The cards were counted, and the pack proved to be four cards short.

"Here is one of the gambler's appliances of which I spoke," said Frank, thrusting his hand under Leslie's side of the table and wrenching away something. "It is a table hold-out, and it contains the four missing cards. This is the kind of a fellow you are playing cards with, gentlemen."

The faces of the boys were black with anger, Wat Snell being excepted. Seeing his opportunity, Snell quickly slipped away, and before he could be stopped, had bolted from the boathouse.

Gage took advantage of the excitement to make a break for liberty, and he, too, got away.

"What a howling shame!" said Harvey Dare, in disgust. "We'd tar and feather them both. Anyway, they'll have to get out of the academy."

The boys who had put money into the game were given what they had invested. The rest was turned over to Hodge. It made his losing nearly square.

"This settles me," he said, grimly. "I am done playing. No more of this business for me."

"Stick to that, and you will be all right," said Frank Merriwell, in a low tone.

* * * * * *

Leslie Gage knew what must follow. The story was bound to spread among the cadets, and he would find himself scorned and shunned. He immediately ran away, and it was reported that he had gone to sea.

Wat Snell had not the nerve to run away, but he found himself the most unpopular fellow at the academy, shunned by the cadets generally, and regarded with contempt.

The exposure of Gage's crookedness broke up the poker parties for that season, at least; and Frank was happy, for he had saved himself and rescued Hodge and Hans Dunnerwust.

But he was happiest in receiving the approbation of Inza Burrage, who learned, through her brother, what Frank had done.



CHAPTER XIII.

THE "CENTIPEDE" JOKE.

"Sh!"

"What's up?"

"There's a carmine haze on the moon."

"That's clear as mud! What's the racket?"

"You room next to Mulloy and Dunnerwust?"

"Yes."

"Well, you will hear the racket just about the time taps sound."

"But I want to know what's up," persisted the second speaker, whose curiosity was aroused. "Has somebody put up a job on those two marks, Mulloy and his Dutch chum?"

"You've guessed it."

"Who?"

"Guess again."

"Merriwell."

"Right. Take your place at the head of the class."

This hasty and guarded conversation was carried on between two plebe cadets who had met in a corridor of the academy "cockloft." The first speaker was a jolly-faced little fellow, whose name was Sammy Smiles, and whose companions had failed to invent a nickname for him that fitted as well as his real name—Smiles.

The other boy's name was also Samuel, or the first part of his name was Samuel; but the cadets declined to have two Sams among the plebes, and so Samuel Winslow had gradually come to be known as "Poke."

"What's Merriwell up to now?" asked Poke, a look of delighted suspense on his face. "He's making things rather lively round here lately."

"You bet!" grinned Sammy Smiles. "There's more fun in him than there is in a barrel of monkeys."

"But what's he up to now?" reiterated Winslow. "Don't keep a fellow in suspense!"

"He smuggled in a basket of crawfish."

"Well?"

"Well, you don't suppose he got 'em to eat, do you?"

"'Course not. Is he going to make the Dutchman eat them?"

"No, but they may take a few bites out of the Dutchman."

"You don't mean——"

"He's put the crawfish into Dunnerwust's and Mulloy's beds."

"Jeewhiz!"

Poke clapped a hand over his mouth, and looked round hastily. Then he asked:

"How could he do it? Beds ain't made up till after tattoo, and he wouldn't have time to——"

"Tattoo sounded fifteen minutes ago. It doesn't take Mulloy more than two minutes to make up his beds. Hans is slower, but I hustled 'em both up to-night. I dodged into their room the instant tattoo sounded, and told 'em Gray wanted 'em both to come to his room, but they mustn't come till after their beds were made, for they might stay till it was too late to make the beds before taps. They both hustled up the beds, and then skipped over to see Gray. Merriwell was watching, and he didn't lose more than an hour getting that basket of crawfish into their room, and stowing the lively little birds in the beds. Oh, my! won't there be a howl when they yank themselves into bed!"

Sammy Smiles doubled up with suppressed laughter. He was convulsed at the thought of what would happen when the Dutch boy and the Irish lad hastily jumped into their beds.

"Merriwell takes the cake," Poke declared, with a chuckle. "He's been on a regular frolic for the last week, and he can invent more kinds of fun than any fellow living—besides himself."

"That's right," agreed Sammy. "Frank is a dandy! Things would be rather dull here this winter if it wasn't for him."

"Well, he'll never let them get dull, and I believe he is the best fellow that ever lived!"

"Right again," nodded the other lad, with a moment of seriousness. "Merriwell is the prince of good fellows, and there's not a white man in the academy who wouldn't fight for him. I know some fellows are down on him, but that's pure jealousy. They're sore because he has become so popular. I don't believe he cares much."

"If he wouldn't stick up for Hodge the way he does——"

"That shows his loyalty. I can't see what he finds to admire in Hodge, though the fellow can fight and play ball. He and Frank do not seem very well matched for roommates. I don't see how Merriwell can keep from working jokes on Hodge all the time. Jingoes! but wouldn't I laugh if he had put some of those crawfish in Hodge's bed!"

This fancy convulsed Sammy again, and, just then, Poke hissed:

"'Sh! Somebody's coming! Skip!"

Both made haste to get into their rooms, and, as Sammy roomed with Ned Gray, he found Barney Mulloy and Hans Dunnerwust being entertained there. Ned was telling them stories, and pretending to be greatly absorbed in their society. As Sammy slipped in, with the inevitable grin on his face, although he was doing his best to suppress it, Ned looked up and asked:

"How's the weather outside?"

"It is settled," replied Sammy, with a meaning wink.

"Do you think it will be a cold night?"

"It will be for some folks."

"When the weather is cold down East, they call it nipping."

"Well, it will be nipping to-night for some people."

"In that case, somebody will have to be stirring."

"That's right."

"Yaw," said Hans, with a lazy yawn, "I pet me your life some folks peen plame fools enough to peen sdirring to-nighd. Dot makes me dired. Vy in dunder don'd dey gid in dere peds und sday dere, ain'd id?"

"Oh, some people don't know enough for that," said Ned Gray. "And then there are people who are afraid to go to bed at this season of the year."

"Vot vos dot? Afrait uf vot?"

"Centipedes."

"Vot vos cendibedes?"

"They are a creature with a poisonous bite, and they are all sizes from the bigness of a pea to one as large as your hand."

"Oh, phwat are yez givin' av us!" cried Barney Mulloy, derisively. "Is it idiots or fools ye take us fer, Oi dunno?"

"Oh, I am telling you the sober truth," declared Ned, with the utmost seriousness, while Sammy Smiles got behind the visitors and stuffed his handkerchief into his mouth to keep from shrieking with laughter. "The centipedes of tropical countries are smaller than our regular winter centipedes, which are sometimes as large as a man's hand. Their bite is deadly poison."

"Dunder und blitzens!" gasped Hans. "I don'd tole you dot!"

"Get away wid yer blarney!" exclaimed Barney, disbelievingly. "Pwhat do yez take us fer, Oi warnt to know? It's nivver a bit do ye shtuff sich a yarrun down aour throats, me b'y."

"You are not compelled to believe it."

"Cintipades in th' winter!" snorted the Irish lad. "Thot bates th' band!"

"Well, you may think what you like, but you may see some of our winter centipedes some time, and then it is possible you will feel that you owe me an apology."

"Vot does cendibedes look like, ain't it?"

"They have long, leg-like claws, and are covered with hard shells."

"Und dey pite?"

"Well, I should say so."

"Put, vy vos some beoples afrait dose cendibedes uf to go to ped? You tole me dot."

"Well, these winter centipedes are great creatures to seek warm corners, and so they get into beds."

Sammy Smiles was ready to roll on the floor. He could not keep his laughter bottled up, and it burst forth in a gurgle, which he quickly changed to a most distressing cough.

"Wan thing is sure," said Barney; "nivver a cintipade is loikely to get inther our beds, fer we make 'em up ache noight, so we'd see th' craythers if they wur there."

"I believe one of them has never been seen in the academy," came seriously from Ned's lips. "The strict discipline of the institution is too much for them, and they keep away."

Barney grinned.

"Thot's all roight, me b'y. Some doay Oi'll tell yez about th' big shnakes we hiv in Oireland. Oi hivn't toime to-night."

"Und I vill dell you apoud der big Injuns vot dere vos der Rhine on, in Shermany," said Hans. "Maype you haf heardt uf dose poem enditled 'Big Injun on der Rhine,' ain'd id?"

"Oh, well, that's all right!" said Ned, with a wave of his hand, as if he was not quite pleased.

Then he looked at his watch, and exclaimed:

"Great Scott! we've got but one minute left in which to undress and get into bed before taps!"

He leaped up and began undressing, and, with exclamations of alarm, the Irish lad and the Dutch boy hustled from the room, losing no time about getting into their own and undressing.

"Did Merriwell fix it?" asked Ned, of Sammy.

"You bet!" was the reply. "Extinguish the flicker, and wait for the general war-dance. It will take place in a very few seconds."

So they extinguished the light, and awaited the outburst that must soon come.



CHAPTER XIV.

LIVELY TIMES.

Barney and Hans dashed into their room, and tore themselves out of their clothes, which, however, they took care to hang in order on the pegs placed along the partition that divided one end of the room into two alcoves.

Long practice enabled them to undress with great swiftness.

By the time taps began to sound they were ready to jump into their beds.

Barney quickly extinguished the light, but Hans lost no time in getting under the blankets, while the Irish lad made a leap to do so.

Then came a cry of astonishment and fear from Hans.

"Shimminy Gristmas!" exclaimed the Dutch boy. "Vot dot vos I touch me to, ain'd id?"

"Shut up!" growled Barney. "Bad cess to yez! do yez phwant th' officer av th' guarrud doon on us! Kape shtill, ur——"

"Wa-ow!" howled Hans, uttering a wild shriek of pain and terror. "I vos caught in der ped my leg by! Dunder und blitzens! I vos bit mit der toe on!"

"Begorra! ye hiv gone crazy, ye son av a Dutch chazemaker! Kape shtill thot howlin', ur——"

Then Barney's tone suddenly changed, and he let out a yell that would have awakened Rip Van Winkle from his long nap.

"Saints defind me! I'm bitten in siventane different places intoirely! Wurra! wurra! Musha! musha! Th' bed is full av crawling crathers!"

"Cendibedes!" howled Hans.

"Cintipades!" shrieked Barney.

Out of the beds they scrambled in hot haste, and to each one six or eight of the crawfish were clinging.

"Wao-w!" roared Hans.

"Whoop!" bellowed Barney.

"I peen kilt alretty yet!" shrieked the Dutch boy. "I peen bit all ofer py does cendibedes!"

"Begorra! there's a bushel av th' craythers hangin' to me!" shouted the Irish lad. "Oi'm a dead b'y intoirely!"

"Hel-lup! hel-lup!" howled Hans, dismally.

Out into the center of the room danced the two boys, fighting, clawing, striking at various parts of their bodies, where the crawfish persistently clung. They collided, and both sat down heavily on the floor.

"It's kilt we are!" moaned Barney.

"Dot peen near knockin' mine prains oud alretty yet!" declared Hans.

"Loight th' lamp!!

"Hel-lup! hel-lup! hel-lup!"

In some way they scrambled to their feet, and both lunged for the door, which they beat upon with their fists, as if they would tear it down.

"Docther!" bellowed Barney.

"Toctor!" screamed Hans.

"Will yez get away fram thot dure, so Oi can open it?"

"Ged avay dot toor from mineself!" flung back the Dutch boy. "I ged me to dot toor first, und I peen der first von oud!"

"Oh, ye will, will yez! We'll see about thot!"

Biff! smack! thud! thump! The two frantic boys were hammering each other in the darkness of their room, while the listening jokers were convulsed with merriment.

The uproar had aroused that entire section of the academy. The sentinel came down the corridor at the double quick, just as Frank Merriwell, partly dressed, leaped out of his room and flung himself against the door of the room from which the racket issued.

Other boys came swarming into the corridor, and the excitement was intense.

Merriwell burst into the room, and, a moment later, dragged out Hans and Barney into the lighted corridor.

The crawfish were still clinging comfortably to various portions of the garments in which the two lads had gone to bed. Seeing the creatures, Hans uttered a howl of agony louder than any that had yet issued from his throat.

"Cendibedes!" he wailed. "I vos a tead boy! I vos peen bit in more as nine huntred und sefenteen blaces alretty yet! Vere vos dot toctor?"

"They're centipades sure!" groaned Barney. "An Oi didn't belave there wur such craythers! Ouch! ouch! How they boight! Take 'em off!"

But the two lads danced, kicked and beat about them with their arms so that no one could remove the crawfish.

The boys who were witnesses of this "circus," nearly choked with laughter. Sammy Smiles had a fit, and rolled on the floor, clinging to his sides.

All the while Frank was apparently making desperate efforts to quiet the boys and remove the crawfish, but, at the same time he was saying just loud enough for them to hear:

"The bite is deadly poison! The only antidote is equal parts of new milk and vinegar taken internally. About a gallon should be absorbed, while a chemically prepared poultice of H2O, tempus fugit, and aqua pura should be applied to each and every bite."

"Bring' on yer new milk and vinegar, begorra!" roared the Irish boy, wildly. "It's a barrel ur two Oi'll drink av th' sthuff!"

"Somepody dose boultices make britty queek alretty!" shouted Hans. "I vant dwo huntred und elefen for dose bites vot I haf all ofer mein body on!"

"Keep still!" ordered the sentinel. "Stand still while those crawfish are removed."

"You peen bitten all der dime dose cendibedes py, und I pet me my poots you don'd keep very sdill yet avile! We-e-eow! Dey vos eadin' me ub alretty yet!"

"Get away wid yez, ye spalpane!" shouted Barney, and one of his wildly waving fists struck the sentinel between the eyes and knocked him over instantly.

"Remember it is vinegar and milk that you want, and you must have it," shouted Frank, in the Irish lad's ear. "Every second you delay about procuring it makes your chances all the more desperate."

"Begorra! Oi'll hiv it directly, av there's anything av th' sort in th' ranch!"

Then Barney made a break for the stairs, with Hans a close second, and the boys could not resist the temptation to rush after them.

Never before had there been such an uproar heard in Fardale Academy, and the commotion had brought Professor Gunn and his two principal assistants, Professor Jenks and Professor Scotch, from their rooms on the floor below the "Cockloft."

"What can be the meaning of this outrageous hub-bub?" cried Professor Jenks, who, on account of his exceeding height, was known as "High Jinks."

"Goodness knows!" exclaimed Professor Gunn, peering over his spectacles in a horrified way at his companions. "It must be a mutiny——"

"Or a murder!" chattered Professor Scotch, who was a very small man, and was generally known as "Hot Scotch," because of his fiery red hair and peppery temper.

"Let us proceed together to investigate," came resolutely from Professor Gunn's lips.

"All right," said High Jinks, bravely. "Lead the way, sir."

"Be cautious, gentlemen—be cautious!" urged Hot Scotch, his face pale and his teeth rattling together. "Such dreadful shrieks have never before assailed my ears—never! They are certainly cries of mortal agony!"

"Oh, you can go to your room, and lock yourself in, if you are afraid!" came scornfully from the tall professor's lips.

"Who's afraid!" bristled the little man, instantly. "You will find I am not afraid of you, sir! I am ready to——"

"Gentlemen! gentlemen, silence!" came commandingly from Professor Gunn's lips. "I will not have this unseemly bickering! If you are ready, come on."

So they moved toward the stairs, High Jinks resolutely keeping by Professor Gunn's side, while Hot Scotch lingered a little in the rear, clinging to the tail of the head professor's coat.

Just as they reached the foot of the stairs and were about to ascend, feet were heard rushing along the corridor above, and then Barney Mulloy came plunging down the stairs, with Hans Dunnerwust riding astride his neck, both in their nightclothes, with a few crawfish still clinging to them.

The three professors were unable to get out of the way, so the frantic boys plunged straight into them, and all fell in a struggling, squirming mass on the floor.



CHAPTER XV.

WARNED.

At the head of the stairs swarmed the plebes, who were convulsed with laughter.

"Oh! oh! oh!" gasped Sammy Smiles, clinging to his sides. "Somebody please do something to stop me from laughing! Ha! ha! ha! If I don't stop soon, I'll die! Oh, dear! oh, dear! I am sore all over!"

"Help!" cried Professor Gunn.

The boys on the floor below the Cockloft were out by this time, and they were enjoying the spectacle quite as much as the plebes above.

Frank had rushed into his room, and he came forth with a bag that contained something that moved and snarled. Reaching the head of the stairs, he quickly opened the mouth of the bag and extracted two cats. He had slipped on a pair of heavy gloves, and he succeeded in holding the cats securely, while he said to Ned Gray:

"Quick—take the string that held the mouth of the bag—tie their tails together! Lively!"

Ned caught up the string, and worked swiftly, tying the cats' tails tightly together.

When this was accomplished, Frank gave the felines a fling toward the group at the foot of the stairs.

The cats struck one on either side of Professor Gunn's neck, and, as their tails were tied together, they hung there, but not quietly.

With wild howls of agony, they began clawing each other, incidentally, by way of diversion, socking their claws into the professor's face now and then, and ripping up a few furrows in that gentleman's countenance.

Professor Gunn howled louder than the cats, and tried to fling them off; but they clung to him as if they loved him, and continued to shower marks of affection upon him.

"Great Scott!" gasped Ned Gray. "If it is ever found out that you were at the bottom of this, Merriwell, you will be expelled sure!"

"Then I shall perish in a good cause," laughed Frank. "Fun is better than medicine, and we were beginning to stagnate."

"Help!" cried Professor Gunn, in tones of deep anguish. "Take these beasts away! They are devouring me!"

"Meow! me-e-eow! S'pt! s'pt! Me-e-e-e-ow!" howled the cats, as they continued to scratch the professor's face till it began to look like the colored map of a country that had been disturbed by a violent earthquake.

Somehow Hot Scotch had gotten into a wrangle with High Jinks, whom he was holding down and punching vigorously.

"Hit me in the ribs, will ye! Pound me in the eye, will ye? Tackle me when down, will ye? Well, I've got a score against you, and I'll settle it now!"

"Take him off!" squealed Jenks, thrashing about with his long legs. "Save me! save me!"

Having untangled themselves from the mass and become freed of the crawfish in the struggle, Hans and Barney sat on the floor and stared in astonishment at the spectacle. The sight was too much for the risibilities of the Irish boy, and he forgot that he had been severely bitten by "centipades."

"Begorra! Dutchy, this is a roight loively avening, Oi do belave," he chuckled. "Will yez look at this fer a racket, Oi dunno! Hurro! Sail in, b'ys!"

"Vell, I don't efer seen der peat uf dot!" gasped Hans, his eyes bulging. "Uf dot don't peen a recular fight, I vos an oysder!"

"Now, boys, it's time to take a hand," said Frank Merriwell. "Be lively! Gather up the crawfish, and throw 'em out of the windows. Work quick! Here, Windsor, dispose of this bag!"

His words put the cadets in motion. Down the stairs he ran, and quickly gathered up every crawfish he could find, while others followed his example. Then, leaving the boys to take care of the cats and separate the fighting professors, he bounded up the stairs and hurried to the room occupied by Barney and Hans, where he removed every crawfish he could find in the beds or upon the floor. He worked with great swiftness, and accomplished all this in a very few seconds.

In the meantime, some of the boys who had been in the joke from the start, took hold and aided Frank to clear out all signs of the crawfish, while others hastened to Professor Gunn's assistance, and pulled off the cats, removing the string from their tails.

Barney and Hans were beginning to call for the doctor again, declaring they had been bitten by "centibedes," or "cintipades," and Professor Gunn was glaring over a handkerchief held to his bleeding face, while High Jinks and Hot Scotch stood apart and glowered at each other, ready to resume hostilities at the slightest provocation.

Lieutenant Gordan was on hand, looking very stern, and asking a few very pointed questions. He fully understood a practical joke had been perpetrated, and woe to the perpetrator if the lieutenant found proof against him. Gordan was stern and as unwavering as the hills in the discharge of his duty.

But the lieutenant found five very excited and incoherent persons in the group that had assembled at the foot of the stairs. Professors Jenks and Scotch would not say much of anything, only mutter and glare daggers at each other, while Professor Gunn was too furious and too confused to tell anything straight. Barney and Hans declared over and over that they had been bitten by "centipedes," and showed the wounds. The jumbled story told by them puzzled the lieutenant more than anything else.

Having been released, the cats had taken flight.

Lieutenant Gordan did not say much, but the expression on his face told that he meant to investigate the affair thoroughly. The time, however, was not suitable for an investigation, and so he ordered everybody to their rooms. Barney called for a drink of milk and vinegar, but the lieutenant assured him that he was not in danger of dying immediately if he did not obtain what he desired, so both the Irish lad and the Dutch boy were sent to their rooms, like the others.

In a brief time silence settled over the academy, and no one could have fancied there had been such an uproar there a short while before.

In the morning, Bartley said to Frank.

"What in the world has got into you, old man? You are full of the Old Harry, lately. You will have this academy turned bottom up, if you keep on."

Frank smiled.

"We've got to have something to break the monotony," he said. "A fellow gets tired of plugging away at his studies all the time."

"That's so," admitted Bart, who was a dark-faced, reserved sort of boy; "but such tricks as you perpetrated last night are dangerous."

"How?"

"What if Lieutenant Gordan finds out you were at the bottom of it? You know what will happen."

"Sure!"

"Well, you are taking big chances for a little fun."

"A little fun!" echoed Frank. "Didn't you consider that something more than a little fun last night? It struck me as a roaring farce."

A faint trace of a smile came to Hodge's dark face.

"You enjoy anything of the kind far more than I do, Merriwell," he said. "I like fun of a different sort."

"Well, I fancy you will acknowledge I take some interest in other sports, Bart?"

"That's all right, Frank; you are the leader of our class in everything, because you are a natural leader. But you have a dangerous rival."

"Think so?"

"I know it. There is a fellow in this school who is aiming to stand at the head in athletics. Up to a few weeks ago he remained in the background, so that little or no notice was taken of him; but he is coming to the front now, and I believe he means to give you a hot race for first position. He has even declared openly that he is a pitcher, and means to make a try for a position on the team."

"That's all right, Bart. I am not hoggish enough to want all the honors, and, if we play as much ball as we intend to next spring and summer, we'll need another pitcher. I can't do all the twirling."

"But he says he will not play under you as captain of the team."

"Ha! That is interesting! Now you are waking me up. I suppose the fellow you speak of is Paul Rains?"

"Yes, he is the one."

"Then Rains is something of an enemy, as well as a rival. Well, we'll see who is the better man."



CHAPTER XVI.

PAUL RAINS.

The short, dark days of winter had brought about changes in Fardale Academy. Drills had been discontinued, and, except for weekly inspections and occasional guard duty, there were no formations under arms. The hours for study were longer, as also were the lessons. Some of the plebes were negligent and regardless of the fact that the January examinations were close at hand, while others were "boning" steadily, doing their level best to stand well in their classes.

For all of his mischievous disposition, Frank was studying enough to hold his own in his class, and he was looked on favorably by his instructors. He was magnetic, and had a winning way, so that he made many friends, always among the better class at the school. No one, either man or boy, is ever popular without having enemies, and this was true of Frank; but his enemies were those who were jealous of him, or those with whom he did not care to associate, for the best of reasons.

Hodge was not a fellow to make friends, being haughty and proud, and Merriwell obtained many enemies because he roomed with Bart, and seemed to stand up for the fellow.

The friendship of the two lads was rather remarkable, considering how they had once been enemies, and how Hodge had worked hard to injure Frank.

Among the plebes there were a few who stood head and shoulders above their companions in athletics. Hodge went in for fencing, and Professor Rhynas declared he would make a master of the foil. Hugh Bascomb, with a pugilist's thick neck and round head, was spending all his spare time boxing, and it was said that he could strike a blow that would stagger an ox. His admirers declared it was a beautiful sight to see him hammer the punching-bag, and they assured him over and over that he was certain to make another Sullivan. Naturally, this gave Bascomb the "swelled head," and he got an idea into his brain that he was really cut out for a fighter, and that nobody in Fardale could stand up before him for four rounds.

Day after day Barney Mulloy took a long pull at the rowing machine. Ned Gray spent his spare time on the horizontal bars or the trapeze, and Hans Dunnerwust tried his hand at everything, making sport for the spectators.

Among the plebes there were two lads who seemed all-round athletes. They were Paul Rains and Frank Merriwell.

Paul did not like Frank. In fact, he was envious of Merriwell's popularity, although he did his best to keep the fact concealed. Being a sly, secretive person, it was but natural that Rains should come to be considered as modest and unassuming. In truth, he was not modest at all, for, in his secret heart, there was nothing that any one else could do that he did not believe he could do. And so, while appearing to be very modest, he was really intensely egotistical.

Rains had not been given much attention for a time after he entered the academy, but his athletic abilities, for he was really a capable fellow, although his capabilities were limited, were bringing him into notice.

Jolly, open as the day, Frank did not know what it was to be crafty or secretive. He had a way of saying things he thought, and he did not understand people who kept their fancies and ambitious desires bottled up.

Hodge had not been the first to give Frank a hint that he had a rival in Rains, but he was the first to tell him that Rains had declared he would not play on the ball team if Merriwell was captain.

Frank remembered that, and he wondered what Rains could have against him. Frank was never able to understand one fellow despising another because the other was popular, for it was natural for him to wish everybody good luck and success, and he always rejoiced in the success of any fellow he knew, providing, of course, that the success was of the right sort.

Lieutenant Gordan made a rigid investigation of the racket caused by the "centipedes," but he failed to fasten the blame firmly on any one. Not one of the boys who knew the facts would expose Merriwell, and both Barney and Hans, discovering their wounds were not fatal, grinned and declared they were not sure there had been anything in their beds, but they thought they had felt something.

Professor Gunn was very indignant to think the culprits could not be discovered.

"It is a disgrace to the school!" he told Lieutenant Gordan. "Just look at my face, sir! I am a picture!"

The lieutenant did not crack a smile.

"You have no one but yourself to blame for your condition, sir," he said.

"Eh? eh? How's that? how's that?" sputtered Professor Gunn. "I don't think I understand you, sir."

"Then I will make it clear. If you had remained in your room, as you should when the disturbance occurred, you would not have received those injuries."

"But, sir—but I am the principal of this school. It is my place——"

"It is your place to keep in your room, sir, when there is an outbreak like the one under discussion, and allow me to straighten matters out. If you had done so, I might be able to get at the bottom of this affair and discover the guilty jokers; as it is, you and your associates complicated matters so that I do not seem able to do much of anything."

Having spoken thus plainly, Lieutenant Gordan turned on his heel, and left the professor in anything but a pleasant frame of mind.

It was a day or two after the occurrence of the "great centipede joke," as the crawfish affair came to be termed, that Paul Rains and Hugh Bascomb were having a bout with the gloves in the gymnasium. Quite a number of spectators had gathered, and Frank Merriwell sauntered up and joined the group.

Professor Rhynas was giving his attention to another department of the gymnasium, and he had left Bascomb to meet all comers and "give them points."

Bascomb was not finding it a very easy thing to give Rains many points, although he believed he could knock the fellow down any time he wished to do so by simply letting drive one of his sledgehammer blows.

But Bascomb had not thought of striking Rains with all his strength. He had discovered that Rains disliked Merriwell, and that was enough to establish a bond of friendship between the big plebe and the lad with whom he was boxing.

Bascomb hated Frank, but he feared him at the same time.

"Nobody seems able to get the best of that fellow," he had thought a hundred times. "It seems to be bad luck to go against him, and so I am going to keep away from him in the future. Poor Gage! Merriwell was bad medicine for him."

Bascomb was a coward, but he could hate intensely in his two-faced, treacherous way.

The moment Merriwell joined the group, Bascomb noted it.

"He's watching Rains," mentally decided the big plebe. "He wants to see what the fellow is made of."

Rains seemed aware that Merriwell was a spectator, for he braced up and gave Bascomb a merry go for a few minutes, forcing the big fellow back, and seeming to tap him with ease and skill whenever and wherever he chose.

When this little flurry was over, Rains threw off his gloves, and declared he had had enough.

"So have I," said Bascomb, with a grin. "You're the best man I've put the mittens on with yet. I believe there is a fellow not more than a hundred miles from here that thinks he is some one with gloves, but you can do him dead easy. More than that, I think he knows it, and I don't believe he has the nerve to stand up and face you for a whirl."

"Oh, I don't want to box with any one," said Rains. "Keep still, Bascomb."

"You may not want to box, but you can down Frank Merriwell just the same," declared the big plebe.



CHAPTER XVII.

THE BULLY'S MATCH.

A moment of silence followed Bascomb's distinctly-spoken words, and the eyes of nearly every one were turned on Merriwell, to whose face the hot color slowly mounted.

"What's the matter with you, Bascomb?" he finally asked. "What do you want to draw me into this affair for? I don't know as I have any desire to put on the gloves with Rains."

The big fellow grinned in a way that was distinctly insulting.

"I don't think you have," he said. "You wouldn't cut any ice with him."

"You may be right; but I don't quite understand how you know, as I have never stood up with you."

"Oh, that wasn't necessary; I've seen you spar, and I have your gage. You don't run in the class with Rains."

At this juncture Rains made a move as if he would quiet Bascomb, but the big fellow quickly went on:

"I'm not going to keep still any longer. You're too modest, Rains. You keep in the background, and let fellows like Merriwell take the lead in everything, when you should be a leader. You are a better all-round man than Merriwell any day, and you can knock corners off him any time he has nerve enough to put on the mitts with you. He's a dandy to push himself to the front, but——"

That was a little more than Frank could stand. The jolly look had vanished from his face, and he faced Bascomb, saying sharply:

"Look here, my friend, I reckon you are saying one word for Rains and two for yourself. I haven't mixed up with you for reasons that you very well understand, but I don't propose to take much of your talk. If there is any difference between Mr. Rains and myself, we will settle it at another time; but if you want to get a rap at me, now is the accepted occasion, and I will put on the gloves with you."

Bascomb had not been looking for this, and he was taken aback for a moment. Still, although he knew Merriwell was a far better all-round athlete, he believed he could more than match him in boxing, so he eagerly accepted the opportunity.

"I'm your man," he said. "Peel off and get into gear. It won't take me long to show you there are a few things you do not know."

He laughed in a disagreeable way, and Hodge, who had overheard all, bit his lips to repress an outburst of anger.

"The sneak!" whispered Bart to Frank, as the latter stepped aside to take off his coat and vest. "He means to use his sledgehammer blow on you. He won't box for points, but he will try to soak you. Look out for him."

"I am not afraid of him."

"That's all right; but you know he has been practicing that blow, and they say it is terrible. He is cut out for a prizefighter, and is no fit boxing antagonist for a gentleman."

"I shall look out for his 'wicked left,' as I have heard the boys call it."

"He wants to provoke you into a fight with himself or Rains."

"I thought as much; but he may change his mind after we spar, if he does not catch me foul by an accident."

"He is tricky."

"I will watch out for his tricks."

"Look out for his cross-buttock. He's stout as a moose, and he will give you a nasty fall."

For all of his warning words, Bart had great confidence in Frank. They had fought once, shortly after coming to Fardale, and Hodge had found Merriwell more than his match then. Since that time, Frank had missed no opportunity to pick up points in boxing, and his advancement had been great.

Still there was a chance that, by some accident, Bascomb might land once with that "wicked left," or might seek to injure Merriwell by a fall, if he found that he was matched in every other way, so Bart was on hand with his words of warning.

It did not take Frank long to get ready, and it was not long before the two boys faced each other, adjusting the gloves upon their hands. Then they came up to the scratch, and the word was given that started the contest.

Bascomb started in at once with a series of false motions intended to confuse Merriwell, but they simply brought a faint smile to Frank's face, and he remained as placid as ever until——

Just as Bascomb had decided to rush, Merriwell rushed. There was a flashing of their gloves. The big fellow struck twice, and both blows were met by a ready guard.

Biff! biff! biff! First with the right, and then twice with the left Frank struck the big plebe. None of them were heavy blows, but they all stung, and the angry blood surged to Bascomb's face, as he saw Merriwell leap back beyond his reach, laughing a bit.

"Mosquito bites!" said Bascomb, derisively.

"But they count."

"Who cares. I will more than square that in a minute."

"All right; I am waiting."

Once more they were at it, toe to toe, hands moving slightly, light on their feet, ready to dodge or spring, ready to strike or guard. Blows came, one landing on Merriwell's cheek, and another on his shoulder; but more than twenty were dodged or guarded, and Bascomb was struck twice for every blow he gave.

Frank was watching for that left hand body blow, and it came at last, just when Bascomb thought it must count.

In that case Bascomb deceived himself.

The blow was struck swiftly enough, but Frank stopped it with a right hand guard, and, with his left, countered heavily on Bascomb's mouth, sending the big fellow's head back.

Bascomb was surprised, and he showed it. He was also thoroughly angered, and he proceeded to "wade into" Merriwell like a cyclone.

On the other hand, Merriwell was cool as ice, and he made every blow count something, for even when they failed to land they kept the big fellow busy.

Time after time Bascomb rushed in, but Merriwell was light as a feather on his feet, and he danced nimbly about, tapping the other fellow now here, now there, smiling sweetly all the while, and showing a skill that was very baffling to Bascomb.

"Hang him!" thought the big fellow. "He is a regular jumping jack. If I don't land a blow on him pretty quick, I am going to clinch."

This he soon did, catching Frank for the cross-buttock throw.

For a moment it looked as if Merriwell would be flung heavily, and Hodge drew his breath through his teeth with a hissing sound that turned to a sigh of relief as he saw his friend thrust forward his right foot between Bascomb's, break his wrist clear and catch the big fellow behind the left knee with his left hand, while he brought his right arm up over Bascomb's shoulder, and pressed his hand over Bascomb's face, snapping his head back and hurling him off sideways.

This was done quickly and scientifically, and it convinced Hodge that Bascomb could not work the cross-buttock on Merriwell.

Hugh Bascomb was disgusted and infuriated by his failure. He had counted on having a soft thing, and he was actually getting the worst of the encounter.

Time was called, and a breathing spell taken.

Then they went at it again, and this time both worked savagely, their movements being swift and telling.

Watching this battle, Paul Rains began to believe that he was not yet quite Merriwell's match at boxing.

"But I am a better man than he is at most anything else," thought the fellow.

Smack! smack! smack!

Merriwell was following Bascomb up like a tiger, and the big fellow was forced to give ground. Again and again Frank hammered the desperate plebe, getting few blows in return and seeming to mind none of them no more than drops of rain.

Bascomb's face wore the look of an enraged bull. Suddenly, with a quick side motion, he snapped off the glove on his left hand.

Then, with his bare first, he struck straight and hard at Frank Merriwell's face!



CHAPTER XVIII.

RAINS' CHALLENGE.

Bascomb's movement had been noted by the spectators, and a cry of astonishment and warning broke from many lips.

"Look out!" shouted Bart Hodge.

Frank had seen the movement, and he needed no warning.

Like a flash, he ducked to the right, and Bascomb's bare fist missed his face and shot over his shoulder.

At the same instant Frank countered with his left, striking the big fellow on the chin, and hurling him backward with force enough to send him reeling.

Leaping forward, Merriwell followed up his advantage, and Bascomb received two terrible blows, one of which knocked him down as if he had been struck by a cannon ball.

Then Frank flung off both his gloves, his face flushed, and his eyes flashing, as he exclaimed:

"Two can play at your game, fellow! If you want to try a round with uncovered knuckles, pick yourself up and come on!"

Snarling like a wounded dog, Bascomb scrambled to his feet; but here the spectators surged between the two, Rains catching hold of the big plebe, while Hodge grasped Merriwell.

"Easy, Frank!" warned Bart. "Are you crazy? You know what it will mean if you fight in the gym. Rhynas has noticed it now—he's coming."

"Confound that fellow!" muttered Frank. "I don't often get started this way, but it was such a dirty trick that——"

"Never mind, now. Keep still, or Rhynas will hear."

"Let me get at him!" Bascomb had snarled. "I will beat the life out of him!"

"Stop! stop!" said Rains, swiftly. "You are making a fool of yourself! You can't fight here!"

"Can't I? Well——"

"No, it is against the rules. If you press this, you will be expelled, for the affair will be investigated, and it will be proved that you bared your hand, and Merriwell was forced to do so to defend himself."

"Oh, I could hammer him!"

"Well, there is plenty of time. Steady, now! Here is the professor. He has scented a row. Can't you play cool, and pretend it was a joke? Quick!"

Then Frank was surprised to see Bascomb come forward, laughing in a sickly way, as he said:

"You're pretty flip with your hands, Merriwell, and that's right. I hope you won't lay up anything against me because I lost my glove. I was so excited that I didn't know it was gone."

It was on Frank's tongue to give Bascomb the lie, but, for once in his life, Hodge was the cooler of the two, and he warned his friend by a soft pressure on the arm.

Then, seeing Professor Rhynas listening, with a dark look on his face, Frank laughed, and retorted:

"I don't mind a little thing like that, Bascomb, as long as you didn't strike me. I rather think I held my own with you, and so we will drop it."

"Yes," said Bascomb, "we will drop it—for the present."

The way he spoke the words seemed to indicate that, though they might let it drop for the present, the affair was not settled between them, by any means.

Rhynas now demanded to know the cause of the excitement, and he was told that Bascomb had knocked his glove off, and then, in his excitement, had struck a blow.

The professor looked blacker than ever.

"Such a thing is not possible," he declared. "This is no resort for fighters. If you fellows have any differences to settle, settle them elsewhere. I propose to run this department so there can be no slurs cast upon it, and I will not have fighting, quarreling or loud talking here."

The professor was very strict, and they knew he meant every word he spoke, so they did their best to pacify him with smooth words and apologies.

The man, however, was too shrewd to be deceived, and he knew very well that the two boxers had come very near fighting in the gymnasium while he was present. However, he could do nothing but warn them, which he did, and then went about his affairs.

The spectators of the little bout had been given something to talk about, for, up to that moment, they had not dreamed there was any one in the academy who could stand up before Bascomb's "wicked left" and not be unmercifully hammered.

Merriwell had been touched very few times with Bascomb's left, for he had constantly been on the guard for any blow that might come from that point, and he had thumped the big plebe most aggravatingly all through the affair.

But, what was most significant, after Bascomb had flung off one glove and struck at Frank with his bare fist, the smaller and more supple lad had sailed in and shown that he could put pounds into his blows, for he had driven Bascomb back and knocked him down.

This feat had caused Paul Rains to gasp with astonishment, and, in his heart, he was forced to acknowledge that he doubted if he were yet a match for Merriwell.

Hodge alone, of them all, had believed all along that Frank was more than a match for Bascomb.

Now the spectators began to realize that Merriwell was not given to boasting or "showing off," for he had made no pretense to be the champion boxer, and he had allowed them to think Bascomb was more than a match for anybody in the academy.

When forced to meet some one in a contest that should be a test of skill, Frank had chosen to meet Bascomb, which showed he had been confident in himself all along, for all that he had not thrust himself forward.

In his heart, Rains was very sore, for he had just met Bascomb, and, while he had made a good display, the big fellow had shown that he was the superior.

"Merriwell is putting me in the shade without running up against me at all," thought Paul. "I have lost ground with the fellows right here. How can I recover?"

It did not take him long to decide that he must go against Merriwell in some kind of a contest—and beat him.

"You are very clever with the gloves, Merriwell," said Rains, stepping forward, and speaking placidly; "but I would like to see what you can do jumping."

"Is that a challenge?" asked Frank, quietly.

"If you wish to regard it as such."

"Oh, I am not anxious; I simply wanted to know just what you meant it for."

"Then let it go as a challenge."

"For what—high jump, or broad jump?"

"Both."

"That's the talk!" laughed one of the spectators. "Now we will have more sport!"

"All right," laughed Frank. "I will go you, though I have not been doing much jumping lately, and I am not in my best form."

"That will sound all right if you beat," said Rains; "but it will not do for an excuse if you lose."

"All right; let it go. I won't try to make any other excuse in case you are the victor."

In a mass the boys surged toward a piece of ground just outside of the gymnasium adapted to jumping.

"What shall it be first?" asked Frank, as he stood at the edge of the long strip of turf.

"Running long jump," decided Rains.

"That's agreeable. You challenged, and I presume we are to take turns for three jumps, the one who makes the best leap out of the number is the winner?"

"That's all right."

Hodge spoke up quickly:

"What do you mean by taking turns? Is one to jump three times, and then the other jump three times?"

"No, I mean for us to alternate," explained Frank. "First one jumps, and then the other."

Hodge nodded his satisfaction.

"That is fair, and it is much better than the other way," he declared.

The rivals made preparations for the contest. By lot it fell to Rains to lead off.

Rains was smiling and confident.

"If there is anything I can do, I can jump," he told Bascomb, in an aside. "I will beat him by a foot, at the very least."

"I hope you will beat him by a yard!" muttered the big fellow, sullenly. "I want to see him taken down. He has been a leader long enough."

"Oh, I will manage to win some of his glory away from him before the spring campaign opens," said Rains, confidently. "Don't you worry about that; but," he added, swiftly, "don't repeat my words to anybody. I am not going to boast, but I am going to do something. That's the proper way."

"Sure," nodded Bascomb. "I guess you can do it, too."

In his heart, however, Bascomb did not feel at all sure that Rains would prove the victor in the jumping contest.

"Merriwell is the hardest fellow to beat that I ever saw," he told himself. "It doesn't seem possible to down him, and keep him down. If one seems to get the best of him for a bit, he bobs up serenely directly, and comes out on top. It is just his luck!"

If Bascomb had said it was just Merriwell's pluck he would have hit the truth, for Frank, besides being physically capable, was endowed with any amount of determination, having a never-say-die spirit that would not give up as long as there was a ghost of a chance left to pull out a winner.

In the words of the boys, "Merriwell was no quitter."

"Ready," called the fellow who had been chosen for referee. "Rains will set the stint."



CHAPTER XIX.

JUMPING.

There was a determined look on Paul's face, as he walked to one end of the long strip of turf that ran down one side of the gymnasium.

"He is built for jumping," said one of the spectators. "There is a fine pair of legs, if I ever saw a fine pair."

"That's right," agreed another; "and he is full of snap and ginger. He will give Merriwell a hard go."

"But Merriwell is no slow coach at anything," broke in a third. "I never saw a fellow who seemed able to make such a record at all sorts of sports. Who would have thought that he could face Bascomb? Look! Rains is going to start! See him crouch for the run! He is like a young panther! Now he's off!"

Down the line of turf darted Paul, reached the white line, rose gracefully into the air with a pretty spring, and sailed forward in a handsome jump that brought a round of applause from the spectators.

The measurers immediately ran the tape.

"Seventeen feet and four inches," was the announcement.

A shade of disappointment came to the faces of the spectators, for that was far below the Fardale record.

Rains, however, winked quietly to Bascomb, as if to say that the first jump was a teaser, just to see what Merriwell would do.

Frank now took his position, ran swiftly and lightly down the turf, and made the jump. He seemed to be doing his best, or nearly that, yet he did not reach but a little beyond Rains' mark.

"Seventeen feet, six inches and a quarter," announced one of the measurers.

"I wonder if that is anywhere near his limit?" thought Paul, as he slowly walked back to the starting point. "I think I will have to give him a stint this time."

As he faced the mark, he gathered his energies in every part of his body, felt his muscles strain, knew his nerves were at their highest tension.

"He's going to lay himself out this time," said one of the spectators to another. "Seventeen feet will not be mentioned again."

Down the strip shot Rains. He reached the mark, and went flying through the air like a bird, bringing a cry to the lips of those watching, for they saw he had gone far ahead of the first jump.

"That was a beauty!" exclaimed Bascomb, speaking to Wat Snell, who stood watching.

"It was a good jump," said Snell; "but Merriwell will beat it."

"What makes you think so?"

"Because that fellow always beats at everything. I had rather have his luck than a license to steal! I've quit trying to down him, for I found I was bound to get the worst of it if I kept it up."

"Oh, his time will come."

"Perhaps so; but it isn't coming in a hurry."

"Nineteen feet, three inches and a third," announced the measurer.

"Hooray!" shouted one of Paul's delighted admirers.

"That's the stuff! Merriwell will have to shake himself, if he means to beat that."

But Frank had friends who were confident that he would still hold the lead.

"Wait till the next measurement is taken," they said.

Frank's manner, as he took his place for the start, seemed to indicate that he believed the task before him a difficult one.

"He's doubtful," muttered one of Paul's friends.

"He's losing courage," said another.

Pressing his lips together, Frank made the run, and the watchers held their breath as he jumped.

"He's tied Rains!"

"Not much! He's behind!"

"Rains holds the lead!"

"Great Scott! is that Merriwell's best!"

Bascomb thumped Wat Snell on the back.

"What'd I tell you!" he laughed in Snell's ear. "This is right where Merriwell loses some of his glory. Rains has beaten him."

"This time, perhaps," admitted Snell; "but there is another jump to follow, and the best score made is the one that decides the contest. You will find Merriwell is not beaten yet."

"Why, you talk as if you wanted him to beat!"

"Not much! I would give almost anything to see him beaten at everything he attempts. Don't think for a minute that I am in love with that fellow!"

The tape had been run, and now the announcement was heard:

"Nineteen feet, one inch and one-third."

Rains had beaten Merriwell by two inches on the second jump.

But the contest was not yet over, and there was a chance that Frank would finally redeem himself.

Frank's friends were disappointed. Hodge showed deep chagrin in his face, as he drew Merriwell aside, saying swiftly and guardedly:

"You're making a mistake, old man, if you are holding off for the last jump. The second jump is the one to lay yourself out on always."

"Perhaps I did," smiled Frank.

"What!" gasped Hodge. "And he has beaten you!"

"It looks that way, doesn't it?"

"But—but—I—I won't believe it! You can do better—you must do better! Why, old man, you will lose your grip if you don't beat him!"

"You do not expect impossibilities, do you?"

"No, but——"

"Would you go back on me if I lost this match?"

"You know better, Frank! I would stick by you under any circumstances!"

"Then I shall not feel so bad about losing it."

Hodge gasped and clutched the arm of his roommate.

"For gracious sake, you don't mean to say he had set you a stint you cannot beat? You mustn't lose—you shan't lose! Do brace up, old man! Why, think how those fellows who are envious of you will rejoice if Rains comes out on top! You must win!"

"Well, I will do my best on the next. There goes Rains for the last jump."

With the ghost of a triumphant mile on his face, Paul again took his place at the starting point. The smile vanished, and a look of resolution took its place.

"He is going to try to beat your other jump!" said Bascomb.

"He can't do it," declared Snell.

"Wait and see."

Paul had really resolved to beat his last jump. As he ran, he gathered momentum, gauging the distance carefully, and reaching the mark exactly. The jump was a splendid one, and it was instantly seen that he had actually beaten his former record.

Quickly and carefully the tape was stretched.

"Nineteen feet, nine inches and three-fourths!"

Then there were exclamations of wonderment from all sides, and more than one declared Merriwell was badly beaten. There were not a few among Frank's friends who confessed that he had very little chance, and the faces of those who said nothing showed that they had lost heart to a great extent.

Hodge continued to talk excitedly to Merriwell, who shook his head, looking very grave.

Paul Rains was quietly triumphant, for he felt that he was safely the winner of this contest.

Merriwell and Hodge went up the strip together, the latter still talking and making an occasional gesture. Reaching the starting point, they paused and stood talking.

"By smoke!" laughed Bascomb; "Merriwell doesn't want to try it at all, and Hodge is having hard work to induce him to do so! Rains has this match in a walkover."

"That remains to be seen," said one of Frank's friends, doggedly. "You may be right, but don't you fancy for a moment that Merriwell is going to give up without jumping. He isn't that kind of a hairpin, my boy."

"Well, he might as well give up without another try, for he doesn't stand any show."

"Oh, wait and see—wait and see," was all that Frank's defender could say.

Hodge was now seen to leave Merriwell and come back down the runway, and it was noted that the look on his face was far from one of confidence and satisfaction.

"When Hodge loses confidence in Merriwell, the case is desperate," declared Bascomb.

"That's so," confessed Wat Snell. "I am beginning to hope."

"Merriwell is making ready—he's preparing for the run!"

All eyes were now fixed on Frank, who had taken his position at the starting point. He was seen to dig his toe into the ground to get a brace, and he leaned far forward, with one hand outstretched, then he darted toward the mark.

With the speed of a fawn, Frank came down the run, reached the mark, shot like a leopard into the air, sailed like a soaring bird, and landed safely far beyond Rains' best mark—so far, indeed, that the crowd was too astonished to make a sound, but stood staring as the tape was laid.

"Twenty-one feet and two inches!" came the electrifying announcement.

Then, for all of rules, for all of Professor Rhynas, Frank's friends made the air ring with their wild shouts of applause.



CHAPTER XX.

BASCOMB'S MISTAKE.

Paul Rains was struck with dismay and confusion, which threatened to turn to anger.

He saw the crowd gathering round Frank, and congratulating him. Paul was left quite alone. Not even Bascomb approached him, for the big plebe was too dismayed to say anything or do anything.

Wat Snell simply muttered:

"I knew it!"

His tone expressed his hopeless disgust.

Frank's hand was wrung till his arm ached, and he was told over and over that he would make a new record for Fardale Academy if he chose to enter the athletic contests in the spring.

"If he chooses!" shouted one enthusiastic fellow. "He'll have to enter, whether he chooses or not! You don't suppose we will let a fellow like him remain out of it, do you!"

"I knew you could do it, old man!" murmured Bart Hodge, his dark face flushed with pleasure. "You were bluffing all the while that you pretended to doubt."

"I wanted to see how much confidence you actually had in me," said Frank, with a smile.

"Well, you found out."

"Yes, and that gave me a great deal more of confidence in myself. I tell you it helps to know one has friends whose faith in him cannot be shaken, even when he seems to lose faith in himself."

"Where is Rains?"

"There he is. I wonder if he is satisfied?"

Paul was still quite alone, pretending to examine the spikes in the bottom of one of his shoes.

Frank moved toward his rival, and the others swarmed along.

Seeing them coming, Rains straightened up, and through his mind flashed the thought that he must not show his chagrin, no matter how deeply he felt it, and he must receive Merriwell in a manner that would not make him seem like a cad in the eyes of the fellows.

And so, when Frank came up, Paul said:

"That was a beautiful jump, Merriwell. You beat me fairly and squarely. I can't deny that."

"You are satisfied, then."

"Perfectly."

"Then we will try the high jump next."

"Not much!"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I am satisfied for the present. If you can beat me nearly a foot and a half at the running broad jump, you ought to be able to beat me at the high jump. But I am going to try you another whirl by and by."

"You do not hold a grudge?"

"What do you take me for?"

"Shake hands?"

"Of course."

Their hands met, but Frank did not fail to note that Rains shook in a manner that was very cold and insincere.

"I reckon Merriwell has come pretty near showing what he is made of," said Hodge; "and those fellows who have been claiming that he has won his popularity by luck had better keep still in the future."

"That's so!" shouted the crowd, and several who did so had been saying the most disagreeable things about Frank a short time before.

There is nothing in the world so ephemeral as popularity. The individual who is to-day a hero may be an outcast to-morrow. There is nothing harder to hold than the esteem of a set of school-boys. He who is regarded as an idol in the fall may be supplanted by a rival in the spring, and may find himself unnoticed and neglected. Having once become a leader in a school, the fellow who has obtained the position must prove his superiority to all comers in order to hold it. Even then his success will produce jealous enemies, who will seek his overthrow by some means, no matter how unfair.

Frank had not sought popularity; it had come unbidden. Having found himself a leader, however, he had pride enough to hold the position just as long as he was capable of doing so fairly and honestly. But he had already discovered that he would be assailed openly and secretly, and his foes would try to drag him down by any means, fair or foul.

Had Rains been a little more cordial, had he shaken hands with Frank as if he really held no grudge, Merriwell would have been more than glad to hail him as a good fellow and a friend. But the touch of his fingers was enough to reveal the bitterness in his heart. Having disliked and envied Merriwell before, Rains would now dislike and envy him still more.

As soon as he could do so without attracting too much attention, Rains left the excited throng of boys, and hurried away to one of the dressing-rooms.

Hugh Bascomb quickly followed, being the only one among Rains' late friends to note his departure.

Bascomb found Rains rubbing down. Paul did not say a word as the big plebe entered.

"Well," said Bascomb, as he sat down on a stool, "what do you think of Merriwell?"

"I think he is a mighty hard fellow to beat at anything," growled Paul.

"But he can be beaten—eh?"

"How?"

"There are ways."

"What do you mean? Speak plainly."

"You ought to know what I mean," said Bascomb, doggedly, keeping his eyes on the floor. "It isn't always the best trotter that wins a race."

"It will not be easy to beat Merriwell fairly."

"That's right; but you are a fellow of nerve and brains, and you ought to be able to devise some scheme to get the best of him unfairly."

Rains stopped and stared at Bascomb, his face showing that he was angrier than ever.

"Now your meaning is pretty plain," he said, slowly. "I will confess that I dislike Merriwell—that I would give almost anything to get the best of him; but I want you to understand, Hugh Bascomb, that I am no sneak!"

Bascomb still kept his eyes on the floor.

"Oh, what's the use to get on your high horse, Rains!" he said, in his sullen way. "If you dislike Merriwell, as you pretend, and if you hope to down him at anything, you cannot be too much of a stickler for little things. Once get him to going down hill, and we can keep him going. I can help you start him."

Had Bascomb taken more than a fleeting glance at Rains' face, he must have seen that the latter was regarding him with contempt.

"I suppose you have a scheme of your own?" Paul finally observed, in a questioning way.

"Sure."

"What is it?"

"Well, to begin with, I have pretty good proof that Merriwell was the originator and perpetrator of that crawfish joke on Mulloy and Dunnerwust."

"What of that?"

"I think that Lieutenant Gordan would be able to fasten it on Merriwell, if he knew what I know."

"That would mean certain expulsion for Merriwell."

"Of course. All three of the professors were so tangled up in that affair that the fellow would surely be fired, if the blame could be fastened upon him."

"What do you want of me?"

Bascomb cleared his throat, twisted on, the stool, and hesitated. Finally, he said:

"You may be able to devise some other means to get the best of the fellow; but, if you can't, and you are ready to take hold of this, you may see him fired out of the academy, so he will no longer be in your way."

"What do you want of me?" repeated Rains, coldly and quietly.

"Well, you see—you understand—you know I came near getting into trouble once by trying to help Gage do Merriwell up. After that Gage was caught cheating at cards, and had to run away. Everybody knows I hate Merriwell, and they'd all think I blowed if anything came to Lieutenant Gordan's ears. That's why I don't dare make a move. With you it is different."

"What do you want of me?" demanded Rains, the third time.

"I will give you the proofs, and you can carry them to Lieutenant Gordan, who will follow it up, and see that Merriwell is expelled. In that way, I will not get entangled, and no one will suspect you."

With one wide stride, Rains reached Bascomb, caught him by the shoulders, and thrust him backward, thus forcing him to look up.

"You have insulted me!" came fiercely from Paul's lips. "I am no sneak and informer! Did you think I would do the dirty trick you are too much of a coward to try? Well, you made a big mistake! I dislike Merriwell, but I am not ready to make myself contemptible in my own eyes by blowing on him."

Bascomb put up his big hands and thrust Rains off.

"Whom are you calling a coward!" he snarled, as he got upon his feet.

"You!" shot back Paul. "You are a coward and a sneak!"

"Why, I'll thrash you well!"

"No, you won't!" cried Rains, flinging up one hand to stop the advance of the big plebe. "If you lay a hand on me, I will make known to the entire school the scheme you just proposed to me. The boys would tar and feather you."

Bascomb stopped and showed his yellow teeth, while he trembled slightly with anger.

"So that's your trick!" he said, growlingly.

"Yes, that's my trick; and if you blow on Merriwell, I will play the card. You made a big mistake in taking me for a sneak just because I didn't happen to like a fellow who is popular. Get out now, and don't come round me again! I don't belong to your class, and I don't want to have anything to do with you. Get!"

Bascomb hesitated, longing to strike Rains, but not daring to do so. Slowly he moved toward the door, where he paused to growl:

"This is all right! I will get square with you some time. If you blow on me, I will pound the life out of you!"

Then he went out

Rains had shown his manhood.



CHAPTER XXI.

THE RIVAL PROFESSORS.

Professor Jenks and Professor Scotch were rivals. Each admired and sought to win the affections of a widow of uncertain years, who lived in Fardale village.

For some years Professor Gunn's two assistants had been very friendly, but Nancy Cobb, the widow spoken of, was the rock on which they split.

Their jealousy often caused them to completely forget their dignity, and they did things that made them utterly ridiculous in the eyes of all beholders.

As yet, neither had possessed nerve enough to propose to the widow, and so, wishing to make a sure catch, the elderly lady had clung to both, ready to jump at the first one who should offer himself.

The cause of the ill-will existing between the under professors was well known to the cadets at Fardale Academy, and had provided them with no small amount of sport.

Now it happened that Tad Jones, a village lad who was very well known to Frank Merriwell, was the nephew of the coquettish widow, and the widow made her home with Tad's father and mother.

Tad was a lively youngster, who liked fun, and, in more ways than one, he was "a thorn in the flesh" unto his aunt.

One day he succeeded in seeing Frank, whom he informed that he had put up another joke on his Aunt Nancy.

"I've been imertatin' her handwritin' lately," said Tad, "and I've got so I can scrawl jest like her. Old Scotch and Jenks ain't never run onto each other at our house, but I've fixed it."

Tad grinned gleefully, as he made this declaration.

"Fixed it, how?" asked Frank.

"Why, I writ 'em both a letter, askin' 'em to call to-night at eight o'clock, and I signed Nancy's name. I made the letters jest a little spooney, but not too much so. I'll bet they'll be tickled to death, and they'll come sure."

"And meet there?"

"Yep."

"There's liable to be trouble."

"That's what we're lookin' for," chuckled the fun-loving youngster. "Oh, if they'd jest fight!"

"I'd like to see the circus."

"Come on over."

"I don't know as I can get away. I will come if I can."

"All right. Bring along any of the fellers."

That night Frank found a way to get leave to go to the village, and Hans, whom he had told of the coming "racket," escaped from the building and joined him outside the grounds. Together they went over to the village, and called on Tad Jones.

Tad was waiting for them, and he straightway smuggled them into the house.

"Aunt Nancy's expectin' Professor Jenks to call," he gleefully whispered. "I told her that I saw him, and he said he'd be here to-night, so she's frizzled and primped to receive him."

"You'll get into a scrape," said Frank.

"I don't care for that, if I can see some fun. Come right into the parlor, and we'll all hide. Aunt's up in her room, layin' on the finishin' touches."

Into the parlor they slipped. A fire was burning in the old-fashioned open fireplace, and it was plain that Mrs. Cobb had "spruced things up" to receive company.

"Two of us can git behind the organ in the corner here," said Tad. "The other feller can hide under the sofa."

As the sofa was a long, old-fashioned affair, and any one hidden beneath it could command a view of the entire room, Frank decided to conceal himself there.

This was barely settled when there came a sharp rap on the door.

"Git under cover quick!" hissed Tad. "That must be one of 'em!"

Tad and Hans made haste to squeeze in behind the organ, and Frank crept under the sofa.

"Shimminy Gristmas!" muttered the Dutch lad, "uf id don'd peen britty tight blace here den I ton't know somedings."

"It is all right," returned Tad, who had obtained a position where he could peer out. "Keep cool, and let your hair curl."

Pretty soon Nancy fluttered downstairs, and then Frank heard the high-pitched voice of Professor Jenks in the hall. A moment later, the widow entered the parlor.

"Oh, dear!" she simpered. "What a surprise this is, dear Mr. Jenks! Set right down on this chair close to the fire. You must be cold. Let me take your hat and coat."

"I am rather cold," squeaked the professor, as he peeled off his coat, and allowed her to take it away with his hat. "It is a chilly night. You are cozy in here."

The widow was wonderfully and artistically gotten up in a back-number silk dress, beneath which was an expansive hoop-skirt, while all around her face were cork-screw curls, meant to be very fetching. As she was somewhat deaf, although she never acknowledged it, she misunderstood the professor's last remark.

"Oh, yes," she smiled, coming back and sitting quite close to Jenks, "no one can hear. We are quite alone."

"Is that so?" gasped the professor, nervously, looking as if he contemplated flight. "I received your letter."

"You believe I'm better! Why, my dear professor, I haven't bin sick. You must have been misinformed."

"I didn't say that, Mrs. Cobb. I said that I received——"

At this moment there came another sharp rap on the door, and Professor Jenks started as if he had been struck.

"Somebody is knocking," he said.

"Rocking?" smiled Nancy. "Then take the rocking-chair. I like to rock myself pritty well."

"Somebody is knocking—knocking at the door!" cried the professor, in his high falsetto.

"Oh, somebody knocking. I will see who it is. Mrs. Jones doesn't always hear 'em. I sometimes think she is ruther hard of hearing."

As she fluttered out of the room, the professor gasped:

"I'm in a perfect sweat already! I'd rather face a battery! I wonder if she will propose? It's leap year, and she may."

Then he suddenly started to his feet, with an exclamation of surprise and anger, for he heard Professor Scotch's hoarse voice in the hall.

"Confound it!" exclaimed Jenks. "What's brought him here to-night? I don't understand this."

In came Nancy, and Professor Scotch was close behind her.

"It's so good of you both to call!" gushed the widow, girlishly. "We'll have a real lovely little chat."

Professor Scotch started back as he caught sight of his rival, and the two glared at each other. Then Scotch growled:

"You here?"

"Yes, sir," squeaked Jenks, defiantly. "Who's got a better right, I'd like to know?"

"But I'd have you to understand I was invited."

"So was I."

"But I received an invitation from this particular lady."

"So did I."

"Set right down on the sofy, Professor Scotch," urged Nancy. "We'll pop some corn, and eat some apples, and be real sociabul."

"Madame," said the little man, with great dignity, "I think there is some mistake."

"You'd like some steak?" exclaimed Mrs. Cobb, in surprise. "I never heerd of people havin' steak to treat callers on. I don't b'lieve there's a bit in the house. I s'pose you do git awful sick of the food they have over to the 'cademy. Now, if you was a married man, and hed a wife to cook for ye——"

"I say I think there is a mistake in this matter."

"Beefsteak in a platter? Yes, that's a good way to serve it."

The little professor gave a gasp, and collapsed onto the sofa. And Frank promptly jabbed a hatpin up through the sofa, so that it penetrated the professor to a distance of about a quarter of an inch.



CHAPTER XXII.

A LIVELY CALL.

"Whoop!" roared the big voice of the little man, and Professor Scotch shot into the air like a jumping-jack out of a box. "Wow!" he howled, clutching convulsively at that part of his person which had felt the hatpin. "What did I sit down on?"

The widow looked frightened, and Professor Jenks looked astonished.

"What did I sit down on?" repeated Professor Scotch, his red hair bristling with anger.

"Why, you sat on the sofa, sir," squeaked Jenks.

"Then there must be a whole nest of wasps concealed in that sofa!" shouted Scotch. "I was stung, or I was stabbed—I don't know which."

"Why, I'm sure I cannot imagine what the matter with you can be," fluttered the widow, in distress.

"Well, I don't know what is the matter with your old sofa."

He spoke so loudly that she understood him, and she immediately turned up her nose.

"Old sofa, sir—old sofa! There is nothing the matter with that sofa. Your language is surprisingly offensive, sir."

"Te-he, he, he!" giggled Jenks. "Now you're getting it, Scotch! You've put your foot in it."

"Beg your pardon—beg your pardon," roared the little man. "I did not mean any offense, Mrs. Cobb, but I assure you there must be a dagger concealed in that sofa, for some pointed weapon entered my person in a most painful manner. If you will excuse me, I'll take this chair, for I really do not dare sit down there again."

The widow gave a sniff.

"Your courage is very limited," she said. "Now, I do love to admire a man with courage enough to——"

"Ex-cuse me," squealed Jenks, elevating his voice. "The sofa is good enough for me."

Down he sat upon it, smiling triumphantly.

Frank still had the hatpin—which he had found on the floor beneath the sofa—ready for use, but he held his hand a bit, knowing he could give Jenks a greater shock if he should be pricked after, he had sat there a while in apparent security.

"Oh, you're a daring blade—you are!" sneered Scotch, fiercely, as he glared at Jenks. "You'd walk right up to the mouth of a cannon—if you knew it wasn't loaded!"

"Well, I never yet got frightened by a hair-cloth sofa," squeaked Jenks.

The widow smiled seductively on the long and lanky professor.

"You don't find nothing the matter with the sofy, do you, professor?" she asked.

"Not a thing," piped Jenks. "It is ever the wicked man who feels the pricks of conscience. Now, my conscience is easy, and so I do not feel——We-e-e-ow! Murder! I'm stabbed! I'm killed! We-e-ow!"

Professor Jenks shot into the air with such suddenness and vigor that he thumped his head against the low ceiling, which seemed to fling him back upon the sofa, and Frank promptly gave him a second dose of hatpin.

"Wo-o-ouch!" squealed the tall professor, bounding up again, and dancing wildly round the room, with his hands concealed beneath the tails of his coat. "That sofa is filled with broadswords and bayonets! It is stuffed with deadly weapons!"

Professor Scotch literally roared with laughter.

"Oh, there's nothing the matter with the sofa!" he laughed. "Just go right back and sit down there. Ha! ha! ha! It is ever the wicked man who feels the pricks of conscience. Ha! ha! ha! Ho! ho! ho!"

"Shut up!" piped Jenks, coming close to Scotch, at whom he shook his fist threateningly. "Shut up, or I will thump you!"

"Don't you dare do it here. If you do, I'll——"

"What?"

"I'll see you later."

"Landy massy!" spluttered Nancy. "I do believe you've both been tooken crazy!"

Behind the organ were two boys who were holding their hands over their mouths to keep from roaring with laughter, while Frank, under the sofa, was finding it no easy task to be silent.

The widow was frightened, and both of the professors immediately sought to reassure her. They pranced up on either side, and Scotch began:

"Don't be alarmed, Mrs. Cobb; we'll not fight——"

"You're not tight? Well, you act as if you were, and that's a fact."

"Oh, go fall on yourself, Scotch!" advised Jenks, dropping into the slang he had overheard some boy use. "This is an unfortunate affair."

"What's the matter with my hair?" indignantly asked the widow, as she caressed her corkscrew curls. "You are getting very personal, sir."

"Ho! ho!" laughed Scotch, guardedly. "Now you are getting it, Jenks!"

"You make me tired!"

"Go have your voice filed, so you won't be an old woman."

"Who be you callin' an old woman?" cried Nancy, catching the words with wonderful quickness. "I must say your language is most surprisin' and offensive, sir."

"Excuse me," roared Scotch. "I was speaking to Mr. Jenks."

"But he isn't a woman," said Nancy, suspiciously. "I don't know why you should use such language to him."

"You've put your foot in it now," snickered the little man.

"And I don't know what he's grinnin' and laughin' about. You both act as if too much studyin' and tooterin' was beginnin' to affect your brains. Now, why, don't you both git married, and give up this awful wearin' life you are leadin'?"

"That's just what I called to see about," declared Professor Scotch, bracing up. "I called to pro——"

"Hold on!" squealed Jenks, excitedly. "I was here first, and I will have my first say. Mrs. Cobb, my heart has long yearned for domestic joys and comforts."

"Oh, I don't keer how much you've earned; it's what you've saved that counts."

"Oh, if I had that voice, I'd go break it!" sneered Scotch. "Try again, Hyson, and you'll get her so twisted that I'll stand a good show of winning her."

So Jenks braced up and tried again.

"I say my heart has yearned——"

"Sody-water or magneeshy is good for heartburn," smiled the widow.

"Ye gods!" gasped Jenks. "I didn't know she was so hard of hearing."

"Oh, sail in and win her!" chuckled the little professor. "You're doing first rate."

"Mrs. Cobb," continued Jenks, "I am not much given to the follies of life. I am a very grave man——"

"And I do so admire a brave man!" gushed Nancy.

While passing through the village on the way to Tad Jones' home, Frank had purchased an automatic mouse. Being wound up, the mouse would run swiftly across the room.

At this juncture, Frank pointed the mouse toward Nancy, and let it go, at the same time giving a squeak, which both professors distinctly heard.

Nancy saw the mouse coming, and she uttered a wild shriek of terror, clutching Professor Jenks around his slender neck.

"Save me! Save me from that terrible beast!" she squawked.

It happened that the professor was quite as scared of a mouse as Nancy could be, and he broke away and jumped up on a chair, squealing:

"Murder! We'll all be bitten!"

In a most remarkably skillful manner the widow sprang up to the top of the center-table, where she stood, in a stooping position, her head against the ceiling.

"Who's scared of a mouse!" sneered Professor Scotch, as he gave chase to the toy, which bumped against various pieces of furniture, and so kept dodging about.

Under the chair on which Jenks stood ran the mouse. Scotch knocked the chair over, and Jenks uttered a wild shriek as he came down astride the little professor's neck. Then both rolled against the center-table, which was upset.

Down came Nancy, like a balloon, nearly smothering the two professors, upon whom she alighted.

This was too much for Tad Jones, who burst into a shriek of laughter, jumped out, and extinguished the light, and shouted:

"Skip, fellows—skip!"

Frank and Hans lost no time in leaving their places of concealment and hustling out of the room, abandoning the two professors to their fate.



CHAPTER XXIII.

SKATING FOR HONORS.

"I nefer seen der peat uf dot alretty yet," declared Hans, as he and Frank were hurrying back to the academy. "Uf dot don'd peen der piggest racket vot nefer vos, you dunno vot I vos talkin' apout."

"If it is found that we know anything about it, we will be sure to get into trouble," said Frank. "Should anybody question you, why you must be ignorant as a mule."

"You pet me your life I vos. I vill peen ignorand as a clam."

But it seemed that the professors did not suspect that any of the academy boys had been present, and so no inquiries were made in the school.

Tad Jones, however, was accused of having some of his village chums in the scrape, and, when he refused to tell their names, he was soundly strapped by his father, who had sincerely hoped one of the professors would propose to Nancy and take her away without delay.

Just how the rival professors had escaped was not known, but, if possible, the coldness between them was more pronounced than ever. The feud seemed of a deadly nature, and some of the boys declared that Jenks and Scotch were certain to fight a duel over Nancy sooner or later.

The following Saturday was fine, and that afternoon large numbers of the boys from the academy sought the village pond, where the skating was excellent.

By mid-afternoon there were between two and three hundred skaters on the long pond, while half as many spectators were gathered on the shore.

It was a lively and pleasant scene. Inza Burrage was there, with her chosen companion, May Blossom. Inza was a beautiful skater, and so was much sought as a companion by the boys. Three times did Frank approach her to ask her to skate with him, and each time he saw her carried off by some one else.

She was in a coquettish mood that day, and her merry laughter as she skated away each time proved rather tantalizing to Frank, who finally muttered:

"All right; two can play at that game."

It was almost, if not quite, May Blossom's first attempt at skating, and, although she was doing very well, her company was not in such demand as that of Inza.

Seeing May alone, Frank immediately skated to her side, and he was soon doing his best to instruct her in the correct handling of her feet. They seemed quite absorbed in each other's company, and not even Inza's ringing laugh, as she sped past with Paul Rains, caused either of them to glance up.

At first Inza had not minded Frank's attentions to May, but, as time slipped away, and they still clung together, laughing, chatting, and minding no one else, she began to grow uneasy.

"Oh, she can have him, if she wants him!" muttered Inza, her cheeks beginning to burn. "There are any amount of other fellows."

That was quite true, but, in her heart, she knew full well that there was no other fellow she cared so much for as she did for Frank Merriwell.

From this moment she ceased to enjoy herself, and she could not keep from watching Frank and May, although she tried to do so. She grew petulant, and those who were in her company found her surprisingly crisp and disagreeable.

Whenever she could, she skated past Frank and May, and she always laughed as she did so, but there was a false note in her laughter—it did not seem very sincere.

Paul Rains was a beautiful skater. He could cut fancy figures that took away the breath of the village boys, and all his movements were graceful and rhythmical. He could write his name with his skates, and every letter was perfect and clean cut as if done with a pen. It was not long before all eyes were centered on him, and Inza did not fail to note that he seemed to be the principal attraction on the pond.

So Inza skated a great deal with Paul, hoping to arouse Frank's jealousy; but, to her overwhelming dismay, after he began to skate with May, Frank seemed to forget there was any one else on the pond.

"I believe he really likes her better than he does me!" thought Inza. "And she, knowing all my secrets, knowing how much I think of Frank, is doing her best to cut me out! Oh, that is true friendship!"

She felt like crying with vexation, and, once or twice, tears did come to her eyes; but she forced them back, continuing to skate and laugh.

Arrangements were made for a skating contest to take place very soon. One of the gentlemen of the village offered a "badge of honor" to the swiftest skater on the pond—the one who could win the race.

Paul Rains entered, as also did Bartley Hodge and Sammy Smiles from the academy. Three village boys entered.

Then Hodge sought Frank, saying:

"Come, old man, we want you in this race."

"Oh, I am busy," laughed Frank, noticing that Inza was near, although he did not glance in her direction. "I am teaching Miss Blossom to skate, and she is getting on famously."

"Well, I think she will excuse you a few minutes. You may go on with your lessons after the race."

"Oh, say, can't you get along without me?"

"Can't anyway; you must come along."

"Well, if I must, I must," murmured Frank, with mock distress. "I will see you later, Miss Blossom, and we will do our best to induce that left foot to make the stroke properly."

So, bowing and smiling, he left her, and, in her heart, Inza cried:

"If he skates with her again this afternoon, I'll be outwitted—that's all!"

As Bart drew Frank aside, he hastily and guardedly said:

"You must go into this race to win, old man. Rains' friends have been saying you would not dare skate against him, and that he would have a walk-over if you did."

Frank's teeth came together with a click.

"Is that so!" he exclaimed. "Well, they may be right; but we'll see."

That was quite enough to put him on his mettle, and he lost no time in entering for the race.

A short time later the seven contestants were drawn up in line, waiting the signal.

One mile up the pond a rock reared its head from the ice, where, at low water, there was a tiny rocky island. Every contestant was to "turn the rock" and skate back to the starting point, making a race of two miles in two long, straight stretches.

The gentleman who had offered the badge of honor stood, pistol in hand, ready to give the signal. The contestants leaned forward for the start.

"Ready!"

Muscles were drawn taut, nerves were tingling.

"One! two! three!"—Bang!

Away darted the skaters, and the race had begun.

A cheer went up from the spectators.

Paul Rains took the lead at the very start, for he seemed to jump away at astonishing speed, while the others were gathering headway.

"Rains has a snap this time," declared one. "Merriwell may be able to take the honors at jumping, but he won't be in this kind of a contest."

"Jist wait a whoile an' see about thot, me b'y," said Barney Mulloy, who had overheard the remark. "Frankie is as full av surproises as a horrunet's nest is full av stings."



CHAPTER XXIV.

SKATING FOR LIFE.

During the entire first half of the course there were four of the seven contestants who made a good showing. These were Rains, Merriwell, Hodge and one of the village boys.

Through it all Rains kept the lead, but the village lad was second until the turning point was nearly reached. Then Merriwell settled down to business and took second place, while Hodge pushed the village boy hard.

Rains' heart was full of triumph. Over and over he told himself:

"At last I have found something at which I can defeat Merriwell fairly!"

Rains believed he was safely in advance, and this delusion was not broken till the last half mile of the course was struck. Then he heard somebody's skates ringing close behind, and, looking over his shoulder, he saw Frank bearing down on him like the wind.

Paul's heart gave a great leap.

"By Jove!" he breathed. "That fellow means to press me! But he shall not come in first—he shall not!"

Then he strained every muscle, and, for a few seconds, the distance between them did not seem to diminish.

Frank, however, held steadily to that terrible speed, and Paul began to fear he could not stand it to the finish, for his head was beginning to grow unsteady, and there was a wild roaring in his ears. Through a bluish mist he saw the great crowd on the shore near the starting point, and he knew the eyes of hundreds were upon the contestants.

"I'll die before he shall pass me!" thought Rains.

And then, once more, he heard the skates of his rival ringing clear close at his elbow. One wild look he cast over his shoulder, and there was Merriwell, fearfully near—and gaining!