. ’Ere he goes!”

Seven pins fell with the first ball, and but one was left standing when
Dick rolled the second. This gave him nineteen on his strike, with a
total of ninety-three against Chester’s one hundred and two. At that
point Arlington was nine points in the lead.

With the remaining ball Dick tried to secure the last pin standing, but
barely brushed it, and it did not fall. At the end of the ninth the
score stood one hundred and eleven to one hundred and two in Arlington’s
favor.

Chester made ready for the final effort.

“He can’t beat me now,” Chet was exultantly thinking. “I have him at
last!”

Then, although handicapped by a poor break, he succeeded in securing ten
pins in the final box, making in all a total of one hundred and
twenty-one, which was indeed splendid bowling.

“It takes nineteen to tie and twenty to win,” said Fraser. “It is
settled now beyond question.”

“Wait a minute and see,” nodded Buckhart.

Barely had the pins been reset when Dick sent his first ball into them
and swept them down in a twinkling, leaving not even a deadwood on the
alley.

Buckhart nearly had a fit.

“I knew it!” he cried. “I was dead certain of it.”

Although Chester was somewhat disturbed, he simply shrugged his
shoulders and observed:

“It is necessary for him to make nine points with his next two balls in
order to tie. If he makes ten he wins.”

“He will never do it,” asserted Fraser.

“Say, if we were anywhere else, I would bet my last dollar on that!”
Buckhart exclaimed. “You wait and see if he doesn’t do it!”

“Isn’t it too bad!” Smart was heard saying to himself, as he reset the
pins. “How sorry I am! I hate to see him win!”

Dick picked two balls from the runway. Holding a ball in each hand, he
prepared to roll.

Now there was a hush. Arlington felt his nerves quivering a little. To
himself he was asking if it could be possible that Merriwell’s usual
luck would stand by him and enable him to win at the finish.

With a soft, whirring sound the ball sped down the alley. When it struck
the pins they flew.

“Seven!” was the shout. “Two more ties!”

“He will get ’em, too!” declared Buckhart. “He will win!”

One of the deadwoods had fallen on the higher side of the alley, while
there were two in the gutter. This pin in the gutter Smart instantly
removed. As he did this, the deadwood started to roll toward the lower
side of the alley.

Already Dick was on the point of bowling, and he delivered his ball
while the deadwood was in motion.

Arlington was on his feet now, and he saw that Merriwell’s last ball was
curving gracefully toward the pins.

“He has them! He has them!” breathed Chet, in unspeakable dismay, for he
felt certain the ball would hit the pins perfectly.

A moment later a groan came from some of the witnesses, for the curving
ball touched the deadwood, which had rolled into its path. The ball was
deflected just enough to miss the two head pins and clip off the one at
the corner.

In this unfortunate manner Merriwell had been prevented from securing at
least two of the pins and probably three.

Arlington had won by a single pin.

Chester’s triumph was complete, and he made the most of it. Fraser
hastened to shake his hand and congratulate him.

The disappointment of Dick’s friends seemed acute, but Dick accepted
defeat with the same composure that was habitual with him in times of
triumph.

“You hold the record on the alley, Arlington,” he said. “One hundred and
nineteen was the record before.”

“Oh, that’s a poor string for me!” asserted Chester laughingly.

Brad Buckhart was furious, but he managed to suppress his anger.

Dick slipped on his coat and walked away.

“Of all the beastly luck I ever saw!” growled the Texan, joining him.
“Why didn’t you challenge him to bowl again?”

“Because our agreement at the start was that we were to roll only one
string. That settled it.”

“But you should have won! You would have won only for that rolling
deadwood!”

“Forget it!” smiled Dick. “It is of no consequence.”

“What? No consequence? No consequence to have that fellow beat you? Why,
pard, he is not in your class at anything!”

“He is a clever fellow, Brad; you can’t deny that.”

“All the same, he can’t beat you again once out of ten times.”

“I don’t know about that. In fact, I am inclined to think your statement
altogether extravagant.”

Ten minutes later Dick had changed his clothes for a gymnasium suit and
came forth to engage in a fencing bout with Darrell. Both boys were
clever with the foils, and soon a number of cadets were watching them.
Arlington and Fraser joined the spectators.

It was a beautiful spectacle to watch the graceful movements of the two
lads, and the clever work of both was applauded. Dick was beyond
question the superior of Darrell, who accepted the situation with good
grace.

Arlington, however, did not hesitate to comment on Merriwell’s style and
work. These comments were not wholly complimentary.

“Look at that lunge!” he exclaimed derisively. “Why, any one could parry
that! His wrist is stiff. He loses half his opportunities to counter.”

“Still,” observed Fraser, “he is called the best fencer in the school.”

At this Chet laughed derisively.

“Wait,” he said. “If he dares I will try him a go. Come on, and I will
get into a suit.”

Arlington hastened to the dressing room, returning as soon as possible
in a gymnasium suit.

Dick was resting, and Chet walked straight up to him.

“I’d like to tackle you,” he declared. “What do you say?”

“All right,” nodded Dick.

Professor Broad, instructor in gymnastics, was near at hand, and was
selected to act as referee.

Once more an eager and excited throng of boys assembled to witness a
contest between Arlington and Merriwell.

In Dick’s eyes there was a slight gleam of fire as the two boys faced
each other. Chester was smiling in that supremely confident manner of
his.

“On guard!” called Professor Broad.

At this the two lads made the graceful movement of coming on guard.

“Engage!”

The foils met with a steely, hissing sound.

“Here’s where a rolling deadwood doesn’t spoil the match,” observed
Buckhart.

Chester entered into the bout in earnest, forcing the attack from the
start. His movements were quick, and he was catlike on his feet.
Repeatedly he lunged and recovered in time to prevent a counter.

Dick watched Arlington’s style and movements closely, seeking to
discover his capabilities.

“Why, Chester is playing with him!” declared Fraser. “He is keeping him
busy, too.”

“Juj-juj-juj-just you wait a bit,” stuttered Jolliby. “Merriwell hasn’t
bub-bub-bub-begun yet.”

A dozen times, in scarcely more than as many seconds, Chester sought to
counter on his adversary, and a dozen times he was foiled by a simple
movement of Dick’s wrist. At last, like a flash of lightning, Merriwell
lunged, and the button of his foil counted in quarte.

Arlington’s backward spring was made too late to avoid this. He lighted
on the balls of his feet and came forward in a twinkling, seeking to
catch Dick off guard after that thrust.

Once more Chester’s effort was foiled by a graceful and easy movement on
Merriwell’s part. And again Dick scored, this time in prime.

“Well! well! well!” cried Buckhart. “Didn’t I say so? Didn’t I know it?”

Chester flushed and showed symptoms of anger.

“Oh, this is just the beginning!” he declared.

“If this was the real thing it would be all over for you now,” asserted
the Texan. “You’d have a surgeon trying to patch you up by this time.”

“That will do,” said Professor Broad sharply. “The spectators will make
no remarks.”

“Well, I opine I can think,” muttered Brad to himself.

Enraged by the success of Merriwell, Arlington continued the bout with
redoubled energy. For some moments he succeeded in keeping Dick on the
defensive, but all the while Merriwell was watching for another opening,
which he found at last. His thrust was so swift that the eye could
scarcely follow it, and he scored in second.

A savage exclamation escaped Chet’s lips.

“Play fair! Play fair!” he cried.

“I’ll call the fouls,” said the athletic instructor.

This seemed to excite and enrage Arlington more than ever, and he flung
himself into the contest with great fury.

In warding off the fellow’s thrusts and avoiding his fierce attacks,
Merriwell now displayed marvelous skill. He was supple as a panther and
quick as a flash of light, and the look on his handsome face was that of
one who conquered by mastering himself.

Chester’s breast was heaving and his lips parted. He was rapidly
becoming winded through his own furious movements. When his attacks
showed signs of weakening Dick began to push the engagement, and from
that moment to the finish he played with Chet in a manner that revealed
his superiority to every spectator. Again and again he scored without
once being touched by the button on Arlington’s foil.

“I knew it!” muttered Brad Buckhart, in deep satisfaction.

At last, determined to make one count, at least, Chester risked all in a
thrust which left him quite unguarded. The point of his weapon was
caught by the point of Merriwell’s, and it slipped and passed through to
one side until the guards of the foils touched. Then, with a single
light, quick turn of the wrist, Dick snapped Chester’s foil from his
hand and sent it spinning into the air. As it fell he caught it
gracefully, gave it a turn in his hand, and held it hilt first toward
his antagonist.

Arlington’s face grew purple with rage. With a quick movement, he seized
the proffered foil, and an instant later the blade whistled through the
air as he sought to strike Dick across the mask with it.

Down dropped Merriwell, his left foot sliding back and the fingers of
his left hand lightly touching the floor. At the same instant he thrust,
and the button of his foil struck against Chester’s padded jacket with
such force that the blade was doubled into a half circle.

For all of this thrust Dick was up and away before Chet could recover.

“Try that again! Try that again!” grated Arlington.

Even as he uttered the words, while he was following Dick up, the latter
once more dropped and thrust. To every one it seemed that Chester was
beyond reach, yet that movement on the part of his antagonist gave Dick
such a long lunge that he easily counted.

“There you have it!” whispered Buckhart, in great satisfaction.

Arlington was astounded.

“What do you think of that, professor?” he demanded. “Is it allowable?”

“Perfectly,” answered Broad.

“All right! all right!” snarled Chet, once more seeking to engage his
antagonist.

By this time Arlington realized that he was in no way a match for Dick
with the foils. Still he vowed to himself he would not stop until he had
countered once on Merriwell.

At last Dick lowered the point of his foil in such a manner that Chester
fancied the opening was such that he could not be checked.

Nevertheless, with a sidelong movement of his hand, the marvelous young
fencer caught Chet’s blade and turned it so that again the foils slid
past until the guards touched.

Once more there came that twisting snap of the wrist, and once more
Arlington’s blade was sent spinning into the air.

Chet stood panting and baffled, making no attempt to pick the weapon up.

“I should say that was about enough,” declared Broad, who saw that
Arlington was too angry to continue. “You had better try some one for
whom you are more nearly a match.”

“Oh! I am a match for him,” panted Chet. “He will find it out yet!”

With that, overcome with chagrin and shame, Arlington turned and
hastened to the dressing room.




                              CHAPTER XII.
                           A DASTARDLY DEED.


The following afternoon there was an extra drill of Arlington’s class,
in which he was compelled to take part. He detested this work, and his
heart was full of envy as he stood in line with his classmates, bearing
a rifle, and saw the members of the baseball team, several of whom had
been excused from drill, hastening away to the ball ground.

“Oh, this is a fine old school!” he thought. “Now if I was on the
baseball team I could get out of this work.”

His mind wandered so that he failed to hear the command, twice repeated,
of “right dress,” and at length the cadet officer in command was
compelled to speak directly to him.

“Dress, Cadet Arlington!” was the order.

Chet’s face grew crimson as he moved into line with his companions. He
was destined to suffer still further annoyance, for the inspecting
officer, on looking his rifle over, reprimanded him sharply for not
having it in perfect order.

“What does he think!” Arlington mentally exclaimed. “Does he fancy I am
going to spend my time rubbing at a useless old gun with a greased rag?
That’s a fine occupation for a gentleman’s son!”

When drill was over, and he could get away, Arlington hastened toward
the ball ground, arriving there to find the boys on the point of
leaving. In vain he looked around for Merriwell.

“Hello, Arlington!” said Jack Harwood. “Why, you look ugly enough to
chew nails!”

“I am! I am sick of a school where a lot of fellows can get excused from
drill in order to put in baseball practice. I believe in using every one
alike.”

“Do you?” smiled Jack. “Why, it has been hinted here that you fancy you
should be used better than any one else.”

“Well, I haven’t been! I have been used worse! Merriwell is the only
fellow who can do just as he pleases around here. Where is he?”

“Why, I saw him a while ago,” said Jack. “I saw him strike off to the
south.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

“With a ball suit on?”

“Yes.”

“Wonder where he was going?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’ll bet I do!” muttered Chet.

Five minutes later Arlington was also hurrying away.

“Let me catch him!” he growled. “I know where he has gone! He is playing
a double game.”

Coming to the woods, he hurried along the path that led to the rustic
bridge over Ripple Brook. As he approached the vicinity of the bridge he
moved with great caution, coming at last to a point where he could look
down along the path and see the bridge. There he suddenly halted.
Leaning on the rail of the bridge, he saw Zona Desmond.

Beyond Zona, at the opposite end of the bridge, partly hidden from view,
he beheld another girl in company with Dick, who was talking to her. The
foliage prevented him from obtaining more than a glimpse of them, and
immediately he hissed:

“I knew it! He came here to meet Doris. If ever there was a two-faced
duffer, it is Merriwell; but I will fix him—I will fix him!”

Backing away a short distance, he turned and fled along the path,
retracing his course. He did not stop running until he was within sight
of the academy. There were some boys on the parade ground, and he
hastened toward them.

“Seen anything of Darrell?” he asked.

“Why, yes,” answered one. “There he is over yonder.”

Reaching Hal, Chet touched him on the shoulder.

“I have something to tell you,” he said.

Darrell frowned.

“All right; tell away.”

“It’s private.”

“Private?”

“Yes. It will interest you, and you won’t care to have everybody hear
it.”

Chet drew aside and, after a moment’s hesitation, Hal followed him. He
did not trust Arlington, whom he regarded with the greatest aversion,
yet something led him to listen to the fellow’s words.

“I presume,” said Chester, “you think Dick Merriwell is one of your
friends? You fancy him a fine sort of a chum, don’t you?”

“We’re not chums,” retorted Hal. “We’re simply friends.”

“Oh! you’re friends, are you?” was the sneering retort. “I suppose you
are such friends that you are always open and aboveboard with each
other. You wouldn’t deceive each other for the world, would you? You
don’t have an idea that Merriwell would fool you?”

“He is not that kind.”

“Oh! isn’t he? That shows how little you know him.”

“I am sick of this business, Arlington,” declared Darrell. “No fellow in
this school has done as much for you as Merriwell. Yet you continue to
backbite him. What sort of a cock-and-bull story have you faked up now?”

“Oh! I am not going to tell you any story, but if you want to see
something with your own eyes that will wake you up, just follow me and
get a move on.”

“I can’t waste time in chasing you about.”

“Well, you’d better—you’d better!” nodded Chet. “I will show you
something that will make you sizzle.”

“What will you show me?”

“Come and see. I will prove to you by the evidence of your own eyes that
Dick Merriwell is a double-faced sneak. If I don’t prove it——”

“If you don’t prove it,” said Hal grimly, “I will make you wish you had!
Go ahead!”

“You will follow?”

“Yes. Lead on.”

Not a few of the boys were surprised to see Chet and Hal walking rapidly
away in company. As soon as they were some distance from the academy and
not liable to attract attention, Arlington started into a run.

“We must hurry!” he called. “Get a gait on you, Darrell!”

Coming to the path through the woods, they ran along this, with Chet in
advance and Hal close at his heels.

“I am a fool!” thought Darrell more than once. “I know it. I ought to be
kicked for taking any stock in him.”

Approaching a spot from which they might peer down the path to the
bridge, Chester slackened his pace and cautioned his companion to move
silently.

At last Darrell reached out and seized Chet by the collar, stopping him
in his tracks.

“Now, hold on,” he said, in a low tone, “I want you to tell me just what
you are going to show me.”

“You will see in a minute.”

“What is it?” demanded Hal. “I refuse to play the monkey any longer
unless I know why I do it.”

“Don’t speak so loud!” whispered Arlington. “We will be in sight of the
bridge in a minute. There is some one down there by the bridge, or was a
short time ago.”

“Merriwell?”

“Yes.”

“Who else?”

“Oh, two girls!”

“Who are they?”

“Well, one is Zona Desmond; but she didn’t go there to meet Merriwell.
She just came to accompany a chum. Now you ought to guess who the other
girl is. You know who she chums with.”

Hal’s eyes gleamed.

“See here,” he said, “you don’t mean to tell me that Doris Templeton met
Merriwell at the rustic bridge by appointment?”

“Don’t I?”

“Do you?”

“It looks like it. I saw them together down there.”

“I believe you lie!” grated Hal. “Why, Doris told me herself——”

Chester began to laugh.

“So she told you she would never have anything more to do with
Merriwell, did she? Ha! ha! She probably thought so then; but you know
how he fascinates the girls. They can’t resist him. He is a perfect
sneak! He charms them!”

“Your sister——”

“Now don’t say a word about her!” harshly exclaimed Chester, in a low
tone. “I’d give fifty dollars to have her here now so I could show her!
I have done everything possible to break her foolish friendship with
that fellow.”

Darrell felt his blood burning hot in his veins. His admiration for
Doris had remained unchanged through everything, but the manner in which
he believed she had “turned him down” for Dick had made him bitter and
morose. At last her eyes had been opened to the fact that Merriwell
admired June Arlington more than any one else, and again she had turned
to Darrell. This had filled him with deepest satisfaction, and over and
over he vowed Merriwell should never again interfere between them.

Now—now, what if they had met by appointment at the bridge!

“Go on, Arlington!” he said. “Hustle! Prove it—or you will wish you
had!”

Once more they stole softly forward, quickly coming to the spot where
the bridge could be seen.

Chester had feared the trio might have left the bridge during his
absence; but his heart gave a leap of triumph as he saw they were still
there. Dick was talking to both of the girls now, while Zona was idly
tossing pebbles into the pool below the bridge.

“There!” panted Chet. “There they are! Now you see! Now you’re
satisfied!”

Hal stood quite still for a moment, then began to retreat softly,
drawing back so that he could not be seen by the three on the bridge.

Chester followed, eagerly demanding:

“What are you going to do? Aren’t you going down there and pitch into
him?”

“You poor fool,” retorted Hal, in the greatest disgust. “You miserable,
sneaking spy!”

“Here! here!” grated Arlington. “What do you mean by talking like that?”

“Why, you blithering idiot,” said Darrell, “that’s not Doris down there
with them! That’s your own sister, June!”

Arlington stood still a moment as if turned to stone. Then he whirled
and peered forth along the path toward the bridge.

Darrell had spoken the truth. In his eagerness and excitement Chester
had not paused to obtain a good view of the girl with Merriwell, being
convinced on seeing Zona that her companion must be Doris.

“Well, I’ll be blowed!” he growled, backing away. “I swear I thought it
was Doris!”

Darrell stood looking at him, with an expression of supreme contempt on
his face.

“Arlington,” he said, “you’re not only an ingrate, but you’re a liar and
a sneak! That’s my opinion of you.”

“Be careful!” palpitated Chet, quivering with disappointment and rage.
“I won’t stand that from any fellow!”

“You will have to stand it from me!” retorted Hal, in the same low tone.
“You know it’s the truth, too! You have been lying about Merriwell, and
now you play the spy upon him! Why, I thought you had reformed—and that
you were going to be honorable and upright! Is this your honor? There is
not a particle of decency in your miserable body! You don’t know what it
is to be decent! You’re a disgrace to your sister and to your family!
You are a disgrace to Fardale! I was a fool to take any stock in you and
follow you here! I am ashamed of it! Here and now I quit you, and I want
you to keep away from me at all times in the future!”

With that Hal turned his back on Chester and started to move away.

Shaking with rage, Arlington made two swift, silent steps and leaped on
Hal’s back, grasping him by the throat and hurling him to the ground.

Hal made a desperate effort to turn on his assailant, and together they
rolled over and over in the path until they came to the top of the
slope, down which they plunged, crashing into the bushes at one side.
Arlington’s hold was broken, but he continued fighting savagely.

The girls and Dick had been startled by the sounds, and now Merriwell
came running up the path. June and Zona followed.

When Dick reached the struggling boys he found Hal holding Chet down,
and was in time to see Darrell lifting his clinched fist. With a leap he
seized Darrell’s fist and prevented the blow.

“Hold on, Hal!” he exclaimed. “Don’t hit him!”

June saw her brother and uttered a cry of alarm as she ran forward.

“The spy! The sneak!” grated Darrell.

“Let me up!” panted Arlington.

“Don’t! don’t—don’t strike my brother!” burst from June’s lips.

“The girls, Hal—think of the girls!” urged Dick.

“He jumped on me!” declared Chester. “He jumped on my back!”

“You liar!” hissed Darrell.

“Let him up, Hal,” urged Dick. “It’s the best thing you can do. Let him
up.”

June added her pleading, and Darrell finally rose to his feet. Arlington
scrambled up, livid with rage.

“You will pay for this!” he palpitated, shaking his fist at Darrell. “I
will fix you for this!”

He seemed on the point of again attacking the boy he had so
treacherously assaulted. June seized his arm.

“Stop, Chester—for my sake, stop!”

“For your sake!” he snarled, turning on her. “Why should I do anything
for you? What do you mean by coming here to meet this duffer, Merriwell?
I thought better of you! You’re a fine sister to have! I’m ashamed of
you! You’re a disgrace!”

“Chester!” she gasped.

“I mean it!” he raged. “Now, you come along with me!”

Saying which he seized her roughly by the arm, giving it a jerk that
made her utter a cry of pain.

That was too much for Dick, who suddenly tore him from June and sent him
staggering to one side.

“Don’t put your hands on her again, Arlington!” he said, in a low tone,
his eyes blazing.

“You’re crazy, Chester!” exclaimed June.

“Well, isn’t it enough to make a fellow crazy! What will your mother say
when I tell her? Nice sort of a girl you are!”

Dick quickly stepped toward Chet.

“Another insulting word from your lips and you will regret it!” he
declared.

Their eyes met, and for a moment there was a silent battle between them.
At last Chester looked down.

“Oh, this doesn’t end it!” he muttered.

“Take the girls away, Merriwell,” urged Hal. “I’ll take care of him.”

“No, no!” panted June.

Turning his back on Arlington, Dick stepped to June’s side.

“Come,” he said, “let me take you back to the academy. He will be all
right when he cools down. It isn’t safe for you to trust yourself with
him now. He is beside himself with rage.”

It was quickly arranged that Hal should act as Zona’s escort, and the
four set off down the path. Chester watched them a few moments and then
deliberately started to follow, at the same time crying:

“You’re both cowards! Merriwell is a coward and a sneak! I dare him to
come back!”

“Pay no attention to him, Hal!” said Dick.

Although they disregarded Arlington, he continued to follow them all the
way through the woods.

“How did it happen?” asked June. “Why, I don’t understand it! Chester
has been so good lately, and I thought he had changed.”

“How did you two come to be there, Darrell?” asked Dick.

Hal flushed.

“I will tell you sometime,” he said. “I don’t want to talk about it
now.”

Coming to the border of the woods where they were in full view of
Lakeside Academy, Dick paused.

“I think I can handle Chester better than any one else,” he said. “I am
going back. Darrell, take the girls to the academy.”

June clung to his arm.

“Dick, you—you won’t——”

“Trust me,” he said.

“I do,” she whispered. “I trust you fully, Dick.”

Arlington saw Merriwell turn back and wondered at it.

“He’s coming!” panted Chet. “I wonder what he thinks he’s going to do?”

After a moment he turned and fled along the path, and, although Dick
followed at a rapid walk, Chester soon disappeared from view.

Wondering if Arlington would not stop, Dick continued to hurry along.
The bridge was reached and recrossed, but nowhere could Chet be seen.
Near the spot where the encounter had occurred Merriwell paused a
moment.

“Strange,” he muttered. “Strange Darrell should be here with him!”

On the ground near his feet he saw a jackknife, and he stooped to pick
it up. As he bent over something came whizzing through the air and
struck him on the side of the head. It was a heavy stone, and Dick fell
senseless to the ground.

As the stricken boy lay there the bushes were parted and a pair of eyes
peered out at him. They were set in a pale, wrathful face, and the voice
of Arlington muttered:

“Soaked you that time!”

Then, as Dick continued to remain motionless, Chester came creeping from
the bushes and hesitatingly approached him.

“Hit him plumb on the head,” he said. “That was a big stone, too. By
George! perhaps I cracked his skull!”

Drawing a little nearer and feeling a quiver of apprehension run over
him, Chester bent and turned the prostrate lad upon his back. As he did
so he saw a streak of blood across Merriwell’s temple.

A gasp came from the lips of the young scoundrel and he straightened up.

“Heavens!” he muttered, “I believe I have fixed him! Must have hit him
fairly on the temple. If I did he’s dead, that’s all!”

Fear grew upon him as he stared at the pallid face of the unconscious
lad. Bending over, he placed his hand on Dick’s breast. With a cry he
started back.

“He’s dead!” he whispered. “I have killed him! Good Lord! what a
scrape!”

He was trembling in every limb. Suddenly he crouched like a hunted thing
and began staring around.

“No one saw me!” he whispered. “They can’t prove it! What will I do?
Darrell will find him when he comes back!”

Through his mind ran a wild plan to carry the body away into the woods
and conceal it somewhere. With this object in view, he again bent over
Merriwell; but suddenly terror seized him to such an extent that he
could not touch the silent figure.

“No, no!” he half screamed, as he quickly drew back. “I can’t do it—I
can’t! I won’t put my hands on him again!”

With his heart pounding furiously in his bosom, he began to retreat, his
eyes still fixed on the boy he had so treacherously struck down. Step by
step, foot by foot, he backed away. The bushes closed around him. He
paused a moment to take a last look at that still form and then
vanished.

With a feeling of horror and guilt growing upon him, he hurried away
into the silent woods. Now and then he cast an apprehensive glance
backward over his shoulder, for time after time he felt that the spirit
of the lad he had slain was following him.

“They will call it murder!” he groaned. “But I’ll deny it! I’ll swear I
never did it! How can they prove it against me?”

The woods grew thicker and thicker. Finally he found himself crashing
and floundering through a dense jungle. Before him the tangled bushes
seemed to bar his way, and, as he sought to force a passage, they
resisted and held him back.

“You can’t stop me!” he snarled. “You can’t hold me! I know what you are
trying to do. You want him to catch me!”

At length he paused, panting and exhausted. For some moments he stood
listening to the silence of the forest. Behind him at a distance a twig
snapped. It seemed as loud as a pistol shot, and he gave a great start.

“He’s coming! he’s coming!” he palpitated, and then tore his way through
the tangled underbrush. The branches whipped his face and tore his
clothes. He tripped and fell on his hands and knees. He crept onward.
Finally he sank on his stomach, prostrate on the dank ground, where he
lay trembling and breathing heavily. Somewhere in the dense wood a tree
toad piped mournfully.

“Peep! peep! peep!” cried the little fellow, and there was unutterable
sadness and lamentation in the sound.

“Dry up!” whispered the haunted lad. “Be still and let me listen!”

But the only voice he could hear, save that of the tree toad, was the
voice of his conscience, which seemed to whisper over and over:

“You’re a murderer! You’re a murderer!”

“Who says so?” he almost shouted. “It’s a lie! It’s a lie! I am not a
murderer!”

But a gloomy echo answered:

“Murderer!”




                             CHAPTER XIII.
                            FORCED TO FIGHT.


Until the shadows began to deepen and night was close at hand, Chet lay
hidden in the thicket.

“I am getting what is due me,” he finally confessed. “No fellow ever
treated me better than Merriwell has. What a fool I have been! It’s too
late now—too late! I may as well go forth and confess. Let them hang me;
what do I care!”

Then the horror of the scaffold, the shadow of which seemed upon him,
made his blood run cold through all his body.

“They won’t hang me!” he half sobbed. “Why, they can’t! My father is a
rich man! He will save me! They will never hang the son of D. Roscoe
Arlington!”

But still, although he kept telling himself over and over that he would
escape such a fate, the benumbing fear of it would not leave him.

“What a disgrace it will be to my mother! And June—how can she bear it!
Poor June! Never any fellow had a better sister. But how have I treated
her! This very day I insulted her before Merriwell and Darrell. Oh, if I
could begin over again! But it is too late—too late!”

Then he noted that darkness was coming on, and the shadows added to his
terror.

“I can’t stay here any longer,” he said. “I must get out of the woods.”

Wearily he dragged himself to his feet and forced his way through the
thicket. Again the branches whipped against him and tore at his clothes.
At times, with savage rage, he snatched himself free from the clinging
twigs.

At last the darkness grew so great that the wretched lad feared he would
be unable to find his way out of the wood. This fear seemed to give him
new energy, and he plunged on and on, escaping at length from the
jungle-like thicket and finally coming to the edge of the timber.

In the west, where the sun had vanished, there was a faint, reddish
tinge as of a conflagration. Overhead the sky was dark and grim.

“There is the academy,” he murmured, as he saw gleaming lights in the
distance. “Shall I go back there? What shall I do? I might run away, but
it would do no good. They would overtake me. They would know then that I
was guilty. If I go back I may be able to bluff it through. What a fool
I was! Why didn’t I rob Merriwell of his trinkets and money and bury
them somewhere in the woods? Then they might think it was done by a
tramp. But it is too late for that now.”

It was difficult, indeed, for him to return to the academy, but he set
his teeth and started on a run. Across the fields he went, leaping the
fences. In this manner he finally came into the road not far from the
academy and unexpectedly ran fairly into a number of boys who were
walking along that road.

“Whoop!” cried one. “Whoever is this yere galoot? Whoever is this
rambling maverick?”

Chester was seized by several hands, but he attempted to break away.

“Let me alone!” he cried. “Mind your own business!”

“What?” roared the voice of Buckhart. “Chaw me up! I opine I recognize
that musical voice. See here, pard, here’s the fine gent you’re looking
for.”

Then Arlington came near swooning, for, in spite of the darkness, he saw
before him Dick Merriwell. And around Dick’s head there was a white
bandage.

“So it’s you!” exclaimed Dick, confronting his enemy. “And you are the
whelp who struck me down in the woods! I am looking for you!”

“You’re a liar!” instantly cried Chester. “I haven’t touched you!”

“Fighting talk, pard!” said Buckhart.

“Oh, yes!” sneered Chester, “you want to force a fight on me, do you?
That’s Merriwell’s game, is it? He has a lot of his friends with him,
and I am alone. I will fight him, but give me a fair show. Let me have
some of my friends with me. I will fight him any time.”

“I will meet you in Chadwick’s pasture in an hour,” said Dick.

“I will be there!” hotly retorted Chester. “And I will have some friends
with me.”

“I will bet a bunch of longhorns he won’t come,” said the Texan.

“You’re a liar, too!” blazed Chet. “I tell you I’ll be there!”

“We will take his word for it,” came quietly from Dick. “If he doesn’t
keep the appointment—well, we’ll know what to think of him then.”

Before the expiration of an hour Dick and his companions crossed
Chadwick’s pasture and descended into the little hollow where so many
encounters had taken place. With Merriwell were Buckhart, Smart,
Jolliby, and Tubbs.

“By Jim!” exclaimed Obediah, “I am hungry! Anybody got a pie in his
pocket?”

“You don’t mean a pup-pup-pup-pie?” asserted Jolliby. “What you need is
a dud-dud-dud-drink. How would some whisky gug-gug-gug-go?”

“I don’t drink whisky,” piped the fat boy. “It takes the coat off a
fellow’s stomach.”

“Worse than that,” chuckled Smart. “It takes the coat off a fellow’s
back.”

“I think this yere is a fool piece of business, anyhow!” growled the
Texan. “I’ll bet Arlington doesn’t show up. He certain knows he is about
to get a good trimming if he does, and he is not looking for that.”

“I think he will be here,” said Dick quietly.

“Well, it’s about time he was here now. Where is he?”

“Wait and sus-sus-sus-see,” advised Jolliby. “I didn’t suppose Dick
would fuf-fuf-fuf-fight him, anyhow.”

“I don’t know what you think I am made of, Jolliby,” said young
Merriwell grimly. “I have stood almost everything from Arlington, but
the time has passed for me to stand any more. He struck me down in the
wood. What could I do about it? If I reported it, it is possible he
would be expelled. In that case he would think me afraid of him. Even
now, because of his sister’s sake I have stood so much, he seems to
fancy I fear him. I have got to get that out of his head.”

Buckhart laughed.

“You will get it out of his head all right to-night if he shows up.”

The sound of voices now came to their ears, and several persons were
seen approaching through the darkness.

“Here they cuc-cuc-cuc-come!” whispered Jolliby.

There were four of them, as Dick and his friends saw when the
approaching party drew nearer. One fellow advanced quickly and spoke to
them.

“I see you’re waiting,” he said. “Arlington is ready, too.”

It was Mel Fraser.

“Yes, we’re waiting,” said Brad. “Let him strip and get into gear. We
will settle this thing in a hurry.”

“He is all ready without stripping,” asserted Fraser. “He don’t need to
take off his coat. Here he is.”

He made a motion toward one of his companions, who stepped out from the
others.

Dick tossed his coat aside and announced his readiness.

“Fly at it!” exclaimed Buckhart. “And may the best man win!”

A moment later the two met and the fight was on.

Although the moon was obscured by clouds, there was a faint, hazy light
that enabled the spectators, by pressing close, to watch the struggle.

“Get into it, pard!” growled Buckhart.

“Go for him, Arlington!” cried the companions of Dick’s antagonist. With
the bandage showing plainly about his head, Merriwell circled round his
enemy, moving to the left. No word came from the lips of the other lad.

There was a moment of sparring, and then Merriwell’s foe closed in
swiftly, leading with a blow at Dick’s head.

Dick ducked and tried to counter on the fellow’s body, but was blocked.

“That’s the stuff, Arlington!” shouted Fraser. “Keep him going! Keep
after him!”

During the next few moments Dick busied his antagonist to such an extent
that the fellow had no chance to keep after him. Indeed, it was with
considerable difficulty that he avoided the varied attacks made upon
him.

Nevertheless, his defense was so skillful that Merriwell was somewhat
astonished.

“Arlington has been taking lessons,” he decided. “This is not his style
of fighting.”

Finally Dick received a blow on the shoulder that jarred him slightly,
and the enemy sought to follow up the slight advantage thus gained. In
doing so, he left an opening that Merriwell improved, and a sudden cry
rose from the spectators, for, following the smack of a hard fist, one
of the fighters went down.

“It is Arlington, by Jim!” squeaked Tubbs. “Dick soaked him a good one
that time!”

“You bub-bub-bub-bet your life!” chattered Jolliby.

The fellow recovered in a twinkling and sprang to his feet. Dick was
waiting, and they went at it again with still greater fury. Round and
round they circled, their feet sounding thuddingly on the solid ground.

The spectators grew more and more excited. Buckhart was in a perfect
fever.

“Put your brand on him! Put your brand on him!” palpitated the Texan.

“Don’t hit him!” entreated Smart. “It would be a shame to hit him!”

“Keep him going, old man!” urged Fraser. “He’s up against the real thing
to-night.”

The fight was so fast and furious that it kept every spectator on edge.
Once or twice the circle was forced to fall back swiftly to get away
from the struggling lads. Several times Dick’s antagonist sought without
success to close with him, but seemed at last to accomplish his object.

“Down with him!” hissed Fraser.

But it was not Dick who went down. He managed to twist his opponent over
his hip and throw him heavily. Immediately he rose to his feet and
waited for the other to get up.

“Why didn’t you soak him when you had him?” asked Brad.

“I can’t hit a chap when he is down,” declared Dick.

“Give him the same chance at you and see what he will do!”

“That makes no difference to me.”

The fallen boy rose slowly, but was at Dick in a twinkling as soon as he
reached his feet. Apparently he sought to take Merriwell by surprise,
rushing unexpectedly and savagely. However, he was the one surprised,
for Merriwell’s hard fist struck him a blow that stopped him in his
tracks. His hands fell for a moment, and Buckhart palpitated:

“Now! now—put him out!”

Dick might have struck the final blow, but for some reason he held his
hand, giving the other time to recover.

After that, Merriwell’s enemy was wary and cautious for several seconds.
Dick followed him up and pressed the fight, but was given no good
opening for a telling blow.

“Waugh!” growled the Texan. “I certain don’t understand this yere pard
of mine any. Here that galoot soaks him on the head and knocks him
silly, but he continues to let him have more than an even show in this
go.”

“Dick always fuf-fuf-fuf-fights fair,” said Jolliby.

Merriwell’s foe seemed to recover rapidly, for soon he was once more
meeting Dick halfway, and the fight seemed fiercer than ever.

This kind of battle could not last long, for some time one or both of
the boys were bound to weaken. Plainly, it was a struggle in which
staying power must tell.

In the end Dick’s splendid condition and fine training told. His foe was
breathing heavily, although persisting in the same fierce style of
fighting.

Several times Dick tried to end the encounter with a telling blow, but
the skill of the other chap enabled him to avoid this until his wind
began to fail. Finally Merriwell forced his enemy to retreat and kept
close after him.

“It’s all over!” half laughed Buckhart, as Dick struck Arlington
repeatedly. “There he goes!”

Even as the words were spoken, Dick landed a sledge-hammer blow on the
jaw of his antagonist, and Arlington went down like a log.

“I knew it!” declared the Texan.

The fallen chap did not stir.

“Give me a match,” cried Dick. “Quick—give me a match!”

Some one thrust a match into his fingers, and he struck it, protecting
the blaze with his hands and throwing the light full on the face of the
chap who lay prone on the ground.

“Look!” he cried. “Here’s the Chester Arlington I’ve been fighting!”

Then there were many exclamations of astonishment, for it was seen that
the fellow was not Arlington at all, although he wore Arlington’s
clothes and was built very much the same as Chester.

“Dern my picter!” piped Obediah Tubbs, in astonishment. “What kind of a
gol-dinged game is this?”

“Cuc-cuc-cuc-crooked work!” burst from Jolliby. “Where is Mel Fraser?”

But Fraser had backed away, and now he suddenly took to his heels and
fled.

“Here, you!” growled one of the fallen chap’s companions. “Let him
alone! We will take care of him!”

“Whoop!” roared Buckhart.

“You will take care of him, will you? Well, I opine we will take care of
you. Get into them, fellows!”

Instantly he went at them, and he was followed by Jolliby and Tubbs, who
were fierce with rage and indignation at the trick.

The young toughs could not stand before such an assault, and they, like
Fraser, turned and fled. Tubbs would have pursued, but he tripped and
fell heavily, upon which all stopped, permitting the fleeing boys to
escape.

“Well, of all the low-down tricks I ever heard of this takes the prize!”
declared the Texan. “What do you think of it, pard? It’s mighty queer
you didn’t tumble.”

“I did,” said Dick.

“When?”

“Some time before the finish. I saw his style of fighting was not like
Arlington’s.”

“Why didn’t you say something? Why didn’t you let us know?”

“It was too late then. There was but one thing to do, and I did it.
Arlington’s proxy got what was coming to Chester.”

“Hang a sus-sus-sus-sneak!” cried Chip. “Confound a cuc-cuc-cuc-coward!
That’s what Arlington is! He didn’t dare fuf-fuf-fuf-fight you!”

“Oh, don’t say such hard things about him!” half sobbed Smart. “See how
kind and self-sacrificing he was. He permitted another fellow to take
his place and enjoy the pleasure of this little scrap. Wasn’t that
splendid of him? Wasn’t it perfectly fine?”

“I hope this chap isn’t hurt much,” said Dick; and as he uttered the
words the fellow stirred and attempted to sit up.

“By Jim! I guess he is all right,” said Tubbs.

“Dud-dud-dud-do you know him, Dick?” asked Chip.

“I have seen him. He is well known in town. His name is Moran.”

“Yes, that’s my name,” acknowledged the fellow. “Where are the others?
Where’s my gang?”

“The whole bunch stampeded,” answered Brad.

Moran was surprised and disgusted.

“They’re a fine lot,” he muttered. “Look here! what sort of a slugger
did I go against? Arlington told me the fellow would be easy.”

“Well, you’re a fine specimen,” growled the Texan. “Whatever were you
trying to celebrate?”

“I got the coin, and I reckon I earned it, too,” was the retort.

“So Arlington paid you for this job, did he?” questioned Dick.

“Sure thing! But I made a mistake. I put the price too low.”

Merriwell’s indignation was unbounded.

“You’re lucky to get off so easy,” he declared.

“Easy!” exclaimed Moran. “Why, you t’umped me up in fine style. Where
did you learn to handle your dukes that way? I am the champion of
Fardale, but you’re too much for me.”

“Dern your picter!” said Tubbs. “What you need is a coat of tar and
feathers.”

“No,” said Jolliby. “That’s wh-wh-wh-what Arlington needs.”

Moran slowly rose to his feet.

“Anyhow, I have got a good suit of clothes out of him,” he said. “That
will help pay the extra for the slugging I went against. But that don’t
settle it; he will hear from me again. He lied to me; you bet I will
soak him for it, too!”

“Now, that’s where you’re talking, stranger,” nodded Brad. “If you agree
to soak him good and plenty we will let you off; otherwise, it’s up to
us to finish this job.”

“Let me alone and see if I don’t put it all over him the first chance I
get. I swear I will, or my name is not Tom Moran!”

“Please don’t hit him,” entreated Smart. “That would be too bad.”

“Oh, I won’t hit him,” growled the fellow. “I will just knock the
stuffing out of him!”

“All right,” said Dick. “We’ll let you go with that understanding.”




                              CHAPTER XIV.
                           A RECKLESS YOUTH.


Chester did not return to the academy that night. This was nothing
remarkable, for his mother had made arrangements which enabled him to
frequently stop with her without obtaining permission. A written excuse
from Mrs. Arlington was all that Chester needed to present in case of
such infringements on the rules of the school.

Nevertheless, when he failed to appear the following day, Fraser
worried, and knew that more than the ordinary excuse would be required
from him.

Dick watched in vain for Arlington. Obtaining leave the following
evening, he went into town. He contemplated calling at Mrs. Arlington’s
before returning to the academy, with the intention of asking June about
her brother.

The necessity of doing this was avoided, for, as he was leaving the post
office, he saw June pass on the opposite side of the street. She was
alone, and immediately Dick hastened after her. To his surprise, she
turned into the street that led toward the harbor. Wondering where she
could be going, he followed, until the crest of the small hill was
reached, and the harbor lights lay twinkling beyond.

By this time she had discovered that some one was behind her, and
Merriwell noticed that she quickened her steps. Immediately he made
haste to overtake her, at the same time calling her name.

In surprise she stopped.

“Is it you, Dick?” she exclaimed. “Why, I saw some one coming, and I was
afraid.”

“Afraid, June? Then why did you choose this street? Why did you come
this way alone? I was surprised when I saw you take such a course.”

She seemed at a loss for a reply.

“Surely you know this part of the town is not safe for you to be in
after dark without an escort?” he said.

“My mother’s yacht is down there,” she murmured. “I didn’t know but what
I might find Chester on——”

“He has not appeared at the academy to-day, June.”

“I know it. He told me he was not going back there to-day.”

“Then you saw him?”

“Yes. He came to the house near noon. I was surprised to see him. Oh,
Dick, I am afraid it is no use. I am afraid Chester may as well leave
Fardale.”

“Perhaps it would be better for him,” Dick admitted.

“But father should know—father should take him in hand. If he goes away
of his own accord, as he has threatened, there is no telling what he may
do.”

“You fear that he is contemplating something of the kind?”

“I do. He must be kept here a little longer. Mother expects father to
come on in a week or two.”

“In your anxiety about your brother, June, you are rashly venturing into
a dangerous part of the village. Better wait until morning before
seeking him.”

“I can’t!” she exclaimed. “I am sure he is again with bad companions. I
can’t ask you to do anything more for me.”

“But I will do anything for you, June. Let me see you safely home, and
then I will try to find your brother.”

“Oh! will you?”

“I give you my promise.”

“Dick! Dick! you have done so many things for me. I am grateful, be sure
of that.”

“Don’t talk about gratitude, June. Come, let’s turn back.”

She permitted him to accompany her until they were again in the vicinity
of the post office. There she paused and begged him to leave her and go
in search of Chester. This he finally consented to do.

Passing once more over the hill, Merriwell came again into the
disreputable portion of the village, wondering if Arlington could be
found on board his mother’s yacht, and, if so, how he could be
approached.

Passing one of the cheap saloons of that locality Dick paused, for to
his ears came the sound of singing. The voice was a melodious one, and
he was sure he recognized it as that of the boy he sought. The song was
a reckless drinking melody, and the singer was joined when it came to
the chorus by several hoarse voices, roaring as follows:

                   "We’ll send her round again, boys,
                     So drink your bumpers dry;
                   “Whisky was made for men, boys,
                     And men will drink and die!”

“He is in there,” muttered Dick, “and it is plain he is carousing with a
lot of desperate characters.”

Approaching the place, Dick quickly discovered why he had heard the
singing so plainly, for a window stood open. He did not enter, but
passed round the corner and paused near this window, where he looked
into the low, smoky barroom. It was a sailor’s resort, and a number of
rough-looking men were inside.

Standing in front of the bar, glass in hand, was Chester Arlington,
swaying slightly as he sang the second stanza of the drinking song.

Again the sailors joined in the chorus, some of them thumping the tables
at which they were seated, while Arlington beat time in an extravagant
manner.

As they finished, Arlington hurled his glass, liquor and all, crashing
against the wall.

“That’s the stuff!” he cried. “It takes men to drink fire-water. It’s
not pap for babies. I know a chap who thinks he is a man, and who is
proud because he doesn’t drink. Bah! he makes me sick. I’d like to fill
him to the chin. I’d like to put him under the table. Have another one
on me, boys! Set ’em up, Johnnie, old man—set ’em up!”

“You’re all right, my hearty!” huskily cried one of the sailors, reeling
up and slapping Chet on the shoulder.

“Look here, my friend,” said Chet, bracing with his feet wide apart and
giving the sailor a savage look, “don’t get so free with me. I will
treat you all right, but keep your distance. I am Chester Arlington! I
am the son of D. Roscoe Arlington. My mother’s yacht lies off Gibb’s
wharf.”

“You’re all right,” reiterated the sailor. “’Scuse me. Didn’t mean
anything particular. You spend your money.”

“You bet your life I do! I know how to spend it. I know how to live
while I live. I don’t dry up and die, and think I am still living. Say,
Johnnie, this is awful booze. Haven’t you anything better?”

“This is good enough for my customers,” answered the bartender. “They
don’t kick. You claim to be a man, and this is the sort of stuff men
drink.”

“All right; I can drink as much as anybody else.”

He dashed off the vile stuff that was provided, then crossed the door
toward the window, where two or three men were sitting at a table.

Already Dick had recognized one face at the table as that of Tom Moran.

“Hello, boys!” said Chet, as he dropped on a chair. “What’s the matter
with me? I’m all right! Who said I was intoxicated?”

“Not a soul,” laughed Moran. “Certainly, you’re all right.”

“Rotten bad booze, just the same,” asserted Chet. “Wouldn’t I like to
drive a quart of that stuff into Dick Merriwell! He is a model chap, he
is. He never drinks. If I had him where I wanted him I’d make him drink
and I’d make him smoke. Have a cigarette?”

Fumblingly Chester produced a package of cigarettes, which he offered to
his companions, none of whom accepted.

“All right,” he said; “I will smoke alone. Have cigars on me? Johnnie,
give these gentlemen cigars.”

Cigars were provided, and all began to smoke.

“Wish I had Merriwell where I could get my hands on him to-night,”
growled Chet, thumping the table. “Captain Long’s ashore, and I can run
the old yacht myself. I’d like to get Merriwell onto her. I’d carry him
out to sea, and I’d fill him to the muzzle.”

“When does Long return?” asked Moran.

“He won’t be back for two days. Gone to New York on business. Old lady
sent him. Sailors will stand by me. They’ll do anything I want them to
do—all but that dago, Tony. He can’t be trusted. Can’t trust a dago,
anyhow. Say, you fellers! will you stand by me? I’ll pay. I can get the
coin. Will you help me shanghai this Merriwell? I will fix it up
somehow; I will get him in the trap. We’ll run him off.”

“Why, of course,” said one of the sailors. “You can count on this crowd
for anything.”

“Then I’ll do it!” vowed Chet, again striking the table. “You bet your
life! I know how. I’ll fake up a letter from my sister. I’ll make
appointment for him, and we’ll jump on him. Then we’ll sack him onto the
yacht and give him a little cruise. That’s the stuff! He’ll smoke
cigarettes! He’ll drink booze before I am through with him!”

In his present condition any sort of a wild scheme seemed feasible to
Arlington.

“You ought to have it in for him, Tom,” he said, nodding at Moran. “You
bear marks of his knuckles on your mug now.”

“That’s right!” growled the young bruiser; “but you told me he was
easy!”

“Ought to have been easy for you. You ought to do him up without half
trying. Wait till we get him on the yacht. Then you can thump him if you
want to. Then you can get square with him. What do you say?”

“Go ahead,” said Moran. “Give me the chance.”

“I’ll fix it,” averred Chet. “I’ll soak him if it is the last thing I
ever do around here! Might as well get out of this old town, anyway! Got
to leave this rotten old school! When I do leave I want to have
Merriwell fixed so he can’t hold up his head again and say he don’t
drink and don’t smoke. If it wasn’t for Tony we’d be all right. I can
depend on the rest of the crew. Where’s Lazaro? He is my right-hand man.
He ought to be here now. Where is he?”

No one seemed to know.

“Told him to be here,” Chet mumbled, dropping his cigarette and looking
around in vain for it.

While he was searching for the cigarette a slim, dark-faced man entered
and approached the table.

“Here comes Tony,” said one of the sailors.

Arlington braced up and stared at the newcomer.

“Who invited you?” he demanded.

“I beg da pard, Mist’ Arlington,” said the Italian, respectfully
touching his cap. “I t’ink I better tella you. Nobod’ on da yacht. I
t’ink you better know. Mebbe your mother no lika it.”

“What’s that to you, you dago dog!” snarled Chet. “You pay attention to
your own business!”

Instantly the dark face of the Italian grew darker and his black eyes
glittered.

“Tony no dago doga!” he hissed. “He no gita drunk! He minda his bis’!”

“What’s that?” growled Chet, pushing back from the table.

“Your sist’ very fina girl,” asserted the Italian. “You maka her feel
very bada. You ought to be ashameda.”

Somehow Arlington managed to throw off, for a moment, the effects of the
liquor, and he rose quickly to his feet, taking a single step. Evidently
Tony was unprepared for what happened, for he fancied Chester was too
intoxicated to do anything of the sort. At any rate, he could not avoid
Arlington’s blow, which made him stagger.

“You cur!” snarled the enraged youth. “Don’t dare speak of my sister!
Don’t dare refer to her!”

With a savage Italian oath, Tony plunged his hand into his pocket, and
the lights flashed on a glittering blade of steel, which his shaking
fingers brought forth.

Fortunately for Arlington, the two sailors and Tom Moran seized the
enraged Italian.

“Leta go! Leta go! He strika me!”

“Put up that knife!” growled one of the men. “Do you want to hang?”

“He strika me!” palpitated Tony, struggling to get at Chet.

The sight of the knife caused Chester to pale a little and shrink away.

“Hang onto him!” he ordered. “Don’t let the murderous fellow break away
from you!”

One of the sailors attempted to reason with the Italian, but it was some
moments before Tony quieted down and put up the knife. By that time
several others had taken a hand, and there was no possibility that the
infuriated Italian could reach Chester.

As soon as he saw this, Arlington once more became bold and reckless in
his manner, and applied several scornful epithets to Tony.

“Get out of here, now!” he commanded. “Go back to the yacht and stay
there!”

Without a word the Italian turned and left the saloon.

Dick had been prepared to leap through the window to Arlington’s
protection in case it was necessary, and he was relieved when the affair
terminated in this manner. At the same time, he felt that Chester had
made a desperate and bitter enemy in Tony.

When the Italian was gone Arlington sat down at the table and once more
ordered drinks.

“I will have that fellow discharged,” he declared.

“If you don’t,” said Moran, “the chances are that he will stick a knife
between your shoulders some dark night.”

“Oh, I am not afraid of the dog!” averred Chet. “I am afraid of no one!
The man doesn’t live that I am afraid to face!”

“How about Dick Merriwell?” inquired Moran.

“Why, I don’t give a rap for him! He’s a common bruiser, and that’s why
I don’t fight with him! I paid you, didn’t I?”

“Yes.”

“Well, what are you kicking for? You have no kick coming. Drink up.”

By this time Dick had decided that it would be anything but an easy task
to get Arlington away from his companions while in such a condition. He
could not return and tell June, and he was wondering what could be done
when suddenly, without the least warning, he was struck to the ground by
some one who had noiselessly approached from behind.




                              CHAPTER XV.
                           A FRIEND IN NEED.


Bound hand and foot, Dick Merriwell lay on the floor of the deck of Mrs.
Arlington’s yacht and heard Chester giving orders which indicated that
he meant to put out from the wharf and leave the harbor as soon as the
engineer could get up steam.

Dick had been carried there by his captors, who, after striking him
down, bound him firmly before he could recover and resist.

Chester came and stood near him, swaying a little as he looked down at
the unlucky youth.

“Got you this time, Merriwell,” he declared thickly. “So you were
sneaking around and looking into the windows, were you? Well, you made a
bad mess of it. Where’s Lazaro?”

“Here, sir,” answered a voice, and a man approached.

“Lazaro, you’re all right!” asserted Chet. “Lazaro, you’re a dandy! How
did you happen to spot him, Lazaro?”

“I saw some one standing near the window. The light shone on him. He
seemed to be listening and watching. I crept near. Then I saw it was the
fellow you had pointed out to me. I hit him with my sand bag.”

“Good boy, Lazaro—good boy!” cried Chet. "I hit him with something
harder than a sand bag a short time ago, but he has a hard head. Can’t
knock him out very easy. We’ll give him a little sea voyage. I’m dry.

                    “Whisky was made for men, boys,
                    And men will drink and die.”

“Arlington,” said Dick, “you’re intoxicated. You had better wait a while
before carrying out your foolish plan. What good will it do you?”

Chester laughed recklessly.

“Oh, it’s great sport!” he declared. “You will enjoy it. We will make
you enjoy it. You don’t know what it is to be a man and drink and smoke
like a man, do you? Well, I will teach you. Lazaro, tell that fool
engineer to hurry up with his steam.”

“He is doing his best, Mr. Arlington. We will cast off directly.”

“Here, you chaps!” called Chet. “Some of the sailors come here. I want
you!”

They approached.

“Take this fellow and lug him into the cabin,” was the command. “Dump
him down on the floor and let him lay there.”

Dick was lifted and carried below. After a few minutes Chet came
stumbling down the companionway and entered the cabin. He was followed
by Tom Moran.

“Here he is, Moran,” chuckled the reckless boy. “Here’s the proud and
mighty Mr. Merriwell. He is very quiet now.”

“He seems to be,” said Moran.

“He is the chap who gave you those marks. Take it out of him if you want
to, I don’t care.”

“Why, I can’t do that when he is tied and helpless,” said Moran.

“Can’t you? Well, now that’s funny. I thought you were just fierce to
get at him? I thought you were just palpitating to hammer him?”

“Not this way,” said Chet’s companion, shaking his head.

“What if I order you to?” asked Arlington.

“It won’t do you any good,” grimly answered the young bruiser. “I fights
square when I fights, and I don’t punch up any man who can’t punch
back.”

“Ho! ho! ho!” laughed Chet. “All right. You will enjoy my little picnic
with him. What do you think of a chap who thinks he is better than other
people because he doesn’t drink, or smoke, or swear, or have any bad
habits? He’s never tasted of liquor, and boasts of it. Well, he will get
a taste to-night. You bet your life! Within an hour he will be drunk as
a fool. Where’s Lazaro?”

“Here, sir,” answered a voice, and Lazaro appeared.

“I want some whisky, Lazaro. Do you know where the keys of the wine
locker are kept?”

“I think so, sir.”

“Well, get them.”

“Captain Long——”

“Hang Captain Long! I am captain now! I want those keys!”

“Very well, sir.”

Chester lighted a cigarette and puffed at it.

Dick was sitting up now, with his back against a locker.

“Get hold of him, Moran!” ordered Arlington. “Let’s sit him up where we
can look at him.”

The captive was lifted to a seat on the locker.

“There you are,” said Chet, standing in front of Dick, with his feet
apart and puffing at the cigarette. “How do you like the smell of this?”

He blew a whiff of smoke into Dick’s face.

“Never smoke, eh? Well, you bet you will smoke to-night! Here, confound
you! take this and smoke, if you don’t want to be skinned alive!”

He attempted to thrust the cigarette between Dick’s lips, but it fell to
the floor. In trying to pick it up, he fell awkwardly himself, and Moran
assisted him to his feet.

“Where’s Lazaro?” he demanded. “Why, the keys ought to be right here!
Where’s he gone?”

“I don’t know,” answered Moran.

“Well, I’ll find him! I’ll find him! I want the keys! I want to get at
that booze!”

Staggering a little, he left the cabin and stumbled up the companionway
to the deck, leaving Moran alone with Dick.

As soon as Chester was gone and Moran felt sure he was alone with Dick,
he spoke in a low tone:

“That drunken fool is crazy, Merriwell. He is bound to get us all in a
bad mess. I am willing enough to drink his liquor and take his money;
but he is going too far to suit me.”

“What are you going to do about it?” asked Dick quietly.

“Well, I am not going to see him carry this thing much farther,”
asserted the other. “He thinks I am a chump. He doesn’t know that I am
dead sore on him. Your little finger is more of a man than the whole of
his worthless body.”

“Thank you!” returned Merriwell, with a grim smile. “But that does me
little good. Whoever tied me up this way certainly fixed me good and
solid. I have tried my best to get my hands free, but I can’t budge
them.”

“See here,” said Moran, “the whole crew is drunk and reckless. If I am
caught—well, I don’t care, I will chance it. Here, let me get at those
cords! Quick!”

Dick turned on the locker so that Moran was able to get at the cords
which bound the captive boy’s hands behind his back. Working swiftly,
the young bruiser loosened the cords until it seemed certain that Dick
could free himself with a very small effort.

“Now let them be just that way,” said Moran. “They will think you are
all safe and solid. When the time comes I’ll get you out of this.”

“I will see that you lose nothing by it,” promised Dick.

“Oh, that’s all right. I ain’t——Keep still! Here he comes!”

Chester was heard talking to some one as he once more stumbled down the
companionway, and he was followed by Lazaro and two sailors on entering
the cabin. He had the keys, and in a few minutes the wine locker was
opened and a bottle of whisky produced.

“Now,” cried Chet, “we will all drink! Mr. Merriwell will take a drink!
I have brought some men with me who will see that he takes a drink! If
he refuses they will strip him and give him a taste of the rope’s end.”

Glasses were brought out and Arlington filled them, spilling much of the
whisky in doing so. His condition was both pitiful and disgusting.

“Now, Mr. Merriwell,” he said with sarcastic dignity—"now, Captain
Merriwell, I invite you to drink with me. I am sure you won’t refuse.
Lazaro, hold the whisky to the young gentleman’s lips. Let him taste the
kind of stuff that real men drink. It will do him good. See that he
drinks it. Make him drink it! Confound him! Drive it into him!"

Lazaro took a glass of the stuff and started to obey.

“Wait!” commanded Chet. “Come to think of it, I would like that job
myself. I want to be the first person to put a drink into him. Give me
the booze.”

In taking the glass from Lazaro’s hand he dropped it, and the stuff was
spilled as the glass smashed on the floor.

“Never mind that; plenty more,” laughed Arlington. “Give him another
geyser! Fill her up!”

Another glass of liquor was handed him, and he stepped in front of Dick,
who was vainly trying to catch his eye.

“Oh, you’re a wonder, you are!” sneered Chet. “You think you can make me
obey you just when you want to, but I know you. I know better than to
let you catch me this time. Here, you, drink—hang you, drink!”

He bent over and held the glass to Dick’s lips.

“Drink!” he again snarled.

Merriwell’s lips remained firmly closed.

“Won’t you!” grated Chester. “I bet you will! I know you will! I will
choke you till you do it!”

With his left hand he seized Dick by the throat.

A moment later Merriwell rose to his feet, tearing his hands free, and
struck Chet a blow that sent him clean across the cabin. With his feet
still bound, Dick was unable to follow up this advantage.

Chester recovered and gave a cry to Lazaro and the sailors:

“Jump on him! Down him!” he panted.

As they started toward Merriwell another surprising thing happened, for
Tom Moran suddenly produced a pistol, which he leveled at them.

“Hold up, you drunken dogs!” he exclaimed. “This thing has gone too far!
It stops right here! Back up, or I will blow you full of holes!”

They halted in their tracks.

“What?—what?—what?” gasped Chet, in astonishment. “What ails you, Moran?
What do you mean?”

“I mean that I am not a crazy fool, if you are. I don’t care to go to
the jug for this piece of business. Here you, Merriwell, take this knife
and cut those ropes that hold your feet.”

With his free hand Moran produced a jackknife, which he quickly passed
to Dick, who opened it and freed his feet with a single slash at the
ropes.

“Now, I think we’re pretty near good for this whole drunken gang,” said
Moran. “I’ve had a little booze to-night myself, but I have some sense
left.”

“You traitor!” palpitated Arlington; and then, with a sudden lurch, he
staggered toward the companionway.

Dick had closed the heavy jackknife given him by Moran, but he still
held it in his hand. As Arlington reeled to one side Merriwell saw
crouching, just beyond the cabin door, a dark-faced man, whose beady
eyes glittered in a deadly manner and whose hand clutched the haft of a
knife.

It was Tony!

Suddenly the Italian sprang forward, for Arlington had stopped a few
feet away, and his back was toward the door. The glittering knife was
lifted for a murderous blow.

Whiz!—something flew through the air and struck Tony fairly between the
eyes.

It was the heavy jackknife, which Dick had thrown at the Italian. Tony
was knocked backward and dazed for a moment. The knife fell from his
hand and struck, point first, in the floor, where it stood quivering.

Filled with sudden horror, for all of his intoxicated condition,
Arlington staggered aside and stood staring at the Italian.

With a bound, Dick caught up the knife.

“Get out of here, all of you!” he cried. “Be lively about it! Look out
for that Italian there! Take care of him!”

As they hesitated, Dick turned to Chester.

“Do you want to be carved up?” he asked. “If you don’t, tell your
intoxicated men here to take care of that chap.”

The fact that he had escaped by such a hair’s breadth and that Merriwell
was now free seemed to overcome Arlington.

“Look out for him, Lazaro! Look out for him, boys. Take the dago away!”

“But this fellow?” questioned Lazaro, with a motion toward Dick.

“Don’t mind this fellow,” said Moran, still holding his pistol ready for
use. “No one will trouble him any more to-night. I promise you that. Get
on out of here!”

“Cursa you!” hissed Tony, glaring at Chester. “I geta you yeta!”

“Take him away,” Chester urged, retreating from the door.

The sailors seized Tony and hustled him up the companionway to the deck.

Arlington stood swaying slightly, one hand to his head. The situation
seemed to bewilder him.

“What are you trying to do, Moran?” he hazily asked.

“It’s a good thing for you,” was the reply, “that this fellow you
fancied tied so hard and fast happened to be free just then. He saved
your life.”

“Did he?” mumbled Chet.

“That’s what he did. Now it’s up to you to see that he goes ashore
without further molestation.”

“All right! All right!” said Chester. “I’ll run away! I’ll be gone in
the morning! Engineer getting steam up! I’ll get out of here!”

Suddenly Dick stepped toward Arlington, seized him by the shoulders, and
sternly said:

“Look at me! You’re not going to do anything of the sort! I wouldn’t
care a rap what you did if it wasn’t for your sister. You could run
away, or do anything you chose to do. Already you have caused her untold
worriment and distress. If I can prevent it, you shall cause her no more
at present. You’re going ashore with me, Arlington.”

The manner in which Dick uttered the final words seemed to indicate
there was not the least doubt in his mind on that point.

“Who says so?” whispered Chet thickly.

“I say so, and I mean it. You will go. We will go on deck now, and you
will order the engineer to bank his fire. Come along!”

Moran looked on in surprise, for he began to perceive that the tables
were turned and Merriwell was master of the situation in every respect.

“Just a joke,” mumbled Chester. “Just a little fun. Didn’t mean anything
by it. Confound that dago! He tried to stab me, didn’t he? Did you stop
him, Merriwell? What did you do? I didn’t see.”

“Never mind what I did. Come on, now. Follow us, Moran, and see that the
Italian gets no fresh opportunity to use a knife. Arlington must go
ashore, for his life wouldn’t be safe if he remained here.”

“Guess that’s so,” acknowledged Chester, as he permitted himself to be
led up the companionway to the deck.

Having reached the deck, Dick again told Chester to order the fires
banked.

Lazaro was waiting near, and he concealed his surprise, if he felt any,
when Arlington gave this order. The yacht had not left the wharf, and a
few minutes later, accompanied by Dick and Moran, Arlington was on
shore.

“Just a little joke,” he kept muttering. “Didn’t mean anything by it.
Drank too much. Made a fool of myself, I guess. Wonder if June knows
’bout it. She’s good girl. Nobody can say anything ’bout her to me. I
won’t stand for it! She’s all right!”

“We will get him over to the hotel, Moran,” said Dick. “I wonder if
there is any way to do it without his being seen?”

“Tell you what I can do,” suggested Moran. “I can get a closed carriage
and come for you.”

“That’s it,” said Dick. “We will be on the road somewhere between here
and the hotel. Just you hustle. I’ll watch for you.”

“All right,” was the assurance. “Depend on me.”

And Moran started away on a run.

           *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *

Arlington awoke the next morning in a room at the Fardale House. He had
a splitting headache, and his mouth was dry as a pine board. When he
stirred a groan came from his lips.

“Oh, murder!” he muttered. “What is the matter with me? Where am I?”

Dick Merriwell rose from a couch near the window.

“You must feel pretty rocky this morning, Arlington,” he said.

Chester stared at him in blank astonishment.

“What the dickens are you doing here?” he questioned. “Where did you
come from?”

“Why, I found you on a little toot last night and managed to get you in
here without attracting much attention. I stayed with you to see that
you came out of it all right. Want a drink of water?”

“Give me a bathtub full! I will drink it all!”

“Here you are,” said Dick. “A whole pitcherful.”

Arlington seized the pitcher and drank greedily.

“Oh, my head!” he muttered. “What sort of stuff was I drinking, anyhow?
And I had such a beastly dream! Why, I dreamed about kidnapping you and
taking you aboard the old lady’s yacht and having a devil of a time.
Then there was a dago trying to stab me, and all that kind of stuff.
I’ll never touch any more cheap booze!”

“That was a pretty bad dream,” said Dick. “But, as long as it was a
dream, it’s best to forget it. You will have to take a cold bath and
brace up to get back to the academy.”

“A cold bath!” gasped Chet, shaking with horror. “I can’t do that! Great
Cæsar! I can’t do that! Not this morning!”

“You will have to, just the same,” asserted Dick. “I am here to see you
through this thing.”

In spite of Arlington’s protestations, Dick forced him to get out of
bed, compelled him to take a cold bath, made him drink a strong cup of
coffee, and finally led him like a lamb back to the academy. And for a
time, at least, it seemed as if Chester Arlington had really learned a
lesson that he took to heart.




                              CHAPTER XVI.
                     DARRELL CALLED INTO THE GAME.


Fairport’s new grand stand was filled long before the time arrived for
the game with Fardale to begin.

As Hal Darrell entered he was both surprised and pleased to see, seated
together, three girls, two of whom he knew, for they were Doris
Templeton and Zona Desmond.

Zona smiled on Hal and bowed to him, but Doris seemed anxiously watching
the Fardale players, who were grouped about their captain, near the
bench.

“Oh, Doris!” cried Zona; “here is Hal! I say, here is Hal, Doris! Are
you asleep?”

The girl addressed gave a slight start and greeted Hal with a fleeting
smile and a welcoming word.

“This is my cousin, Miss Dale, Mr. Darrell,” said Zona. “She lives here,
you know, and that’s how Doris and I happened to be here to-day.”

Hal bowed, cap in hand.

Bessie Dale, a freckled, vivacious, lively little girl, gave him a smile
and a nod.

“I suppose you came to see your team beaten to-day, didn’t you?” she
said, laughing.

“I expect so,” was his surprising answer.

“You don’t mean it, Hal!” cried Doris quickly.

“Why not?” he said. “Fairport has been winning right along this season,
and Fardale might be in better shape.”

“What’s the matter?” Doris questioned. “I knew something was wrong. I
could tell it by their actions.”

“Oh, I don’t know that there is anything particular the matter, but the
whole team is in bad shape. It has struck one of those streaks when a
team goes down hill. They have fallen off in their batting and in their
fielding.”

“I told you Fairport would win to-day,” said Bessie Dale. “Of course, I
am sorry for you girls, and I know you think your great Captain
Merriwell can’t be defeated.”

Doris made a place at her side, and Hal sat down.

“Can’t you find out what the trouble is?” she asked.

“I am not particularly anxious about it,” he indifferently retorted,
speaking in a low tone. “In fact, I don’t care a rap if Mr. Merriwell
does get his bumps to-day.”

“How can you say so, Hal! I don’t understand you!”

“I have good reasons,” he grimly retorted. “I have heard a few things
lately. He needn’t take me for a chump.”

“I am sure he doesn’t, Hal.”

“And I fail to see why you should be so greatly interested in him. If
you knew everything——”

Darrell checked himself, as if fearing he would say too much.

“If I knew everything!” palpitated Doris. “Why, I know that it is
Fardale against Fairport, and you are a Fardale boy! Isn’t Dick in
condition to pitch to-day?”

“I don’t know about that.”

“You know he has not been in the best condition lately. Oh, Hal, why
didn’t you stick to baseball? You might be in the game, and you were a
good pitcher.”

“If I had stuck to it I’d not pitch this game,” he declared.

Believing Hal constantly loyal to Fardale, these words from him
continued to puzzle Doris.

“Why, I am sure you would do anything to win for your own team.”

“Under certain conditions I would. But I, like others, have grown weary
of doing things for which another person gets all the credit.”

“I wish you would explain!” she exclaimed, her annoyance increasing.
“You’re not a bit like yourself to-day, Hal! I am surprised at you!”

“Some time I will explain—perhaps. When I do you will understand. I have
heard things that have opened my eyes.”

“You can’t believe all you hear, Hal.”

“Well, I have seen things, too.”

At this moment Merriwell was seen approaching the grand stand.

“Wonder what he wants!” muttered Darrell.

Dick entered and came up to them, bowing and lifting his cap.

“What’s the matter?” asked Zona. “Is it anything serious?”

“I don’t think so,” he answered. “I am glad to see you and Doris here at
the game. It’s a surprise.”

Zona then introduced him to her cousin, and in her tantalizing way
Bessie Dale said:

“This gives me an opportunity to offer you my sympathy in advance, Mr.
Merriwell. Of course, you know our boys are going to win to-day. They
haven’t lost a game since getting their new suits.”

“Well, it’s about time their streak was broken,” retorted Dick. “I thank
you for your sympathy, but hope we will not need it.”

“Oh, but you will! You haven’t seen Jack Ware pitch this year! All the
fellows say he is a perfect wizard, and I hear your team is not batting
very well now.”

“You may hear almost anything, Miss Dale. I say, Hal, can’t you give us
a lift to-day? We need you.”

“Need me!” muttered Darrell in surprise. “Why do you need me?”

“Gardner was taken ill on his way here, and is too sick to play. He is
out there, but he says he can’t go into the game.”

“Well, you have a substitute.”

“Yes, but not a man who can fill his place, without shifting the team
around, which is a bad thing. I want to keep the boys in their regular
positions.”

“Well, you know I am not in practice.”

“You have practiced some. You have been out a few times with the team.”

“All the same, I am not in shape to play, and I don’t care to go into a
game and make an exhibition of myself.”

“You will not make an exhibition of yourself. You can play at short if
you will, and it will fill the gap left by Gardner. I know you want to
see us win this game. You will do this—for old Fardale?”

“I can’t,” persisted Darrell.

In a moment Doris’ hand fell on his arm.

“Please do, Hal,” she urged anxiously.

He saw a look exchanged between her and Dick, and somehow it made his
blood hot.

“What if I go out there and lose the game?” he exclaimed.

“If you do no one can blame you,” said Doris.

“Certainly not,” agreed Dick. “All we can expect of you is that you will
do your best for the old school. You can get into Gardner’s suit in time
for the game. Come on, Darrell!”

A moment more Hal hesitated, but at last he rose.

“All right!” he half growled. “I will play, but I don’t stand for any
kicks after the game.”

He followed Dick from the grand stand, and they were joined by Gardner,
who looked pale and ill, indeed. Beneath the grand stand there was a
dressing room, and to this they repaired in order that Hal and Earl
might exchange garments.

“I am sorry one of your players is ill,” said Bessie Dale. “You will
have that as an excuse for your defeat.”

“Not at all!” quickly retorted Doris. “Hal can play as well as Gardner.
He might have been a better player if he had kept at it. The team will
not be weakened by taking him on.”

“That’s right,” said Zona. “Still, I am beginning to feel as if Fairport
might win.”

At this Bessie laughed outright.

“You will feel more so after you see them play a while,” she averred.

After a short time Dick and Hal emerged from the dressing room and
hurried to join the Fardale players. As they walked out Merriwell said:

“I am going to change the batting order to-day, Darrell. Gardner has
been batting at the head of the list. He was a good man to lead off. I
am going to put you in fourth place, which is a more important
position.”

To this Darrell made no reply.

Following is the batting order of both teams as given to the scorers:

               FARDALE.             FAIRPORT.

               Black, lf.           Crockett, 2d b.
               Bradley, 3d b.       Dustan, rf.
               Flint, rf.           Roberts, ss.
               Darrell, ss.         Conway, cf.
               Jolliby, cf.         Macon, 3d b.
               Singleton, 1st b.    Milliken, lf.
               Tubbs, 2d b.         Anson, 1st b.
               Buckhart, c.         Warren, c.
               Merriwell, p.        Ware, p.

Roberts, Macon, and Anson were three new men on the home team; otherwise
the team was about the same as it had been the year before.

Preliminary practice on both sides was sharp and snappy, and it keyed
the spectators up to a point of intense interest and eagerness.

Five minutes after the time set for the game to begin the umpire walked
out to his position and Fairport trotted onto the field.

“Now they start!” exclaimed Zona. “Oh, girls, isn’t it awfully exciting!
I am just as nervous as I can be!”

“I can’t blame you,” smiled Bessie Dale in that tantalizing manner of
hers. “It’s natural you should be. But I am not. See how calm and
confident I am.”

“How do you feel, Doris?” asked Zona.

Doris could not have described her feelings had she tried. Somehow there
was in her heart a sense of doubt and dread. An inward voice seemed
warning her that all was not as it should be.

“Play ball!” cried the umpire.

“Now we’re off!” squeaked Obediah Tubbs. “Git right after her, fellers!”

A year before Ware had been rather slender and slight, but in the last
twelve months he had developed wonderfully, and was now a rather
well-built chap. With the ball in his hands, which were pressed together
in front of his breast, he settled himself on his feet with his toe upon
the slab.

Barron Black took his place at the plate, and barely was he in position
when the Fairport player delivered the ball, which whistled past the
batter’s shoulders, so near that the latter was driven back a little.

Warren snapped the ball back to Ware, who sent it in a second time with
astonishing quickness, catching Barron slightly off his balance and thus
securing a called strike.

Instantly Dick spoke to the players near him on the bench.

“Look out for that trick of his, boys. You saw how he worked it. Don’t
let him play that on you. Be ready for the next one when he drives you
back with an inshoot.”

With two strikes and two balls called, Black hit a hot one along the
ground between Macon and Roberts. Macon managed to touch it so that it
was deflected and bounded straight into Roberts’ hands.

The shortstop sent it humming across to first, and the leading Fardale
batter was out.

“There you are!” shouted the Fairport crowd. “That’s the way we do it!”

“’Ow hunfortunate!” muttered Billy Bradley, as he walked into the
batter’s box.

Billy got a wide one and let it pass for a ball. Then came a swift
inshoot that made him jump away, and once more Warren snapped the ball
to Ware, who instantly returned it.

Bradley had remembered Dick’s cautioning words, and he was not fooled by
this piece of business. The ball was a straight, swift one, and he met
it with a resounding crack. Out on a line it went, but Roberts thrust up
his bare right hand and gathered it in with a—spat!

It was swift and beautiful work, and the crowd had good cause to cheer
heartily.

“’Orseshoes!” shouted Bradley, who had dropped his bat and started for
first, only to stop suddenly when he witnessed the spectacular one-hand
catch.

“Didn’t I tell you, girls!” laughed Bessie Dale.

“You told us,” admitted Doris. “But both of our boys hit your wizard of
a pitcher.”

“They hit the ball, but they didn’t get safe hits. Safe hits count, you
know.”

“Had that last one been six inches higher Bradley would have made two
bases on it,” asserted Doris.

“Oh, yes, if, if!” said Bessie. “But if’s don’t count in this game.”

Dave Flint took his place to strike.

“Here’s your third victim, Jack, old boy!” bellowed Anson, from first
base. “He is just as easy as the others.”

Ware smiled in a confident manner. He threw the first ball straight at
Dave’s head, but Flint avoided it with ease. The next one was a drop,
and the boy with the scar gently lifted it over the infield for a safe
single.

“There! there!” breathed Doris Templeton. “Now you see!”

“Here comes Hal!” exclaimed Zona. “What will he do?”

“Oh, I hope he gets a hit!” exclaimed Doris, her hands pressed together
and her anxiety betrayed in her face.

“Jack Ware won’t let him,” retorted Bessie Dale. “Jack never lets any
one get a hit off him at a critical time.”

“This isn’t critical yet,” said Zona. “This is only the beginning of the
game.”

“That’s true,” nodded Bessie. “If he did get a hit it isn’t likely your
team could score off it.”

“Well! well! well! what’s this?” cried Roberts, dancing around in his
position back of the base line between second and third.

“Fruit!” roared Anson, stooping and pounding his mitt with his fist.
“Ripe fruit! Pluck it, Jack, old boy!”

“He’s a pitcher, Ware!” said Macon. “Pitchers can’t hit a house! You’ve
got him!”

“Put them right over the pan!” roared Conway from centre field. “We’re
all behind you.”

“He never got a hit in his life,” asserted Crockett. “We have seen him
before.”

Now, whatever had been Hal’s intention on walking out to the plate,
suddenly a flash of anger came into his eyes and his jaw squared. Ware
sent a high one humming past Hal’s head, whereupon the latter looked
skyward in a derisive manner.

“Hello! he is an astronomer!” chuckled Roberts. “He is looking for new
planets!”

“Fan the astronomer!” shouted Anson.

“Astronomer!” snickered Warren, as he crouched under the bat. “That fits
you, old man! You can hit a star easier than that ball!”

Again a high one sped through the air, and again Hal threw his head up
in the same contemptuous manner.

“Sus-sus-sus-say,” chattered Chip Jolliby, “don’t you want a
sus-sus-sus-stepladder, Darrell?”

“Get ’em down! Get ’em down!” growled Brad Buckhart.

“Keep those men still on the bench, Mr. Umpire!” cried Don Roberts,
captain of the home team. “They’re breaking the rules!”

Instantly Dick was on his feet. “You broke the rules first yourself!” he
declared. “You have no right to address the batter when he is in the
box! If you want to coach your pitcher, coach him; but confine your
remarks to proper coaching.”

Instantly there rose a cheer from the small crowd of Fardale spectators.
There were others who applauded and others who laughed and scoffed. This
made no difference to Dick, for he knew his position was right.

The umpire knew it, too, and he turned to Roberts, saying:

“If your team talks to the batter, you can’t object if the players talk
from the bench.”

“All right! all right!” snapped Roberts. “We’ll see who can do the most
talking to-day. I rather think they will get all they want of it.”

“That’s courtesy!” growled Brad Buckhart. “You hear me chirp! That’s
politeness! That’s being used handsomely when we’re away from home!”

“Never mind, old man,” said Dick, as he sat down. “We can stand it if we
run against nothing worse than that to-day. I don’t believe there is a
man on the team they can rattle by their talk.”

“Darrell is rattled now. Look at him! He is fighting mad!”

“I don’t believe he is rattled, just the same. I think he will hit the
ball, even if he doesn’t get a——”

Crack! Hal hit it. He hit it savagely, too, and it went out like a
bullet.

Flint was running when bat and ball met, and the speed of the stocky lad
as he dashed over second and tore down toward third was surprising to
all who did not know his ability.

It was a clean two-bagger, and as Hal dashed down to second he saw
Conway gathering up the ball. With the ball in Conway’s hands, good
judgment should have stopped Darrell at second base. Flint, however, had
crossed third and was trying to score. Darrell became ambitious to
stretch his two-base hit into a three-bagger, or his anger robbed him of
judgment, or perchance, he was reckless of consequences, for he kept on
toward third.

Conway lined the ball into Crockett’s hands. Crockett whirled, and a
single glance showed him it was too late to cut off the run.

“Third!” rang out Roberts’ clear voice. “Third it!”

On a dead line the ball sped from Crockett’s hands into those of Macon,
who put it onto Hal with ease.

This made the third man out.

“Well, of all the fool tricks!” muttered Buckhart, in disgust. “What
made him try that? Tubbs was squawking for him to hold second. He lost
his head completely.”

Dick said nothing, but somehow a strange feeling of uncertainty came
over him. As he walked out to the pitcher’s box he spoke to Hal, slowly
shaking his head.

“That was a mistake, Darrell,” he said. “You had a pretty two-bagger.
Should have anchored fast at second.”

“Are you beginning to kick so soon?” retorted Darrell in a low tone.

He did not wait for a reply from Dick, but turned his back and sought
his position.

“Oh, well! Oh, well!” cried Crockett. “One measly little run doesn’t
count in this game. Here’s where we go after a dozen.”

“Dern my picter! I hope you git um!” cried Obediah Tubbs derisively.
“We’ll stand round and watch yer while yer do it.”

“You see he did get a hit, Bessie!” triumphantly exclaimed Zona Desmond.

“Yes, and I saw him get out at third,” returned Zona’s cousin. “That was
fine playing, wasn’t it! What do you think of it, Doris?”

“I am afraid he tried for too much,” confessed Doris.

But in her heart there was another fear, of which she whispered no
suspicion.




                             CHAPTER XVII.
                        AT THE CRITICAL MOMENT.


“Start her up, Crock! Start her up, old boy! Start her up!” cried
Roberts, as the first Fairport batter walked out.

“Show us ’ow you do it,” invited Billy Bradley.

“Dern my picter! I am afraid of that dozen runs they are going to git!”
piped Obediah Tubbs.

“Put it over, captain, old boy, and see what they will do with it,”
urged Bob Singleton.

“Let her sis-sis-sis-sizz!” chattered Jolliby, as he reached centre
field. “We’re all watching yer!”

“Put her into the old pocket, pard!” rumbled Buckhart, holding up his
big mitt behind the bat.

Dick began with a speedy one, close to Crockett’s knees.

“One ball!” called the umpire.

“What are you trying to do?” muttered Crockett. “Trying to take my props
off?”

“Wee! wee!” squeaked Obediah Tubbs, prancing around like a baby
elephant. “Near skinned him of his kneecaps that time!”

A high ball followed. To Crockett it seemed as if the ball would pass
over the plate level with his shoulders. As he swung to meet it the ball
seemed to take a singular outward and upward sweep, and he missed.

“What sort of a curve was that?” growled Anson, who had been watching
closely. “Looked like a high out-rise to me.”

“Out-rise!” sneered Warren. “Who ever heard of an out-rise?”

“Well, that’s what it looked like,” nodded Anson. “You know this fellow
has some mighty odd curves.”

“Well, we’re ready for his old jump ball to-day,” retorted Warren.
“We’ve practiced to hit a sharp rise, and he will find his jump ball n.
g.”

“But you know he has a queer combination rise and drop,” said Milliken.

“Don’t know anything of the kind,” asserted Warren. “It’s an
impossibility. The way he delivers a ball makes it seem to rise and
drop, that’s all.”

“Well, anyhow, he has the reputation of throwing it,” said Milliken.

Crockett was anxious to start the thing with a hit, and Dick found
himself compelled to work cautiously with the fellow, for, even though
desiring a hit, the batter was one who refused to be deceived by
ordinary methods.

With three balls and two strikes called, the batter and pitcher paused
an instant to look hard at each other.

There was a hush.

With his toe on the very outer edge of the slab at one side of his box,
Merriwell suddenly rose to his full height in the air, stretched his arm
far upward as he brought it over, and the ball left his hand at the
moment when he seemed reaching highest in the air. Downward from that
height the sphere shot toward the outside corner of the plate, over
which it passed about a foot from the ground.

It was a most deceptive ball to strike at, for it passed over the plate
at least a foot lower than expected by the batter, who swung hard for it
and missed.

Buckhart was close under the stick, and the ball plunked into his big
mitt.

“You’re out!” declared the umpire.

Crockett retired to the bench, flinging aside his bat.

“Say,” he muttered, “this fellow has some new wrinkles this year. He
threw one or two queer ones that time. Did you see that last ball? I
don’t know how I missed it.”

“It was a drop, wasn’t it?” asked Anson.

“Drop—nothing! It was a straight ball, but he threw it with his hand
stretched high, and it came down at an angle and on a line. Next time I
will be watching for it.”

“Well, there’s your first batter gone, Bessie,” said Zona Desmond. “He
didn’t hit the ball, did he!”

“They can’t all hit,” retorted Zona’s cousin. “But you watch Dustan! He
never strikes out!”

“Oh, doesn’t he?”

“No, indeed!”

“Perhaps he will this time.”

“It will be the first time this year, if he does.”

Dustan was watching for Merriwell’s jump ball, against which all
Fairport players had been warned, and for which they had practiced
batting against a professional pitcher who could throw a quick rise.

Something led Dustan to fancy Merriwell had thrown the jump at the very
start, for the first ball came speeding in almost shoulder high.

The batter made an instantaneous calculation and struck above the course
of the ball.

To his surprise, he swung over it by at least eight inches.

“Hang it!” he whispered to himself. “That was a straight one! If I had
known, I might have knocked the cover off!”

Zona Desmond pinched her cousin.

“He didn’t hit it that time,” she said.

“That’s all right,” confidently returned Bessie. “I have seen him get a
hit lots of times after two strikes were called on him. It seems to put
him on his mettle to have two strikes on him.”

Dustan had a “good eye,” and he refused to wiggle his bat at the next
two balls, both of which were wide. Then he saw Merriwell make the same
movements as he did on delivering the first ball, and instantly Dustan
calculated on another straight one. Apparently he had made no
miscalculation, but the ball took a sharp drop just in time to prevent
him from hitting it.

“Two strikes!” sang the umpire.

“There he goes! There he goes!” laughed Zona, giving Bessie a little
shake. “What do you think about it now?”

“I think just the same,” was the confident answer. “Even if he doesn’t
get a safe hit, he will hit the ball.”

“Do you believe he will hit it, Doris?” asked Zona.

Doris did not reply. In fact, she did not hear the question. Her eyes
were fastened on Dick Merriwell, and she was deaf to the words of her
nearby friends.

“Ye-ee-ee!” squealed Tubbs, once more prancing about awkwardly. “What
you trying to do, captain? Why don’t you give us fellers a show? We’re
all going to sleep out here!”

“Don’t worry, Fatty,” advised a Fairport spectator; “you will have all
you want of it before this game is over.”

“Do tell!” grinned Obed. “Won’t that be just splendid! Anybody got a pie
in his pocket? I’m hungry.”

“There is a pie in the box doing the pitching,” laughed the same
spectator. “Our boys will feed off him before the game is over.”

“Dustan will get a hit now,” averred another watching youth.

Dustan was on his nerve. He set his feet firmly and gripped his bat,
while he watched every move made by the Fardale pitcher. He saw Dick go
through the motions of delivering a swift ball, and apparently such a
ball followed. It came straight enough and seemingly just where the
batter wanted it, whereupon he slashed at it. To his unspeakable
surprise the ball seemed to halt and hang in the air in such a manner
that he struck too soon. Too late he realized this, and his rage caused
him to hurl the bat to the ground as he heard the ball strike with the
usual plunk in the catcher’s big mitt.

Dustan had struck out for the first time that season.

Zona Desmond actually pounded her cousin on the shoulder.

“There, there!” she palpitated. “What do you think about it now?”

Bessie could not conceal her surprise and dismay.

“Why, I don’t see how it happened!” she said.

“You will see lots more things just like that happen to-day,” asserted
Zona, whose courage had now risen to the highest point.

“Oh, the game is young yet! Here comes Captain Roberts.”

“And Captain Roberts is third on the list,” asserted the exuberant
Fardale girl. “They retire in order this inning.”

Roberts was a first-class hitter, and he connected with the first ball
pitched, driving it swiftly along the ground.

Darrell got in front of the ball, but, somehow, he let it go through his
hands, and it sped on over the short grass outside the diamond.

A groan came from the little bunch of Fardale boys on the bleachers.

“Wasn’t that a shame!” exclaimed Zona Desmond. “Why didn’t he stop that
ball, Doris?”

Doris shook her head.

“I don’t know,” she confessed. “You know such things will happen.”

But in her heart the feeling of doubt and anxiety was rapidly
increasing.

Roberts, by swift running, reached second, as Darrell had not been
backed up by a fielder, and there was some delay in returning the ball
to the diamond.

Pausing on second, the captain of the home team shouted with laughter.

“Why didn’t you strike me out?” he derisively inquired.

“Dern your picter!” said Tubbs. “You ought to be out! You didn’t get a
hit! You made them two bases on an error!”

“But your shortstop never touched the ball.”

“If he didn’t,” said Tubbs, “he ought ter have touched it. There wasn’t
anything to prevent.”

Dick caught the fat boy’s eye and shook his head warningly. To Darrell
he made no complaint.

Hal was a trifle pale, and he had turned toward Dick as if expecting a
reprimand, holding himself ready to retort.

“Right after him, Conway!” cried Roberts, dancing about close to second
base. “A clean hit ties the score.”

For the first time, after throwing two called balls to the next batter,
Dick tried the jump ball. Of course, he was not aware that the Fairport
batters had been putting in special practice at hitting a sharp rise.

This was exactly what Conway had been wishing for, and he hit the ball
hard and fair. Out over the infield on a line it sped, somewhat to the
right of centre field. Had it been a high fly Jolliby might have secured
it. Being a liner, Chip could not get to it, and it went bounding past
him. He raced after it, while Roberts came home and Conway went to
second.

Conway, like Darrell, fancied he saw an opportunity to stretch the hit
into a three-bagger. In fact, he fancied there was a bare possibility he
might reach home on it. With this thought in his mind, he passed over
second and kept on toward third.

Jolliby caught up the ball and whirled swiftly toward the diamond. He
saw that the runner was making for third. To the spectators it did not
seem that Conway could be prevented from reaching that bag.

Then Chip made one of those famous throws of his. Without losing a
moment of time, he sent the ball on a line from his position far out
into the field straight to third base. An ordinary thrower would have
thrown it in to Tubbs, who was the nearest infielder. Had this been
done, Conway must have reached third in safety, but the ball came
straight into the hands of Bradley, who caught it about a foot from the
ground and quickly put it onto Conway, who had made a slide, under
orders from the coacher.

“Out at third!” declared the umpire.

A shout of joy arose from the little knot of Fardale boys.

The score was tied at the end of the first inning, each side having
obtained a tally.

“You see, some one else can make the same kind of a mistake, Merriwell,”
said Darrell, as he walked in to the bench. “I haven’t heard Roberts
kicking at Conway.”

“No one is kicking at you, Darrell,” replied Dick quietly. “It’s all
right. You were doing your best, and that’s all any fellow can do.”

Still Hal did not seem satisfied. In truth, strange though it is, he
might have been better satisfied had Dick condemned his carelessness in
getting put out in the first inning.

Jolliby picked out his pet bat and was ready to take his place at the
plate.

“Don’t try any slugging, Chip,” advised Dick in a low tone. “Just go
after a clean single, or be contented to take a base if you can get it.”

The lanky boy walked into the batter’s box and was ready as Warren
crouched behind the stick and gave the signal.

Ware threw three balls in succession without tempting Jolliby to swing
at one of them.

“Got him in a hole, Chip!” exclaimed Barron Black. “Make him put it
over!”

Chip stood and watched two straight ones cut the plate.

“I wonder if you will dud-dud-dud-do that again!” he stuttered, as he
gripped his bat.

“I can try it,” retorted Ware.

Apparently the pitcher threw another straight one, but it was a sharp
drop, and Chip missed.

“That’s what a fuf-fuf-fuf-feller gits fer waiting!” he chattered, as he
retired in deep disgust to the bench.

“That’s playing the game,” asserted Dick. “Any batter who will swing at
the ball after having three balls called by the umpire without any
strikes doesn’t know his business.”

“Well, if you’re sus-sus-satisfied,” said Chip, “I don’t
sus-sus-sus-suppose I got any kuk-kuk-kuk-kick coming.”

Bessie Dale was laughing.

“You see how easy that was for Jack Ware,” she said. “He is just
beginning to pitch now.”

“Oh, he won’t keep that up,” said Zona. “He was careless. See those
clouds in the west? I am afraid we’re going to have a shower before this
game is over.”

“Better pray for it to come before five innings are finished,” said
Bessie. “If it doesn’t you will lose the game.”

“You’re not ahead of us now.”

“We will be pretty soon.”

Ware did his best to deceive big Bob Singleton, but Bob got in one of
his lucky cracks and lined out a beautiful three-bagger. He would have
tried to make it a homer, but Dick was on hand at the coach line back of
third base and stopped him there.

There was a shout of derisive laughter from the Fairport boys as Obediah
Tubbs waddled out to strike.

“Laff! Dern your picters!” shrilled the fat boy indignantly. “Mebbe you
will laff out t’other corner of your mouth pritty soon!”

Then, in a desperate endeavor to hit the first ball pitched, Obed swung
with such violence that he was thrown off his feet, for he missed
entirely. The bat flew out of his hands and sailed into the middle of
the diamond, while he fell flat on his back, with a great grunt, as if
the breath had been jarred from his body.

At this there was another shout of laughter.

“Pick up the poor little thing!” cried one.

“Hit it where you missed it, Fatty,” advised another.

“Look out for his bat!” shrieked a third. “He’ll kill somebody with it!”

“Ding your old ground!” squeaked Obediah, as he rolled over and
awkwardly rose to his feet. “It ain’t solid nohow! It wiggles!”

Roberts gravely brought the bat to Tubbs, presenting it to him with a
profound bow.

“You may not need it,” he said. “It may not do you any good, but here it
is.”

“Oh, you think I won’t need it, do you?” piped the corpulent lad
indignantly. “Well, I’ll show you!”

When Roberts was again in position, Ware once more whistled a ball over,
and a second time Obediah struck, missed, and threw his bat. This time
it went spinning down toward third, and Macon made a comedy run to get
out of the way.

“It’s a plot!” shouted Roberts. “He is trying to kill our team or maim
us so we can’t play the game.”

“Drat that bat!” said Obediah. “This is the golldingedest, slipperyest
thing I ever got holt of!”

Once more it was returned to him.

Ware was laughing. He regarded the fat boy with derision, fancying
Obediah could not hit effectively unless by a blundering chance. This
led the pitcher to use a swift straight ball, over the centre of the
plate, and what followed caused him to come near collapsing, for this
time Tubbs’ bat fell on the ball with a sharp report, and the liner that
was driven out could not be caught by any one.

“Laff! Dern your picters—laff!” squealed Obed, as he wildly ran down to
first, his short arms held out at an angle from his shoulders and his
hands pawing at the air as if seeking to assist in propelling him along.

If any one fancied Obediah would be satisfied to stop at first he was
mistaken, for the fat boy streaked on over the bag, darted promptly to
the left, and made for second. Conway secured the ball and threw it
swiftly to Crockett.

Crockett fancied he would have plenty of time to tag Tubbs, for he did
not conceive that the fat boy would attempt to slide. Such an attempt,
however, Tubbs made, and Crockett tagged him a moment too late, for
Tubbs lay with his hand on the bag as he was touched with the ball.

Then the little Fardale crowd rose and cheered in earnest, shouting
Obediah’s name.

Singleton had scored on the hit.

When the ball was tossed to Ware he angrily threw it on the ground at
his feet and walked around it.

“Talk about your horseshoes!” he growled. “That was the worst accident
that ever happened!”

“He! he!” exclaimed Obediah, as he rose to his feet. “Fooled you that
time, Mr. Pitcher! You’re pretty slick yourself, but you can be fooled!”

Buckhart was the next batter.

Apparently Ware continued to be very angry, and he did not seem to give
much attention to Tubbs. This being the case, Obediah edged off from
second, elated over his success and feeling a strong desire to create
further enthusiasm by stealing to third.

Suddenly Warren put his hand up to his mask, as if to change it as he
crouched under the bat.

Instantly Ware whirled and snapped the ball into the hands of Roberts,
who had darted past Tubbs and was in position to receive the throw and
tag Obediah before the fat boy could get back to the bag.

The coacher had uttered a cry of warning, but it came too late.

“Out at second!” announced the umpire.

Then the Fairport crowd had a chance to cheer.

Tubbs looked ashamed and disgusted as he walked from the field.

“Dern my picter!” he kept muttering over and over to himself, paying no
attention whatever to the derisive laughter and words of the spectators.

“Carelessness, Tubbs,” said Dick. “You haven’t been trapped that way
before this year.”

“And I won’t be ag’in,” promised Obediah.

Buckhart was disgusted by what had happened, but, nevertheless, he hit
the ball hard and fair, lifting it far into left field.

After a sharp run, Milliken caught it, and Fardale’s last chance in the
second inning had vanished.

In her half of this inning Fairport made a strong bid for a run, getting
a man safe on third; but Dick’s pitching proved too much for them, and
Ware, the last hitter, went out on a weak pop fly.

“There!” said Zona Desmond, nudging her cousin. “You see we’re one score
ahead on even innings! Let the shower come! If it doesn’t hurry too
much, I fancy we will be ahead when the game stops. How many innings
make a game?”

“Why, five, of course,” said Bessie.

“Then they will have to play three more, or it will be no game. My, I
don’t believe they will have time! That shower is coming, and it is
coming fast.”

“Your side had a lot of luck that time,” declared Bessie, who was still
confident; “but you can’t always make runs by luck.”

“What do you call luck?” asked Zona.

“Why, wasn’t it luck when that big fat boy hit the ball?”

“I guess not! He’s a good batter!”

“He looks it!” tittered Bessie.

“He is, isn’t he, Doris?”

“What did you say?” asked Doris.

“My goodness! You haven’t opened your lips since the game began! And you
don’t even seem to know we’re here! What’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing,” answered the girl questioned. But both her companions could
see that there was something the matter.

In the third inning Dick led off with a clean hit. Black sacrificed him
to second. Bradley tried hard to line the ball out, but finally fanned.

Ware was of the opinion that Dave Flint was dangerous, and in trying to
fool the boy with the scar he finally gave Flint a pass to first.

Again Darrell came up.

Doris Templeton caught her breath.

“Hit it, Hal!” she murmured.

“Oh, he won’t get a hit!” declared Bessie Dale. “He’s a nice fellow, but
he can’t hit Jack Ware.”

Hal slashed at the ball in a reckless manner without seeming to use
judgment. He missed the first three pitched and was out in such short
order that every one was surprised for a moment.

Flint and Merriwell had been left on the bases.

“That’s the time you handed ’em hot, Jack, old man!” cried Roberts.

The home team once more started with the head of the batting order.
Crockett refused to be fooled as he had been in the first inning, and
finally caught a good one on the end of his bat, lifting it over the
infield.

Tubbs ran back for it, but caught his heel and fell down just as the
ball would have struck his hands. Crockett crossed first and saw Obediah
wildly pawing around in the grass at his feet in search of the ball.
Immediately the runner turned and scudded toward second.

Obed had one eye rolled up toward first, and, as soon as Crockett was
well down toward second, which had been covered by Darrell, the fat boy
picked up the ball and gave it a snap toward the base without rising to
his feet.

Crockett was trapped and would have been in a bad place, but the ball
struck on the end of Hal’s fingers and bounded off.

The runner laughed with derisive relief as he reached the bag.

“Why didn’t you take your time, Tubbs?” demanded Darrell. “You had an
hour. You snapped that ball so quick I wasn’t ready for the throw.”

Not a word did Obediah retort, but the look on his face expressed a
great deal.

Dustan now came up and attempted to sacrifice Crockett to third. In
trying to do this the batter made a little slow bunt that rolled along
the first base line.

Singleton ran in for the ball, but fancied it would roll foul and
paused, letting Dustan go to first. The ball struck a slight rise and
rolled over the chalk mark into the diamond, where it finally stopped.

It was a fair hit.

“Well! well! well!” laughed Roberts. “We’re doing it this time!”

“Talk about ’orseshoes!” exclaimed Billy Bradley. “You must ’ave your
pockets full!”

“Pitch the ball! pitch the ball!” cried Roberts, who had observed the
rising cloud and feared the shower would break before five innings had
been played. “Make him pitch the ball, Mr. Umpire!”

When Dick did pitch the ball Dustan started for second, Crockett having
reached third.

Unhesitatingly Buckhart lined the sphere down to Tubbs.

Crockett jumped off third, as if determined to make a dash for the home
plate.

Tubbs did not wait for Dustan, who had paused, but returned the ball to
Buckhart.

Crockett had whirled and plunged back toward third.

Dustan reached second.

Seeing this, Buckhart snapped the ball to Bradley, who put it onto
Crockett, but the umpire declared the man safe.

“There you are!” laughed Roberts. “That was all right, boys!”

There was a muttering of thunder in the west.

Roberts managed to hit a sharp grounder that went out between second and
third. It was a clean hit, and on it both Crockett and Dustan scored.

Not one of the home team was out.

“That wasn’t my fault,” said Darrell. “He hit you that time, Captain
Merriwell.”

Dick used speed for Conway, who, pretending to make an effort to avoid a
close one, permitted himself to be hit. Although this seemed apparent,
the umpire allowed him to take first.

Macon tried hard for a hit, but Dick was too much for the fellow, and he
struck out.

“They’ve sus-sus-sus-stopped right here!” yelled Jolliby.

Milliken slashed away twice without finding anything more than the empty
air, which led Roberts to growl at him. The fellow swung by guess at the
very next ball, without using the least judgment and really seeming to
shut his eyes. What followed was one of those rare accidental hits that
are made by incompetent batters. Had the fellow sought to met Dick’s
sharp curve, using his best judgment in doing so, it is likely he would
have missed cleanly. As it was, he hit the ball and drove it out on a
line for two bases, which was as much a surprise to himself as to any
one else. Two more scores came in, making four in the third inning for
Fairport.

The thunder rumbled nearer.

“Hustle this thing, fellows!” panted Roberts. “We’ve got this game
nailed! You can hold them down, can’t you, Ware?”

“Sure!” answered Ware.

“Fan, Anson—fan!” hissed the captain of the home team.

Immediately Anson struck out, and Warren followed his example.

Believing they had the game safely in hand, the home players were doing
their best to hurry through five innings.

The visitors saw their design, and Dick urged his men to go after the
ball earnestly at the beginning of the fourth. Jolliby did his best, but
was thrown out at first. Singleton lifted a fly that was captured. Tubbs
reached first on an error, and Buckhart lifted a foul back of third that
was secured by Macon. Fardale’s chance in the fourth was passed.

The clouds were hanging black overhead now, and a few sprinkles of rain
came pattering down.

“What shall I do, captain?” asked Ware of Roberts, as he picked up his
bat.

“Fan,” answered Roberts. “Get out just as quick as you can.”

Ware obeyed, and both Crockett and Dustan did the same thing, much to
Buckhart’s disgust.

“Waugh!” exploded the Texan. “What sort of an old baseball game is this
yere? Are you chaps playing a kids’ game? Why don’t you play ball?”

“That will be all right!” laughed Roberts. “Just you fellows play one
more inning. That’s all we want.”

Then, as his team took the field, he again urged them to hold Fardale
down.

Merriwell again led off with a handsome clean drive for one bag. Black
strained every nerve to get a hit, but popped up an infield fly, on
which Dick stuck to first and Barron was declared out.

The raindrops came thicker. There was a flash of lightning, and the
thunder rumbled more nearly overhead. Still the spectators lingered,
wishing to see that inning through.

Bradley finally got a safe hit, and Flint worked Ware for a pass to
first, which filled the bases.

At this critical point Darrell again came up.

A long hit might tie the score.

Would Darrell make it?

Dick was watching him closely and anxiously. Twice Hal struck, seeming
to try hard to hit the ball, but when he swung the third time Dick felt
certain he made an effort to miss. He was out.

It depended on Jolliby now. Chip was rather pale as he gripped his bat
and took his position. The second ball pitched he hit hard and fair.

At the same moment there was another flash of lightning, and the thunder
followed it quickly.

The men on bases ran without stopping to see the result, for with two
out there was no reason why they should hesitate.

Conway ran hard to get under the ball, and, as it was coming down,
leaped high into the air and caught it.

A great shout of joy arose from the Fairport crowd, for in Fardale’s
half of the fifth inning she had made no scores, and Fairport was three
ahead.

If the final half could be played out before the rain fell heavily
Fairport would win the game.

Roberts shouted for his men to hurry in, and Buckhart rushed to Dick,
urging him to delay as much as possible.

“We’re beaten if you don’t, for she’s going to rain in a minute. Hold
her up, if you can.”

Then the Texan himself fumbled and fooled with his body protector in
adjusting it until Roberts angrily called the umpire’s attention and
demanded that Fardale be made to play.

“Trot out your batter!” said Dick. “We will play.”

“He is waiting,” said Roberts. “Why don’t you go ahead and pitch?”

“Yes, go ahead and pitch!” palpitated Buckhart, suddenly getting under
the bat, as he saw Conway in position to strike.

Conway was not the right hitter. Roberts was the man, and Buckhart knew
it.

At this point the scorer for the home team discovered the mistake and
invited Roberts to hasten into the batters’ box.

Even as he did so, the heavens seemed to open and the rain came down in
torrents.

“Time!” called the umpire, and the players scudded for shelter, while
the crowd on the bleachers followed their example.

“Now,” said Buckhart, “let her rain thirty minutes! That’s all we ask!”

It did rain thirty minutes. In fact, it rained an hour before stopping,
and the umpire declared it no game.




                             CHAPTER XVIII.
                         CHARGE AND CONFESSION.


Among themselves the Fardale boys confessed that the rain had come just
in time to save them from defeat. Of course, many of them were confident
they would have won out had it held off until nine innings were played.
But had it delayed until the close of the fifth inning the score would
have been five to two in favor of Fairport.

“Talk about luck!” growled Don Roberts, as he accompanied Merriwell to
the hotel after the rain had ceased. “You fellows certainly had it in
that shower. Why, we had the game clinched!”

“You had a five-inning game clinched,” confessed Dick. “You certainly
worked hard, Roberts, old man, to play five innings before the rain
fell.”

“But, between you and me,” said Don, taking Dick’s arm, “we gained a lap
on you through the bad playing of one man on your team. You know whom I
mean.”

“I don’t put it onto any one man,” retorted the Fardale captain. “The
simple truth is that I was not pitching my game to-day.”

Roberts laughed.

“Our fellows were hitting well, Merriwell; but your shortstop made
several bad breaks. The only thing he did during the game was to get
that first two-bagger. And he spoiled it by trying to make three bases.
I don’t know how it looked to you, but, by George! it actually seemed to
me that he was trying to throw you fellows down.”

Dick shook his head.

“Darrell isn’t that kind of a chap,” he asserted. “He has always been
loyal to Fardale, and there is no reason why he should wish to see us
defeated.”

“All right,” said Roberts. “You know best.”

“I had to put him into the game to fill a gap. Our regular shortstop,
Gardner, was taken ill.”

“Well, take my advice, don’t fill any more gaps with Darrell. When are
we going to play this game off? Of course, we will have to do it some
time. We’re confident we can beat you this year, and we don’t want to
let the chance slip.”

“Why, I don’t know,” answered Dick. “Our dates are pretty well filled.”

“Then you had better make a date,” grinned Don. “Of course, if you’re
afraid——”

“You know better!” retorted Dick quickly. “Let me run over the schedule.
Let’s see!”

Then Dick mentioned the games Fardale had to play, and Roberts confessed
that for the rest of the season the cadets had their time pretty well
taken up.

“We might play you Wednesday,” said Merriwell.

“Next Wednesday?”

“Yes.”

“But we have a game for Wednesday. It is not very important, but we have
it arranged. We play a country team from Charlesford.”

“I am afraid that’s the only time we can meet you. If you’re so very
anxious to play us, isn’t it possible for you to cancel this engagement
with Charlesford?”

“Of course, we can do that,” admitted Roberts. “It won’t be much of a
game, anyhow, for those fellows are not in our class. We made a date
with them simply to fill in.”

“Then it looks like an easy matter to cut it out. What do you say,
Roberts?”

“I will cut it out, Merriwell, if you fellows will come here Wednesday.”

“How about expenses?”

“We will give you the same guarantee as to-day.”

Dick shook his head.

“It won’t do, old man. This rain cut our guarantee in two. According to
arrangements made, we can’t afford the expense. If you’re so anxious to
play us, you will have to give us a regular guarantee under any
circumstances, rain or no rain. We will do this by you if you will come
to Fardale.”

“By Jing, Merriwell! we can’t do it! We can’t afford it. We’re running
behind now. I am worrying about our bills. You see we had to give rain
checks to-day because the game was not finished.”

“Well, if you can’t pay us what we want to come Wednesday, why don’t you
accept my offer and take a like amount to come to Fardale? You know you
will be treated right there.”

“But the umpire——”

“Bring your umpire, if you want to,” said Dick. “This chap we had to-day
was all right. We’re satisfied with him. We will pay his bills, too. It
shan’t cost you a cent to bring him.”

Roberts clapped Dick on the shoulder.

“That’s generous, Merriwell!” he exclaimed.

“That’s a good, square offer! I think we’ll do it. I will try to let you
know before you leave. You can’t get a train for an hour. I will see
Hoffmore, our manager, and talk it over with him.”

“Do,” urged Dick.

At the hotel the Fardale boys spent the time while waiting for the train
in talking over the game.

One of the silent but interested spectators of the game had been Chester
Arlington. For once, at least, Chet made himself conspicuous by his
retirement. As Dick reached the hotel, however, Arlington stepped out
and came face to face with him on the steps.

To the surprise of the Fardale captain Chester said:

“See here, Merriwell, I suppose you’re onto this business to-day? You
must have your eyes opened by this time?”

“What do you mean?” asked Dick, unable to repress his surprise.

“Why, it was plain enough to everybody,” declared Chet. “That game was
thrown away, or would have been thrown away if it had been played out.
You have an idea that I am the only fellow in the school who has ever
done anything to injure you. But this very day the fellow you had
playing at short did his best to throw you down. I mean Darrell. He
wanted to see you beaten.”

“Stop, Arlington!” exclaimed Dick sharply. “You’re not the fellow to
make such a charge against any one.”

“It’s the truth,” declared Chet. “Don’t you believe it? Why, you ought
to see it’s the truth! You’re not blind!”

“Better not let Darrell hear you,” warned Dick.

“You refuse to believe?”

“Yes, I refuse to believe any clean, upright fellow like Hal Darrell
would stoop to such a trick. There is no reason in the world why he
should do it. What was his object? What could he gain by it? Don’t talk
to me like that, Arlington! Better keep your mouth shut!”

Chester stared at Dick a moment, then exclaimed:

“You do believe it! I can see you believe it! You just don’t want to
acknowledge it! You refuse to acknowledge anything bad about Darrell!”

“Get away from me, Arlington!” commanded the dark-eyed lad. “Don’t come
to me with any of your accusations! As I just told you, you are not the
chap to accuse any one. I wish to hear no more from you.”

With which Dick passed Chester and entered the hotel.

Now it happened Hal Darrell was sitting at an open window directly
above, and he had heard every word that passed between the two boys
beneath. At first his face turned pale, and he trembled with rage at
Arlington’s charge against him. When Merriwell refused to believe, and
defended him vigorously, his face softened and the look of anger turned
to one of shame. He drew back a little in order that he might not be
seen, yet listened until Dick entered the hotel, leaving Chester on the
steps.

Springing to his feet, Hal paced the floor, his hands clinched and his
appearance one of intense excitement.

“Arlington was right!” he muttered. “I did try to do it! Merriwell
refuses to believe it of me. I ought to be kicked! No matter what he has
said about me, I had no right to seek revenge in such a manner. I was an
idiot! No matter what he has said—how do I know he ever said it? I can’t
prove it. I can’t go to him and ask him. I’d like to get away from every
one! I am ashamed to look any of the fellows in the face!”

He had changed his clothes, and at the first opportunity he sought to
slip out of the hotel, thinking that he would wander off and stay by
himself until the time came to take the train. At the outer door he
suddenly paused, for on the steps was Chester Arlington, talking to
Doris, Zona, and Bessie.

“There wasn’t any luck about it,” laughed Chet. “With proper support
Merriwell would have won the game hands down.”

“With proper support!” cried Bessie Dale. “Didn’t he get proper
support?”

“Not by a good deal!” retorted Arlington. “One fellow on our team tried
to give the game away, and he succeeded pretty well, too. You know him.
Miss Templeton—you know him very well. I don’t have to call any names.”

“I don’t want you to call any names!” flashed Doris. “I don’t want to
listen to any of your insinuations, sir!”

“Oh, that’s all right,” chuckled Chet. “But I fancy you know enough
about baseball so you can see through it, when you think it over. Just
take my advice and think it over. Whose bad playing gave Fairport
several runs? Who might have won that game with a hit, and didn’t try to
hit the ball?”

Instantly Darrell stepped out, his face livid with rage.

“I presume you mean me, Arlington?” he grated. “Why don’t you make your
talk to me? Come out here where we are alone and repeat it!”

Instantly Doris seized his arm.

“No, no, Hal!” she exclaimed. “You shall not fight with him!”

“There’s no way out of it!” declared Hal fiercely. “I’ve got to thrash
him!”

“Not now! Not here, Hal! Please come with me! Please walk with me!”

She clung fast to his arm.

Arlington stood with his hands in his pockets, regarding Darrell with a
sneering smile. He seemed cool and indifferent.

Doris continued to urge Hal to accompany her, and he finally consented.

“Why should you pay any attention to him?” she asked, as they walked
down the street side by side. “No one will believe him.”

“It’s not that,” retorted Hal. “No fellow can stand for such talk about
him. Of course, I couldn’t hit him then, with you three girls present,
but I’ll get at him.”

“No one will believe it,” persisted Doris. “Let him go ahead and tell it
as much as he likes. It can’t hurt you.”

“He told Merriwell something a short time ago. I heard him.”

“But Dick won’t take any stock in it. Dick knows you too well, Hal. He
knows you were out of practice. He knows Arlington told an untruth.”

Hal shook his head.

“Doris!” he suddenly and fiercely declared, “the worst part of it is
that Arlington told the truth! I am ashamed of myself! I never did such
a thing before. You will despise me now, but I can’t help it. I did try
to throw that game!”

She shrank from him, and he saw her face pale.

“That’s right,” he said. “Hate me! Despise me! I deserve it! I don’t
suppose you will ever speak to me again?”

“Hal, how could you?” she murmured in distress. “No one else could have
made me believe it! I was full of doubts and fears, but I decided it
could not be possible.”

“Then even you suspected me? If you did, Doris, certainly all the rest
of the fellows must. They will think me a fine sort of chap now! They
will put me in the class with Chet Arlington! Any boy who will go back
on his school team is a mighty cheap sort of a duffer! Are you going
back to the hotel?”

“Not now, Hal,” she gently answered, as she took his arm. “I am going to
walk with you. You must tell me just why you did it.”

For some time they walked in silence along the street, coming at length
to the outskirts of the village, where they paused opposite an old gate,
upon which they leaned. Everything was fresh and green after the shower,
and the sweet breath of spring was in the balmy air.

“You know you can trust me, Hal,” said Doris. “And I know you didn’t
seek to betray your own team without cause.”

“But I can’t tell you the reason,” he protested. “It’s better that I
should not tell you. It will simply annoy you and hurt your feelings.”

“Instead of that, Hal, I feel confident that it would justify you in
some degree in my eyes. How could it annoy me?”

“Because you are concerned.”

“I?” she exclaimed in surprise.

“Yes.”

“How is that possible? Now, you must tell me. I will never be contented
until you do.”

Suddenly he turned and faced her, and in his eyes she saw the old-time
look of admiration, which he could not conceal.

“Doris, it would have been better for us had we never known Dick
Merriwell. You liked me before you met him.”

Quickly her hand fell on his arm.

“I liked you then, Hal, and I like you still.”

“But you are changed.”

“I don’t think so. You can’t seem to understand me, Hal. Frankly I
confess to you that I admire Dick, but I like you none the less.”

“Then why have you treated me in such a——”

“Hal, haven’t you any pride of your own? Certainly you have! Do you
fancy your father and my father patching up a match between us, just as
if we were creatures of wood and stone, and had no minds of our own?
That’s what I resented. If that had never happened——”

“And just because of that you are going to treat me as if you detested
me?”

“That is something I have never done. Far from detesting you, Hal—far
from disliking you in the least, I have never liked you better than
now.”

His face flushed and the eager light in his eyes grew.

“Do you mean it, Doris?” he whispered, bending nearer.

“I mean it, Hal.”

“Then he lied—he lied!” cried Darrell. “You never said it!”

“Never said what?”

“You haven’t heard the gossip at the academy. I didn’t mean for you to
hear it. They say this Merriwell boasted of cutting me out with you.
They said he told his friends you were glad to be rid of me—you were
tired of me. He told them you said so yourself. It was a lie, Doris?”

Her face was a trifle pale now, but she restrained herself and demanded:

“So that was the reason for your doing as you did to-day, Hal? Was that
all the reason?”

“No; he said more. He said that he was tired of you. That you couldn’t
hold a candle to June Arlington, and he wished to be rid of you. When I
heard it I would have fought him, but the one who told me pledged me to
secrecy. I have betrayed the secret now to you. I was looking for some
excuse to pick up trouble with Merriwell—something that would not
involve you. I was ready to do anything to quarrel with him without
bringing you into trouble. I fancied he would be furious with me to-day
and would take me out of the game. I didn’t believe he would leave me in
long enough, after seeing me play as I did, to let me lose the game.
That would have given me the excuse I sought.”

After a moment’s silence Doris said:

“Hal, I believe you made a serious mistake. Who told you that?”

“I can’t tell.”

“Can’t you tell me?”

“No, not even you, Doris, for I gave my promise I would never breathe
the person’s name.”

“Why should you believe such things of Dick Merriwell? You ought to see
it is not like him.”

“But you, Doris—don’t you fancy some of these things may be true?”

She turned her head away in order that he might not read the truth in
her face. She did not tell him that she had heard the same things, and
had been placed in such an embarrassing position that it was impossible
for her to learn the truth without sacrificing her pride. She did not
confess that her own mind had been filled with doubts and misgivings.

“We should not believe them, Hal, until we know beyond dispute that they
are true.”

“If they are—if they are, I will kill Dick Merriwell!” panted Darrell.

She well understood his passionate and revengeful disposition, and felt
that he might be led hastily into something he would ever after regret
in case he afterward found that the gossip of the school had no real
foundation of truth in it. She believed it her duty to prevent him from
any rash action and to hold him in check.

“Hal,” she said, “you must promise me you will have no trouble with
Dick—for my sake. I am not blind. I can see through some things. If I
have treated you shabbily, it was because of my pride. Let’s forget it.
Let’s let things be as they were long ago before we came to Fardale.”

“Do you mean it?” he cried eagerly.

“I mean it, Hal. We will be friends, just as we were of old. If there is
a shadow of truth in this gossiping talk, which I don’t wish to believe,
Dick Merriwell will soon see that he has made a mistake in thinking I
care—I will not speak to him. Promise me—promise me you will not
quarrel!”

“I promise, Doris,” he said earnestly. “We must walk back now, for we
cannot miss our train.”

When they arrived at the station, however, it was nearly train time, and
the Fardale boys were there, while the Fairport lads had come down to
see them off. There was a great crowd on the platform.

“Oh, here you are, Doris!” exclaimed Zona Desmond, as with Bessie Dale
she hastened to meet her friend. “We have been worrying about you.”

“No need of worrying about me,” laughed Doris. “Hal can take care of me;
can’t you, Hal?”

“I think I can,” he declared. And the light in his eyes and the look on
his face made such a change in him that Zona was astonished. Not only
was she astonished, but suddenly she grew worried; and, at the first
opportunity, while Doris was speaking with Bessie, she drew Hal a little
to one side and whispered anxiously:

“What have you been telling her? I hope you didn’t breathe a word of
what I told you. If you did she will never forgive me.”

“Don’t worry,” he retorted. “Whatever I have said, I have not mentioned
your name.”

“You mustn’t,” said Zona. “If you do I will never tell you anything else
as long as I live, Hal Darrell!”

“It is all right,” he again assured her. “Here comes the train.”

The train drew up at the station, and the Fardale crowd boarded the
cars, while the Fairport boys merrily bade them “so-long!”

“We will see you again Wednesday, Merriwell!” cried Don Roberts. “We
will finish the game then.”

“And we will give you the handsome trimming you so narrowly missed
to-day!” asserted Jack Ware.

“Anticipation is sometimes more satisfactory than realization!”
laughingly retorted Dick. “Look out that you are not disappointed
Wednesday!”

As the train pulled out the Fairport boys gave a lusty cheer, which was
answered from the open windows of the cars.

“Well, by juj-juj-juj-jingoes!” said Chip Jolliby. “I am
gug-gug-gug-glad of one thing: We’re not going home
bub-bub-bub-bub-beaten.”

“But we did come within a hair of it,” said Barron Black. “If we had not
lost Gardner——”

“’Ush, there is Darrell!” cautioned Bradley.

“I don’t care if he hears me!” said Black. “He came as near doing us up
to-day as possible, and I don’t believe he wanted us to win.”

“’E’ll fight hif ’e ’ears you,” said the cockney youth.

“He is too interested in Doris Templeton to hear anything,” asserted
Barron. “See how he is laughing and talking with her. Why, I haven’t
seen him that way for months! He has been sullen, and sour, and grouchy
all the time. What’s come over him so suddenly?”

“Fellers!” piped Obediah Tubbs, rising and waving his fat hands in the
air, “I perpose a little music; let’s sing—let’s all sing! Let’s sing
some classic air by some great composer!”

Up popped Ted Smart, who had been remarkably quiet.

“What composer is most noted of modern times?” he propounded.

“Give it up,” said some one. “What composer is the most noted?”

“Chloroform!” cried Ted, and promptly sat down.

“Somebody ought to give him a medal, by Jim!” squeaked the fat boy. “Why
does your mouth make me think of a tavern door? Give it up? He! he!
Because it’s always open.”

“That’s funny!” sneered Ted. “That’s dreadful funny, but you will have
to write it out for us. Wait until you have had a square meal. Why isn’t
it best to write on an empty stomach?”

“You tell,” invited Tubbs. “You’re so all-fired bright, go ahead and
tell why it isn’t best to write on an empty stomach.”

“Because there is plenty of paper to write on,” said Ted serenely.

“Hello, Darrell!” called Dick, “what is the best land for girls?”

“America,” answered Darrell promptly. “The girls of America beat the
world. You couldn’t tell of a better land for them.”

“Oh, yes, I can,” was the reply.

“Name it.”

“Lapland.”

There was a little burst of applause and laughter. When it subsided
Billy Bradley gravely asked:

“’Ow his that? Hi never ’eard there were prettier girls in Lapland than
hanywhere else.”

This caused another shout of laughter, and Billy scratched his head in a
puzzled manner, trying to discover the cause of the merriment.

Ted Smart looked sad and disgusted.

“See here, Dick Merriwell, you ought to be put in jail for that! That’s
stealing! I own the copyright on that conundrum! But I bet you can’t
tell the difference between a jeweler and a jailer.”

“One sells watches and the other watches cells,” answered Dick,
laughing. “Give us something new.”

“Confound you!” snapped Ted. “If I had a gun I’d use it on you! But,
speaking of guns, what does a seventy-four-gun ship and her crew weigh
with all on board?”

“What’s the answer?” laughed Dick. “What does she weigh?”

“She weighs anchor,” smiled Ted, satisfied at last.

“Great Cæsar!” exclaimed Jolliby. “These are coming fuf-fuf-fuf-fast!”

Immediately Smart bobbed up again.

“Speaking of Cæsar,” he said, “what proof have we that he was acquainted
with the Irish?”

“Hacquainted with the Hirish!” said Bradley. “’Ow was ’e? ’E couldn’t
’ave been!”

“History proves it,” asserted Ted.

“Hi don’t believe hit,” declared Billy. “What’s there in ’istory that
proves Cæsar was hacquainted with the Hirish?”

“Why,” grinned Smart, “after he crossed the Rhine, didn’t he come back
to bridge it?”

“What ’as that got to do with hit?” snorted the Cockney youth.

“Why, don’t you see, Sir William, he came back to Bridget.”

Again Billy was puzzled and confused. The fact that the boys were
laughing simply added to his bewilderment.

“Hi’d like to see one hof your blooming Hamerican jokes that ever had a
point to it!” he shouted. “Now, hif you want to get something really
funny you hought to read _Punch_, don’t y’ ’now.”

“I always read a copy just before attending a funeral!” said Smart. “It
makes me cry! It makes me sad for a whole day!”

Some one started a song, and the boys took it up. Earl Gardner was the
only fellow on the train who did not seem to be enjoying himself. Earl
was still ill, and he showed it plainly.

Suddenly, without the least warning, there came a jarring sensation and
a succession of crashes. The cars bumped and rocked, and then the entire
train left the track and plunged down a low embankment.

It had been derailed!




                              CHAPTER XIX.
                       THE OUTCOME OF THE WRECK.


Confusion and chaos followed. Dick Merriwell was hurled against the roof
of the car as it plunged over into the ditch, and, although he was
partly stunned, and lay still, when the crashing was followed by some
moments of appalling silence, his wits were not benumbed, and his mind
was actively at work. Wondering how badly he was hurt, he sought to drag
himself from beneath some of the broken timbers. This was not a very
difficult job, and, to his intense relief, he discovered that he seemed
to have no broken limbs and apparently had escaped serious injury.

Then all around him suddenly rose screams and shouts of pain and fear.
The horror of it was intense, for it seemed certain that many of that
gay party had been maimed and killed in the wreck. Dick’s second thought
was of the girls. They had been seated a short distance ahead of him on
the opposite side of the car, and now he endeavored to find them. He saw
before him a muscular youth, who had found the tools always kept for use
in such cases, and was already wielding an axe in an endeavor to cut and
smash a hole through the side of the car.

It was Buckhart. For once Brad uttered no whoop, spoke no word, but bent
every nerve to the task before him.

“Brad!” cried Dick.

“Hey, pard!” was the retort. “Thank the Lord you’re alive!”

“Doris?” was Dick’s next word. And the sturdy Texan answered:

“She must be right here somewhere, partner. Look for her while I am
making a hole to freedom.”

All around them were excited and bruised lads. Some had been cut by
broken glass or timbers, and two or three were so frantic that they
interfered with Buckhart as he swung the axe.

“Keep them back a moment, Black!” cried Dick. “Brad will open her up and
you can all get out.”

Then he continued to search for Doris.

Buckhart was not long in making an opening large enough for the boys to
crawl forth. One by one they crawled out at that point, while the Texan
turned to look for Dick amid the wreck of the smashed car.

Merriwell found the girl he sought. She had been pinned down by a seat.
In the dim light her face showed deathly pale and her eyes were closed.
His first thought was that she was dead. But even as he stooped over her
with a cry, her eyes unclosed and looked into his.

“Doris!” he exclaimed.

“Dick—oh, Dick!” was her only answer.

In a moment he was doing everything in his power to drag her free. Her
skirt was caught somewhere and seemed to hold her fast. He seized hold
of it with his hands and gave a mighty pull that ripped her free. Then
swiftly, yet with strange gentleness, under such circumstances, he drew
her from beneath the seat and lifted her in his arms.

“Doris, are you badly hurt?”

“I don’t know, Dick. I think I fainted.”

He asked no further questions, for at that moment he found Brad Buckhart
with Zona Desmond near at hand. The Texan aided Zona over the débris and
enabled her to creep out by the opening he had made. He followed and
assisted Doris, Dick coming last.

When they were outside a scene of terrible confusion met their gaze. All
around them were excited boys and appalled men and women. A few
cool-headed ones were working steadily to rescue from the wreck those
who still remained in it. At a little distance lay several who had been
injured.

From the overturned engine a cloud of steam and smoke arose. The express
and baggage car were piled on top of the locomotive.

As he gazed on the spectacle, Dick found himself wondering that so many
had escaped. He thought of his friends, and near at hand he saw Chip
Jolliby with a bloody cheek, yet apparently otherwise unharmed.

Dave Flint had a blood-stained handkerchief tied about his wrist, while
Obediah Tubbs sat on the ground and tenderly clung to his fat stomach,
complaining that some “dern fool” had kicked all the wind out of him.

Doris clung to Dick.

“Isn’t it awful?” she shuddered.

“Who is missing?” was Merriwell’s question.

“Hi believe almost everybody got out, don’t y’ ’now,” answered the
familiar voice of Billy Bradley.

“Hal!” exclaimed Doris—"where is Hal?"

“Has anybody seen Hal?” Dick demanded.

No one had seen him.

“Great tarantulas!” burst from Buckhart. “I opine he must be in there
now, pard!”

Even as the Texan uttered these words, Dick thrust Doris Templeton upon
him and plunged back into the wreck, though the express car was afire
and the flames were spreading rapidly.

“I’m with yer, partner!” shouted the Texan; but Dick paused long enough
to order him to remain and look after the girls.

To those waiting Merriwell’s reappearance every minute seemed an hour.
When he could stand it no longer, Brad surrendered the girls into other
hands and started to crawl back into the car. He had not entirely
disappeared from the view of those outside before he found Dick, who was
assisting Hal to get out. Darrell had been shocked senseless, and there
was a bad scalp wound on his head, from which blood trickled down one
side of his face.

“There you are, pard!” exultantly cried Buckhart. “Let me give you a
lift.”

“Clear the way!” answered Dick. “You can help us move. We’re all right,
aren’t we, Darrell?”

“Yes, yes,” muttered Hal thickly. “Where is Doris?”

“She’s all right. I took good care to look after her. She’s outside.”

“Hurt?”

“I don’t think she is hurt a bit.”

“Thank God!” said Hal.

When Doris saw him, as he crept forth with his face blood-stained, she
uttered a scream and hastened to him.

“Hal! Hal!”

He looked at her and smiled.

“Well, you are all right!” he exclaimed thankfully. “Dick told me the
truth.”

“But you—you?”

“Oh, it’s nothing but a scratch. Don’t worry about me.”

“I am so glad, Hal—so glad!” she sobbed joyfully. “Isn’t it just
marvelous we escaped?”

“It’s a wonder every one on the train wasn’t killed.”

It was, indeed, a wonder. Still, among them all, the fireman was the
only one who lost his life. The engineer escaped with scarcely a
scratch. The expressman had a broken leg, and others were injured, yet
none very seriously. The marvelous escape of so many from such a
terrible disaster caused no end of newspaper comment and wonderment.

There was plenty of excitement at Fardale when news of the catastrophe
reached that place. A special train had been made up and sent to the
relief of the victims, and this train took the Fardale passengers back
to town some three hours behind time.

As it drew up at the station, those on board looked out on a vast crowd
packed on the platform and banked back beyond it, until swallowed by the
darkness. It seemed that, besides the academy boys, every man, woman,
and child in the village was there.

When the train stopped Dick Merriwell was almost the first person to
appear on the platform of the car. At sight of him a wild roar of joy
went up from the cadets. The lights fell on their upturned faces, and he
saw them fling their hands into the air as they hoarsely shouted his
name. It gave him an indescribable thrill.

“There he is, boys!” howled one of the cadets, with a powerful voice.
“There’s Dick Merriwell! He’s all right!”

“Merriwell! Merriwell! Merriwell!” they shrieked.

Dick lifted his hand, and in a few moments their shouting died away.

“Fellows,” he cried, in that clear, musical voice of his, “it gives me
unspeakable happiness to inform you that we are all all right. Not one
of our party was seriously injured.”

This set them wild again, and they cheered each person who emerged from
the car. As the fortunate ones descended the steps to the platform they
were seized and hugged, one after another. Some of those excited boys
actually shed tears. It seemed that their emotions must quite exhaust
them when Hal Darrell made his appearance, a blood-stained handkerchief
about his head and Doris clinging to his arm. The yell that went up then
was even louder than anything yet.

Somehow, in a slight lull, Ted Smart made his shrill voice heard.

“There’s our mascot!” he shrieked. “She gave us luck! ’Rah for Doris
Templeton, the mascot of Fardale! All ready!” he cried, dragging himself
up the car steps and lifting his arms. “All together now!”

For the first time the cadets cheered in unison, guided by Ted’s jerking
arms.

“’Rah! ’rah! ’rah! ’Rah! ’rah! ’rah! ’Rah! ’rah! ’rah! Doris Templeton!
Doris Templeton! Doris Templeton!”

Then Zona was seen, and they cheered for her.

Mrs. Arlington and June had been sitting in a carriage close to the
platform, with a great crowd packed around them. The face of the woman
was pale and anxious, but it brightened as she saw her son, apparently
unscathed, descend from the train.

Without pausing to say anything to her mother, June left the carriage,
and the boys made a passage for her so that she reached her brother.

“Chester, you’re not hurt?”

“Not a bit, sis,” he answered.

“Then go quickly to mother. She is in the carriage there, and she is
almost distracted.”

Leaving him, June turned and flung her arms about Doris.

“Oh, I’m so glad!” she panted. “Even after the message came that no one
from Fardale had been seriously injured we were in doubt, and almost
died from anxiety. Weren’t you hurt a bit, Doris?”

“I think my side was bruised a little, that’s all.”

“And Zona?”

“She says she was not hurt.”

“Come, both of you—come to the carriage.”

Mrs. Arlington was urging Chester to get into the carriage.

“My poor boy!” she said, her hands trembling. “It was a terrible shock
to me when I heard about that wreck. But it didn’t seem right that my
boy could be killed if any one else escaped. Get in, Chester.”

“Oh, say, mom, don’t drag me off in this old turnout! I want to stay
with the gang. They will march back to the academy, and I want to march
with them.”

“You have changed so! You are so different, Chester! Why, you even seem
to enjoy the company of these common boys!”

“That’s all right, mom. After a narrow squeak like this there is bound
to be things doing, and I propose to keep with the push.”

By this time June, with Doris and Zona, returned to the carriage.

“What are you doing, child?” asked Mrs. Arlington grimly. “Have you
completely forgotten your brother?”

“Not by any means, mother. I found he was unhurt, and then I thought of
some one else. I wish to take my friends home with me.”

“That’s the talk!” exclaimed Chet. “Get right in, girls! Take them right
along, mom!”

Mrs. Arlington said nothing more, and Chester almost lifted each one of
the girls into the carriage. They lingered a few moments to witness the
joyous demonstration on the platform and listen to the cheering of the
cadets.

“If we’d known you were all in such good shape,” said Anson Day, “we
would have brought the band.”

At length, when the confusion had subsided somewhat, the cadets formed
near the station, with the ball players at the head of the procession,
and away they marched, followed by the immense crowd. One of the leaders
struck up “Fair Fardale,” and every boy in the ranks took up the song.
Singing thus, and followed by the laughing villagers, scores of whom
found their eyes dimmed with blurring mists, the boys paraded the main
street of the village and finally turned toward the academy.




                              CHAPTER XX.
                           DICK’S CONFIDENCE.


The following day Earl Gardner was ill in bed. Among the others,
although more serious results had been anticipated, no one was laid up.
True, some of them were stiff and lame, but all were up and about.

Late in the afternoon, while Dick was alone in his room, there came a
knock on his door, and Darrell entered.

“Hello, Hal!” cried Dick. “Sit down, old man.”

Darrell seemed strangely awkward and ill at ease.

“They tell me Gardner is in bed,” he said.

Dick nodded.

“Yes; I am afraid he is in for a sick spell. It’s lucky none of the rest
of us are in bed. How’s your head, old man?”

“Oh, I’d hardly know anything had happened to it. Just cut my scalp a
little, that’s all.”

“It looked pretty serious for you when I found you covered with blood in
that mess, Hal.”

“I came to speak about that, Merriwell. They tell me you crawled back
into that wreck after every one save me was out of it. You did that for
me, and yet you must have known——”

He stopped, biting his lip.

“Go ahead, Hal,” urged Dick. “I must have known—what?”

“Well, you know what happened in that baseball game. You saw the kind of
a game I put up, didn’t you?”

“Of course.”

“What did you think of it?”

“You were out of practice.”

“Oh, you know I didn’t play like that just because I was out of
practice. See here, Merriwell, I am disgusted with myself! You’re a
white man, and I feel like a cur!”

“That’s a bad way to feel, Darrell,” said Dick.

“But that’s just the way I do feel. You must know that it is a blamed
hard thing for me to come here and tell you this, but I have thought it
all over, and I made up my mind to do it, no matter how hard it was.
Merriwell, I was sore on you Saturday. I can’t explain just why, but I
was dead sore. I didn’t expect to stay in that game long enough to lose
it for you. I thought you would take me out. Frankly and squarely, I was
looking for trouble. Had you put me out of the game it would have given
me the excuse I sought.”

“I am sorry to hear you say this, Darrell. Why should you have to pick
up trouble with me? There was a time when we did not pull together very
well, but I fancied that time was passed.”

“So did I.”

“But now——”

“I tell you I can’t explain it, for certain reasons,” said Hal; “but I
frankly confess I acted the part of a cheap duffer. I am thoroughly
ashamed of myself, and that’s why I came to you to ask your pardon. But
for that shower I would have lost the game for Fardale. And to-day I’d
be in the depths of remorse. I am conscience-stricken as it is. What can
they think of me? I know the fellows are not all fools. They must have
seen through my wretched work. I am certain they did, for some of them
have given me the scornful eye. They have no confidence in me. You can
have no confidence in me.”

Dick arose and advanced to Hal’s side. The latter was sitting now, with
his elbows on the table and his head on his hand.

“You’re mistaken, old man,” said Dick gently. “I still have confidence
in you.”

Darrell looked up quickly.

“Is it possible?” he asked.

“Why shouldn’t I?” exclaimed Dick. “A fellow who has manhood enough to
confess a mistake or a fault is just the sort to win my confidence. You
come here like a man and acknowledge your mistake. I suspected you
before that, and yet I hated to believe.”

“I knew you couldn’t help suspecting me. I am always doing some
confoundedly foolish thing! I have a miserable disposition, Merriwell. I
can’t seem to control it at times.”

“A chap who recognizes his own weaknesses and fights against them stands
a good chance to win. The one who can’t see his failings, or refuses to
see them, is the fellow who fails.”

“Perhaps that is right.”

“I know it is right, Darrell.”

“Still, even now you wouldn’t give me another show? You say you have
confidence in me; but, knowing as much as you do, would you dare put me
into the game against Fairport?”

Dick stood squarely before his visitor.

“Darrell, you can play baseball, and I know it. I was sorry when you
refused to come out with the others this spring. We lost a good man in
you. Gardner is ill, and it seems likely now he will not be able to play
Wednesday. Do you want to fill his place?”

Instantly Hal sprang to his feet.

“Do I?” he exclaimed. “You bet your life I do! But you won’t use me? It
isn’t possible.”

“Come out for practice to-morrow,” urged Dick. “We will have Monday and
Tuesday to practice, and you may be able to improve some in that time.
If you can get into your old form you will be all right.”

“And Wednesday?” questioned Hal.

“If Gardner is not in condition to play Wednesday you shall fill his
place.”

Hal seized Dick’s hand.

“Merriwell,” he chokingly exclaimed, “you’re the whitest fellow in the
world! I will never again believe any gossiping lies about you.”

“So you have been hearing gossip of some sort, have you?” questioned
Dick. “Well, never mind; I don’t wish to hear it myself. The quickest
way to kill gossip is to scorn it.”

“Not always,” asserted Hal. “In some cases a fellow has to find where it
started and choke it off there.”

There was no small surprise among the cadets when Darrell appeared on
the field the following afternoon in a baseball suit. Already it had
been whispered about that, through his deliberate crookedness, Fardale
had nearly lost the game at Fairport. If Darrell observed the indignant
glances bestowed upon him he made no sign.

That night Anson Day stopped Dick near the gymnasium.

“See here, Captain Merriwell,” said the chairman of the athletic
committee, “I have a question to ask you.”

“All right,” smiled Dick. “Ask away.”

“You used Darrell in practice to-day, I observed.”

“Yes.”

“Do you trust him?”

“Yes.”

“You do?”

“Yes.”

“But, great Scott! you’re not blind, and the boys are saying that
Darrell tried to throw the game at Fairport. Didn’t you see anything
suspicious?”

“No matter what I saw, Day, I am satisfied that Hal Darrell is loyal to
Fardale and will do his level best to win if he plays Wednesday.”

“Then you mean to play him, do you?”

“Some one must fill Gardner’s place.”

“There are others.”

“No other man as good as Darrell.”

“I am afraid you’re making a mistake, Merriwell,” said Day, seriously
shaking his head. “I am not the only one who thinks so.”

“Wait. Wednesday you shall see that I am making no mistake. Darrell will
prove it.”




                              CHAPTER XXI.
                        DARRELL REDEEMS HIMSELF.


Never had any visiting team been more confident of success on Fardale
field than was Fairport when she faced the cadets on Wednesday. The
assurance of her supporters was demonstrated by the large number of
rooters who came with the team.

Both sides lined up for the contest just as they had on Saturday. For
Fardale, Darrell was again at short, in spite of suspicions and doubts.

Fairport went first to bat.

“No shower to-day!” laughed Roberts, as Crockett walked out to the
plate, his bat on his shoulder. “There will be no such good luck for
poor old Fardale!”

“Dern your picter!” squeaked Obediah Tubbs. “Mebbe you will be wishing
for a shower before this game is over.”

Dick was in the pitcher’s box.

“Right off—start right off, captain!” cried Black, from left field.

“Put hit hover!” urged Billy. “’E can’t ’it hanything!”

“Try his eye, old boy—try his eye!” urged Darrell.

“He is a mark,” averred Singleton.

“Right there, pard—right there!” said Buckhart, holding up his mitt.

Chester Arlington and Mel Fraser were sitting side by side. Chester
smiled derisively, and observed:

“For a dead cold fact, Merriwell beats anything I ever saw. I reckoned
he would be furious with Darrell, but he is letting the fellow into this
game. Wouldn’t that give you chilblains?”

“Do you suppose he knows what Darrell tried to do?” asked Mel Fraser.

“Oh, he has sense enough to know that!”

“Then why has he given him another show?”

“Ask me! I will never tell. There they go!”

Dick delivered the first ball and Crockett fouled it.

“That’s touching him!” chuckled Roberts. “You’ll hit it on the
trade-mark next time, Crock!”

The batter did hit the next ball, but it was one of those exasperating
pop flies which fell into Bradley’s hands, and Crockett retired to the
bench.

“Start us off, Dustan!” urged Roberts. “Give us a hit here! Let’s clinch
the game in the first inning.”

Up popped Ted Smart on the bleachers.

“Please don’t make too many runs in the first inning!” he entreated.
“Please don’t make more than ten or fifteen runs in this inning! Just
give us a little show! Don’t bury us at the very start! It isn’t fair.”

Dustan proved to be a good waiter and finally compelled Dick to put the
ball over. He then sent a swift one skimming along the ground, and Tubbs
failed to stop it. It was a safe hit.

“Here we go!” yelled Milliken, as he capered down to the coaching line.
“We’re off! We’re off!”

“Don’t mind that, captain,” said Darrell. “It doesn’t amount to
anything!”

Roberts was ready to strike.

“I wish he’d drive a hot one down to Darrell!” muttered Arlington.
“You’d see Darrell let it go. I will bet my life on that.”

Even as he spoke he had his wish. Roberts hit a savage grounder in
Darrell’s direction. It was not straight at Hal, but some distance to
one side. Apparently it could not be touched, although Darrell made a
spring for it.

“Clean hit!” burst from Arlington.

A second later he gasped in astonishment, for Darrell had flung himself
at full length on the ground, with one hand outstretched, and stopped
the ball. Not only did he stop it, but it stuck fast in his fingers, and
he sat up instantly with it in his possession.

Without making an attempt to rise, Darrell snapped the ball to Tubbs,
who had covered second.

Dustan was off first and away toward second even before bat and ball
met. Nevertheless, Darrell’s astonishing stop and snap throw to Tubbs
was so rapidly performed that Dustan was out “on a force.” He saw this
and remained on his feet in an endeavor to bother Tubbs so he could not
throw to first; but Tubbs sent the ball whistling past the fellow’s ear
so close that Dustan felt the wind from it.

Straight into Singleton’s big mitt sped the ball, and then the umpire
was heard crying:

“Out at second! Out at first!”

Darrell’s astounding stop of that hot grounder had enabled him to take
part in a most brilliant double play. Those who had expected to see
Darrell do something quite different were electrified. Instantly the
cadets burst forth into a cheer over this sensational piece of work.

“Well, what do you think of that?” gasped Mel Fraser, nudging Arlington.

Chester sat still a moment without replying, but finally said:

“He’s got a long head on him. He did it to fool them. Just wait and see
if he doesn’t do something to lose this game before it is over. He will
if he has a chance.”

Zona, Doris, and June were together in the grand stand, and apparently
Hal’s play had filled them all with the greatest enthusiasm and
admiration.

“Wasn’t it splendid!” breathed Doris, her eyes shining.

“I didn’t think he could stop it,” confessed Zona.

“I don’t see how he did stop it,” asserted June. “I thought it was past
him before he flung himself on the ground.”

“And then the way he threw it without getting up!” laughed Doris. “Oh,
Hal! I am proud of you!”

“I wish we had Bessie here,” said Zona. “We’d show her to-day!”

Fardale came in to the bench, and Dick walked at Hal’s side.

“That was one of the finest stops I ever saw, Darrell,” he said.

“Thank you,” answered Hal. “I was afraid I couldn’t get it.”

“And I never had an idea you could touch it; but you did, and that
double play was a fancy one.”

At first Don Roberts had seemed too astounded to say anything; but now,
as he took his position on the field, he cried:

“That’s all right, fellows! They can’t have that rabbit’s-foot luck all
through the game. Just get right after them now!”

Jack Ware threw a few swift ones to Anson to limber up his arm. As Black
reached the plate and took his position, Ware whirled and delivered the
ball.

It was a swift, high one, and Barron did his best to meet it, but
failed.

“One strike!”

Behind Ware the visitors chattered away like a flock of magpies.

“Keep him fanning, old boy!”

“Put ’em right over!”

“He can’t touch you!”

“He’s fruit! He’s fruit!”

“Got your speed to-day, Jack!”

“Oh, what fancy work!”

Ware worked carefully with Black until three balls and two strikes were
called. Suddenly he delivered that big out-rise, and, believing it was a
straight ball, Barron made the mistake of swinging for it.

“You’re out!” declared the umpire, as the ball plunked into Warren’s
mitt.

“That’s the first one, Jack!”

“Got him easy.”

“The others are just as easy!”

“Keep ’em going.”

“They will never touch you to-day.”

“Let’s see ’ow ’e does hit!” muttered Bradley, as he got into position.
“Let’s see hif ’e can do the same trick with me!”

It began to seem that Ware would repeat the performance with Bradley,
for Billy slashed at the first ball and missed it, then let the second
one pass, only to hear a strike declared.

“Got him in a hole!” shouted Roberts. “Got him foul, Jack, old boy!”

As two strikes and no balls were called, the Fairport pitcher
immediately began to try to “work” Billy. Bradley was wise, and,
although he pretended to be eager to get a hit, he let the bad ones
pass. In this manner three balls were called in succession.

“Make him put it over this time, Bradley!” cried Dick.

Ware faced the alternative of putting the ball over the plate or letting
Billy “walk.” Knowing this, he endeavored to get one over; but, as often
happens with the best of pitchers, he failed. Bradley declined to swing
and was given a “pass.”

Flint strode out to the plate.

“Dern their picters!” squealed Obediah Tubbs, prancing up and down on
the coach line back of first. “We’ve got ’em guessing now! Get a lead,
Bradley. Let him throw it over. He can’t catch you in a year.”

In order to hold the runner close to first, Ware snapped the ball over
to Anson twice before delivering it to the batter. When he did deliver
it he tried a drop.

Now Flint was a bad man to deceive with a drop. When he got under one
and hit it, he always lifted it a wonderfully long distance.

Knowing the batter’s ability for heavy hitting, the fielders had fallen
back as soon as he came to the plate. Flint smashed the first ball a
fearful crack, and away it slid toward the outfield.

“A fence ball!” shrieked Tubbs, in delight. “Git up and git, Bradley!”

Fearing the ball might be caught, Billy lingered near first; but now he
fancied there was no chance that the fielder would capture it, and away
he scooted.

Running in the same direction as the ball, Conway turned at the critical
moment, looked over his shoulder, and saw it coming. He leaped high in
the air and caught it. By this time Bradley had crossed second, and he
was astonished when he heard Jolliby yelling at him from the coaching
line near third.

“Gug-gug-gug-go back! Tut-tut-tut-turn round! He’s gug-gug-gug-got it!”

Stopping as quickly as possible, Bradley turned and saw Conway preparing
to throw the ball into the diamond. Although Billy literally tore up the
chalk along the base line in his endeavor to get back to first, he did
not succeed, for the ball reached Anson’s hands ahead of him, and three
men were out.

Neither side had scored in the first inning.

The five innings following were quite as exciting, and still neither
side was able to get a man around the bases and across the rubber. It
was not entirely a pitchers’ battle. At times both teams hit the ball,
but the fast playing kept either Fardale or Fairport from scoring a
tally. In critical moments Dick rose to the occasion, and his masterly
pitching prevented the enemy from obtaining their object.

Jack Ware was also doing clever work. The home players came up time
after time with determination in their eyes, resolved to bat out a
victory. And time after time Ware, by his clever headwork, prevented
them from accomplishing their purpose.

Hal Darrell had a remarkable number of “chances,” and he accepted them
all. Indeed, his playing was one of the features of the game.

This remarkable work by Hal disturbed Arlington’s nerves and aroused his
resentment.

“Well, look at the lobster! I believe he is actually trying to redeem
himself for his rotten playing at Fairport.”

“He is not only trying,” said Fraser, “but he is doing it. The boys were
all against him at the beginning of the game, and now they are all with
him.”

Doris Templeton’s heart was beating with keenest satisfaction and joy.
To her ears the cheers for Darrell were sweetest music.

“Just see, Zona!” she finally exclaimed. “Isn’t he doing splendid
to-day?”

“Who? Brad?” asked Zona, who had been watching the clever work of the
sturdy backstop from Texas.

“No! I mean Hal.”

“Oh, yes,” answered Zona. “He is playing a great game to-day. Don’t you
think so, June?”

“I don’t believe I ever saw him pitch better,” said June.

“Pitch?” cried both girls. “Why, he isn’t pitching! He is playing
shortstop.”

“Oh!” exclaimed June, getting quite red. “I—I mean—I mean I never saw
him play better.”

But she did not deceive her companions. Both knew who had chained her
attention.

In the seventh inning, after striking out Conway, the first batter, Dick
saw Macon drive a hot grounder through Bradley and make two bags on the
cockney youth’s error.

Immediately the Fairport rooters rose to their feet.

“This is the fatal seventh!” shouted one. “Here’s where we do the
trick!”

This was followed by the Fairport cheer, and Milliken, the tall
left-fielder, managed to connect with one of Dick’s drops, lifting it
over the infield.

It was a safe hit, but should have carried Macon no farther than third
base. Tubbs secured the ball and made a quick throw in an endeavor to
nip Macon at third. Bradley was not expecting the throw, and did not see
the ball until it was close upon him. He put up his hands, but misjudged
it, and it struck his fingers without being stopped.

Billy was after the ball in a twinkling, but Macon saw his opening and
scudded for the home plate. When Bradley caught the ball he made a
desperate effort to shut the run off, but threw low, and on a bad bounce
the sphere got past Buckhart.

Already Milliken had raced down to second, and now he pranced on to
third, amid the wild cheering of the visitors.

“Blocked ball! Blocked ball!” was the shout. “Come home, Macon!”

The runner had paused at third, and now Buckhart whistled the ball to
Dick, who remained in the box. At the same time Brad rushed back to the
plate. Milliken fancied he saw his chance to score before Merriwell
could return the ball to Buckhart, and he did his best to add another
run to the one already obtained.

The Texan flew over the ground with giant strides. He got into position
behind the bat and received the swift one that Merriwell sent humming
into his mitt.

Macon threw himself forward in a desperate and beautiful slide for the
rubber. At the same moment the stalwart catcher made a headlong dive at
the runner and tagged him a moment before his hand reached the plate.

Merriwell had made no mistake in permitting Fairport to bring her umpire
to Fardale. This fellow knew his business, and he was within eight feet
of the plate when Brad tagged the sliding runner.

“You’re out!” he shouted.

Although the decision was rather close, there was no question about its
justness, and the surprising success of this quick work brought a sharp
cheer from the relieved cadets.

“Splendid work, Brad, old man!” laughed Dick, who had also dashed
forward.

“Splendid work!” growled the Texan. “What were those crazy galoots
shooting at? The way they threw the ball round was a howling shame! They
simply presented Fairport with a run!”

“That can’t be helped, Brad.”

“Mebbe not, pard; but this is the kind of a game that one run may win.”

“We haven’t had our turn yet.”

“You will never get it to-day,” chuckled Anson, who was at bat.

“That’s what you think,” smiled Dick. “Fardale always has a show
sometime during the game.”

Obediah Tubbs was walking round and round second base, a look of
unspeakable disgust on his fat face.

“Be careful about careless throwing, boys,” was all Dick said in the way
of a reprimand.

“Well,” said Mel Fraser, nudging Arlington, “they have scored at last.”

“Yes,” retorted Chester sourly; “but it wasn’t Merriwell’s fault, and it
wasn’t Darrell’s fault.”

Encouraged by what had happened, Anson tried hard for a hit; but now
Dick used both speed and curves, and Fairport’s lusty first baseman
vainly fanned the air. The visitors were compelled to be content with
one run in the seventh.

“Hold ’em down, Ware, my boy!” urged Roberts. “Let every man play for
his life! We have them where we want them.”

In truth it seemed that Ware meant to hold Fardale down, for in the last
half of the seventh he permitted only three hitters to face him, and
only one of them connected with the ball. This fellow drove a weak
grounder into the diamond and was thrown out before he could get much
more than halfway to first. In the eighth Fairport again made a strong
bid for a run; but, although one of the visitors reached second on a
scratch hit and an error, he got no farther.

Jolliby was the first batter in the last half, and he brought the home
crowd up in a twinkling with a beautiful line drive for two bags.

With his massive “slugger” in his hand, big Bob Singleton followed Chip
to the plate.

Singleton hit the second ball pitched, and it went straight up into the
air a most astounding distance. As it came down Warren found the task of
judging it a most perplexing one. The ball twisted off to one side, and
all fancied the Fairport catcher could not touch it. He made a sidelong
spring, however, and it plunked into his big mitt. Singleton was out.

“Dern my picter! It’s up to me!” squeaked Tubbs, as he waddled out.

Ware knew Obediah was one of those erratic hitters who did the most
surprising things at the most unexpected times, and now he tried hard to
strike the fat boy out. Obed saw what the pitcher was endeavoring to
accomplish, and wisely held back until Ware was forced to put the ball
over. Then Tubbs fell on one of the swift ones, and away it flew into
left field.

Milliken’s long legs carried him in front of the ball, and he held it.
Without delay he lined it to Macon, and Jolliby was compelled to remain
at second.

“That’s where you do it!” triumphantly shouted one of the Fairport
crowd. “That’s where you surprise us!”

“’Old hon!” said Billy. “We ain’t done yet, don’t y’ hunderstand!”

Never in his life had Buckhart been more anxious for a hit. The very
fact that he was so keenly anxious caused him to be deceived on the
third strike by Ware, and he swung at a bad one. When he realized what
had happened the Texan hurled down his bat in chagrin.

Fairport now had her last opportunity at bat, but her best hitters were
easy for Merriwell, who was in his finest form. They were quickly
retired, and the home team came to the bench.

Dick was the first hitter.

“Tap it out, captain,” urged Black, “and I will sacrifice you to
second.”

Merriwell made no reply, but walked to the plate and dropped a clean hit
over the infield.

On the instant the cadets were all up, cheering madly.

Black “made good” and cleverly sacrificed Dick to second.

“They are working hard for a run, Jack, my boy!” laughed Roberts, “but
they will never get it off you! This game ends one to nothing!”

“Dern my picter!” cried Obediah Tubbs. “I wisht I thought it!”

But when Bradley failed to touch the ball in three efforts, and was out,
all knew the situation was more than serious for Fardale.

The hopes of the cadets now centred on Flint.

Dave cracked a fierce one along the ground at Roberts. The captain of
the visiting team made a dive for it, got his hands on it, but did not
stop it cleanly. In fact, it got through him a distance of four or five
feet before he could pick it up. Flint was on first and Merriwell had
safely reached third.

“Darrell!” was the shout, as Hal walked out. He was almost deathly pale,
but his hands were firm as iron as they gripped the bat.

His pallor was no more intense than Chester Arlington’s, who stood
watching him near the grand stand.

Hal let the first ball pass, although it was straight over. He did it
that Flint might get down to second, and Dave improved the opportunity.
Warren made a bluff of throwing to Crockett, but simply returned the
ball to Ware.

“A clean hit wins this game, Arlington,” said Mel Fraser.

“And this is Darrell’s time to throw Merriwell down,” returned Chester.
“He will do it, too.”

When Hal swung and missed the next ball Chester was more confident than
ever that the result he predicted would follow.

With two balls and two strikes called Hal went after one of Ware’s high
straight ones. He met it full and fair and drove it on a line into the
outfield. No fielder could reach it, and pandemonium followed, for
Merriwell and Flint came home, and Darrell had won the game with a
handsome two-bagger.

When the shouting cadets poured onto the field and made a rush toward
the players they found Dick Merriwell at Darrell’s side. Dick was
patting Hal on the shoulder and softly saying in his ear:

“Well done, old man! You redeemed yourself nobly to-day!”




                             CHAPTER XXII.
                        AN INQUISITIVE STRANGER.


In a train, bound for Fardale, sat a peculiar-looking man and a
hunchback boy. The man was “Cap’n” Wiley, sometimes known as the marine
marvel, an eccentric individual who claimed to be a sailor. Wiley had
met Frank Merriwell, while the latter and his friends had been playing
baseball in the West.

The boy was known only as Abe. He had been reared amid wild and reckless
men, in a Western mining camp, where Frank had first seen him. The boy’s
helplessness, and his apparent superiority to his surroundings, had
interested Merriwell, who, learning that he had absolutely no relatives,
so far as he knew, assumed charge of the boy, and started to bring him
East with him.

Wiley, for years a world-rover, had decided to visit his old home in
Maine, and had joined Frank on his eastward journey. On reaching Kansas
City, Frank had been called to St. Joseph on business, and had left the
boy in charge of the sailor; and to explain their presence on the
Fardale train, and the events which followed, it will be necessary to
follow them from the West.

As soon as Frank left, Wiley at once set out to show his young friend
the sights, and they finally drifted into one of the best restaurants in
Kansas City, where Wiley proceeded to order a lavish meal. When the food
was set before them the sailor, in his breezy and characteristic manner,
summoned the waiter.

“What!” he exclaimed, gazing suspiciously at the meal; “is this the
smell of cheese I hear? Waiter, where are those humming birds’ tongues
on toast? Don’t be reluctant about spreading before me a copious display
of the culinary art. I have a delicate appetite, and when I eat I eat
like a prince. This bill of fare seems crude, and limited, and
unfinished. The list upon it might suit ordinary mortals, but what I
yearn for are a few pickled eels’ feet.”

“I am afraid, sir, we cannot satisfy you!” returned the waiter
haughtily. “Unless you can discover what suits your taste upon our bill
of fare, you will have to go elsewhere.”

“Look here, William,” cried the sailor, “don’t look at me in that tone
of voice. I don’t approve of it. You should be obsequious and attentive
to one of my lofty station and high caste, for I am liable to press into
your palm, as a small token, a gold doubloon, when I depart. It pays,
William, to bow and scrape a little to me. I like it. Now here is my
friend Abe—gaze at him, Sir William. You may not be aware of it, but Abe
is a genius. He is the musical wonder of the century. Behold at his side
his wonderful violin, from which he draws the most excruciating
melodies. When he greases his bow and lets it slide over the quivering
strings, the sounds which emanate from that instrument are sufficient to
appal every one with admiration. You will observe that Abe is delicate.
I couldn’t think of offending him by ordering a common sole-leather
steak for him to masticate. The soul of a genius cannot survive on
steak. It lives mainly on inspiration. Were you ever inspired, William?
My boy, I have, on various occasions, devoured whole quarters of
inspiration at a single sitting. Suppose you bring us a quart of
inspiration? Make it Mumm’s extra dry.”

In spite of his dignity, the waiter could not help smiling at the marine
marvel’s words and eccentric manner.

“Do you wish champagne, sir?” he inquired.

Wiley gently touched his lips with the corner of his napkin.

“Champagne! There is but one fault to find with it; whoever indulges to
his full limit in the sparkling fluid invariably has real pain the
following morning. No, William, on second thought, having with me my
unsophisticated young friend, I will remain on the water wagon. Should I
set a bad example for him, my quivering conscience would smite me a
painful smote. As long as this place cannot provide the little
delicacies I have mentioned, Abe and I will plow into this spread before
us and do our best to calm our ravenous appetites. Stand behind my
chair, William, and endeavor to anticipate my slightest want. When I
depart I will look over my counterfeit money and find a hundred-dollar
bill for you.”

There were a number of persons dining in the restaurant, and Wiley had
attracted considerable attention. One of the guests now rose from his
table and advanced toward the sailor and the boy. As Abe saw this man he
gave a little gasp, and whispered to his companion:

“Look, cap’n—look! There is a man who has been following me about. He is
coming!”

“I behold him advancing,” said the marine marvel, also in a low tone.
“Paragorically speaking, his eyes are gimlets and his nose is an
interrogation point. I think he intends to ask questions.”

The person who approached was a slim man in black, with his coat
buttoned tightly across his breast. He was smooth-shaven, keen-eyed, and
about forty years of age.

“Excuse me,” he said, as he paused at the table. “I believe I have heard
of you before.”

“No doubt of it—no doubt whatever,” instantly retorted Wiley. “I am
notorious from the equator to the Arctic circle. My face is spread
broadcast from Kalamazoo to Hongkong.”

“You are a baseball player?”

“I am; I confess it. I am one of the finest baseball players this great
and glorious country has ever produced. I am lingering here a day or two
before proceeding East to take charge of the New York Nationals. Once or
twice I have suspected that I would never again prance forth upon the
diamond and toy with the leather sphere; but I am unable to restrain my
natural inclination, and the ozone of this gorgeous spring atmosphere
has set the baseball fever throbbing once more in my pulmonary artery.
Are you interested in the great American game, sir?”

“I am what is called a fan,” answered the stranger, with a faint smile.
“I presume that is how it happens that I have heard of you. If I
remember right, you were with Frank Merriwell’s team last season?”

“On one glorious occasion I delivered the goods for that organization. I
presume you read an account of it in the newspapers? The press of the
entire country literally palpitated with it.”

“I saw an account of it somewhere. Who is your young friend?”

The man nodded toward the hunchback.

“Whom?” said Wiley. “Why, he is Master Abe, the wizard violinist. He’s
one of the greatest musicians of modern times. His playing would draw
tears from eyes of stone. You should hear him, sir. He has thrilled the
hearts of thousands. Why, when we were abroad together he played before
the crowned heads of the foreign countries.”

Abe looked surprised.

“Then he has traveled abroad?” questioned the stranger.

“Has he?” cried the sailor. “You may wager your coin without parsimony
upon it. We traveled together through Europe, Oorup, Eerup, slid through
Greece, and knocked the stuffing out of Turkey. His greatest triumph was
when he played before Emperor William, of Germany. The emperor was
spellbound. In his excitement the ends of his mustache became entangled
in his eyebrows, and it required fourteen attendants with currycombs and
brushes to clear them out. At the close of the performance, when the
last throbbing note of music had died away, and Abe had lowered his
violin, the emperor sprang to his feet and shouted:

”_‘Ich liebe dich! Gott in Himmel!_ Frankfurters and harncase! Likewise
pumpernickle!’ Then he fell on Abe’s neck, weeping as if his heart would
break. We were entertained at the royal palace, where we dined in state.
That night I slept in a beautiful bed with rustling silken curtains, and
then—I woke up."

“Why, cap’n!” gasped Abe.

“Hush!” said Wiley, behind his hand. “You may have forgotten it, but I
remember it just as well as I remember our trip abroad.”

“Who is the instructor of this wonderful young musician?” asked the
stranger.

“Instructor?” exclaimed the marine marvel. “Why, such a prodigious
prodigy needs no instructor save his own intuition. Nature has been his
instructor. He has listened to the singing of the brook, the wind, the
trees, the birds, and the grasshoppers. All those palpitating melodies
he has incorporated into his wonderful curriculum of music.”

“What did you say the boy’s name was?” asked the inquisitive stranger.

“It is Abe—Master Abe.”

“But his name in full?”

“His name in full, sir? He has never been full!”

“I mean his complete name.”

“That’s it; that’s the whole of it.”

“But what is his history?”

“My dear inquisitorial friend,” said the sailor, “you are projecting
yourself into our repast and retiring mastication. Speaking about names,
it occurs to me that I have never been introduced to you.”

“I beg your pardon. My name is Nathan Callgaul.”

“Thanks for the information, Mr. Allgaul.”

“Callgaul, Cap’n Wiley—Callgaul!”

“Well, you may call it gaul or anything you choose, but it occurs to me
that your intense curiosity in regard to us is becoming exasperatingly
annoying. You had better retire and permit us to persue the even tenor
eleven of our ways.”

“Oh! very well,” said Nathan Callgaul, shrugging his shoulders. “I have
no desire to annoy you.”

“You can’t gnaw me,” retorted the sailor. “I wouldn’t permit such
familiarity. So long, Mr. Tallgaul. See you later—I don’t think.”

As the stranger retired Wiley fell upon the food with an air of ravenous
greediness.

“Cold!” he muttered. “Cold as Mr. Somegaul’s nerve. William, will you
kindly present the check to the gentleman and explain that he has ruined
this meal and therefore should pay the bill? It will save me the price,
and that will be nice. My! my! there is another poetic accident!”

“Cap’n,” said Abe, who seemed strangely agitated, “somehow I am afraid
of that man. I know he has been watching me. He was on the train when we
came here to this city. I have seen him a number of times since.
Something tells me to look out for him.”

“My boy, you are troubled with the hallucinations of genius. I am quite
sure Mr. Barrel-of-gaul is entirely harmless. He is simply one of those
exasperatingly inquisitive persons who desire to know every one’s
business better than their own. Fly at the hash, Abe, and satisfy the
cravings of the inner man.”

Although he tried to eat, the boy found little satisfaction in it, and
his relief seemed intense when the man in black finally left the
restaurant.

“Is he gone?” said Wiley. “Why, William, you failed to present him with
the check! He has departed without settling, William! That was a
terrible oversight on your part, and I fear you will regret it.”

Having paid the bill, Wiley paused ere leaving and looked the expectant
waiter in the eye.

“William,” he said, “it was my intention to give you a large tip. You
have been very faithful and attentive, William. I have no fault to find
with you on that account; but you are expensive. You permitted Mr.
Too-much-gaul to ruin my repast, and then you failed to present him with
the check. That being the case, I shall deduct the amount of the check
from the tip I contemplated making you, which leaves you exactly
seventy-five cents indebted to me. Do you wish to pay it now, or shall I
let it stand against you?”

The waiter was too astonished to reply, and before he could recover
Wiley had teetered out with Abe at his side.




                             CHAPTER XXIII.
                         WHAT HAPPENED TO ABE.


“Abe,” said the sailor, as they reached the street, “I entertain
palpitating fears that I shall never place my lily-white hands on the
balance due me from William. I am afraid he will not settle. I shall
have to charge it up to profit and loss.”

“Why, cap’n,” said the boy wonderingly, “I believe he expected you to
give him something. I think he was disappointed.”

"Haven’t a doubt of it, my boy; but this world is full of bitter
disappointments. I have encountered a number of them in my time. A
person gets used to it after a while. Disappointments roll from me like
water off a duck’s back. Once on a time they filled me with bitterness,
and heartburning, and other painful emotions too numerous to mention.
Once on a time I had a girl who threw me down for a homelier chap. Abe,
it then seemed that for me the sun had eternally set and Stygian night
lay spread before me for all time. I even thought of taking a shotgun
and discharging it into that vacuum where my brains are supposed to be.
I longed to rest in my cold, cold grave, where all would be peace, and
silence, and relief. In my mind’s eye I saw above me a little mound of
earth, with daisies, forget-me-nots, hollyhocks, cowslips, and other
aristocratic flowers growing all over it. I saw the cruel, cruel girl
weeping above that mound, and it gave me untold satisfaction.

“The only thing that saved me from destruction was my thirst. I was
seized by an awful thirst, and when I had quenched it I felt a great
deal better. What I drank helped me to forget my sorrows, and the next
day I had another girl. As I inspected this other girl with my critical
eye, I arrived at the conclusion that she just about knocked the spots
off number one. And ever since that time I have faced disappointments
with philosophical complaisance, firm in my belief that every
disappointment and fizzle I made is simply a blessing in disguise.
That’s why I stroll through life with such serene urbanity. That’s why I
smile in the face of the finger of scorn and the tongue of gossip.
Excuse me if my metaphor is slightly mixed.”

“What are you talking about, anyway, captain?”

“I don’t know, Abe. I often wonder what I am talking about. At one time
I engaged a cultured person to translate my language for me. But when he
explained it to me, some of the things I said so shocked me that I
immediately discharged him. I concluded that it was better for me to
pass through life in blissful ignorance of the real meaning of my own
fluent conversation. But stay, Abe, stay! Methinks I have forgotten
something. Even so, I have left my hundred-dollar meerschaum pipe in
that restaurant. I placed it on the table at my elbow, and came away
without it. It’s ten chances to one that the waiter has already gathered
it unto his person, and is now chortling with glee over his good
fortune. Pause here a moment, while I hasten back to recover my
property. I will return before any elongated amount of time has
evaporated.” Saying which, Wiley quickly dashed back into the
restaurant, leaving the boy waiting upon the sidewalk.

Barely had the sailor disappeared when a closed cab stopped at the curb,
and from it sprang two black-bearded men, whose slouch hats were pulled
low down over their eyes. Before Abe could dream that he was in the
slightest danger, these men seized him. One of them clapped a broad hand
over his mouth, to prevent him from making an outcry, and in a most
astonishing manner he was snapped up, carried to the cab, and lifted
into it. If passing pedestrians observed this daring piece of work it
was completed before one of them thought of interfering. The cab door
closed with a bang. The driver whipped up his horses, and the astonished
and frightened hunchback was borne swiftly away.

“Keep still, boy!” growled one of the bearded men. “If you raise a yell
you’ll be sorry. We’re not going to hurt you.”

Abe had managed to cling to his fiddle, which was a habit of his at all
times. He was terrified, shocked, and almost smothered.

“Don’t!” he begged. “What have I done to you? Let me go, please! Let me
go!”

“We’ll let you go,” was the retort. “We’re just going to give you a
little ride. You will enjoy it.”

“Look out for him,” cautioned the other man. “He may set up a whoop.”

“I know he won’t, because I’ll choke the gizzard out of him if he does.
Don’t you even peep, kid!”

“I never hurt you,” whispered the agitated boy. “Let me get out. Cap’n
Wiley will miss me. He told me to wait.”

“You didn’t have time to wait, kid. You was in a hurry. You met some
very dear friends, who took a great interest in you, and you couldn’t
linger for Cap’n Wiley.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“Oh, we will take you to a nice place, where there are lots of pretty
things, and you will enjoy yourself. Eh, Sam?”

“Sure, Bill!” agreed Sam.

“I don’t want to go.”

“Oh! yes, you do; yes, you do. Perhaps you think you don’t want to go,
but you do. You will have a nice time—eh, Sam?”

“Sure, Bill! He will enjoy himself immensely.”

“Why did you do it?”

“Oh, it’s just a little joke—a fine little joke on Cap’n Wiley. Ha! ha!
He will be all fussed up when he comes out and finds you gone. To-morrow
morning you can go back to him. The joke will be all over then—eh, Sam?”

“Sure, Bill; it will be all over as far as we are concerned. We won’t
have anything further to do with it.”

Then the two ruffians laughed in a manner that made the unfortunate
boy’s blood run cold. He felt sure they were scoundrels, yet why they
should seek to hurt him was beyond his understanding. Once before he had
been kidnapped in a similar manner, and the experience through which he
passed was so terrible that the memory haunted his waking hours and
troubled his dreams. He was now terrified by the thought that he must
again pass through a similar experience. Yet, somehow, the suddenness of
what had happened robbed him of strength to struggle, and convinced him
it would be folly for him to shout for aid.

The cab rolled on, turning corner after corner, and to the boy the ride
seemed almost interminable. Finally it came to an end, and one of the
men flung the door open as soon as the cab stopped. He sprang out and
looked around.

“All right,” he said. “Chuck the kid out, Sam. No one near.”

The boy was thrust out by Sam, and instantly Bill caught him up, turned
like a flash, and ran up the steps of a house. Even as he reached the
door it opened for him, and then, for the first time, Abe uttered a cry
which rang sharp and shrill, and full of unspeakable terror, along the
dark block. He attempted to struggle, but his puny strength was of no
avail, and a moment later the door closed heavily behind him.

In the darkness of that house the boy was carried up a flight of stairs
and thrust into a room. The door closed upon him, and he was alone. For
some moments he stood shaking like a leaf, his legs seeming almost too
weak to bear him.

“What does it mean?” he breathed. “It must mean that Frank’s enemies
have done this. What good could it do them to hurt me?”

His only satisfaction lay in the fact that his dear fiddle was still in
his possession.

After a time he felt for the door and found it; but, as he expected, it
remained immovable beneath his touch. There seemed to be no window to
the room.

“I can’t get away!” he sobbed. “I will never get away any more unless
Frank finds me. He found me once and saved me. He can’t find me now!”

Until he met Frank Merriwell, Abe had never heard the name of God save
as an oath. He had known absolutely nothing of religion.

Frank himself, a firm believer in all things good, had found time to
teach the lad, and now little Abe knelt in that dark room and prayed. It
was a simple prayer, but who can say it was not heard by the One to whom
it was addressed?

“Dear God,” he sobbed, “I am alone, a poor little hunchback boy. I never
hurt nobody in my life. I wouldn’t hurt nobody if I could. Dear God,
Frank says you know everything, see everything, and are good and kind to
every one. I know what Frank says is true, for he couldn’t say anything
that is not true. Please, God, don’t let the bad men take me away from
Frank. If they do I shall die! Frank is the only one in the whole world
who has ever been kind to me. I love him, dear God, and so won’t you
please, please let him find me again! Amen!”

Even as he uttered the final word there came a sound at the door. He
leaped to his feet, shaking with excitement, his heart filled with the
belief that somehow his prayer had been answered thus quickly.

The door opened. Abe fell back with a little gasp of disappointment, for
into the room stepped a masked man who carried a lighted lamp in his
hand. This man closed the door behind him and stood with his back
against it, the lamp held high, while he stared through the twin holes
of the mask at the cowering hunchback.

There were some moments of silence. The man with the lamp was first to
speak.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“It’s Abe, sir—only Abe.”

“Is that all the name you know?” came the harsh, cold voice from beyond
the mask.

“That’s all, sir.”

“Don’t lie to me, boy! Tell me the truth!”

“I am not lying. Frank says it is wicked to lie.”

“Where were you born?”

“I don’t know.”

“See here, boy, I want you to tell me all you know about yourself. It’s
the best thing you can do. If you don’t know where you were born, at
least you do know where you have lived.”

“Always, until Frank found me, I lived down in Camp Broncho.”

“That’s in Arizona, is it?”

“I think so.”

“How did you come to be in Camp Broncho? Who left you there?”

“Oh, I can’t remember much about it. Once there was a man named Black
Dorson, and I used to play the fiddle for him and get money for him, and
he beat me; but one night he was shot, and after that I lived the best
way I could.”

The masked man advanced into the room and placed the lamp on a small
table.

“You don’t remember anything about yourself before you lived with Black
Dorson?”

“I don’t seem to remember much. Sometimes I almost remember, but it is
like a dream.”

“What is it you almost remember?”

“Oh, I can’t tell! I can’t tell! It is all confused! I think it must be
a dream, for I know it cannot be true. It seems that once I had a home
and was not a little miserable hunchback that everybody kicked and
cursed.”

Again the man stood still some moments, staring at the boy.

“What are you going to do with me?” asked Abe. “Are you going to kill
me?”

“It may be true!” he muttered. “I believe he looks like her!”

Then he suddenly commanded:

“Boy, take off your coat!”

“What for?” panted Abe. “What are you going to do?”

“Take off your coat! Don’t be scared. I am not going to hurt you.”

Realizing the folly of refusing to obey, the boy pulled off his coat as
directed.

“Shove up your right sleeve above the elbow,” ordered the man.

With shaking fingers the lad obeyed.

The wearer of the mask then gripped Abe’s wrist with his left hand,
still keeping his right behind him, as he had done almost constantly
since entering the room. He drew the boy nearer to the light and seemed
gazing eagerly and excitedly at the thin, bared arm.

“Push your sleeve higher,” he directed.

Abe did so.

Suddenly a low, savage exclamation came from the hidden lips of the man.

“There it is!” he almost panted. “There is the mark!”

On the lad’s arm, just above the elbow, were the faint outlines of a
blue star, as if it had been tattooed in the flesh years before.
Hundreds of times Abe had gazed at this mark upon his arm and wondered
over it. To him it was a mystery and one he fancied would never be
solved.

Suddenly the man threw the boy’s wrist aside, and through the eyeholes
of the mask Abe fancied he caught a reddish gleam. And now suddenly upon
him fell a feeling of hopeless fear more intense than any he had yet
experienced.

“He will kill me now!” he whispered. “I know he will!”

“It is her brat!” muttered the man. “Shawmut lied to me. The kid still
lives!”

He turned as if to depart, and for a moment the hand he had so
persistently held behind his back dropped at his side. In a twinkling
Abe seized it, as he began wildly pleading for mercy. Only a few words
escaped his lips, for the touch of that hand, cold, and clammy, and
deathlike, silenced him. It was as if he had grasped the fingers of a
corpse, and he saw that the hand, scarcely larger than a child’s, was
white as chalk.

With a terrible oath the masked man lifted his other hand and struck the
boy down. Then he caught up the lamp and hurried out of the room, the
door closing with a click behind him.




                             CHAPTER XXIV.
                        AN APPEAL TO BIAL KEENE.


“There is the house, Frank,” declared Wiley. “I am dead sure of it. I
saw them shanghai Abe. I saw them chuck him into the cab. I was too late
to render assistance, but like a bloodhound on the trail I followed that
cab.”

Frank Merriwell and Wiley were standing in the dark shadow of a building
almost directly across the street from the house into which the
hunchback lad had been taken. Having completed his business in St.
Joseph sooner than he thought he could, Merry returned to his hotel in
Kansas City and found Wiley almost tearing his hair in despair.
Overjoyed by Frank’s appearance, the sailor lost no time in telling how
he had dined with Abe in the restaurant, had left the boy outside to
return for his pipe, and, on again leaving the restaurant, had seen the
unfortunate lad bundled into the cab and carried off. Fleet of foot as a
deer, Wiley had followed the cab, but had found no opportunity to rescue
the captured boy. Nevertheless, he had spotted the house into which Abe
was taken, had obtained its number, and the name of the street, and was
contemplating the advisability of appealing to the police when Frank
showed up.

Merry commanded the sailor to take him to the house.

“Unless he was taken out as soon as they brought him here,” asserted
Wiley, “he is still there.”

“An obvious fact, if you have made no error. Cap’n, I am afraid I will
never be able to trust you again. Whenever I do you fail me. I warned
you to look out for Abe.”

“Crush not my sensitive spirits with incrimination,” entreated the
marine marvel. “Why should I have anticipated trouble for Abe at such a
time? Your enemies seemed beaten to a white froth, and before you I
fancied there was nothing but peace and salubrity.”

“Whenever I crush one enemy,” muttered Frank, “it seems that another
rises to take his place.”

“You are certain this is a plot of your enemies?”

“What else can it be? Why should any one kidnap that boy unless they did
it to injure me in some manner?”

“Ask me a question upon which I can expatiate astutely. This one is too
much for me, Frank. What are you going to do?”

“I am going to find Abe.”

“How? How are you going to get into that house? If you demand admission
it will be refused.”

“I can appeal to the police.”

“Yes, but——”

“But first I shall see Bial Keene.”

“Who is Bial Keene?”

“One of the cleverest private detectives in the country. I have employed
him before, and I know his ability.”

“Then it’s up to you, Frank, to put your mud hooks onto him at once, and
get him into the game. Time is valuable. Some gazaboo once observed that
time is money, but I notice that I have a great deal more time than
money.”

“Wiley,” said Merry, “I want you to stay right here and shadow this
house. Don’t take your eyes off it for a moment. I am going to find Bial
Keene, if possible.”

“Yours to command. I will stick to that house like glue. Depend on me
for that, Frank.”

“If you see anything that leads you to believe Abe is being removed from
the house, follow him.”

“Ay, ay, sir. When it comes to that little trick, Wind-jammer Wiley is
the boy!”

Having left Wiley there, Merry hastened to the nearest point where a cab
could be found, and was soon being carried toward the office of Scott &
Keene, Kansas City’s two famous private detectives.

His one fear was that Bial Keene would not be at his office and could
not be found. He knew Keene’s house address, yet it was possible the man
would be engaged in some piece of work, so that he would be neither at
the office nor the house. Having reached the office building, Merry
instructed the cab driver to wait. As it was after hours, the place
seemed almost deserted. The watchman was on hand, however, and promptly
stopped Frank.

“I must see Mr. Keene,” explained Frank.

“Mr. Keene is probably at home.”

“Are you certain?”

“It makes no difference. You can’t see him here at this hour.”

“Not if I have an appointment with him?”

“He has said nothing to me about an appointment with any one.”

“See here, watchman, don’t you remember me? I am Frank Merriwell. It was
not many months ago that I was here, and upon that occasion a man fell
down the elevator shaft and was killed. I think you should recall the
affair.”

“I do,” confessed the watchman.

“Then you know that Mr. Keene was in my employ at that time. I must see
him again on a most important affair. Here, watchman, is something for
you. I shall consider it a favor if you permit me to proceed to Mr.
Keene’s office.”

As Merry spoke he pressed some money into the Watchman’s hand. The man
seemed to hesitate, but finally said:

“It’s against orders, but I will chance it. I may get into trouble.”

“You will not,” assured Frank.

The watchman escorted Merry up several flights of Stairs and finally
paused before the door of the detective’s rooms. There he gave a
peculiar knock, with the result that the outer door was finally opened.

The man who opened it was neither Scott nor Keene, but the watchman knew
him, and said:

“Jones, here is a gentleman to see Mr. Keene on important business. It’s
all right, I am sure.”

“I don’t know about that,” returned Jones. “If he wishes to see Mr.
Keene he can do so in the morning.”

“My business cannot wait until morning,” declared Merry. “I must find
him to-night.”

“What’s your name?”

“Merriwell.”

“Frank Merriwell?”

“That’s right.”

“If you will wait a moment right where you are I will see about the
matter. I am not certain Mr. Keene is in his private office, but I can
telephone him if he is not. Excuse me.”

The door was closed, leaving Merry outside with the watchman, who
whispered:

“Keene is in there. He will see you, all right.”

This proved to be true, for, a few moments later, the door was again
thrown open and Jones invited Merry to enter.

“Mr. Keene was studying over a very perplexing matter, sir,” he said, in
explanation, “and I was doubtful if he would care to be interrupted; but
immediately on hearing your name he told me to bring you in. He is in
his private office.”

The door of this private office was opened and Frank entered. A tall,
dark-eyed, clean-shaven, keen-faced man arose from before a desk and
held out his hand.

“Mr. Merriwell,” he said, “I am glad to see you again. It is something
of a surprise, as that little Alaskan business you wished looked after
has fallen through.”

“Yes,” said Frank, “there is no necessity for following it up. Milton
Sukes is dead and will trouble me no further; but I have other enemies
who are giving me trouble.”

“Not this man, Macklyn Morgan? Why, I understand that he lost a leg
recently, and it hardly seems that he will be very energetic and
troublesome to you in the future.”

“How did you know that he lost a leg?”

Keene smiled the least bit.

“I have been keeping track of you, Merriwell, and know all about your
desperate fight to hold your mines. I thought you might need my services
again, and for that reason I decided to keep fully informed of all that
transpired.”

“Well, Keene, I do need you and need you bad. I hope the matter on which
you are engaged this evening may be put aside for a short time, at
least, as it is of the greatest importance that you give me assistance
without delay.”

“I will do anything I can, Merriwell. I think this affair may rest until
to-morrow. It was by a bare chance that you found me here at this hour.
I wished to be alone to study over a case which I had on hand, which is
decidedly bothersome, and so I chose to come here when everything was
quiet. Sit down, sir, and tell me what you desire.”

In a short time Merriwell had related the facts of the affair,
explaining in a few words how on a former occasion his enemies had tried
to strike at him through the hunchback boy, and how he had followed the
trail of Abe’s kidnappers to Camp Nowhar, at last succeeding in rescuing
the little cripple.

Keene frowned and tapped his desk with his knuckles as he sat in silence
after hearing of this. When a few moments had passed he observed:

“It seems rather singular that your enemies should try the same trick
over. Besides that, it is a weak method of striking at you. I can see
how Sukes did it in order to divert your attention at the time when you
were exerting yourself to ruin his illegal business. But is there any
reason now why any one should wish to bother you to prevent you from
accomplishing any purpose you have in mind?”

“I know of no reason, Keene.”

“Merriwell, there is a mystery behind this that you have not penetrated.
I don’t know why I think so, but in some cases I depend on intuition. In
this case intuition tells me that this second kidnapping of the
hunchback means something entirely different than the first affair. What
it means I am not now prepared to say. You say the house to which the
boy was taken is on Euclid Avenue?”

“Yes, sir.”

“This fellow, Wiley, in whose charge the boy was left, has told you so?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is Wiley reliable? Can you trust him in everything?”

“He is a strange character, Mr. Keene; but I believe he would not
deceive me. In fact, I am positive he would not. I even became convinced
by his own actions that he was false to me, yet in the end he proved
himself true as steel, and he saved my life. I am satisfied he spoke the
truth when he told me how Abe was captured, and how he followed the
kidnappers to that house. I have left him there to watch the house. On
you I must depend for aid in rescuing the boy.”

“You shall have it,” declared Bial Keene, as he rose to his feet. “We
will lose no time.”

He flung open the door to the outer room and called:

“Jones!”

“Yes, sir,” was the answer, as the man outside appeared.

“Jones, go to police headquarters and tell them that I need six of their
best men in plain clothes. Tell them the department shall have the
entire credit of an important piece of work, if those six men are sent
without delay to the corner of Euclid Avenue and Tenth Street. Not a
moment must be lost. Accompany the officers to the same corner. That’s
all.”

“Yes, sir.”

Instantly Jones wheeled and hastened from the office.

“Are you armed, Mr. Merriwell?” asked Keene quietly.

“I am not. I do not habitually carry a weapon.”

The detective opened a drawer and picked out a business-like revolver.

“Slip this into your pocket,” he directed. “You may need it.”

Frank took the pistol, and Keene then armed himself with two revolvers,
after which he slipped on his topcoat and clapped on his head a hat with
a wide, slouching brim.

“Come, Mr. Merriwell,” he said. “We’re off to see what we can do.”




                              CHAPTER XXV.
                          THE SIGNAL WHISTLE.


The door of the shadowed house on Euclid Avenue opened and two bearded
men came out. As they descended the steps they mumbled in low tones to
each other. Neither of them saw certain shadowy figures lurking in the
dark places, nor suspected the fact that the house was under
surveillance. Nor did they become aware of the fact that they were
followed as they walked away. These men were the ruffians, Sam and Bill,
who had kidnapped the hunchback boy. From the house they proceeded to a
saloon several blocks away. Entering this saloon, they sat down at a
table in a little back room and ordered drinks.

“Well, pal,” growled Bill, “we’ve got our coin.”

“Yes, we’ve got it,” returned the other, “and I suppose we ought to be
satisfied.”

“Are you satisfied?”

“I call it a measly, bum price for the job we done.”

They drank the liquor placed before them and ordered cigars.

“At the very least,” declared Sam, “the gent should have paid us a
hundred apiece.”

Bill nodded.

“You’re right about that, pal. He was right eager to git his paws on
that kid. I wonder just what he wanted hunchy for?”

“No telling. I dunno; but I do know he wanted him a heap bad.”

“Lemme whisper something to yer, pal. I have heard a little something
that aroused my suspicions. I reckon the kid is some lost heir, or
something of that sort, and the gentleman what wants him is the
individual who will profit by it if hunchy disappears from the face of
the earth. That being the case, it is dead certain we might have
squeezed the old guy for twice the money he paid us.”

At this both the men growled, and one of them struck the table with his
clinched fist.

“Dern these false whiskers!” grated Sam, as he gave a jerk at them. “I
am going to take mine off.”

“Don’t do it here, pal,” cautioned Bill. “Somebody may see yer. What
will they think if ye do? You came in here wearing whiskers, and you
can’t go out clean-shaved without attracting attention.”

“All right,” said Sam; “I’ll keep the things on till we mosey out of
here, but I’m going to get rid of them at the first opportunity.”

“I’ve been thinking of something, pal,” nodded Bill. “I’ve been thinking
we got out altogether too easy. We should have hit the bloke up for
another fifty. I opine we might have frightened him into coughing up.”

“Did you ring, gents?” inquired one of the bartenders, thrusting his
head into the room.

“Naw, we didn’t ring,” said Sam.

“We didn’t,” agreed Bill; “but you may bring us two more whiskies.”

“Got ter talk kinder low and quiet-like here,” said Sam. “They are nosey
around this place. Notice how that chap looked at us?”

“Mebbe he didn’t like the cut of our whiskers.”

The bartender soon returned with the drinks, which were promptly paid
for, and he departed.

“Sam,” said Bill, having dashed off his drink at a single gulp, “have
you the nerve to stand by me?”

“Nerve? What do you want? What do you mean?”

“I mean that I am just about ready to go back there, and light on that
gent all spraddled out, and squeeze him hard. If you back me up we’ll
go, and I’ll bet we will make him cough up fifty plunks to each of us.”

Sam’s eyes gleamed a little.

“Do you think it can be done, Bill?”

“We can make our bluff. I’ll threaten him if I have to.”

“That might be dangerous.”

“Go on! He has only one other chap and that old woman there in the house
with him. What if we go back and tell him we will peach if he doesn’t
crack down the extra coin? What if I tell him I know something about the
kid?”

“The game might work, Bill.”

“Well, if it doesn’t work, it is worth playing. Are you with me?”

“Sure thing! Let’s have another drink and I’ll be ready.”

Again they ordered drinks, which they disposed of.

“Wait here a minute for me, pal,” said Sam. “I will be right back.”

He then left the room, and Bill sat puffing a cigar, while he revolved
in his mind the scheme of getting more money from the man who had
employed them to kidnap the hunchback. At length Bill grew impatient
because of Sam’s delay in returning.

“What’s the matter with him?” he growled. “He acts as if we had time to
burn. If we’re going back there, the sooner we go the better it will
be.”

Still his companion delayed about reappearing, and finally Bill rose to
his feet in a huff.

“Let him go!” he growled. “I’ll go back alone! I’ll get the whole of
it!”

But as he started toward the door the other man reappeared.

“Well, where yer been?” Bill angrily demanded. “Did yer think we had a
month to do this little trick in?”

“Oh. that’s all right, Bill,” was the husky reply. “I ran into Sheeny
Joe out here and had hard work to shake him.”

“Well, come, Sam; if yer going to stick by me through this thing, let’s
get a move on!”

Together they left the saloon and turned their steps toward the house on
Euclid Avenue.

As they reached the steps of the house Sam huskily whispered:

“Mebbe we can’t git in, pal.”

“I will get in,” vowed Bill. “I know the signal. If he refuses to answer
I’ll kick the door down.”

But the signal was answered directly by an old woman, who peered out
suspiciously from the partly open door. The sound of a chain told the
two ruffians that it would be useless for them to attempt to force the
door open.

“Who is it?” demanded the woman.

“Let us in, Mag,” said Bill. “We’ve important business with the boss.”

“Go ’way from here!” rasped the old hag. “He can’t be disturbed any more
to-night.”

“Well, he better be disturbed!” said Bill. “If he knows what’s good for
him, he’ll see us! We’re dead onto something that means a heap to him.
The police——”

“The police?” hissed the woman.

“There’s something doing, Mag, and the boss should know about it. It’s
for his good we’ve come back here. You know he trusts us, so unhook that
chain and let us in quick before we are seen here.”

After a little pause the chain rattled again, and then the door swung
open.

“If you know anything the boss better know, why, all right,” mumbled the
old woman; “but if you’re lying, look out! That’s all!”

“Take us to him!” ordered Bill.

A few moments later the two ruffians stood in the presence of a man with
iron-gray hair and mustache and deeply furrowed features. The eyes of
this man were sharp and restless, while his right hand was small as that
of a woman and white as snow.

“What’s this stuff Mag tells me?” he demanded, in a cold, hard voice.
“Why are you two back here?”

“We come back here for your own good, Mr. Jarvis,” declared Bill. “Eh,
Sam?”

“Sure, Bill,” nodded the second ruffian.

“For my own good? You said something about the police.”

“That’s what we did, Mr. Jarvis.”

“What did you mean?”

“You tell him, Bill,” urged Sam, backing off a little and standing in
the doorway of the room.

“What ails yer?” growled Bill in disgust. “Are you afraid? Well, I’m not
afraid of the Old Boy himself.”

Instantly the suspicions of the man with the corpse-like hand were
aroused.

“What are you two rascals up to?” he demanded harshly. “Speak up, both
of you!”

“Look here, Mr. Jarvis,” said Bill, wagging his head. “We opine we’ve
done a good turn for you to-night.”

“You were paid for it.”

“Paid!” snarled the disguised desperado. “Paid for that job! Well, I
should say not! Why, Mr. Jarvis, we know a thing or two—eh, Sam?”

“Sure, Bill,” agreed Sam from the doorway.

“We know that kid is a heap valuable to you. We know he is a lost heir
and he can make you a lot of trouble.”

The face of the man called Jarvis hardened and his eyes grew dangerous.

“You fools!” he said in a low tone. “What are you trying to do? What do
you want?”

“We want more money,” asserted Bill gruffly. “And we’re going to get it,
too!”

“Are you?”

“You bet your boots we are! We wasn’t half paid for that job, and you
have to crack down as much more coin!”

“So you’re trying to intimidate me, are you? I am a bad man to try that
trick on. I made a bargain with you, and stood by it. You have been
paid, and that ends it!”

“Not by a blamed sight!” cried Bill. “Either you pay us what we ask, or
else——”

“Or else—what? What will you do? Be careful!”

“Well, we were speaking of the police. It’s a right easy matter to put
them onto your track. It’s a right easy matter to tell Mr. Frank
Merriwell where the kid is. He is some dangerous, and you know it. Let
him get started after you and he will give you a whole lot of trouble.”

“So you threaten me?” said Jarvis in a voice that was now soft and
smooth. “So you come back here for the purpose of forcing me to give up
more money to you? I am afraid you don’t quite know me. You fool! Do you
think I am alone in this house—alone with old Mag? Not by any means!
There are others who will answer the call if I press that button.”

“But you won’t press it,” asserted Bill. “Will he, Sam?”

There was no answer, for Sam had retreated and disappeared into the
adjoining room.

Jarvis laughed softly.

“You are a great bluffer, Bill, but Sam hasn’t the nerve. The chances
are that he is already on his ways to the street. He knows better than
to try to carry this thing through with me.”

“Here, Sam!” savagely called Bill. “Come back here!”

Still there was no answer.

“Go!” commanded Jarvis in a sudden terrible tone, pointing toward the
door. “Go at once, and never trouble me again! If you do, I’ll put you
where the dogs will not disturb you!”

But Bill was a stayer, and he declined to be baffled in such a manner.

“I have come for more money, and I’ll stay here till I get it,” he
declared.

Jarvis took a step toward the push button.

“Don’t touch it!” grated Bill, also stepping forward, and at the same
time thrusting one hand into his bosom. “If you do I’ll cut your heart
out!”

Jarvis seemed to hesitate, and the ruffian fancied he was intimidated.

“I mean business,” Bill asserted. “You cough up, or I will carve you!”

“Oh, very well,” Jarvis finally said. “I presume it’s the easiest way to
get rid of you. Sam gets nothing, but I will pay you. I have the money
here.”

He thrust his hand into his pocket, but when he drew it forth a revolver
gleamed in his fingers and the muzzle was turned on the disguised
desperado.

“Put up that knife, you dog!” he commanded; “or I will blow a hole in
you! You threatened to betray me to the police! Why, you idiot! You
would not dare show your face to the police of this city! They want you,
and they would nab you the moment you appeared before them! You can’t
bluff me!”

Bill uttered an oath.

“Here, Sam, you infernal coward!” he called. “Where are you?”

“I am here,” was the answer, and Bill’s companion once more appeared in
the doorway. His eyes surveyed the scene.

“What did you sneak for?” hissed Bill. “You gave him a chance to pull a
gun on me! Had you remained here——”

“It would have made no difference,” asserted Jarvis.

“Perhaps not,” said Sam, as he lifted his fingers to his lips.

From those lips suddenly came a clear, shrill, peculiar whistle that
caused Bill and Jarvis to start in astonishment.

“What the devil does that mean?” Jarvis demanded.

“The boy knows,” laughed Sam in a singularly changed voice. “He heard
the whistle, and he is not the only one. Mr. Jarvis, the police are at
your door. Listen! They are in this house now.”

“A thousand furies!” snarled the astonished man. “What have you done?”

“I opened the door for them!”

“You—you opened the door? Why, you fool! You will go to prison
yourself—you and your dog of a pal here!”

“Perhaps he will go,” said Sam; “but not I. They are not looking for
me.”

“Not looking for you? Who are you?”

Like a flash the false beard was torn from the face of the man who had
given the signal whistle, and at the same time he cried:

“I am Frank Merriwell! Surrender, both of you, for you are trapped and
cannot escape!”

Even as he uttered these words, mingled with the distant wailing of the
violin came the sound of rushing feet. Behind him appeared several men,
one of them wearing a long, dark overcoat and a wide-brimmed hat.

“Ah!” cried Bial Keene. “I see you have your birds, Merriwell.”




                             CHAPTER XXVI.
                           BOUND FOR FARDALE.


“Well, Abe,” said Captain Wiley, as the train on which they were
traveling approached Fardale, “it strikes my acute perception that we
must be drawing near our goal. This gang of salubrious young bloods in
the car are evidently going to Fardale. However, by their appearance to
my optical vision and from the conversation that is trickling from their
lips, and tickling the tympanum of my ears, I am led to infer that they
are members of a baseball team, together with a number of enthusiastic
rooters. It strikes me that there will be a little baseball doing in
Fardale this afternoon, on which occasion we will take in the sport, my
boy—we will take in the sport. There will be but one drawback. Little
Walter will have to sit still and see others perambulate over the
diamond and swat the ball on the trade-mark.”

“Fardale!” exclaimed the hunchback, his eyes glowing. “I have heard so
much about it! And Dick is there!”

“Yes, beyond question we shall encounter Richard Merriwell at Fardale.
It will be a surprise to him, Abe. I know that he will palpitate with
joy when he beholds our beaming countenances.”

“And Frank is coming soon?”

“As soon as he can. He said it was possible he might arrive almost as
soon as we did. I have in a secret chamber of my cranium a conviction
that Frank Merriwell himself will soon again be seen upon the baseball
field. Abe, he is a wiz! He is the greatest pitcher this grand and
glorious country has ever produced. When he sends the sphere whirling
through the atmosphere and causes it to cut curious capers, the batter
who faces him invariably hits nothing solider than the empty ozone.”

“Frank has been kind to me,” murmured Abe. “But I did fear I might never
see him again when those men seized me and carried me away in Kansas
City.”

“There was where Little Walter got in his fine work. I trailed them to
their lair and then sicked Merry on them. It was a fine piece of
business he did. There was but one fizzle to the affair. The gent named
Jarvis, who was at the bottom of the infamous plot, managed to escape.
Either he or one of his tools in the house turned off the lights. In the
darkness he shot Bill; but when the lights flared again luminously, he
had vanished like a spook into thin air. With the assistance of Bial
Keene, Frank is doing his best to again get track of Mr. Jarvis and to
learn why you were kidnapped. He will do it, too, my boy; mark that!”

“It’s so different here in this part of the country,” said the
hunchback, as he gazed from the car window at the flying landscape. “It
doesn’t seem like the country I know. There are such fine houses and
such big towns! I am afraid in the cities, cap’n. There are so many,
many people. I didn’t think there could be half so many people in the
whole world.”

“And I don’t think you have seen half the people there are in this
little old world,” said Wiley with a smile.

In the car with them the youthful members of the baseball team joked,
and laughed, and sang. Just ahead of them sat two young chaps, who were
earnestly discussing baseball; and now Wiley became interested in their
conversation.

“If we win to-day,” said one, “it will be the first time Fardale has
been defeated this season by a school team.”

“Oh, we are going to trim them to-day, Andy!” confidently asserted the
other. “It’s all settled.”

“You think it is all settled, Paul,” said Andy. “But the game is not so
easily settled with Dick Merriwell against us.”

“My dear fellow,” chuckled Paul, “we have everything on our side this
day. Even the umpire will be with us; but keep it quiet—keep it quiet!”

Wiley pricked up his ears and listened more intently.

“How do you know the umpire will be with us?”

“That’s all right. Nort Madison is out for Fardale’s scalp on this
occasion, and he has left no stone unturned to accomplish the trick. We
even know Merriwell’s system of signals from the box.”

“Do you mean to tell me that Madison has things fixed with the umpire?”

“Oh, Nort is too clever to fix things himself; but he has arranged it
all right. If that old game is close toward the end, we will get the
favors, and don’t you forget it!”

“Merriwell’s signals?”

“Why, he has had it fixed so every member of his team knows the kind of
a ball he will pitch from his movements, or from the position he
assumes. For instance, if he intends to throw that nasty combination
ball of his, he gives a hitch at his trousers with both hands. When he
is going to throw a drop, just before toeing the slab he stands for a
moment with his feet both planted squarely together. When he lifts both
hands above his head with the ball hidden in them, he is going to throw
an outcurve. For an inshoot he settles on his right foot with a little
jerking movement. And so on.”

“How did Madison find out all those signals?”

“That’s all right, my boy. Merriwell has a great many friends at Fardale
Academy, but he likewise has an enemy or two. His enemies would dearly
love to see him batted out of the box.”

“One of his enemies gave away those signals, eh?”

“That’s about the size of it.”

Wiley settled back in his seat. The look on his face was one of deep
disgust.

“Is that the way they play baseball in these parts?” he muttered. “I
have done a few questionable things myself in my abbreviated span of
life, but a chap who will give away the signals of his own team ought to
be presented with a nice, beautiful coat of tar and feathers.”

“If they know those signs they will be able to beat Fardale to-day,
won’t they?” anxiously whispered Abe.

“Not on your tintype!” retorted the sailor. “Little Walter will lose no
precious moments in putting Richard Merriwell wise on what’s doing.”

The two lads in front of them continued their conversation.

“Merriwell has always had enemies in this school, hasn’t he?” said Andy.

“The same as any fellow who is unusually successful,” nodded Paul. “But
he has one now who is more powerful and determined than his former
enemies.”

“Do you mean Chester Arlington?”

“That’s his name.”

“Arlington!” whispered Wiley. “Jot it down in your memory, Abe. He is
the crooked duck we have to keep our optics on.”

Ahead of them, at a little distance, a flush youngster was offering to
give odds that Franklin would defeat Fardale that day.

“You must have money to burn, Tommy,” laughed a friend.

“I have,” declared the one called Tommy, as he flourished a small roll
of bills. “I will bet two to one we beat Fardale for fair!”

Immediately Wiley popped up.

“Tom, I will provide you with a match, as long as you have legal tender
to combusticate. I have a few germ-infested dollars which I am willing
to risk on the result of this baseball game.”

Tom seemed surprised.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Me! I am nobody but a rover of the briny deep. I am a sailor, and to me
baseball is an unknown quantity. I never saw a game in my life, but I am
willing to take any kind of a bet—almost—when the odds are two to one.
So, Tommy, my dear, pick out the honorable gent who will hold the stakes
and stick up as much cash as you like. I will cover it with half as
much, and my bet goes that Fardale beats you to a crisp to-day.”

Wiley’s words and manner seemed to amuse the boys in the car, for they
laughed uproariously and urged Tom to get after the money.

Tommy was not really anxious to bet, but thus encouraged by his
comrades, he placed his money in the hands of his companion.

“Now make good!” he cried, nodding at Wiley. “I don’t believe you have
ten dollars in your clothes.”

“It’s plain you are of a skeptical disposition,” said the sailor.
“However, I will soon alleviate your skepticism.”

Saying which, he plunged a hand into his pocket, and drew forth a wad of
bills.

“How much have you ventured, Tom?” he asked.

“Thirty dollars,” boldly retorted Tom.

“Only thirty? Dear me! I was looking for a hundred or so from you. Why,
fifteen dollars doesn’t begin to make a hole in my pile. Here it is, and
just gaze on this package I have remaining. Now, my sporty young
gentlemen, if there are others among you who wish to help along the good
cause by similar bets, I will be delighted to take everything offered as
long as my money lasts. Smoke up, youngsters—smoke up!”

He stood laughing at them in a manner that was most provoking.

“Is it possible?” he exclaimed. “Can it be that the betting is all over
and I am to win only a measly thirty plunks! It is a shame! I had
fancied you fellows had more nerve. Can’t you scrape up a few coppers
among you?”

Thus challenged, the boys felt their pride assailed, and straightway
they began forming a pool. By doing this they raised nearly fifty
dollars, which was placed in the hands of the stakeholder, and Wiley put
up an amount equal to half of it.

“This is assuredly a snap!” he declared. “To-morrow I will celebrate on
my winnings. I will open a bottle of sarsaparilla and buy a pint of
peanuts.”

“You must be a dead-game sport!” sneered one of the boys. “Where do you
hail from?”

“I hailed, rained, or snowed from any old place. Of late I have been out
into the wild and untrammeled West, hobnobbing with cowboys, redskins,
and rattlesnakes. Indeed, I acquired a habit of sleeping with two or
three rattlesnakes in my bed every night. That’s a handy habit to have,
for it gives a chap an excuse to absorb whisky. It was a dull and
uneventful day that passed without my being bitten two or three times by
a rattlesnake. I am a temperance man by principle and it became
extremely worrisome to me to be compelled to thus often fill my system
with alcohol. I was troubled with the fear that I might acquire the
habit, and outside a rattlesnake country no person has ever seen me
under the influence of liquor. Down in dear old Camden, Maine, I am
worthy chief of the Good Templars.”

By this time every one in the car seemed interested in Wiley, and soon
he was relating some of his marvelous yarns, to which they listened with
amusement and wonder. He kept this up until the train whistled for
Fardale.

“Here we are, cap’n!” excitedly whispered Abe, seizing his sleeve and
pulling him down into the seat. “We’re almost there!”

As the train drew up at the station they looked out and saw on the
platform a great crowd of cadets, who promptly began to cheer. The
Franklin boys piled off in a hurry and were received with demonstrations
of enthusiasm.

In the midst of this excitement Wiley and Little Abe were unnoticed.




                             CHAPTER XXVII.
                          A CHANGE OF SIGNALS.


Franklin had various reasons for her self-confidence. Principal among
these was the fact that her team was stronger than ever before. It was
also known that since Dick’s unfortunate injury of his side he had found
it impossible to use the highest speed and the most difficult curves to
any great extent in any game. He was compelled to depend on headwork
rather than curves and speed. But that was not all. Some traitor in the
Fardale camp had betrayed Dick’s signals to the enemy. With the aid of
these signals Merriwell kept his whole team posted on the kind of balls
he was pitching; but now the enemy would be equally well posted. The
batter would know just what was coming, and Franklin felt sure she would
biff the ball all over the field. Still another thing added to the
confidence of the visitors. It had been secretly whispered about that
Nort Madison had fixed things with the umpire. In case the game was
close near the finish, Franklin would get all the favors.

No wonder the visitors marched confidently to Fardale Field. No wonder
those among them who had bet on their team were already planning how
they would spend their winnings.

Never was there a more beautiful day. The air was soft and balmy, and
the sunshine was full of mellowness. All the world was fresh and green.
It was just the day to bring out a great crowd of spectators to witness
a baseball game, and a crowd was present at Fardale Field.

At two o’clock the Franklin players, in their dark-blue suits and red
caps and stockings, entered the inclosure and marched across to their
bench.

Immediately the faithful ones who had accompanied them from Franklin to
Fardale rose and gave them a hearty cheer.

Bat bags were opened, and bats brought forth and arranged in a line on
the ground, in front of the visitors’ bench. These bats were guarded by
a colored boy, who was the mascot of the team. Within three minutes
after entering the inclosure the Franklin players were engaged in
desultory practice.

“Here, Tipton, Knealy,” called Captain Madison; “you fellows get some
batting practice. Take your time about warming up, Westcott. You know
just how much throwing you want to do before the game. How’s that ankle,
Gannon? All right? That support stiffens it, does it? I see you have
fixed your mitt, Dickson. What did you do, take some of the wadding out
of it? Well, you have a fine little pocket in it now. You will never
drop a ball to-day. Here, Colter, go over there and pitch for those
fellows to bat. You know the kind of ball to throw for them. You know
what we’re laying to hit to-day. Is your arm all right, Dustan? Well,
work the stiffness out of it.”

From one to another he went, talking to them and giving them snap and
ginger so that, although, regular practice was not commenced for at
least ten minnues after their appearance on the ground, they went at
their individual efforts with an air of earnestness, which indicated
their vim and determination to leave the field winners.

After a little time, the Fardale players appeared, following at the
heels of their captain. They were greeted with the Fardale cheer.

As the cadets stopped cheering, the leader of the Franklin crowd gave a
signal and the Franklin rooters generously saluted the home team.

Almost instantly the cadets responded with a cheer for Franklin.

“Now one for Merriwell!” said the leader of the Franklin cheerers, and
their ringing salute was finished with Dick’s name thrice repeated.

Even as this was taking place the cadets prepared for a response, and
Nort Madison was given a similar ovation. The enthusiasm and cheering
was something to set the blood dancing, and make all present feel the
unbounded joy and delight of youth. In after years, when time and
fortune had separated them from their schoolfellows, scores of those
boys would think of that day and long again to feel their blood thrill
with the old-time ardent ecstasy.

Happy is the man who bears with him the memory of happy schooldays!
Happy and fortune-favored is the boy who finds himself surrounded with
congenial schoolmates, who takes keen delight in honest sports and
games.

Of course, on this beautiful day a large number of girls from Lakeside
Academy were present in the grand stand. Zona and Doris were there, and
June was with them.

The field practice of the visiting team was of the highest order. In
fact, if anything, Franklin made a better showing than Fardale in
practice. Gardner, who had recovered from his illness, was again in his
old position at short. Obediah Tubbs had a split finger, and, therefore,
his position at second was filled by Hal Darrell. Obed sat on the bench
and looked very sad and downcast because he was not in the game.

Franklin’s team was made up mainly of old players. The battery, however,
was new to Fardale, Westcott, the pitcher, being a handsome,
ruddy-cheeked fellow, with dark eyes and wavy hair. The two teams lined
up as follows:

               FRANKLIN.            FARDALE.

               Dustan, rf.          Darrell, 2d b.
               Gibbs, 3d b.         Black, lf.
               Gannon, rf.          Flint, rf.
               Madison, 1st b.      Gardner, ss.
               Jarley, ss.          Bradley, 3d b.
               Knealy, cf.          Jolliby, cf.
               Tipton, 2d b.        Singleton, 1st b.
               Dickson, c.          Buckhart, c.
               Westcott, p.         Merriwell, p.

The time for the game to be called came, and the umpire walked onto the
field. Franklin went first to bat, and the home team trotted into their
positions.

Just as the game was about to begin a jolly-faced chap in a new golf
suit, closely followed by a hunchback boy, came onto the ground, and,
regardless of restrictions, proceeded directly to the bench of the home
team. Springing onto this bench, he stood upright and cried:

“I will wager eleventeen thousand dollars on the home team!”

Immediately one of the ground officials hastened toward him and notified
him that he would have to retire from that bench and take his seat on
the bleachers.

“What, me?” exclaimed the chap in a golf suit. “You can’t mean me!
Haven’t you made a mistake? I am Cap’n Wiley, and Richard Merriwell is
an old side partner of mine.”

Immediately Dick called to the official and told him to let the sailor
and his companion remain on the bench.

Standing with his hands on his hips, Brad Buckhart surveyed Wiley and
Abe with unspeakable astonishment.

“Is this yere a dream?” he exclaimed. “Or do my eyes behold the only and
original marine marvel?”

“Ahoy, there, Buck, you magnificent son of the Lone Star State!” cried
the captain, as he made a salute. “It gives my optics a sensation of
delectation to once more behold your sturdy form. Go ahead, boys, and
cut your capers. You will excuse me if I occasionally indulge in a
hornpipe around the bench here.”

“Play ball!” cried the umpire.

“They’re off!” shouted Wiley. “Let the excitement sizzle!”

Dick gave a sudden hitch at his trousers with one hand and then pitched
the ball.

It was a rise.

Dustan was prepared for it, and the bat met the ball with a resounding
crack.

“Ah!” cried the Franklin spectators.

It was a clean two-bagger.

“Here we go!” laughed Nort Madison, dancing round on the coaching line.
“Get a lead, Dustan! We’ll jump into this game and win it at the start!”

Gibbs, a stocky-looking chap, was the next hitter.

Dick settled his right foot on the ground with a jerking movement and
delivered a sharp inshoot.

Almost before the ball left Merriwell’s hands Gibbs fell back a little
from the plate, and he, like Dustan, met it fairly and squarely.

It was a single to right field, and Dustan, having a good lead off
second, literally flew over third on his way toward the home plate.

Dave Flint secured the ball and did his best to stop a score. On that
throw to the plate Gibbs took second.

Dustan made a beautiful slide and was safe.

How the Franklin crowd did cheer! This was the sort of work to delight
them. Only two men had faced Merriwell. Only two balls had been pitched,
yet two clean hits and a score was the result.

“Got ’em on the run! Got ’em on the run!” cried Madison. “Keep it going,
Gannon! We might as well make a hundred in the first inning!”

To confess the truth, Dick had been surprised by the manner in which the
visitors started off. He knew Gannon was a clever hitter, and there
seemed every prospect that another score, at least, would be made by the
enemy before Fardale could check them.

“It’s all right, Merriwell!” declared big Bob Singleton. “Accidents will
happen!”

“Bet they don’t know ’ow they did hit!” said Billy Bradley.

There was on Dick’s face a grim look of determination. He was determined
to prevent Gannon from following up the hitting. Giving a sudden hitch
at his waistband with both hands, he whistled the combination ball over
the plate.

Gannon fouled it.

“You touched him, Gan, old boy!” cried Madison. “Let him try that
again!”

Young Merriwell lifted both hands above his head and then seemed to
throw one that was bound to pass over the very centre of the plate.

Gannon stood without moving his bat, and the ball took a sudden
outcurve.

“One ball!” was the umpire’s decision.

“Make him put ’em over, Gan!” urged Madison.

The batter nodded.

An inshoot followed, but it was too close to be a strike, and Gannon
simply let it pass, falling back slightly from the plate.

“Two balls!”

“He can’t fool you that way!” declared the Franklin captain laughingly.
“Your eye is peeled to-day, old man.”

A high ball followed, and once more Gannon refused to go after it.

“Got him in a hole!” was the cry.

Naturally Gannon would not strike at the next one, and Dick knew it,
therefore he used a speedy one, sending it straight over the plate. The
batter hit it, and the ball went zipping along the ground, Darrell
failing to touch it by scarcely more than an inch.

Gibbs landed on third.

Nort Madison himself was the next batter.

“Well! well! well!” shouted Dickson, who was near third. “We win this
game right here!”

Little Abe sat with his hands clasped, his face showing his intense
anxiety and excitement.

“What’s the matter, cap’n?” he asked. “Are they really winning the
game?”

“Well, if there’s not a change in things pretty quick, it looks as if
they might,” confessed the sailor. “I expected to arrive here before
this old game started. Had I done so, I would have warned Richard
Merriwell to cut out those signals. Every batter knows just what he is
going to throw. That’s why they are hitting him this way.”

Madison missed the first ball. The next one was wide, and he let it
pass. The third was a drop, and he drove it far into the outfield.

Jolliby made a desperate run and a wonderful one-hand catch.

Knowing the ability of Fardale’s centre-fielder, Gibbs had stuck close
by third. When the ball fell into Jolliby’s hands Gibbs scooted for the
plate.

Chip made a magnificent throw into Buckhart’s hands, but failed to stop
the score.

“Rah! rah! rah!” cheered the Franklin crowd.

“Well, brand me good and deep if this doesn’t beat anything I ever saw!”
growled Buckhart, in deep disgust.

Dick advanced to the plate and the Texan met him in front of it.

“We’ve got to stop this hitting streak right away, Brad,” said the
Fardale captain. “There’s something wrong.”

“Sure thing, pard,” nodded Buckhart; “but whatever it is I can’t make
out.”

“The signs of the times are altogether too apparent!” shouted Cap’n
Wiley.

Dick gave a slight start as he heard these words.

“You signal, Brad,” he instantly said. “No matter what sort of a signal
I make, I will take your sign for the ball.”

Then they returned to their positions.

Dick received a sign for a drop from the Texan, but gave a hitch at his
trousers with his hand, which meant under ordinary circumstances that he
would use a rise.

He threw a drop.

Jarley struck over it at least eighteen inches and looked surprised.

“The signs of the times are not so apparent!” chirped Wiley from the
bench, a grin of delight overspreading his swarthy face.

When the ball was returned to Dick, he held it with both hands and
lifted it above his head, which was his usual signal for an outcurve.

At the same time Brad gave him a sign calling for a straight ball.

Dick threw a straight one.

Jarley leaned forward and swung at it, expecting it would curve over the
outside corner. Instead the ball struck the bat close to his fingers and
went bounding slowly and weakly down to Merriwell, who easily picked it
up and tossed it over to Singleton for an “out.”

“The tempest has abated,” chuckled Wiley. “It is growing calmer.”

Knealy, the next hitter, watched Dick’s signals closely, and, to his
surprise, every ball delivered took a curve he did not anticipate. The
result was that he struck out in short order, and Franklin was retired
with two runs in the first inning.




                            CHAPTER XXVIII.
                            AGAINST TEN MEN.


“Ah! ha! Richard Merriwell,” exclaimed Wiley, as he grasped Dick’s hand.
“It thrills my palpitating organism to again press your perspiring
palm.”

“How does it happen that you are here, Wiley?” Dick asked.

“The tale is one too long to unfold under such agitating circumstances.
Suffice it to say that men with evil ways have looked with covetous eyes
on my friend Abe, and your brother decided that it was expedient that we
should waft ourselves thitherward to a region of safety. He will follow.
It’s possible that he may arrive to-morrow, or even to-night.”

“Indeed!” exclaimed Dick delightedly. “Frank coming so soon?”

“Do you doubt my veracity? The mere thought that any one could suspect
me of a falsehood pains me keenly. Truth—I love it! Truth—I adore it!
This is easily understood, for you know familiarity breeds contempt.”

“What did you mean a few moments ago when you spoke of the signs of the
times?” asked Dick.

“By chance this day I took passage on the craft by which your opponents
made this port. I heard them discussing, among themselves, certain
things. I heard them talking over the fact that you habitually gave your
signals from the box when pitching. It seems that here at Fardale you
have a traitor whose name is Arlington. This chap has betrayed you to
Franklin. He has given away your signals. That was why those first
batters hit you so expertly. They knew exactly what was coming, and,
therefore, they placed the stick against the sphere with firmness and
precision. Had you continued to use those signs there is no telling how
many runs they would have made.”

“Did you hear them say Arlington was the traitor?” asked Dick.

“I heard his name mentioned.”

“That’s enough, pard!” growled Buckhart savagely. “You can see what sort
of a reformer he is. There’s not a decent bone in his whole onery body!
You hear me warble!”

“I’m afraid you’re right,” admitted Dick.

Although Fardale made a strong bid for a run in the first inning,
Darrell leading off with a hit, and finally reaching third, the pitching
of Westcott was of such a puzzling nature that the following batters
could not drive Hal home. Bradley was the third man out, being retired
on an easy pop fly to the infield.

While this was taking place Dick had informed his players that he would
continue to signal from the box, but that his signals would mean
nothing, as it was his intention to follow the signs made by Buckhart.

This plan proved most baffling to Franklin in the second inning, for
when a batter expected a drop he was certain to get a rise, an outcurve,
or something entirely different than he anticipated. Only one man of the
three who faced Merriwell touched the ball at all. This was Dickson, who
fouled by accident.

As Merriwell easily struck out Westcott, the cadets rose and cheered.

Chester Arlington was with them, and he seemed to join heartily in this
cheering. Apparently no one was more delighted than he. In case he was
the traitor, he was playing the hypocrite well.

“What’s the matter, captain?” asked Westcott, as Franklin took the
field. “We’re not touching Merriwell now.”

“There’s something wrong,” answered Nort Madison. “He has changed his
signals.”

“Why do you suppose he did it?”

“He must have tumbled to the fact that we were onto them. There’s no
other explanation. This is going to be a hard game, but we are two runs
to the good. We must hold Fardale down. Pitch for your life, old man!”

Never had Westcott pitched more cleverly. Jolliby lifted a foul back of
first base, and Madison gathered it in.

“One!” counted the visiting spectators, in unison.

Singleton did his best to get a hit, but finally struck out on a high
drop that fell past his shoulders.

“Two!” chorused the Franklin crowd.

“Let me get at him!” muttered Buckhart. “Let’s see if he can fan me that
way!”

“Don’t swing your head off,” advised Dick. “Try for a safe single.”

In attempting to follow this advice, Brad missed twice. The delight of
the visitors over this annoyed him. He set his teeth, and his eyes took
on a steely gleam.

With all his strength the Texan cracked out a long high liner to left
field, but it was caught.

“Three!” roared the Franklin crowd.

Buckhart had reached first, and he walked back, growling his disgust.

“This is now a most salubrious little game!” chuckled Wiley. “Why, these
youngsters know how to play baseball! What’s the matter with you, Abe?
What are you staring that way for?”

The hunchback drew closer to his companion on the bench.

“There’s a man over there who is watching me,” he answered.

“Over where?”

“Over there in that crowd. I saw him in front of the hotel.”

“Point him out.”

“I can’t now. He has disappeared.”

“What did he look like?”

“He has a sandy beard, and is dressed in a brown suit.”

“Abe, my boy, you’re dreaming. You’re nervous. Forget it, Abe. Your
enemies are far away. We have fooled them handsomely.”

“Perhaps so; but I am afraid, cap’n, they are near. Something tells me
they are near.”

“Well, just you linger by my side, and you will be all right. Have no
fear of the minions of iniquity, for my good right arm will defend you
to the extremest extremity. I have vowed to Frank that never again shall
harm befall you while you are in my charge. And Little Walter always
makes good.”

Although the boy tried to throw off the feeling of apprehension that
weighed heavily upon him, he was unable to do so.

The head of Franklin’s batting list again came up in the third inning.
Dustan had started off at first with a beautiful hit, and he tried to
repeat the performance. This time, however, he, like those before him,
was handsomely fooled by Merriwell’s curves, and he cast down his bat in
disgust, on striking out.

“This is getting monotonous for us, captain!” cried Darrell. “You’re not
giving us anything to do. Do let them hit it once in a while.”

“Don’t worry!” retorted Nort Madison. “We’ll get after him again before
long.”

“Pay no attention to his signals, Gibbs,” advised Dustan in a low tone,
as the second batter walked out to the plate.

Gibbs did not find this easy to do, but he finally succeeded in hitting
a furious grounder past Dick. Darrell went for it and made one of his
phenomenal pick-ups, electrifying the cadets and bringing a shout of joy
from their lips as he tossed the ball to Singleton and put Gibbs out.

Gannon was desperate after having two strikes called on him, and he
managed to throw out his elbow at an inshoot so that it was hit by the
ball.

“What do you think of that, Mr. Umpire?” exclaimed Dick. “You saw him do
it!”

The umpire paid no attention to Dick, but motioned for Gannon to take
first.

“You can see what you’re up against!” cried Wiley.

By this time Madison had lost his jovial humor, and at once he
exclaimed:

“Keep that man still on the bench, or have him put off, Mr. Umpire!”

“You will have to keep still there!” said the umpire, with a motion
toward the sailor.

“For me that will be a most difficult task,” muttered Wiley. “I am
afraid I shall explode if I try it.”

Madison fouled the second ball pitched and followed this up by driving
the third one straight at Gardner. The ball was twisting fiercely when
it struck Earl’s hands, and he failed to hold it. By the time he had
recovered it Gannon was on second and Madison close to first. Earl did
not throw to Singleton.

“Rotten!” he muttered, his face flushing.

“That’s all right, old man,” assured Dick. “Don’t worry about that.”

Madison hopped about near first, slapping his knee and laughing.

“Got ’em going again, fellows!” he cried. “Keep it up, Jarley, my boy!
They are rattled!”

“I wish I thought it!” squeaked Obediah Tubbs from the bench.

Dick worked carefully with Jarley, getting two strikes on him, while two
balls had also been called. He then put a speedy one over the inside
corner, but the umpire declared it a ball.

Buckhart signaled for a drop. Dick threw the ball so it seemed as if it
must pass the plate higher than Jarley’s head. It was a magnificent
sharp drop, and cut down across the batter’s shoulders.

Jarley let it pass.

“Take your base!” directed the umpire.

“Robbery!” whooped Wiley. “That was a beaut!”

The umpire gave him a look.

“Forget it! Forget it!” growled the sailor in a low tone. “I am onto
your tricks!”

The bases were now filled, and Knealy was at the bat.

“A little single, Knealy, old huckleberry!” cried Madison from second.
“That’s all you want!”

“Dern his picter! he will never get it!” squealed Obediah Tubbs.

In a few moments, however, it began to look as if a run might be forced
in. Although Dick “cut the corners,” the umpire refused to call strikes,
and three balls in succession were declared.

This was too much for Dick, who turned on the umpire, asking in a low
tone:

“What’s your price for this job?”

“What’s that?” fiercely demanded the fellow. “Are you offering to buy
me?”

“On the contrary, I am wondering how much you get.”

“You play ball!” was the angry command. “You’re getting all that’s
coming to you!”

“Look here, Madison,” said Dick; “you’re in a position where you can
see. I want you to watch this business.”

“Oh, don’t insinuate!” retorted Madison. “Isn’t this your own umpire?”

“Selected at your special request,” reminded Dick. “I don’t forget
that!”

“You play ball!” again commanded the umpire. “You’re delaying the game,
and I shall call strikes on you.”

Immediately Dick sent a straight speedy one over the plate, about waist
high. The umpire was compelled to declare it a strike. Merriwell
followed it by another in the same place.

“Two strikes!” said the umpire, after a moment’s hesitation.

“Strike him out, Merriwell!” shouted the cadets.

Dick whistled the next ball straight over, just a little lower than the
batter’s shoulders. The batter crouched and let it pass.

“Four balls; take your base!” directed the umpire, and Gannon was forced
home.

“What do you think about that, Madison?” asked Dick.

“It was high,” instantly asserted the captain of the visiting team, as
he trotted up to third base.

“We’re up against ten men, pard!” shouted Buckhart.

The cadets on the bleachers expressed their feelings by groans and
hisses for the umpire.

“Dern his picter! he better be keerful!” squeaked Obediah Tubbs. “This
is a putty bad place for him to try them tricks!”

“That’s right!” sneered Madison, nodding toward the Fardale crowd. “Do
your best to intimidate the umpire! That’s the way to play baseball!
That’s a fine sort of a game!”

Dick now decided to take all chances of being hit and use a straight
ball. This he did with splendid control, sending it over the very heart
of the plate.

The disapprobation of the cadets had caused the umpire to look a trifle
nervous, and he declared the first two balls pitched to be strikes,
although Tipton let both pass.

“Now, are you satisfied?” demanded Madison. “You have bulldozed the
umpire so he is giving you everything.”

Dick made no response, but whistled over another straight one. Tipton
hit it, and the ball rose high into the air.

Gardner ran back for it; while Darrell also seemed determined to get
under it.

“Gardner! Gardner!” called Dick sharply. “Take it, Earl!”

The ball fell into Earl’s hands, while Hal crouched low close behind
him.

Earl muffed the ball.

“Ah!” burst from the Franklin crowd.

The ball fell into Darrell’s hands, and he held it.

“Ah!” roared the Fardale crowd.

Up in the grand stand Doris Templeton embraced June, giving her a hug of
joy.

“Hal did it!” she breathed.

“That was splendid!” agreed June.

“Oh, I don’t think it was such a wonderful thing!” declared Zona. “It
just fell right into his hands, and he couldn’t help holding it.”

Doris gave her a resentful look.

Dick waited for Hal and walked in to the bench with him.




                             CHAPTER XXIX.
                          FARDALE’S FIRST RUN.


“You saved us that time, old man,” smiled Merriwell, with his hand on
Darrell’s arm. “That was clever backing up.”

Darrell flushed and looked pleased over this compliment.

As Dick reached the bench, Wiley rose and said:

“Mate Richard, if you wish to put yonder perfidious rogue out of the
game, and thus give yourself a fair chance with an honest umpire, I
stand ready to take my solemn oath that I know he is crooked. While on
the train to-day I heard some of those fellows saying they had the
umpire fixed. If you permit him to continue his sinuous course you are
destined to lose this game.”

“Are you telling me the truth when you say you heard such a thing on the
train?” asked Dick.

Wiley gave a little sob.

“How can you doubt my veracity?” he murmured. “Here is Abe. He heard it
also. Am I not speaking the unadulterated and undefiled truth, Abe?”

“It is true,” declared the hunchback.

Immediately Dick called Captain Madison.

“Look here, Madison,” he said grimly, “we want another umpire.”

“Oh, do you?” sneered the captain of the visiting team. “You want
everything your own way I presume. Well, we are satisfied with this
umpire.”

“I am not.”

“That makes no difference to me. He will stay in there until the game is
finished.”

“I don’t think so,” retorted Dick quietly. “I have evidence that there
is a double deal in this affair. I have the proof, Madison. Some of your
players were heard saying that the umpire was fixed.”

“Who said so?”

“Come up here to the bench.”

Madison followed Dick to the bench.

“Here is the man who says so,” said Merriwell, indicating Wiley, who
bowed gracefully and smiled serenely into Madison’s face.

“That chap?” sneered the Franklin captain. “Why, who would believe him?”

“He is not the only one who heard it,” asserted Dick. “We want no
trouble here, Madison; but we’re looking for a square deal and we
propose to have it. You named this chap as umpire, and we agreed to him,
even though we were not fully satisfied. It was my desire to please you
fellows. Are you here to win a square game? or are you here to steal
one?”

Madison flushed and looked furious.

“I don’t like that sort of talk, Merriwell!” he exclaimed.

“I presume you don’t. All Fardale asks is a square deal. You know as
well as I do that I didn’t get a square deal in the last inning. I know
as well as you do that there has been monkey business with that umpire.”

“An umpire can’t be taken out of a game after it begins.”

“He can, if both captains agree on his removal.”

“If you don’t like the way this game is going, I can take my team and go
home,” declared Madison threateningly.

“If you do so, Nort, you know Fardale will refuse to have any dealings
whatever with you in the future. You have a good lead in the game now,
and you may win it. If you wish to quit under such circumstances, why—go
ahead.”

“What will you do if I don’t quit? What will you do if I simply decline
to change umpires, and continue the game?”

“I shall step out onto the field and make an announcement. I shall state
for all to hear just what I know in regard to that umpire.”

“Oh, well, we won’t have any fuss over it!” exclaimed Nort, suddenly
weakening. “I don’t want to keep a fellow in there that you’re kicking
about. Go ahead and take him out?”

“Who shall we put in his place?”

“Any one you please. I don’t care. Where is your regular umpire?”

“Tell you what we will do,” said Dick. “We will take a man from the
bench and you take one of your men, and we will let the two finish
umpiring the game. That will make it perfectly satisfactory on both
sides. What do you say to that?”

“All right; I’m agreeable,” nodded Madison.

The umpire was greatly astonished when he was called to leave the field.
He walked off in high indignation, expressing his feelings in
mutterings.

The approval of this act on the part of the two captains came from the
cadets and the spectators in a burst of applause.

The game continued with two of the substitutes acting as umpires,
Obediah Tubbs being one of these, while Franklin furnished the other.
These fellows alternated with every inning in deciding on the balls and
strikes, so that both sides were given a fair show.

Merriwell was the first batter up for Fardale in the third inning, and,
after having two strikes called on him, he hit a grounder past Gibbs,
secured first on it, turned toward second, and drew the ball from
Jarley, to whom it had been returned by Gannon. Jarley snapped the ball
over so quickly in order to catch Dick that he made a bad throw.

Madison stretched himself for it, but barely touched it with the end of
his mitt.

Dick danced down to second.

“Now that’s too bad!” piped the voice of Ted Smart. “I’m just as sorry
as I can be! I am afraid we’re going to get some scores!”

“Don’t be afraid, little fellow,” said Gibbs mockingly. “There is not
the least danger of it.”

“Oh, I am so anxious!” said Ted. “I am so nervous and excited! Why, I
should just hate to see us getting any scores now!”

As Darrell walked out to bat he glanced toward Dick, who was on second,
and received a signal to bunt.

Although Darrell longed to swing hard at the ball, he obeyed the signal,
and bunted toward first base, doing his best to outrun the ball.

Dick was off for third almost before Hal bunted toward first base, and
he secured it easily. In the confusion Darrell reached first safely.

Black knew his business, and refused to go after the first ball pitched
to him, although it was a good one. This gave Hal a chance to try to
steal second, and he improved it. Dickson snapped the ball to Westcott,
who turned like a flash and threw it to Tipton. Although this was done
swiftly, Hal slid under Tipton and lay with his hand on the bag as the
ball came into the second baseman’s hand. Dick made a fake dash off
third, so that Tipton did not attempt to tag Darrell. Instead he threw
the ball to Gibbs, but threw it so high that Gibbs was compelled to
spring into the air for it.

Immediately Madison’s voice was heard ordering his players to stop
throwing the ball around in such a manner. Tipton’s high throw had
frightened him, for Dick would have scored easily had Gibbs failed to
catch it.

The cadets now had an opportunity to cheer their team on, and they began
singing “Fardale’s Way.”

Chester Arlington joined earnestly in this song:

              “It’s no use groaning, it’s no use moaning,
                It’s no use feeling sore;
              Keep on staying, keep on playing,
                As you’ve done before;
              Fight, you sinner, you’re a winner,
                If you stick and stay;
              Never give in while you’re living—
                That is Fardale’s way!”

Wiley sat on the bench, and smiled serenely as his ears drank in this
song.

“Surely this is salubrious,” he murmured. “This is the real stuff.
Reminds me of my college days when I used to warble the songs of my dear
old alma mater.”

Black also glanced toward Dick, who again gave a signal to bunt. Black
bunted the first ball pitched, dropping it down about eight feet in
front of the plate and off to one side toward third.

Dick was on his way for the home plate even before the bat touched the
ball. He had taken chances on Black’s success in bunting safely and
started as soon as Westcott swung his arm.

Westcott caught up the ball and snapped it to Dickson, but was too late.
Dick had scored. At the same time Darrell had moved up to third, and
Black reached first in safety.

“I am willing to admit the kids know how to play the game,” chuckled
Wiley. "This would not please Frank Wilbur. He believes in beefing it
out. He has a delectable little habit of sitting on the bleachers and
youping persistently: ‘Beef it! beef it! beef it!’ That may have been
the style of playing in his day, but modern baseball is somewhat
different."

Dave Flint was not a first-class bunter. For this reason Dick gave Dave
a signal to hit the ball.

Flint did hit it. He met it full and fair, and sent it onto a dead line
into the hands of Jarley, who was almost lifted off his feet.

Nevertheless the Franklin shortstop clung to the ball and snapped it
over to third so quickly that Darrell was caught off the bag and put
out.

This brought a yell of joy from the Franklin crowd.

“Hard luck, Dave,” said Dick, as Flint returned to the bench.

“Bad judgment!” declared Flint. “I tried to drive it ten feet to the
right of him, and I put it straight into his hands.”

“Well, you did your best,” said Dick, “and that’s all any one can do.
Angels can do no better, you know.”

“It’s a shame!” declared the boy with the scarred cheek, as he sat down
on the bench. “We had a chance to win this game right there!”

“The chance will come again,” asserted young Merriwell confidently. “It
is not over yet. Black is on second and Gardner has a crack. A single to
right field may score Black.”

But now Westcott aroused himself, and, although Gardner tried his level
best to make a hit, it was no use. He finally struck out, and at the
close of the third inning the score stood three to one in Franklin’s
favor.

“Why, this is a fine little game!” nodded Wiley. “This is the sort of a
game to provide undiluted amusement for the numerous visitors assembled
to observe the seething conflict.”

Suddenly Abe clutched the sailor nervously, as he exclaimed:

“There! there! That umpire is talking to the sandy man who watched me!
Look at him!”

“There must be a hazy cloud over my optics,” said Wiley, “for I assure
you I fail to see the parties in question. Where are they?”

“Over there in the crowd,” declared the boy, pointing. “They saw me! The
sandy man has gone again!”

“Abe, what you need is something for your nerves. When I get that way I
take a little spirits fermenti.”

Although Abe declared he was certain he was being watched, Wiley fancied
it a case of nervousness and gave little attention to anything save the
game.




                              CHAPTER XXX.
                            THE LAST EFFORT.


The three innings which followed were exciting enough to keep the
spectators nerved to the highest pitch. In each inning the contesting
teams struggled hard for more scores, but good work and fast fielding
prevented either side from obtaining a tally.

Franklin came up into the first half of the seventh with Jarley at bat.
The clever little shortstop of the visitors bunted the first ball
pitched, and managed to reach first ahead of it. Knealy followed with a
bunt and was out at first, but Jarley went down to second.

“Lace it, Tipton—good old Tip!” sang the Franklin crowd.

Tipton smashed a hot one down to the first-base line, and Jarley
stretched himself for third.

The ball carromed off Singleton’s mitt, and by the time he had secured
it and reached first Tipton had crossed the bag, while Jarley was safe
on third.

“This is our inning!” shouted Madison. “Push ’em hard, fellows! Don’t
let up!”

Dick sent the first ball to Dickson straight over the centre of the
plate, and Dickson flourished his bat at it without trying to hit it.

Tipton improved the opportunity to dash down toward second.

With a runner on third, it was dangerous for Buckhart to throw the ball
to second, but Brad did not hesitate. Quick as a flash, with a short-arm
movement, he lined it down.

Tipton stopped before reaching second, with the idea of throwing Darrell
off in an effort to run him down.

At the same time Jarley scudded for the home plate.

Darrell did not even glance toward Tipton, but immediately lined the
ball back to Buckhart.

Brad was in position and caught it.

Jarley slid, but the Texan pinned him fast to the ground before his hand
could reach the plate, and he was out on a close decision.

The disappointment of the Franklin crowd was only exceeded by the
delight of the cadets. Nort Madison attempted to dispute the umpire’s
decision. He claimed that Jarley was safe, but those who had watched the
plate closely knew this was not so.

Wiley hugged himself.

“Beyond question,” he murmured, “I shall have to get into gear and take
to the diamond. This arouses me to the limit.”

After two strikes and two balls were called, Dickson managed to catch
one of Merriwell’s shoots and drop it over the infield. On this safe hit
Tipton ran as if his life depended upon it, and the coacher near third
sent him home.

Darrell secured the ball and tried to stop the run at the plate, but was
a moment too late to do so.

“That clinches it!” laughed Madison. “We win a scalp to-day, boys!”

“Oh, has Fardale lost the game, cap’n?” anxiously asked little Abe.

“Not yet,” declared Wiley. “Strange things may happen before this game
ends.”

Westcott was the weakest hitter on the visiting team, and Dick had
little trouble in striking him out.

“Now, fellows,” said the Fardale captain, as his players gathered around
him at the bench, “it’s up to us to cut loose. We haven’t made a run
since the third inning.”

“Here’s where we turn the trick, pard,” declared Buckhart.

But again Fardale was unable to accomplish the feat. The best she could
do was to get a man to second, where he “died.”

The visitors danced in to the bench, cheered by their admirers.

In the grand stand Doris and June were worrying over the probable
outcome of the game.

“I’m afraid they can’t win!” said Doris, almost in tears. “That horrid
umpire defeated them at the first of the game!”

“There are two more innings to play,” reminded June. “At least, Doris,
you should be satisfied with the game Hal Darrell has put up to-day.”

“Yes, indeed!” laughed Zona. “He has outdone himself. He can play almost
as well as Chester.”

Doris opened her lips to make some retort, but closed them at once.

The eighth was fast and furious. Dustan smashed a whistling liner at
Gardner, who muffed it, but caught it up in time to throw the runner out
at first. Gibbs hit a twister into the air, and Bradley got under it.

When the ball struck in Billy’s hands, it twisted out before he could
close his fingers on it, and Gibbs reached first in safety.

Gannon followed with a two-bagger to left field, but Gibbs was held on
third by the coacher.

“Now, what do you think?” shouted Nort Madison.

“We think you’re the next victim!” growled big Bob Singleton, as Madison
stepped out to strike.

“You’ve got another think coming to you,” Nort confidently retorted.
“This is my turn to get a hit.”

Brad signaled for a drop, but Dick shook his head and continued to shake
his head until the Texan asked for the combination ball. With this ball
Merriwell made Madison swing twice ineffectively.

Then Dick tried a rise.

Madison let it pass, and it was pronounced a ball.

“Get ’em down, Merriwell—get ’em down!” exclaimed the batter. “I can’t
reach those!”

“Try this,” invited Dick.

Then he threw one of his high ones, which dropped like a flash and shot
down past the batter’s shoulders. Madison fancied it would pass higher
than his head and made no move to strike at it.

“You’re out!” squealed Obediah Tubbs, whose turn it was to umpire behind
the pitcher.

“What’s the matter with you?” burst from Madison. “That was higher than
my head! Give us a show, will you?”

“Dern your picter, you’re out!” piped Obed excitedly.

“Do you see that?” demanded Madison, shaking his finger at the Franklin
umpire. “Now you want to even up for that! Your turn comes the next
inning!”

At this the cadets uttered a derisive groan.

Madison was filled with rage as he took his seat on the bench.

Jarley quickly put an end to Franklin’s chance in the eighth inning by
swinging at the first ball and lifting it into the air for Merriwell to
capture when it came down. The score remained unchanged.

“Get after them, Black,” urged Dick, in a low tone, as Barron walked
out.

Black said not a word, but picked out a good one and hit it hard, but
Tipton made a marvelous stop and threw Black out at first.

“Only five more men, Westcott!” called Madison. “They will all be easy!”

Flint was determined, and he secured a clean single.

Gardner followed with a grounder that Jarley fumbled long enough to let
Gardner reach first and Flint get safely to second.

“Dear me!” muttered Billy Bradley, who was deathly pale, as he picked up
his bat. “’Ow Hi wish somebody helse ’ad to ’it in my place!”

Nevertheless, Billy made a handsome single, and Flint scored on it.

“Abe, my boy,” said Wiley, “Fardale wins right here.”

Jolliby, however, lifted a long fly to right field and was out, although
Gardner advanced from second to third on it.

Big Bob Singleton had not made a safe hit for the day. He redeemed
himself now by cracking out a beautiful drive, on which Gardner scored.

Buckhart did his best to get a hit, but Westcott revived again, and the
Texan fell a victim to his curves, and made the third out for Fardale,
which left the home team one run behind the visitors.

In the first half of the ninth inning, with the Franklin umpire at work
behind him, Dick quickly discovered that he was receiving no favors.
Having made this discovery, he used the jump ball a great deal, leading
the batter into thinking, whenever possible, that he was throwing
straight ones. Through this he succeeded in striking out two of them and
causing the third to put up an easy fly.

Fardale came up in the ninth with Merriwell first at bat.

Dick looked determined to try for a home run as he strode up to the
plate, gripping the end of his bat. When Westcott delivered the ball,
however, Merriwell suddenly shortened his hold and bunted. He was off
like a flash, and by great running succeeded in crossing first ahead of
the ball.

As Darrell came out to strike, Dick made a signal that Hal understood.
Darrell let the first one pass. On the second ball pitched Merriwell,
who had been watching Westcott’s feet, scudded for second base.

Dickson lined the ball down to Tipton, but Dick slid under handsomely
and was again declared safe.

“He will stay right there,” asserted Madison.

Nort was mistaken, however, for on the very next ball pitched, which
proved to be a little wild, Dick, having secured a good lead off second,
made a dash for third, and again was declared safe after a sensational
slide.

The cadets rose and cheered wildly.

A moment later Darrell put up a weak foul and was out.

Dick was crouching near third, every nerve strained, as Westcott pitched
the first ball to Black.

Barron missed it.

Dickson tossed the ball back to Westcott. Then, as Dickson made that
tossing movement, when it was too late for him to retain the ball, Dick
electrified every beholder by starting for the home plate at astonishing
speed. By the time the ball reached Westcott’s hands Merriwell was at
least halfway home. In his eagerness to return it to Dickson, Westcott
made a poor throw. Dickson fumbled the ball, and Merriwell slid home
safely in a cloud of dust, while the Fardale boys split their throats
with a great cheer.

By his daring base-running Dick had tied the score.

Madison was furious. In the midst of the excitement he said something to
the umpire, and, following this, Black was declared out on three
strikes, although but one of them had passed over the plate. Flint was
now the hitter, and he had his eye peeled for a good one. The first ball
was at least a foot beyond the plate, yet the umpire declared it a
strike. The next one was too high, but another strike was called.

The watching cadets roared their disapprobation.

“Robbery!” they shouted.

Having discovered what the umpire was trying to do, Flint went for the
next ball, even though it was above his shoulders. He met it full and
fair, and sent it sailing far over the fence for a home run; and the
uproar that followed as the boy with the scarred cheek trotted around
the bases was simply indescribable. Down onto the field poured the
rejoicing cadets, and, forgetting everything else, Wiley plunged into
their midst, eager to shake hands with the winners.

Barely had Wiley left little Abe, when the sandy man the hunchback had
seen watching him appeared at the bench. Immediately Abe rose and fled
in great fear. He ran toward the crowd, but could see nothing of Wiley.
Then he turned for the gate, through which he dashed. In doing so he
plunged straight into the arms of a man who seemed waiting for him.
Instantly he was caught up and carried toward a closed carriage.

“Help!” he faintly cried.

“Shut up, you brat!” hissed the voice of Jarvis, for Abe’s captor was
the man with the icy hand.

The carriage door was flung open, and, in another moment, Abe would have
been thrust in. Just then an athletic lad dashed at Jarvis and struck
him a heavy blow behind the ear, causing him to stagger.

“Drop that boy, you whelp!” rang out a clear voice. “What are you trying
to do?”

Jarvis clung to Abe, but managed to draw a pistol.

“Interfere with me, will you, you fool!” he snarled.

Then the pistol spoke, and Chester Arlington, who had attempted to save
Abe, dropped to the ground.

But Arlington was not alone. Several other boys had witnessed the
encounter, and with shouts they charged on the man. Somehow Abe managed
to struggle from Jarvis’ hands and plunge beneath the carriage. The
sound of the pistol had caused the horses to begin prancing, and with a
fierce oath Jarvis yelled at the driver and leaped into the carriage,
slamming the door behind him.

The driver cracked his whip, and away went the horses.

The wheels did not pass over the hunchback, for he was between them, and
he seemed unhurt when the cadets picked him up.

Not so Chester Arlington. The bullet had grazed his head and rendered
him unconscious. Blood was flowing down the side of his face, and the
horrified boys believed he had been killed. When a doctor examined the
injury, however, it was found that the bullet had grazed Chester’s
skull, but there was no reason why the wound should be serious. Indeed,
Arlington recovered rapidly, and among the first to congratulate him on
his bravery in attacking Abe’s enemy single-handed was Dick Merriwell.

Although a number of the cadets had attempted to follow the closed
carriage, it dashed away at a furious pace and the boys were distanced.

The sheriff in Fardale was notified and requested to secure Abe’s
assailant, if possible. Although the officer did his best to comply,
Jarvis managed to hide until nightfall, when he escaped from Fardale.

On the following day Frank Merriwell arrived. When he heard what had
taken place, Merry shook his head and expressed great regret that Abe’s
enemies had not been captured.

“I am afraid we have not seen the last of them,” he declared. “If what
Bial Keene tells me is true, they are almost certain to give Abe further
trouble.”

“Why should they?” innocently questioned the hunchback. “I have never
done anything to them. Why should they hurt me?”

“My dear boy, Keene has discovered that you are the rightful heir to a
rich estate. He expects soon to clear up the entire mystery. He is now
certain that this man Jarvis, the man with the ice-cold hand, is your
own uncle, who long years ago had you kidnapped from your home by
scoundrels, and he supposed that you had been put out of the way
forever. Leave everything to me, Abe, and to Bial Keene. We will baffle
your enemies, and some day you shall possess the riches that are
rightfully yours.”

THE END.




No. 110 of the MERRIWELL SERIES, by Burt L. Standish, is entitled “Dick
Merriwell’s Long Slide.” It is a story rich in fun and thrills, teeming
with intense vigor.

                               The Dealer

who handles the STREET & SMITH NOVELS is a man worth patronizing. The
fact that he does handle our books proves that he has considered the
merits of paper-covered lines, and has decided that the STREET & SMITH
NOVELS are superior to all others.

He has looked into the question of the morality of the paper-covered
book, for instance, and feels that he is perfectly safe in handing one
of our novels to any one, because he has our assurance that nothing
except clean, wholesome literature finds its way into our lines.

Therefore, the STREET & SMITH NOVEL dealer is a careful and wise
tradesman, and it is fair to assume selects the other articles he has
for sale with the same degree of intelligence as he does his
paper-covered books.

Deal with the STREET & SMITH NOVEL dealer.




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------------------------------------------------------------------------

                           Transcriber’s Note

Retaining (or not) hyphenation that occurs on line breaks is decided by
comparison with other instances in the text.

Errors deemed most likely to be the printer’s have been corrected, and
are noted here. The references are to the page and line in the original.
The following issues should be noted, along with the resolutions.

  7.3      and see Fair[i]port                            Removed.
  25.15    Fardale not even succeed[i]ing                 Removed.
  26.1     “You didn’t try![’/”]                          Replaced.
  28.12    “Don’t[,]” begged Factor.                      Added.
  43.23    “I didn’t mean[t] to say that much.”           Removed.
  49.2     in your heart you[r] know                      Removed.
  55.12    “By Jove!” he excla[i]med.                     Inserted.
  70.28    a clash betwe[e]n Arlington and Darrell        Inserted.
  83.29    “Hanged if I do![”]                            Added.
  85.23    for me to come ab[roa/oar]d.                   Transposed.
  92.8     you’re sup[p]osed to be dead!                  Inserted.
  105.32   although handicap[p]ed by a poor break         Inserted.
  106.4    It takes ninete[e]n to tie                     Inserted.
  146.2    Cigar[s] were provided                         Added.
  155.8    but I can’t budge them.[”]                     Added.
  169.1    It’s natural you should be[.]                  Added.
  170.31   “But if’s don’t count in this game[.”]         Added.
  171.28   pounding his mit[t] with his fist              Added.
  180.31   conceal her su[r]prise                         Inserted.
  181.19   “Wh[at/y] didn’t he stop that ball, Doris?”    Replaced.
  186.5    When Roberts was again in position[,]          Added.
  198.8    will come her[e] Wednesday.                    Added.
  210.7    burst of applause and laughter[.]              Added.
  210.27   satisfied at last[.]                           Added.
  228.19   Darrell’s aston[n]ishing                       Removed.
  242.27   dining in the rest[a]urant                     Inserted.
  249.22   But when he ex[p]lained it to me               Inserted.
  252.26   and th[r]ust into a room.                      Inserted.
  266.3    As they descended the steps the[m/y] mumbled   Replaced.
  274.19   “I opened the door for them[?/!]”              Replaced.
  307.6    Black knew his busines[s]                      Added.
  307.25   Chester Arlington joine[ de/d e]arnestly       Replaced.
  318.21   Abe would have been th[r]ust in.               Inserted.





End of Project Gutenberg's Dick Merriwell's Assurance, by Burt L. Standish