Two days passed, and Thornton began to think he would not hear anything from his "mash." Then came an invitation to spend an evening at Winnie Lee's, and Winnie hinted that among her guests there was to be a young lady from the country who wished to apologize for intruding upon Mr. Thornton in his room.

"It's Grace Darling!" thought Tom, exultantly. "She will be introduced to me! And she must be of fine people to be accepted as a guest at Miss Lee's, for the Lees belong to the elite of the town. Oh, Gracie is all right, if she is from the country!"

On the evening of the party Tom arrayed himself in his finest, used perfumery liberally—too liberally—on his handkerchief and his clothes, and set out with a light heart for Miss Lee's.

As old readers know, Winnie Lee and Frank Merriwell were very friendly. As Winnie was of a lively disposition and enjoyed a joke thoroughly, it was not difficult for Frank to induce her to aid him in carrying out his plan.

Winnie was all the more ready to do so because she disliked Tom Thornton, who had made himself offensive by having declared that he could "catch" her without a struggle if he so desired, but she was not his style.

This had been repeated to Winnie, and she had treated Thornton with the utmost disdain since hearing it; but Frank had urged her to consent to invite Tom to the party that the joke might be carried out, and she finally had consented.

For a moment Thornton wondered when he received the invitation, and then he decided that "Grace Darling" must have induced Miss Lee to offer it.

Tom little dreamed of the surprising events that were to take place before the evening was passed.



CHAPTER XVI.

ANOTHER CHALLENGE.

Thornton found Merriwell, Diamond, Rattleton and Browning were among Winnie Lee's guests. This he had expected, however, and he was resolved to notice them as little as possible.

Willis Paulding was there, and Tad Horner came later, much to Tom's surprise, as he had not known Tad had been invited.

There were a number of jolly girls, and Thornton was not long in looking around for Grace Darling.

When Tom finally discovered her, to his disgust, she was chatting with Jack Diamond in a cozy corner, which was almost shut off from the rest of the room by portieres.

"Hang that fellow!" thought Thornton. "He has been introduced to her, and he has lost no time in getting in his work."

As soon as Diamond left the girl Tom hastened to find Winnie Lee, of whom he requested an introduction to "Miss Darling."

"Oh, yes!" said Winnie, laughing; "she spoke of you, but I had almost forgotten. I trust you will find her very entertaining, Mr. Thornton."

"I am sure I shall," said Tom. "We have seen each other, you know, but have not been introduced."

"And she is very particular about that. Being bred in the country, she is not fully conversant with the ways of the world, but she knows an introduction is the proper thing, and she insists on that. There she is."

"Miss Darling" was seen chatting with a number of young gentlemen and ladies who had gathered about her.

The group scattered as Winnie and Tom came up. "Miss Darling" saw them, and timidly held her fan before her face, peering over it shyly.

"Mr. Thornton," laughed Winnie Lee, "it gives me the greatest pleasure to introduce you to Miss Darling."

Tom bowed profoundly, while the girl giggled, and made a courtesy. Winnie Lee laughed more than ever.

At a distance Frank Merriwell and Jack Diamond were watching.

"Will you see Winnie Lee!" softly exclaimed Merriwell. "She is nearly exploding with laughter. She can't hold it. It will be a miracle if Thornton does not tumble."

"All the others are laughing," said Jack. "They had to get away when Thornton was introduced. He will be crazy when he finds out how he has been fooled."

Frank was laughing.

"Oh, yes; he'll tear his hair. The story is bound to circulate. Don't give him too much time with Griswold before you get in your work and challenge him. Horner is in the game, and he has agreed to help it along."

"Thornton will murder Horner."

"It will be remarkable if they do not suddenly cease to room together."

"Have you brought the pistols?"

"You bet! Everything is ready. Willis Paulding must be involved. We must soak him, as well as Thornton. There go Thornton and his mash toward the cozy corner. You must intrude before it becomes too warm for Griswold, or he is liable to give the whole snap away."

In the meantime Thornton had expressed his delight at meeting his charmer again, and had led her away to the very cozy corner in which he had seen her chatting so vivaciously with Jack Diamond.

Once in the corner the girl ensconced herself in the shadow of the portieres, and, for the first time, the fan dropped from her face.

"This is charming," declared Thornton, in his most fascinating manner. "Ever since I first saw you I have dreamed of an occasion like this, Miss Darling."

The girl giggled.

"Oh, you are such a flatterer, Mr. Thornton!" she returned, leaning toward him.

"Not at all," declared Tom, as, apparently by accident, his hand fell on hers and remained there. "I am telling you the truth. Since that hour when fate led you to my room, I have thought of you almost constantly by day, and I have dreamed of you at night. Your face has been before my eyes continually."

Her head was bowed, so he could not see her eyes. He felt her hand quiver in his clasp.

"Oh, I am not doing a thing!" was his mental exclamation. "She can't resist me!"

He grew bolder with amazing rapidity. He seemed to fancy that he could do so with this unsophisticated country girl without being "called down."

"Miss Darling," he murmured, leaning yet nearer to her, and holding her hand with both of his own, "do you believe in love at first sight?"

She giggled again.

"Why, I don't know," she confessed.

"I do," declared Tom. "I did not till I met you, but since that delightful moment I have."

"Oh, rot!" the girl seemed to say.

"Eh?" exclaimed Thornton, in astonishment. "What did you say?"

"I said, 'I think not,'" was the laughing answer. "My cousin has told me all about college fellows, and how they pretend to be all broken up over a girl, but are giving her the dead jolly all the time."

Tom gasped, for the girl rattled off slang as if thoroughly familiar with it. But this dampened Thornton's ardor for no more than a moment.

"I never give any one a jolly, Miss Darling," he declared, trying to appear sincere. "Miss Darling!" he murmured. "What a sweet name! And it suits you so well!"

"Do you think so?" laughed the girl.

"I do—I do!" palpitated Thornton. "It will be a lucky fellow who can call you his darling! If I might——"

"Mr. Thornton, you are presuming! This is too much!"

Then Jack Diamond suddenly appeared, and asked:

"Did you call for aid, Miss Darling?"

"I was about to do so," declared the girl. "Mr. Thornton has been very presuming and forward."

"Then Mr. Thornton shall answer to me!" came sternly from Jack's lips. "If he is not a coward, he will come outside."

Tom turned pale and stammered. He felt like refusing to go outside, but he feared the girl would think him a coward. Then he looked around, and his eyes fell on Willis Paulding.

"Yes, I will go out with you," he said.

"Miss Darling" seemed to be overcome with fear.

"Don't kill him, Jack!" she whispered.

So she addressed Diamond as "Jack." That fired Thornton till he longed to strangle the Virginian.

"Lead on!" he exclaimed. "I will follow."

They left the room, Thornton calling to Willis, who followed them, wonderingly.

Diamond had made a signal to Merriwell, and Frank was not far behind.

Diamond led the way to the garden.

It was a moonlight night, and seemed almost as light as day.

"Mr. Thornton," said Diamond, sternly, "you have grossly insulted a young lady friend of mine. It is my duty to protect her. I challenge you to fight me, the weapons to be pistols, the place here, and the time now. Your answer, sir—your answer!"

Thornton turned pale, and hesitated. He knew nothing of dueling, and therefore did not know that, being the challenged party, it was his privilege to name the weapons, the time and the place.

In a moment, he found Tad Horner at his elbow. Where Tad had come from and how he happened to be there Tom could not conceive. But Tad was on hand, and he whispered:

"Take him up, old man—take him up! He is a regular fire-eater—in his mind. He thinks you will squeal. If he finds you will fight, he is sure to back out. He hasn't any real nerve. If he does fight, I'll fix it all right, for I will see that the pistols are loaded with blank cartridges. After the first shot, I will demand that the duel cease. Thus you will get the reputation of having fought a duel, without incurring any danger to yourself."

Thornton was pleased with the scheme. He wished to be considered a dare-devil sort of fellow, and he felt that it would give him a great reputation if he fought a real duel.

"Sir," he said, turning to Diamond, "I accept your challenge, and I shall do my best to shoot you through the heart!"

Five minutes later came the question:

"Gentlemen, are you ready?"

"All ready," answered both Diamond and Thornton.

"I will count three, and then give the word," said Frank Merriwell, distinctly. "One!"

Despite himself, Willis Paulding felt his flesh creep and heard his teeth chatter.

Thornton was shaking, even though he had been assured by Tad Horner that there were no bullets in the pistols.

Diamond was cool as an iceberg. The bright moonlight seemed to show a look of deadly determination on his face.

"Confound him!" thought Thornton, quaking. "He'd as lief fight a duel as eat! Hang those Southerners! They do not know what it is to be afraid!"

"Two!" counted Merriwell.

The duelists raised their weapons and seemed to take careful aim.

"Three—fire!"

At that instant there was a scream, and a female figure sprang out from the shadows and rushed before Jack just as Thornton pulled the trigger.

There was a single report, and the female figure dropped to the ground, although Diamond tried to catch her in his arms.

Thornton, the smoking pistol in his hand, stood staring, as if turned to stone.

"Good gracious!" gasped Willis Paulding. "You have shot somebody, Thornton, deah boy!"

"There must have been some mistake," said Tad Horner. "It seems that there was a bullet in your pistol, Tom!"

Thornton hurried forward and looked down at the fallen girl, whose eyes were closed, and whose face seemed ghastly pale in the white moonlight.

"It is Miss Darling!" came hoarsely from Tom. "I have killed her!"

"Don't let the murderer escape!" cried Diamond, sternly. "Seize him and his second! They are both guilty!"

"Excuse me!" fluttered Willis Paulding. "I think I will go right away, don't yer 'now!"

Then he took to his heels, and ran, as if pursued by a hundred officers of the law.

Thornton was scarcely less terrified, and he slipped away into the shadows while the others were gathered around the fallen girl.

When both Willis and Tom were gone, the girl suddenly sat up, and burst into a peal of boyish laughter.

"There!" cried the voice of Danny Griswold; "didn't I do that all right? I wouldn't be surprised if Thornton's hair turned gray. But I'm going to get out of this rig as soon as possible. These corsets are killing me. I can't get a full breath."

"You little rascal!" laughed Frank Merriwell, as he gave Griswold a shake. "You are a born actor, and you have given Tom Thornton a shock that he will not get over for some time—to say nothing of Willis Paulding."

"If it cures Thornton of bragging about his mashes I'll be satisfied," said Tad Horner. "But I'm afraid he'll never forgive me. I'll have to make a hustle and find him before he does something desperate. I'll tell him Miss Darling simply fainted, and was not injured at all. Good-night, fellows. See you later."

Then he hastened away.

"Well, Jack," said Frank, addressing Diamond, "it strikes me that you and I are more than square with Mr. Flemming and Mr. Thornton."

"I think that is right," admitted the Virginian, with a grim smile.



CHAPTER XVII.

PURE GRIT.

All other college sports seem to grow dim in comparison with the great spring race. It is the crowning athletic event of the season. The vast gathering of people at New London occurs but once a year, and the only event to be compared with it is the annual football game in New York.

New London for a week before the race is filled with "old grads," fathers of Yale men who are interested in boating, college lads, mothers of students, sisters and sweethearts.

At Eastern Point the Fort Griswold House is thronged with persons of this sort. The Pequod is overflowing. On the broad piazzas old classmates meet and talk over former victories and defeats. There they watch the thronging craft upon the river.

Every one talks boating, whether he knows anything about it or not. "Willie off the yacht" is there, togged in flannels and making a desperate struggle to roll in his gait. For a week, at least, he is a waterman, with the salt flavor in everything he says or does.

And the girls—the girls! They, too, dress in flannels and yachting caps, and they try to talk knowingly about "strokes," "oars" and "the crew." But they are charming—every one of them!

Yale and Harvard's quarters are on the left bank near Gale's Ferry. Many of the "old oars" are permitted to visit the crew. The great coachers are there. They are regarded with awe and respect, for surely they know everything there is to know about racing!

The race comes off at five in the afternoon. By midday the town is full, and every train brings fresh throngs of laughing girls and boisterous students. All are decorated with the blue or the crimson. Flags are everywhere, and there are horns in abundance.

At the docks the great Sound steamers are moored, and they are packed with sight-seers. There are numberless yachts on the river, all decorated with gay colors and thronged with gay parties.

Within the boathouse, preparations were being made for the race. Collingwood was giving final instructions to his men. Bastow, an old coach, was surveying each and every one in the most critical manner possible.

They were handsome fellows, these men of the crew. Their flesh was brown and firm, and their eyes were bright. They had broad backs and powerful shoulders.

Collingwood looked troubled. It was evident there was something on his mind. Fred Flemming, in a new spring suit, is talking with Popkay, the little cox. Some wonder that Flemming, who had been dropped for Merriwell, should be there.

Among the spectators on a certain yacht are Tom Thornton and Willis Paulding. They are watching for the crew to appear, and, as they watch, Thornton says something that betrays a knowledge of Flemming's presence in the boathouse.

"I'll go you two to one that Flem rows after all," he declares. "Do you dare take me, Paulding?"

"By the way you say that I should think you were betting on a sure thing, don't yer 'now," drawled Willis.

"I am," asserted Tom. "I have it straight that Merriwell is not in trim, and will be laid off. Flemming was called to quarters at the last moment."

"It'll be a corker on Merriwell if he is not allowed to row, by Jawve!"

"Yes; it will give me no end of satisfaction. That fellow put up the 'Grace Darling' job on me, and Diamond helped him to carry it out. I have been a guy for the whole college ever since Danny Griswold told down at Morey's how he fooled me. Some day I'll wring that little rat's neck!"

"They never could have worked the game if Horner hadn't helped them."

"Of course not; but I have cut clear of Horner. We have separated, and I never give the fellow a look when we meet. Like the other fools, he is stuck on Merriwell, and he thought he was doing something cunning when he helped them work the horse on me."

"If Merriwell doesn't row you'll have a chance to get back at them. You can say you knew it all the time, old chappie."

"Oh, he won't row to-day, and I'll rub it in when I get the opportunity."

Within the boathouse, at this very moment, Bob Collingwood was saying to Frank Merriwell:

"You cannot row in the race to-day, Merriwell. You are out of condition."

Frank turned pale.

"If you say I can't row, that settles it," he said, huskily; "but I think you are making a mistake. I can row, and I'll prove it, if you will give me the chance. You shall have no cause to complain of me."

"But I know you are not fit to pull an oar. You have tried to conceal it from me, but I know you have a felon on your hand. Am I right?"

"You are right," calmly admitted Frank; "but give me a chance, and I will row for all there is in me, even if it takes my arm off at the shoulder."

Collingwood looked into Merriwell's eyes, and what he saw there caused him to say: "All right, my boy, you shall row if we lose by it."

"If we lose the race it will not be my fault," returned Merriwell.

The Harvard cheer broke from a thousand throats as the Harvard crew came down the stream and arrived first at the start. Yale followed almost immediately, and two students who were on a trim little yacht craned their necks and glared at the men in the boat.

Something like a groan escaped the lips of Tom Thornton, and Willis Paulding declared:

"I don't see Flemming, but Merriwell is there!"

"Yes!" grates Tom; "he has managed to keep his place somehow! Well, that settles it! Harvard will win!"

Orders were shouted, and then it was seen that both crews were "set." The men, their brown backs gleaming in the afternoon sunshine, were reaching forward at arm's length, ready for the first stroke.

A voice was heard commanding them to make ready, then came the cry: "Go!"

There was a pistol shot, and both boats darted forward. The four-mile race to the railway bridge piers of New London had begun.

In an instant the great crowd set up a wild cheering, and colors fluttered everywhere. Away went the boats, side by side. Harvard's style of rowing had changed completely from that of the previous year, when her boat had jumped at every stroke. Now her crew bent with a long sweep that sent the boat through the water with a steady motion.

Yale used a shorter and more snappy stroke. The men seemed to have more life at the start, but it was the kind of a stroke that was sure to pump away their energy to a great extent in a long race.

But Collingwood was crafty. He knew that it would be an easy thing to take the life out of his men by steep work at the beginning, and he doubted if the advantage thus gained could be held. To a certain extent, he regulated Yale's speed by that of its rival.

In his heart Collingwood feared Harvard's new style of rowing. He was not willing to acknowledge that anything English could be superior to anything American, and yet he remembered how the freshmen of 'Umpty-eight, coached by Merriwell, had adopted something like the Oxford stroke, and had won the race from the sophomores at Lake Saltonstall. He also remembered Merriwell's hand, and he feared the fellow must give out before the finish.

If Yale could hold her own till near the end Collingwood hoped to win by a spurt. Outside of Merriwell, he felt that the crew was in perfect condition. He was sure the men were superior to those in the Harvard boat.

Harvard begins to gain. That strong, steady stroke is telling. It looks as if the crimson lads were going to pull away from the blue with ease.

Collingwood does not allow himself to get excited in the least. He keeps his men steadily at work, husbanding their strength as far as possible.

"'Rah! 'rah! 'rah! Harvard! Harvard!" roared the crowd.

Frank Merriwell was working perfectly with the rest, and no one could imagine from his appearance that every stroke seemed to drive a keen knife from his wrist to his elbow. His face was very pale, but that was all.

At the end of the first mile Harvard was two lengths in advance, and seemed to be gaining. Still Yale worked steadily, showing no signs of excitement or alarm.

The crowds on the yachts were waving hats and handkerchiefs and flags. They cheered and yelled and hooted like human beings gone mad. It was a scene of the wildest excitement.

It had become plain to all, despite the fact that Harvard had a lead, that the race was to be a stern one. Yale was out to win, if such a thing "lay in the wood."

When the second mile was passed Harvard was still another length in advance. But Yale was beginning to work up steadily, forcing Harvard to a more desperate struggle to hold her advantage.

When the two and a half mile flag was passed it was seen that Yale had begun to creep up. Still she was not dangerous. Her friends were encouraged, however, and the sound all Yale men love—the Yale yell—could be heard above the roaring of the crowd.

That sound seemed to put fresh life and heart into the Yale crew. At the beginning of the last mile Harvard was scarcely two lengths in advance.

It was a wonderful race. The excitement was at the highest pitch.

The Harvard crew, although it had started out so beautifully, had not the stamina to endure the strain. No. 3 was pulling out of the boat, while No. 5 showed signs of distress.

Yale begins to spurt. Her men are working like machinery. No one could dream that one of them was suffering the tortures of a being on the rack, and still such was the truth.

A hundred times it seemed to Frank Merriwell that he must give out; a hundred times he set his teeth and vowed that he would die before he would weaken. No one could know the almost superhuman courage and fortitude which enabled him to keep up and continue his work in the proper manner. Those who watched the crew closely fancied that he worked with the utmost ease, for all of the long pull.

Collingwood had forgotten Merriwell's felon. He was reckoning on the final spurt to bring "Old Eli" to the front. Harder and harder he worked his men.

Now the uproar along the river was deafening. The prow of the Yale boat was at Harvard's stern—and then Yale began to creep along by Harvard's side.

No. 7 of the Harvard crew reeled on his seat. Then he braced up and went at it again. But he was not in stroke. The faces of both crews were set. They were like gladiators battling for their very lives.

In the Yale boat was one who seemed to be growing blind and numb. In his heart he was praying for strength as earnestly as he would have prayed for the salvation of his soul. Only a few moments more—he must hold out.

The boats were side by side, and the excitement was simply indescribable. Such a finish was unprecedented. It was a race to be remembered for all years to come—to be spoken of with pride and discussed with wonder.

Then came the moment when Collingwood drove his men for all there was in them. He was pitiless, and Yale shot into the lead.

The line was crossed. Then cannons boomed and whistles shrieked. But in the Yale boat was one whose ears were deaf to all this tumult of sound.

Frank Merriwell had fallen in the bottom of the boat in a dead faint.

But Yale—Yale had won!



CHAPTER XVIII.

AFTER THE BOAT RACE.

"Breka Co ax Co ax Co ax! Breka Co ax Co ax Co ax! O—up! O—up! Paraboleau! Yale! Yale! Yale! 'Rah! 'rah! 'rah! Yale!!!"

Imagine a thousand, full-lunged, hearty, healthy American lads shouting this cry in unison! It was a sound never to be forgotten by those who heard it. The victorious blue fluttered everywhere.

Harvard had made a gallant fight, and it had been "nobody's race" almost to the finish. The Yale crew proved superior, but it won purely by brawn and stamina. Old oars confessed that up to the last half mile Harvard had shown better coaching and had seemed to establish the superiority of the Oxford oar and stroke over American methods.

But "Old Eli" had seemed to feel that it would be a lasting disgrace to be vanquished by anything about which there was an English flavor. The spirit of Bunker Hill and '76 was aroused, and the defenders of the blue were willing to die in the struggle if such a sacrifice could bring victory.

It was not the first time that pure grit had won against odds.

As the Yale boat crossed the line Frank lay, deaf to all the tumult of applause, his eyes closed, but still with his pale face set in a look of mingled pain and unyielding determination.

"It's Merriwell!" exclaimed Bob Collingwood. "I had forgotten him."

His words were drowned by the roaring of the excited thousands and the shrieking of the whistles.

The prow of the Yale boat was turned toward the bank. It was necessary to avoid the craft that came rushing about on every side, but the shore was soon reached.

"Hold her steady!" cried Collingwood. "Somebody dash water into Merriwell's face."

The command was obeyed, and in a moment Frank opened his eyes. It was at the moment when the Yale cheer was pealing from a thousand throats, and the look of pain on Merriwell's face changed to one of satisfaction and joy.

"Did we win?" he huskily asked.

Collingwood nodded, his flushed face beaming, pride in his big blue eyes.

"You bet!" he answered. "It's hard to beat Old Eli!"

"I am satisfied!" gasped Merriwell.

His eyes drooped, and he seemed on the verge of going off into another swoon.

"Throw more water on him," pitilessly directed Collingwood.

It was done, and Frank started up, gasping.

"Here—here!" exclaimed a man on the bank; "give him a pull at this. It will fix him all right."

He stooped down and held out a flask.

"What is it?" asked Frank.

"It's the best brandy money can buy," was the answer.

It was passed to Frank, but he pushed it away, shaking his head.

"I never touch liquor," he declared. "I do not want it."

"But it will not hurt you now—it will do you good," declared the man who owned the flask.

"I can get along without it."

"But I shall be offended if you do not take it."

Frank looked sharply at the man. He saw a suntanned individual, who wore a wide-brimmed hat and was dressed in clothes which were worn and appeared to have been made for service rather than for fit and elegance. There was something piercing about the man's dark eyes, and something about the beardless face that impressed it upon the boy's memory. There was a small purple scar on the man's chin, and Frank noted this, although he might have overlooked it easily in that hasty glance.

"Then you will have to be offended, sir," said Frank, firmly. "I do not wish to appear rude, but I never drink under any circumstances, and I will not begin now."

The man drew back after the flask was returned to him. The last look he gave the boy was peculiar, as Frank could not tell whether it was one of satisfaction or anger.

In a moment this man was forgotten. The boat slipped out to the Clyde, the little steam yacht that was to take the victorious crew back to quarters. The exhausted rowers were lifted on board amid renewed cheering, and the trip up the river began.

It was a triumphant procession. All along the line the Clyde, which was decorated with blue, was received with cheers and shrieking whistles. Men waved hats and flags, pretty girls fluttered handkerchiefs and pennants, squads of students gave the Yale cheer at intervals, and two scores of boats, crowded with students and friends, accompanied the boat that carried the victorious crew. The jubilant Yale men sang songs of victory and cheered till their throats ached and they were hoarse.

On board the Clyde were Jack Diamond and Harry Rattleton. When Merriwell was lifted to the deck he found himself clasped in Harry's arms, and the dear fellow laughed and cried as he hugged his roommate to his breast.

"I never dought you'd threw it—I mean I never thought you'd do it!" cried Harry, brokenly. "I thought that hand would knock you out sure. How could you do it, Merry, old boy? It must have been awful! I saw you keel over when the line was crossed, but you never havered a ware—wavered a hair till the race was over."

Frank smiled a bit.

"A fellow can do almost anything if he sets his determination on it," he said. "But I came near not having the opportunity to try."

"How was that?"

"Collingwood found out about my hand. I am afraid you said something about it, Harry."

"Not a word, save to Diamond, and not to him till after the race began."

"Well, Coll found it out some way, and he came near laying me off for Flemming, who was on hand."

"And now I understand a few things I heard this morning," broke in Diamond. "Emery and Parker were offering to bet that Flemming would row to-day."

"How much did you fake 'em tor—I mean take 'em for?" cried Harry.

"I didn't know but some of the men had given out or something, so I did not take them at all. I did not imagine for a moment that they thought Flemming was going to row in Merry's place."

Collingwood came up. He was bundled from his ears to his heels. Merriwell was in a sweater and coat.

"How's your hand, old man?" asked Bob, his eyes gleaming.

"Oh, it is giving me a jolly time!" grinned Frank, grimly. "It isn't doing a thing."

"Mr. Merriwell," said Collingwood, earnestly, "I want to tell you frankly that to-day you made the greatest display of pure grit that it has ever been my fortune to witness. I did not believe it possible you could hold out through the race with that hand, and I meant to lay you off for Flemming, although I regretted doing so, as he has not been working with us of late, and I felt that the change would weaken the crew. When you told me square and straight that it would be no fault of yours if the race were lost, I decided to keep you. After that I felt that I was making an error, but it was too late to change. Now I know it was no error, and I wish to say that I am sure you aided materially by your splendid work to win."

Others of the crew came up. Merriwell was surrounded by friends and admirers. Diamond whispered in his ear:

"You should be happy, old man, for you have triumphed over your enemies, and the story of your heroic work will be known to all Yale by Monday."

Then Collingwood led Frank below for a rub down.



CHAPTER XIX.

THE YALE SPIRIT.

At the boathouse there was a scene of riotous jollification. It was impossible to exclude the overjoyed friends of the crew. They crowded in and expressed their unbounded delight in almost every imaginable manner.

There was a popping of corks, and "fizz" began to flow freely. Now that the great race was over, the crew were no longer in training, and they were allowed to drink as much of the wine as they liked. It was forced upon them from all sides.

Merriwell was almost mobbed by the fellows who were determined that he should drink champagne with them.

"You can't refuse now, old man!" shouted Charlie Creighton. "I saw it all, and no one suspected there was anything the matter with you. Just to think that you rowed the race with a felon on your hand! It is marvelous! And I won a cool five hundred on Old Eli! Whoop! If you refuse to take a drink of champagne with me I'll call you out and shoot you through the liver pad!"

He was wildly waving a bottle of Mumm's about his head as he made this excited speech.

But Merriwell did refuse, and he did it with a firmness that showed them all that he could not be induced to drink.

"Queer chap, that Merriwell," commented Charlie Creighton, addressing his chum, Paul Hamilton. "Never knew him very well, but I've seen enough of him to know he's the clean white stuff even if he is a temperance crank."

"In the year and a half that he has been here," said Hamilton, "he has made a greater record in athletics than any other man ever made in twice that time. And think of his rowing the race to-day with that hand, and then fainting the moment he knew the line was crossed and Yale had won! I tell you, Creighton, that fellow is all sand—every bit of him."

"That's what he is," nodded Creighton. "He is running over with the true Yale spirit. I tell you, my boy, Old Yale bears mighty men! Come, let's kill this bottle of fizz, which I got off the ice expressly for Merriwell, confound him!"

Then they lost little time in opening the bottle and swallowing its sparkling contents.

Bob Collingwood was overwhelmed with congratulations. He said very little before the crowd, but to a particular friend he declared:

"It is one of the marvels of the year that we won to-day. Harvard outrowed us for fully three-quarters of the course, and she would have finished in the lead if her crew had been as stocky as ours. Their stroke is easier on a man than ours."

"Then you acknowledge at last that the Oxford stroke is superior to the American?" eagerly questioned the friend.

"I have acknowledged nothing yet, but I fear I'll be forced to."

The jubilant fellows were making the boathouse ring with songs of victory. About twenty flushed lads were roaring:

"How can they ever beat us— How can they beat Old Yale? We down 'em when they meet us, You bet we never fail! We've got 'em so they fear us In every contest fair; And soon they'll not come near us, Because they will not dare.

CHORUS: "Then give us a cheer for Old Eli— A cheer for our gallant crew; She has won, and she wins forever, With her noble boys in blue.

"Poor Harvard falls before us, She is not in the game; So swell the merry chorus, Old Eli's won again! It was a gallant battle, My boys who wear the blue; But you they cannot rattle, No matter what they do."

There were other songs, and in the midst of all this rejoicing a crowd of pretty girls, accompanied by chaperons, came into the boathouse.

Among them was Winnie Lee, who lost no time in finding Frank and congratulating him.

"I knew you would win, Frank—I knew you would!" she exclaimed, her bright eyes sparkling.

"Why, you are talking as if I rowed the whole race!" he said, laughing and blushing.

"Well, I'm sure they'd never won without you," she declared.

"That's like a girl! Of course Yale would have won anyhow! How can they beat us?"

At this moment Collingwood came up, accompanied by a gentleman who carried a case in his hand.

"Here, Merry, old boy," cried the captain of the crew, "I've brought a doctor to look after that hand of yours."

"What is the matter with your hand?" asked Winnie, anxiously.

"Oh, nothing much," assured Frank, carelessly.

"Nothing much, only there is a bad felon on it," said Collingwood.

"A felon? And you rowed with a felon on your hand? Oh, Frank!"

Winnie looked at him with added admiration showing in her eyes.

"That's what he did," nodded Collingwood. "It was the greatest display of grit I've ever seen. Do you wonder he flopped over in a dead faint when we crossed the line at the finish?"

The doctor looked at Frank's hand, which was now badly inflamed. After a thorough examination the physician glanced up at Frank and observed:

"If you were able to row with this hand, I rather think you'd endure burning at the stake by a band of Indians without uttering a murmur!"

"You dear fellow!" cried Winnie, with girlish enthusiasm; "I feel just like giving you a good hug!"

Then Frank blushed more than ever.

The doctor opened his case and proceeded to dress Merriwell's hand.

While the physician was thus employed Frank was somewhat surprised to observe at a little distance the same man who had offered him a drink of brandy as he was recovering from his swoon at the close of the race.

This man was watching the boy in a strange manner, but the moment he saw he was observed he quickly turned away.

Frank's curiosity was aroused.

"I wonder who he is and what he wants here?" thought the boy. "How did he get in here, anyway? He seems to take a remarkable interest in me, and I can't say that I like it."

The man walked away and mingled with the throng.

In a short time Frank's hand was cared for, and the doctor gave directions for future treatment of the felon.

"It is bound to trouble you for some time, and you will find it very painful," he said. "After what you have done to-day, I doubt if you sleep much to-night."

"I don't care if I do not sleep for a week so long as Yale won!" declared the boy.

"You have the true Yale spirit," said the doctor, approvingly. "Yale men carry that unconquerable spirit out into the world, and that is why Old Eli turns out so many successful men in all walks of life. I think there is no fear as to your future, my boy."

"Thank you, sir," said Merriwell, simply.



CHAPTER XX.

SPURNING A BRIBE.

"I would like to speak with you."

Frank felt a touch on his shoulder, and the words sounded in his ear. He turned quickly and found himself face to face with the mysterious stranger.

It happened that at that moment they were alone, nearly all the throng having gathered about three fellows who, with banjo, mandolin and zither, were making some lively music.

"What do you want?" asked Frank, rather suspiciously.

The man beckoned for him to come aside.

"I have something I wish to say to you, and I do not care to be overheard by others," he declared.

"Well, I wonder what sort of a snap this is?" thought Merriwell.

He hesitated a moment, and then curiosity to know what the stranger had to say overcame him, and he followed the man to a corner of the room.

The stranger was very mysterious in his manner.

"You are a likely sort of youngster," he said, in a rather noncommittal way.

"Is that what you wish to tell me?" asked Frank, sharply.

"Steady, young colt! Don't be in too much of a hurry. It doesn't pay to be in a hurry—none whatever."

Frank's impatience increased. He did not like the stranger's manner, for there was something crafty and insinuating about it.

"If any one were watching us, he'd be sure to think we were putting up some sort of a crooked game," thought Merriwell.

"My time is valuable," he said aloud.

"Then you can't make more out of it than you can by spending it gabbling with the crowd."

The man's manner was offensive, but Frank's curiosity caused him to hold himself in check and listen to what the stranger should say.

"You are interested in other sports besides rowing, I reckon?" said the unknown, inquiringly.

"Yes."

"Baseball?"

"Yes."

"I have heard that you pitch on the 'varsity nine."

"That is right."

The man assumed a more cautious air than ever, and lowered his voice still more.

"I allow that the man who pitches can throw a game, if he wants to?"

Frank's dislike for the stranger increased rapidly.

"He can throw a game if he is crooked and dirty enough to do such a mean thing!" came with spirit from the lad.

"That is putting it a heap rough," deprecatingly declared the man. "Every galoot is out for the dust. It is the way of the old world, as you will find before you have hoofed it much farther along the trail of life."

"Well, what are you driving at?"

"Yale won the race to-day, and I reckon she's got glory enough to last her a while."

"Go on."

"The last ball game of the series between Yale and Harvard comes off next week?"

"It does."

"Yale has won one, and Harvard one."

"That is right."

"Yale stands a right good chance of winning the deciding game?"

"She is pretty sure of winning."

"And I have a pot of dust on Harvard. I can get odds that Yale will win, so I can stake more money."

Frank fancied that he saw the stranger's game, and he felt his anger rising rapidly; but, with a great effort, he held himself in control, and pretended that he did not understand.

The boy looked the man over from head to heels. He was making a study of the unknown. Already he had decided by the man's appearance and language that he was a Westerner, or wished to be considered such. Frank was not absolutely certain that the fellow was not masquerading as a man from the West.

As Merriwell remained silent after the stranger's last statement, he went on:

"If there is any way of knowing as how Harvard will win, I can stake my rocks on her, and pull off a good thing."

Still Frank was silent.

"You can see that plain enough, can't you, youngster?" demanded the man, seeming to grow impatient and restless before the lad's steady, piercing gaze.

"Any one should be able to see that," was the cold answer.

"Then all I've got to do in order to make a stake is to fix it so that Harvard is dead sure of winning."

"How can you fix it?"

"I don't see but one way."

"How is that?"

"Make it worth something to the Yale team to throw the game to Harvard. I can afford to do that, I reckon; but I've got to find the right man to do the trick."

Frank's jaws seemed to grow square and hard, and there was a dangerous fire in his eyes. The stranger did not appear to discern this, however, for he went on:

"It rather strikes me that the pitcher has the best chance to do the little turn I want done, and that's why I've come to you. Now, don't go off half-cocked! Hold hard, and hear me chirp. Every young fellow at college needs money, and they need a right good bit of it, too. I don't allow that you are any exception. Now, I reckon I can show you how you can make a smart bit of a pile and do it dead easy. Nobody but you and me will ever know you did it at all, and there isn't any danger that we'll preach about it—none whatever."

"Make a square statement as to what you want," commanded Frank, finding it difficult to keep his voice from quivering, and feeling that his cheeks were burning with the angry blood that had surged into them.

"That's what I'll do, youngster. If you will pitch that game so Harvard will win, I'll give you a thousand dollars in cold cash. Now I reckon you understand me."

"I think I do," came icily from Frank. "You want me to sell the game for a thousand dollars! You put a small price on my honor, sir!"

"A small price! You talk as if a thousand were nothing! Hang me if I ever saw a youngster of your caliber! Perhaps you think I'm fooling? Perhaps you think I won't pay? Look here! I'll make it two thousand dollars, and I'll give you a thousand in advance. That is a square deal, as you must allow."

Then he took a huge roll of bank notes from his pocket. Some were new bills, while some were worn and soiled. He rapidly counted off a thousand dollars in ten, twenty, fifty and one hundred dollar bills. This money he thrust into Merriwell's hands, saying:

"There you have it, and that binds the bargain between us. I'll give you the other thousand directly Harvard wins and I collect my wagers. I'm a man of my word. I reckon it is settled?"

Frank looked at the money, making sure it was genuine. He quickly satisfied himself on that point. It was all right.

Never before had such a bribe been offered Merriwell, and, for some seconds, he stood with the money in his unbandaged hand, feeling somewhat dazed and doubtful.

"Put it out of sight!" whispered the stranger. "Don't let 'em see you have it. Give me your promise that you will throw the game to Harvard."

"I shall not pitch that game," said Frank.

"No?"

"No, sir."

"Why not?"

"My hand will not be in condition, as you should know. True it is my left hand, but I'll not be able to bat with it, even if I could pitch."

"But you would throw the game if you could pitch?"

"No!" cried Merriwell, fiercely, letting his outraged indignation flame forth. "What do you take me for? I am no sneak and traitor, and not for ten thousand dollars—not for a hundred thousand dollars—not to save my very life would I do such a dastardly thing! You have made a mistake in your man! Take back your dirty money! I would not touch a dollar of it for the world! It would contaminate me!"

Then he flung the roll of bills straight into the face of the astonished man.

As the man stooped to pick up the money, which had fallen at his feet, Frank caught him by the collar with his well hand, yanked him up, and started him on a run for an open window.

Clinging to the money, the stranger uttered a protest at such rude treatment, but he was unable to turn about or break away, although he tried to do so.

Headlong through the window Frank pitched the fellow, giving him a powerful kick to help him along.

There was a cry of pain and rage, and the man disappeared.

This act of Frank's had been noted by the others within the boathouse, and it created no little wonder and excitement.

Harry Rattleton came running up, spluttering:

"Hello, Frank! mut's the whatter—I mean what's the matter?"

"Oh, nothing in particular," answered Merriwell, quietly. "I simply fired a scoundrel, that's all."

"What was he up to, old man?" demanded Bob Collingwood, in a tone that indicated that he was sorry not to have taken a hand in the little fracas. "Did he try to do you?"

"No; but he is trying to do Yale."

"How is that?"

Frank explained, briefly telling of the bribe offered by the mysterious stranger.

A circle of lads had gathered about Merriwell, and they listened with rising anger to his words. Cries of astonishment and rage broke from their lips when Frank told of the truly astonishing bribe which the unknown had offered.

"My only regret," concluded Frank, "was that I did not have two good hands with which to handle the rascal."

"And my regret is that I was not there to handle him for you!" cried Jack Diamond.

"I wonder how the fellow got in here?" exclaimed Collingwood. "I'll have to inquire into that."

"He can't be far away," cried one of the angry lads. "Let's get out and nab him!"

"Come on! come on!" was the general cry, and there was a rush for the door.

But the unknown had not lingered in the vicinity of the boathouse. He was not found, which made it plain that he had taken to his heels as soon as he landed outside the window.

"Too bad!" growled Collingwood. "A good soak in the river is what he'd got, if we'd caught him."



CHAPTER XXI.

ON THE SPECIAL TRAIN.

Some of the lads felt like staying in New London and making a night of it, but this was strictly against rules, and those who did so took a desperate chance of getting into trouble by it.

After the race there was a general rush for the trains, and those bound west over the N. Y., N. H. & H. were crowded.

Later on there was a special train for the Yale crew and their friends. As this train was not exclusive and it was generally known that it would be run, large numbers of students waited for it, and it was quite as crowded as the trains which had preceded it.

The car containing the victorious crew was a scene of wild merrymaking. The eight muscular lads who had pulled off another victory for Old Eli were gathered in the middle of the car and surrounded by admiring friends, who cheered and sang and smashed one another's hats, and played the very Old Nick with one another.

Beer, wine and whiskey had been brought on board the train, and it was urged upon the crew. Danny Griswold was in his glory. About half the time he was perched upon the shoulders of the crowd, and it was observable that he did not refuse anything that was offered him in the way of a liquid. Still, for all that he drank so much and mixed his drinks, he did not seem to get any worse off than he had been when the train started from New London.

Charlie Creighton climbed upon the backs of two seats and made a speech.

"Hark, ye noble sons of Old Eli!" he began, with a spread-eagle gesture that came near causing him to lose his balance and fall off headlong. "This is the great day when we can get up on our hind legs and make the welkin ring with war whoops of victory. To-day we stand with one foot on Princeton's neck and the heel of the other foot gouging into Harvard's back. They have bitten the dust before us, oh, mighty warriors in blue! They have fallen like autumn leaves before a gale. We have carried our colors on to victory in many a mad scrimmage, but never have we done a better job than we did this day. During the greater part of the race it looked as if Harvard would take our scalps. We who watched the awful struggle felt our blood turn cold with fear. Then, when we looked upon the calm face of our captain [cheers], we took heart and hoped. Like clockwork he was handling his men, and his calm confidence gave them heart. They saw he did not fear the result, and when he began to drive them for the final spurt every one of that noble band responded like the greatest of heroes. [More cheers.] Then it was that Yale began to crowd Harvard. Then it was that the Harvard crew showed how the pressure was telling on them. Then it was that the backers of Old Eli who were watching the struggle became confident that we were still in it and would pull off the race after all. Then Old Yale crept into the lead, the spurt being admirably timed, so that our boat crossed the line just in time to make Old Eli again the winner. And to whom is honor due for this? You know!"

"Collingwood! Collingwood!" roared the jubilant crowd in the car. "Hurrah for dear old Bob!"

Then they cheered and cheered, and then they called for a speech from "dear old Bob."

Collingwood was lifted to his feet. He protested that he could not make a speech, but they would not be satisfied till he had said something, and so he cried:

"Well, boys, we did them—and we did them good!"

This was better than a long speech, and it produced the most unbounded enthusiasm.

When the excitement had abated somewhat, Collingwood arose again, and motioned for silence. In a moment he was receiving the full attention of every one.

"Every man on the crew deserves praise," began Bob.

"Hooray for the croll hew—I mean the whole crew!" shouted Harry Rattleton, smashing his new straw hat over Bandy Robinson's head.

"But there is one who deserves especial commendation," Collingwood added.

There was a breathless silence, and all eyes were turned on Frank Merriwell, who flushed beneath this sudden attention.

"There was one man on the crew who was not in condition to row in the race to-day, and I came very near letting him out. Now I am glad I did not, for, although he had a bad felon on his left hand, there was no man of the crew who pulled a stiffer stroke or showed more lasting powers till the finish was reached. He fainted then, it is true, but it was because of the frightful pain in his hand and arm, and I wish you to remember that he did not faint till the victory was won."

"Merriwell! 'Rah! 'rah! 'rah!"

Not even Bob Collingwood himself received a greater ovation. Frank was seized, he was lifted aloft, he was perched on the shoulders of his friends, and then there was a general howl for a speech.

Frank felt himself thrill from his hair to his toes; his eyes were dimmed with moisture, even though he laughed. In his bosom there was a choking sensation of gratitude and love for his comrades and the admiring throng around him. He forgot that he had a single foe at Yale—that he had a foe in all the wide world.

"Boys," he said, somewhat brokenly, "I did my best for dear old Yale—that is all."

That was all he said. It was enough. It seemed to touch a chord in every breast, and there was a ring of patriotism in the cheering that followed.

"Here's to good Old Yale—drink it down! Here's to good Old Yale—drink it down! Here's to good Old Yale, She's so hearty and so hale— Drink it down! drink it down! down! down!"

It seemed that every person in the car joined in singing this song. The enthusiasm was running higher and higher. In every heart the Yale spirit grew deeper and stronger during that ride from New London to New Haven. The students who were there never forgot that scene—never forgot how they thrilled with love for Old Yale. The hardships and struggles of college days were forgotten; the triumphs and joys alone were remembered.

But with it all it is certain that the result of the race had disappointed no Harvard man more than it did Fred Flemming.

At the last moment he had been overjoyed to learn that Merriwell had a bad felon on one of his hands, which, it seemed, must debar him from rowing in the great race.

Flemming had kept himself in condition as far as possible, and he lost no time to let Collingwood know that he could be called on in case of emergency.

That he would be called on seemed almost certain, for he was notified to be on hand at Yale's quarters before the time set for the race to begin.

He had been on hand, ready to strip off in a moment, and had seen Collingwood talking earnestly with Merriwell. Then, to his inexpressible astonishment, he had been told that Merriwell would row after all.

From that moment Flemming hoped and prayed that Yale would lose the race. He would have given almost anything in his power to give had Frank Merriwell been unable to row to the finish.

But Merriwell had finished the race, and Yale had won. Flemming's friends, who had bet that he would row in the race, had lost money, and they were sore also.

It was bitter gall for Flemming and Tom Thornton to pretend to rejoice over Yale's victory, but they dared not do otherwise. It happened that they waited till the special train left for New Haven, and they were on that train and in the car which carried the victorious crew.

Occasionally they cheered with the others, to keep up appearances; but, for the most part, they remained seated in a corner at one end of the car and talked in low tones.

"How was it that Collingwood happened to retain the fellow for all of his hand?" asked Thornton, referring to Merriwell.

"Ask me something easy!" exclaimed Flemming. "I am sure he intended to fire the fellow, but I think Merriwell begged to be given a show, and Collingwood did not have the nerve to chuck him off."

"Collingwood must be soft!"

"Oh, I don't know. I think that cad Merriwell must be a hypnotist by the way he gets around some fellows."

"I don't want to have anything further to do with him."

"Oh, you've lost your nerve since Merriwell and Griswold put up that girl job on you, and Diamond drew you into a bogus duel."

"That was enough to make any fellow lose his nerve."

"Rats!"

"You may say 'rats,' but you don't know how you would have felt if you had been in my place. Just as the word was given to fire and I pulled trigger, Griswold, dressed as a girl, rushed between us. I fired, and, with a frightful shriek, he fell. Then I ran forward and looked at him. The moonlight made him look deathly white, and I felt sure I had shot him. I'll never forget the sickening sensation that came over me at that moment! The hangman's noose seemed to dangle before my eyes. I dropped the pistol and rushed away to my room. I think I was stunned, for Horner found me sitting on a chair and staring blankly at the wall about an hour afterward. Then he said the girl had not been shot at all, but had fainted. Say, Flem, my boy, it is utterly impossible for me to tell the feeling of thankfulness and relief that rushed over me. I felt just like getting right down on my knees and thanking Providence, but I didn't, for Tad Horner was watching me all the time, and I saw the laughing devil in his eyes. Then, within two days, I found myself the guy of the whole college, and, finally, it all came out that 'Grace Darling' was Danny Griswold in his theatrical rig, and I had been played for a blooming guy by Merriwell and Diamond, assisted to a certain extent by Horner, my own roommate."

"And the only decent thing you ever did about it was to quit Horner cold. You've never seemed to have sand enough to make an effort to get back at Merriwell."

"I decided that Merriwell is a bad man to monkey with."

"That's rot! It's his reputation that frightens you. I'm going to watch my chance to get even with him."

"So am I, young man!" whispered a voice in Flemming's ear.

Fred whirled swiftly, and saw close at his shoulder a rather rough-appearing, smooth-faced man, who wore a wide-brimmed hat, and was weather-tanned, as if by much exposure.

"Eh?" exclaimed the college lad. "Who are you?"

"One who has a good reason to dislike that fly chap, Mr. Frank Merriwell," was his answer.

Flemming was suspicious.

"Why should you hate Merriwell?" he asked.

"Because he kicked me," was the fierce reply.

"He kicked you? Then you are the man he fired out of the boathouse? I heard about that little affair."

"I am the man."

"You should have known better than to try to bribe Merriwell to throw any sort of game or race to Harvard. That chap is so honest that he has wings sprouting under his clothes. He said you pushed a thousand dollars at him?"

"I did—I put it into his hand."

"And he flung it into your face?"

"Yes, curse him! Then he threw me out of the window!"

"Well, you do seem to have a reason for disliking him. What would you do to him if you got a good chance?"

"Ask me what I wouldn't do! All I want is the chance!"

"Can you keep your mouth closed?"

"You bet your dust! I never peach!"

"Then you may be just the kind of a man I am looking for. I want somebody with nerve. The trouble with the fellows in college who hate Merriwell is that they do not dare butt up against him. They are afraid of him."

"Well, I'm not afraid of any man living, let alone a mere boy. He's nothing but a tenderfoot! Waugh!"

"Hear them shouting over him!" muttered Thornton. "See! They have lifted him on their shoulders! One would think he alone won the race to-day!"

Then Frank was heard to make the brief speech which elicited such hearty applause.

"It is sickening!" growled Flemming, pale with jealous rage.

"It is," nodded the stranger. "It makes me want to give him back the kick he gave me!"

"If you stick to me, I promise you that you shall have a good opportunity," said Flemming.

"You may bet your rocks that I'll tie to you, pard," assured the unknown. "I'll help you to get square, and you can help me. Frank Merriwell will have to keep his eyes open if he dodges us both."



CHAPTER XXII.

THE FIGHT ON THE TRAIN.

It happened that, as he was perched on the shoulders of his friends and admirers, Frank Merriwell saw Flemming and Thornton in the further end of the car.

Merriwell would not have given his enemies more than a passing glance, but it occurred that he saw and recognized the man who was talking to Flemming.

"It is the scoundrel who tried to bribe me!" muttered Frank, angrily. "And he is with Flemming and Thornton! I fancy I smell a mouse."

Then he forced his friends to put him down, and, the moment he was on his feet, he hastened along the aisle toward the end of the car, having called Diamond to follow him.

The plotters saw Frank coming, and the expression on his face told them that there was a storm brewing.

"By Jove!" fluttered Thornton, in alarm; "he looks as if he means to thump somebody!"

Although he did not show it, Flemming was not a little alarmed by Merriwell's angry appearance.

Several of the students gathered about the crew saw there was something in the wind, and they followed Merriwell and Diamond down the crowded aisle.

Halting within a short distance of his enemies, Frank pointed straight at the stranger and cried:

"There he is! Take a good look at him, boys! That is the creature who tried to bribe me to throw the ball game to Harvard!"

His words rang through the car, and were heard by every one. The uproar and excitement that followed was quite unexpected by Frank.

A wild shout of anger broke from the college lads, and there was a scramble for that end of the car.

"Mob the wretch!"

"Thump him!"

"Choke him!"

"Don't let him get away!"

These cries broke from the crowd of lads, who strove in mad haste to get at the stranger.

"Great Christopher!" gasped Tom Thornton, in terror. "I'm going to get out of this! It's altogether too hot for me!"

Then he tried to slip away.

Flemming did not know what to do. The manner of the angry lads was alarming, and he saw no reason why he should defend a man who was quite unknown to him.

But the stranger did not wait to be defended. With a wild shout, that was like the war whoop of an Indian, he leaped up and lunged straight into the crowd, striking out right and left.

In less than ten seconds a general fight was taking place in that end of the car. Jack Diamond, who had a grudge against Tom Thornton, collared Tom as he was trying to slip away.

"Hold on!" cried the Virginian. "You can't play the sneak in that way! I saw you talking with that scoundrel! Did you and Flemming set him on to bribe Merriwell?"

"I don't know anything about it!" protested Tom, struggling. "Let go, Diamond!"

"Well, not in a hurry!" returned Jack. "I don't know where the money came from, but I believe you and Flemming tried to ruin Merriwell by bribing him to throw a game and then exposing him. If that was the trick, you fooled yourselves. Frank Merriwell is not that kind of a fellow!"

With a fierce exclamation, Thornton struck savagely at Jack's face, but Diamond dodged the blow.

"Oh, you will, will you!" he cried, and then he gave Thornton a terrible thump between the eyes.

In another moment they were at it fiercely.

Although Flemming was a big fellow with a reputation as a bully, Harry Rattleton had not hesitated to lay hands on him.

"You're a chine fap—I mean a fine chap!" shouted Harry. "So you are concerned in this attempted bribery!"

"Get out!" snarled Flemming. "I'll break your nose!"

"Break it!" invited Rattleton. "I'll try to do a little something while you are about it!"

Flemming waited to say not another word, but, quick as a flash, he did strike Harry a heavy blow on the jaw. Rattleton was staggered, but he held on to Flemming. A moment later both were swept down by the rush of the crowd.

It was something of a blind fight, and it waged with great fierceness, although in an aimless manner, for some moments. Several of the windows in the car were broken.

Bob Collingwood waded into the midst of the struggling mass of human beings, scattering them with his powerful arms, and crying:

"Here, stop this senseless scrapping! Where is the fellow who tried to bribe Merriwell?"

Where, indeed? All looked around for him, but he was gone. In some manner he had made his escape in the midst of the tumult.

"He must be on the train!" cried Frank. "He can't escape from the train till it stops! Here—I have his coat! He left it in my hands when the crowd tore us apart."

Merriwell held up the garment.

"He must be in the car back of this!" declared Collingwood. "I want to see him—I want to get a fair look at his face."

"I'd like to do something else to his face!" shouted another student. "Think of any one offering a Yale pitcher money to throw a game to Harvard!"

This brought a mad howl from the angry students.

Rattleton and Flemming had been torn apart during the struggle, and Thornton and Diamond were separated, but not until Jack had thumped the fellow he disliked, and done it several times.

Both Flemming and Thornton were forgotten. The excited students rushed out by the open door, and crowded into the rear car, which was the only one on the train to which the unknown man could have escaped.

"Where is he?" was the hoarse shout that went up, as the angry boys packed into the car.

They looked desperate and dangerous, as if they were thirsting for human blood.

At the farther end of the car a man in his shirt-sleeves crouched and muttered:

"Well, derned if I expected to kick up this sort of a rumpus! I've seen all kinds of mobs, but I will allow that this reminds me of a regular Judge Lynch crowd, and no mistake. Never judged a lot of youngsters would get stirred up this way any whatever. They're on a regular rampage."

He kept out of sight as far as possible, feeling that it was the most "healthy" thing to do.

"Where is he?" demanded Collingwood, who was just ahead of Merriwell—"where is the man who belongs to this coat? He must have come in here! Did a man in his shirt sleeves come in here?"

"Yes, yes!" replied several. "What has he been doing?"

"Doing!" roared "Dear Old Bob," flushed with anger. "Why, he is the creature that tried to bribe Merriwell!"

It seemed that this piece of business was generally known, for Collingwood's words produced a roar of indignation.

Down at the rear end of the car a young man stood up and shouted:

"This way! Here he is! He can't get away!"

Then it seemed that the students all spotted their game at the same moment, and there was a fierce scramble for that end of the car.

The hunted man saw them coming, and a desperate look settled on his face.

"I'd as lief fall into the clutches of a whole tribe of Apache Indians!" he gasped. "They're after my scalp for sure!"

He leaped to the door, and tore it open.

"Stop!" rang out the voice of Frank Merriwell. "You cannot escape, for you will be killed if you leap from the train!"

The man hesitated one moment. He saw the college lads rushing down the aisle, and then, although the train was making a speed of at least forty miles an hour, he descended the steps.

Collingwood and Merriwell came out through the open door. As they reached the platform, they saw the man clinging in the darkness at the foot of the steps. He was in a crouching position, his hands clasping the iron holds. In the gloom his face seemed fully as white as the sleeves of his shirt, which fluttered in the breeze.

"For Heaven's sake, don't jump!" cried Frank.

Collingwood tried to grasp the man by the arm. As he did so, the mysterious man dropped from the steps, instantly disappearing in the darkness.

"He's gone!" gasped Frank, horrified.

"Yes, he is gone!" said Collingwood, hoarsely. "That's the end of him, for surely he was killed when he struck the ground!"



CHAPTER XXIII.

SEEN AGAIN.

For two days Frank scanned all the newspapers for an account of the finding of the body of an unknown man somewhere on the line of the N. Y., N. H. & H. R. R., but he looked in vain.

"Well, that is remarkable!" Merriwell decided. "I can't understand it. If that fellow escaped, it is a miracle. And if he escaped, I believe I shall hear from him again," he finished.

The spring term was drawing to a close. But two more events were to transpire before the coming of the long summer vacation. There was the final ball game with Harvard, and then the great intercollegiate athletic tournament at Madison Square Garden in New York—the latter affair to be the great college event of the year.

Frank was entered for several of the contests in New York, but his hand, although improving, would not be in condition to allow him to play ball again that season.

As for the coming vacation, his plans were not perfected as yet. Some of his friends were going to Bar Harbor, some contemplated spending the summer quietly at home, some were going abroad for a flying trip, and many had expressed themselves as quite undecided as to the manner in which they would pass the summer months.

Frank had boldly proposed a bicycle journey across the continent, but all his friends, with the exception of Diamond, had considered the proposition a joke.

Diamond grew enthusiastic over it, urging Merriwell to carry out the plan, even though but two of them should make the jaunt.

Frank's plan embraced a party of at least four—possibly more. What made Rattleton believe that Merriwell was joking was that Frank had soberly asked Bruce Browning, the reputedly laziest man at Yale, to make one of the party.

Bruce came near fainting with horror at the mere mention of such a thing.

"My dear Merriwell!" he gasped, "is it possible that you take me for a candidate for a lunatic asylum? Do you think that I am on the verge of lapsing into complete idiocy? Or are you simply trying to have a little sport at my expense?"

"Nothing of the sort, my dear fellow, I assure you," said Frank. "I am in sober earnest about getting up a party to make the trip across the continent, and I think it would be a fine thing for you if you were to make one of the company."

Bruce was reclining on a couch in Merriwell's room at the time, lazily puffing away at a cigarette. He languidly reached out his hand and felt for Frank's wrist.

"Permit me to examine your pulse, old fellow," he murmured. "If you are not trying to work some kind of a horse on me you must be in a bad way. Ah!" he said, knowingly, with his thumb and finger on Frank's wrist, "I thought so! Pulse irregular—flutters like an old rag in the wind—flesh hot and dry, eye changing and unsteady, dryness in your throat and general vacancy in your stomach. What you need is a tonic—and you need it bad. You should take whiskey, it may be the only thing that will save you from an utter breaking up of the nervous system or premature death. The premature death will happen if you try to jolly me any more. I shall carry a gun with me constantly hereafter, and it will not cost too much of an effort to point it in your direction and pull the trigger."

Frank laughed.

"I know you are almost too lazy to draw your breath," he said, "and I also know that the best thing that could happen to you would be just such an expedition as I have proposed. However, I suppose it is useless to waste my breath talking to you, and so I will drop it."

But for all of Browning's refusal to be one of the party, Frank did not give up the project of a trip across the continent from ocean to ocean during the summer vacation.

But almost immediately other matters occupied his attention.

One night he was spending an evening in town with a jolly party of students. The others were drinking beer and ale, while Merriwell took nothing but ginger ale or bottled soda.

As they were leaving Traeger's, Frank caught a glimpse of the face of a man who seemed to be waiting for them to come out.

For one moment Merriwell stopped as if turned to stone, and then, with a hoarse shout of recognition, he leaped after the man, who had slipped away.

The others followed Frank, and they soon pursued him around a corner, where they found him standing still and staring about in a disappointed manner.

"What is it, old man?" asked Paul Hamilton. "Why did you give that whoop and then chase yourself around here in such a lively fashion?"

"It was not myself I chased," declared Frank. "It was quite another party, I assure you; but he has given me the slip, for I can see nothing of him."

"Who was it?"

"The man who tried to bribe me to throw the last ball game to Harvard!"

"That fellow?" exclaimed all the lads, excitedly. "Are you sure?"

"Dead sure," asserted Frank, confidently. "I saw his face fairly in the light in front of Traeger's when we came out."

"Then he was not killed in the leap from the train!" cried Diamond. "How did he escape?"

"Ask me something easy!" exclaimed Frank. "I never expected to look on that man's face again, unless I looked on it as a corpse."

"Confound him!" exploded Harry Rattleton. "I'd like to hake his break—I mean break his head! What does he want around here?"

Frank was silent. There was a grim look on his face, and it was plain that he had been not a little disturbed by the sight of the mysterious stranger.

The boys turned toward college, discussing the queer actions of the unknown as they walked along. One or two of them fully believed the man must be a lunatic.

That night, as Frank and Harry were preparing for bed, the former declared:

"That strange man is about as large a mystery as I ever ran across. He is beginning to be a decided nuisance."

"What do you make of him, anyway?"

"That he is a Westerner, or wishes to be thought such. His language betrays that. And he is the last man I could dream would be staking enough money on a game of college baseball to be able to offer a bribe of two thousand dollars to make sure that the game would result in his favor."

"By Jove!" cried Rattleton; "if any other fellow but yourself had told me that a stranger had made them such an offer and had forked over one-half cash in advance I should have considered him a looming byer—no, a blooming liar!"

"And you would not be to blame for thinking so. To me it seems like a dream, but I know it actually happened."

"Well, what is he hanging around New Haven for?"

"I'll give it up, unless he hopes to get at Heffiner or Dad Hicks, one of whom must pitch the game at Springfield."

"He'll get used rough if he pushes his dirty dough at either Heffiner or Hicks!" cried Rattleton.

"I think so," nodded Frank. "I believe they are loyal to dear old Yale, and nothing can buy their honor."

"Most Yale men are. There may be one or two sneaks who would sell out, as there are black sheep in every flock. I don't believe Flemming would be above such a trick."

"Oh, I don't know! I do not wish to think that bad of Flemming. I know he is my enemy, and I believe he hates me so he would do almost anything to injure me but I do not wish to think that a fellow like him even would stoop to such a dastardly trick as to betray old Yale."

"You always think every fellow is white till you are convinced to the contrary beyond the shadow of a doubt."

"I had rather believe all men honest and deceive myself in that manner than to suspect everybody and thus think that one honest man was a rogue."

Harry regarded Frank in a queer manner, slowly shaking his head, but saying nothing more. For all that they had been friends and roommates for a year and a half, Rattleton was forced to confess to himself that there still remained many things about Merriwell that he could not understand.

That Frank was shrewd Harry knew, and yet Merriwell sometimes seemed to deliberately deceive himself by thinking that certain fellows were honest when he should have known better. It seemed the hardest thing in the world for Frank to be convinced that any fellow was thoroughly bad, even though that person might be an enemy who had endeavored in numerous ways to do him an injury.

"Merriwell seems to come out all right in everything," thought Rattleton; "but it would not be the luck of any other fellow who dared take the chances he does."



CHAPTER XXIV.

TWO WARNINGS.

The morning after the evening when Frank saw the mysterious stranger in front of Traeger's he received a warning note through the mail. It read as follows:

"Be constantly on your guard. Your enemies are plotting to do you serious injury. I shall do what I can to foil them, but you had better watch out."

It was unsigned, and the handwriting was cramped and awkward, as if the person who wrote it was not accustomed to handle a pen.

"Well, I wonder what sort of a game this is!" cried Frank, in disgust. "It is a fake, pure and simple!"

Rattleton was at his side.

"What is it?" asked Harry.

"Read that!" invited Frank, thrusting the anonymous warning into the ready hands of his friend.

Harry glanced it over and then whistled softly.

"Rot!" he cried. "Anybody can see that's lot on the nevel—I mean not on the level."

"But what sort of a game is it?" questioned Frank, in perplexity. "If it was an appointment to meet somebody somewhere, or even a warning to stay away from some place, I could see something in it; but the mere statement that enemies are plotting to injure me doesn't indicate much in this case."

"It seems to indicate that somebody fakes you for a tool—no, takes you for a fool!" spluttered Rattleton.

Frank's face grew scornful.

"That somebody may find out that it is not entirely healthy to try crooked games with me," he grimly said. "I believe I see through the trick."

"What is it, then?"

"This bogus warning will be followed by another. The other will go a little further than this. Then will come the third, which will be the one intended to draw me into some sort of a trap. Oh, the game is too thin!"

Harry looked into his roommate's face, and saw that Frank Merriwell was aroused at last.

"What are you going to do?" asked Rattleton.

"I am going to have a few words with Fred Flemming at the first opportunity. I have been easy with Flemming, for I could not believe the fellow all bad, even though he had tried to injure me, but, if he is going to hire a ruffian like this unknown man to try to work my ruin, I shall draw the lines on Mr. Flemming. He is rich, but that will not save him."

"They say he has money to burn."

"I don't care if he is a Monte Cristo. He cannot ride over me with all his money, and I do not believe that a scoundrel will be tolerated at Yale after his villainy is exposed, even though he may be rich and have influential parents and connections."

"What do you think the game is?"

"As to that I am more or less at sea; but I believe that the bribe which was offered me to throw the ball game to Harvard was a trap meant to work my undoing."

"Flemming must have known your hand would not permit you to play in that game, so he could not have been in that piece of business."

"My dear boy, I do not fancy I was expected to pitch that game. It was thought that I would keep the money. That money was marked. This man would have gone forth and blowed that he had bribed me. He would have told what marked money he had given me. I should have been cornered—perhaps arrested—then searched. You see what that would have meant. The marked money would have been found on my person. It would have been exactly as the stranger had described it. It is certain that somebody was watching and saw him give me the money. That person would have testified against me. Then Frank Merriwell's college career would have come to a sudden termination. In some ways it was a bungling plot, and in others it was crafty enough."

"But a cool thousand—that was an awful roll to push at a fellow!"

"It was a bold and desperate stroke, and the fact that such a sum was offered shows that the one who put up the job knew I could not be bought with a petty amount. He did not know that it made no difference whether it was one dollar or one million—I would not sell my honor and betray dear old Yale for any sum!"

"You have other enemies besides Flemming."

"Yes—Thornton."

"He doesn't count, for he lacks nerve."

"Whom do you mean?"

"Harris does not love you."

"It will be a long time before Sport Harris will venture to lift a hand against me again, for the memory of the fate of his comrade, Hartwick, is too vivid before him. Hartwick brought disgrace and ruin on himself by trying to injure me. He was forced to leave college, and then, when he came back to New Haven and put up that race-track job on me, he finished his own downfall by robbing his father in order that he might have a sum of money to stake against me, feeling sure I must lose. Directly after that race he was arrested."

"What was done about that matter? Was he sent to prison?"

"No; his father would not press the case; but I have heard that the old man's heart is broken by Hartwick's actions. The worthless rascal was the apple of the old man's eye. His father had expected to see him go through college and graduate with flying colors. The disgrace has bowed the father with grief, and it is said he cannot live long."

"Then Hartwick will get all his money."

"No. The old man has made a will that cuts Evan off with a very small sum. The rest of the money and estate goes to other relatives and to charity."

"And Evan Hartwick brought all this on himself by his dastardly attempts to injure you. It should be a warning to others."

"It is an old saying that 'the way of the transgressor is hard,' but it seems to take human beings a long time to become convinced that it is absolutely true."

Frank kept his eyes open, and waited for the second warning, which he felt sure would come.

He was not mistaken, for it came near night.

A boy appeared at Frank's door, and handed over a sealed envelope, which he explained he had received from a man with a heavy beard. He said he had been paid a quarter of a dollar to deliver it.

Frank tore it open and read:

"You will be invited to go to the theatre to-night. Do not go. Your enemies will be on the watch for you."

"Oh. I knew it was coming!" cried Frank, scornfully. "It is a flimsy trick! It actually disgusts me!"

Harry was out, and Merriwell was alone.

Later Harry came in, accompanied by Diamond, Browning, Griswold and Creighton.

"I say, old man," cried Charlie Creighton, addressing Frank, "we have something on for to-night, and we want you to take a hand."

"You may take a few rotten eggs or decayed vegetables with that hand, if you like," grinned Griswold.

Frank remembered the second warning. Of the party Creighton was the only fellow he did not know very well, and, if there was an enemy among them, Creighton must be the man.

Frank resolved to show no suspicion.

"What's up?" he asked.

"To-night," cried Griswold, dramatically, "the curtain will go up on one of the greatest tragedies ever enacted on any stage—nit!"

"Hush!" whispered Creighton, mysteriously. "Whisper it softly. 'Uncle Tom's Cabin' is in town, with two Little Evas, two Marks, three real Siberian bloodhounds, bred in New Jersey, and a jackass."

"The jackass is the manager of the company," grinned Griswold.

"I presume you have heard of that immortal play, 'Uncle Tom's Cabin,' Mr. Merriwell?" questioned Creighton.

"Methinks I have," assured Frank.

"'Methinks' is good," nodded Creighton. "It has a fat sound."

"Eh?" grunted Browning, who already had deposited his corpulent body on the couch. "Did anybody speak to me?"

"Ah, Mr. Browning," said Creighton, "I think you said as we were coming along that you have had the pleasure of seeing 'Uncle Tom's Cabin'?"

"Yes, I said so."

"Then permit me to inquire if you have ever seen 'Ten Nights in a Barroom'?"

"No," grunted Bruce; "but I have seen ten barrooms in a night."

"Here, hold up!" cried Griswold, promptly. "That belongs to me, and I have used it on everybody I could hit with it."

"Never mind," murmured Browning. "It is a good thing, so we'll have to move it along."

"Seriously," said Diamond, "there is a crummy 'Uncle Tom's Cabin' company at a cheap theatre in town, and Creighton has purchased a box. He wants us to go along."

"That's the idea," acknowledged Charlie. "All the fellows are onto it, and there will be two or three hundred Yale boys there. We won't do a thing to the hamfatters!"

Frank smiled. He saw that it would be an opportunity for any amount of sport he was sure, and the mere thought of it made him eager to go.

But he remembered the warning. It was most remarkable that the invitation to the theatre had followed so closely after the receipt of the note from the unknown.

"Of course you'll go, old fellow?" cried Creighton, who saw that Merriwell was hesitating.

"Of course he will!" cried Rattleton. "Merry is always in for a little racket of this sort."

"He is always foremost in anything of the kind," said Diamond.

"That is why I want him in my box," smiled Creighton. "Oh, we won't do a thing in that box—not a thing! I have ordered plenty of fizz on ice, and—oh, but you do not drink fizz, do you, Merriwell?"

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

Creighton impulsively grasped Frank's hand.

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

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

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

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

Frank suddenly made up his mind.

"I'll go," he said.



CHAPTER XXV.

THE THEATRE PARTY.

It was a gay party that left South Middle that evening and started for the theatre. Merriwell had not said a word to Rattleton concerning the receipt of the second warning. A spirit of sheer reckless defiance led him to accept the invitation to the theatre, even though he had not wished to spend his time that evening in such a manner.

"This may be a jolly," he told himself; "if I were to stay away the fellows would have a horse on me sure."

Creighton had a beautiful tenor voice, and as they started out beneath the elms, he sang:

"I shot an arrow into the air, It fell to earth—I know not where——"

Danny Griswold seemed to take a fiendish delight in giving a humorous twist to anything sentimental, and so he interrupted with:

"The next day a man came around And sold me dead dog at a dollar a pound."

"If that were original I wouldn't mind," said Creighton; "but you got it from some star vaudeville performance, you little runt."

"That's where I get all my gags," frankly confessed Griswold. "I store them up for use, and they come in handy some time."

"Some time, when you spring a stale joke, I shall be led to assassinate you," declared Bruce Browning.

"Impossible!" cried Griswold. "That would be a crime."

"Well, what's the odds?"

"You are too fat to commit a crime."

"How is that?"

"It is difficult for fat persons to stoop to anything low, you know."

"You seem to find considerable amusement because I am somewhat overweight," said Bruce, with attempted severity.

"Not at all," chirped Danny. "Some men are well enough in their weight, but this doesn't apply to coal dealers."

"Say, Griswold," called Rattleton, "what's the average fate for a wool—no, I mean the average weight for a fool?"

"A simple ton," replied the little fellow, quick as a flash.

Frank clapped Danny on the back.

"Good boy!" he exclaimed, laughing. "Rattleton didn't get ahead of you that time."

"It is hard for anybody to get ahead of me," declared Griswold. "I am really a lively man in a footrace, for my father is a watchmaker, and he has given me instructions in the business."

"I fuf-fuf-fuf, fail to see huh-huh-how that applies," said Joe Gamp, a lad with a serious impediment in his speech.

"Why, you see I have learned how to make good time," chuckled Danny.

Gamp roared with laughter. He was a big, raw-boned, hulking fellow from New Hampshire, and his laugh was like the braying of a mule. Creighton had invited Gamp to the theatre for the amusement the country lad would provide.

"He'll break the performers all up if he ever gets started laughing," said Charlie to Merriwell. "When he gets going in good style nothing will stop him."

There was something about the country boy that Merriwell liked. Frank quickly decided that Joe was a big-hearted, honest fellow, such a blunder-heels that he was certain to provoke ridicule, and yet thoroughly worthy and deserving.

In laughing, Gamp opened his mouth to the widest extent. He suddenly closed it, and clapped his hand to his jaw.

"Jee-ru-sa-lem!" he gasped; "there gug-gug-gug-goes that old aching tut-tut-tooth of mine! I was careless to let the night air gug-gug-get into it."

"Why don't you have it pulled out?" asked Diamond.

"I'm going to have it pup-pup-pup-pulled and all the rest of my 'tut-'tut-'tarnel teeth just as soon as I can afford the money to bub-buy a new set," declared Gamp, honestly.

"Why spend your money in such a foolish way?" said Griswold, with apparent seriousness. "Save the dentist's bill. I know a dog that will insert a full set of teeth free of charge."

Open flew Gamp's mouth again, and his braying laugh caused a passing pedestrian to dodge so suddenly that he jumped from under his own hat.

"Say!" exclaimed Charlie Creighton, getting hold of Griswold; "save those till we get to the theatre. Then you can set him going, and we'll have sport."

"Can't save them," declared Danny. "They have to come when the opportunity offers."

And so they went on their way to the theatre, laughing and joking, singing snatches of college songs, and having a jolly time generally.

Creighton had made no mistake in saying a large number of college lads would be present. It seemed that there were at least two hundred in the theatre, and it was apparent that they were there for "a racket."

The moment Creighton's party entered the box a tall young man in the first row of orchestra seats arose and faced the house, soberly saying:

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is a most auspicious, not to say suspicious, occasion. It is probable that many of you were not aware that we were to be honored to-night by having the privilege of witnessing the performance in company with royal personages, but such is the fact. The party that has just entered the box on the right is the Prince of Chow-chow, who is accompanied by the Duke of Dublinstout, the Earl of Easytogetajag, the Emperor of Buginhishead, the High Mogul of Whooperup, the Chief Pusher of Whangdoodleland and the Great Muckamuck of Hogansalley. Gentlemen, it is your privilege to salute them."

Then every college boy in the house arose and bowed with great gravity toward the box.

"Well, this is sure to be a hot time!" laughed Merriwell, delighted.

"You bet it is!" assured Charlie Creighton. "We'll make Simon Legree regret that he is living."

An usher came down the aisle and remonstrated with the tall student. The tall student replied to the usher with exaggerated politeness, declaring that he meant no harm, but that he had felt it his duty to inform the audience that such distinguished personages were in the box.

Then when the tall young man sat down, as if by a prearranged signal, there was a wild outburst of applause, stamping of feet, whistling catcalls, and so forth.

The musicians came out and began to put their instruments in tune. They composed an orchestra carried with the troupe, and were, as Rattleton forcibly expressed it, "decidedly on the bum."

Some of the musicians seemed to dread what was coming, for they looked pale and agitated.

"They know that some of the over-ripe vegetables and stale hen-fruit which the audience may toss at the performers is liable to fall short," smiled Merriwell.

Having tuned up after a fashion, the orchestra began to file away at some sort of a medley.

Griswold rolled his eyes and said:

"I am carried away with the music, as the monkey who was perched on the hand-organ remarked."

It was with the utmost difficulty that the assembled students repressed a desire to uplift their voices and drown the sounds which came from the wretched orchestra; but they felt that it would not do to alarm the players by too great a demonstration, and so the only interruptions to the overture were a few catcalls.

At last the curtain rolled up, and the play began. An ominous silence seemed to hang over the audience. The actors were nervous at first, but as the silence continued and offensive demonstrations were not immediately made, they gained courage and swung into their parts with as much enthusiasm and ability as possible.

It is possible that the sight of two or three policemen at the back of the house gave the performers courage. The officers had been called in to overawe the college lads in case they became too demonstrative.

At length, in a very pathetic part of the first act, Griswold leaned over to Joe Gamp, and whispered:

"It is very touching, isn't it?"

"Yes," said the country boy, chokingly, "it mum-mum-mum-makes me fuf-fuf-fuf-feel like th-th-thunder!"

He nearly blubbered outright, for he had never seen many plays, having found it necessary to spend his money with the greatest care, as he was confined to a certain allowance to take him through college.

"And Uncle Tom's Bible," said Danny—"it reminds me of a conundrum. How was the ark propelled?"

"Dud-dud-darned if I know."

"By a Noah, of course," explained Griswold.

Gamp caught his breath, and then he lay back and roared:

"Haw! haw! haw! A-haw! a-haw! a-haw!"

This roar of laughter, coming as it did at a solemn and pathetic point in the play, was most startling. Uncle Tom came near collapsing on the stage, and the other actors were so disturbed that they got tangled in their lines.

The students caught on, and there was an immediate burst of applause that swelled louder and louder. This died away most suddenly and unexpectedly, and Joe Gamp was heard to shout in his endeavor to make Griswold hear:

"By jiminy! that was a good one! A-haw! a-haw! a-haw! a-haw!"

The lad from the country went off into another paroxysm of laughter, pressing his hands to his sides, and shutting his eyes, utterly unconscious for the moment of his surroundings.

Of a sudden Joe remembered that he was at the theatre. His mouth came together with a snap, his eyes flew open, and he ceased to laugh and stiffened up, with a frightened look on his face.

The change was so ludicrous that the entire audience was convulsed, and the actors could not help laughing.

From that moment the play progressed under difficulties. In the scene where the slaves were being sold at auction some of the students began to pepper the actors with pea-shooters, doing it cautiously, so that they would not be spotted in the act. Every time Marks would open his mouth to say "seventy-five" he would be struck by one or more peas, which were fired with force sufficient to make them sting like hornets.

"Seventy——Wow! Whoop!" yelled Marks, clapping a hand to the side of his face, and suddenly dancing an original can-can.

"Five hundred," cried Legree.

"Seventy-fi—— We-e-e-ow! Stop it! Somebody is shooting things at me!"

Marks had been spotted on the end of his long nose, to which he was wildly clinging with both hands, as he pranced around the stage.

"What's the matter?" growled Legree, in a guarded tone, unable to understand what had happened. "Have you gone crazy, you fool? Stand up and bid!"

Then he cried: "Six hundred!"

"Seventy-five—— Hornets and blisters!" finished Marks, as he was nailed by three or four peas. "I can't stand this! It's too much!"

He bolted off the stage.

Legree looked dismayed, and then he advanced to the footlights and addressed the audience.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "I trust you will excuse the gentleman who is playing the part of Marks. He has not been well for several days, and he is somewhat troubled with hallucinations. Of course we know his troubles are all imaginary, and—— Ye-e-e-ow! I'm shot!"

A pea had struck him squarely between the eyes, and he started back so suddenly that he sat down on the stage as if he had been knocked off his feet.

"A-haw! a-haw! a-haw!" roared the voice of Joe Gamp, and the audience joined in the shout of laughter.



CHAPTER XXVI.

TRAPPED.

There was an uproar in the theatre, which the ushers and the police were unable to quell for some time.

The curtain was rung down, and then, after a short wait, the manager came out and said the show would go on, if the audience would behave. He threatened to have the persons who were using the pea-shooters arrested, and this threat was greeted by hisses and catcalls.

After a while, however, the curtain went up once more, and the play proceeded in a tangle of "real Siberian bloodhounds," Gumption Cutes, Marks, Topsies, Little Evas, escaping slaves, slave hunters and general excitement and confusion.

It was plain that the actors feared further trouble, and they were rushing through their lines, eager to get off the stage as soon as possible.

The bloodhounds were cheered by the students and peppered with peas. When Topsy declared she "nebber was born, but jes' growed," some one inquired the name of the fertilizer used in her rearing. When the jackass appeared, a solemn voice from some uncertain part of the theatre called the attention of the audience to the "leading actor of the colossal aggregation." Little Eva was invited to exhibit her wings.

The college boys were irrepressible, and yet they did not do anything to absolutely break up the show, although Joe Gamp's haw-haws came near proving disastrous several times.

A policeman came down to the box and threatened to arrest Joe, but he was pacified by Creighton, who had a decidedly smooth way of "fixing things."

Frank Merriwell remained quiet until near the end of the play, enjoying the sport the other fellows were making. At last, however, he decided to produce some amusement himself.

Frank was a very good amateur ventriloquist, although he seldom practiced the art. Now, however, he saw his opportunity.

Little Eva was on her deathbed, and the mourners were assembled about. All at once one of the mourners seemed to say:

"This business is on the bum."

Every one started and stared. The actors were astounded, and the audience amused. Then the death agony went on until another of the watchers by Eva's side observed:

"It makes me sick!"

The manager was heard to hiss from the shelter of the wings:

"I'll make you sick when you come off!"

"Oh, go fall on yourself, you old cheat!" the actor seemed to fling back.

Then Little Eva, in her death agony, apparently remarked:

"Give it to the old duffer! He owes me six weeks' salary, and I'll quit dying right now if the ghost doesn't walk immediately!"