This brought laughter and hearty applause from the college lads.

When the applause had subsided Uncle Tom apparently observed:

"He can't get ahead of me. I've put an attachment on the jackass."

This was more than the excitable manager could stand, and he rushed onto the stage, shaking his fist at Uncle Tom and crying:

"Confound you! I don't owe you a cent! You obliged me to pay up before you would go on to-night!"

And then he nearly collapsed when he realized what his anger had led him to do and say.

The college lads arose from their seats and cheered.

Standing in the front of the box, Charlie Creighton shouted:

"This is the best part of the show, fellows. Let's give 'em one! Now—all together!"

Then the Yale yell pealed forth, and Little Eva came near dying in reality from heart failure.

This broke up the show entirely, and the curtain came down with a rush, while the frightened orchestra made haste to disappear. From behind the curtain the manager shouted that the show was over, and the laughing, tumultuous students hurried out of theatre.

"Well, Merriwell," said Charlie Creighton, "how have you enjoyed the evening?"

"Immensely," laughed Frank.

"It was a regular sus-sus-sus-circus," declared Joe Gamp. "Never had so much fuf-fuf-fuf-fuf-fun in all my bub-born days!"

"We had them on a string, like a kite," murmured Bruce Browning.

"And that's what made them soar," chuckled Griswold.

Just as the street was reached, Frank gave a slight exclamation, and quickly forced his way through the crowd toward a man who was near at hand.

That man was the mysterious stranger.

The unknown seemed to be watching Merriwell, for he whirled about and hastened away the moment Frank started in his direction.

"Oh, I want to get my hands on that fellow!" grated Frank.

The man did his best to escape, but Merriwell was close after him. The stranger hurried along a street, and Frank broke into a run. Then the unknown glanced over his shoulder, and started to run himself.

"Hold on!" commanded Frank.

That made the stranger run the faster.

Frank followed, but could see nothing of the person he was pursuing.

"He must have dodged into a doorway," decided the lad. "No—here is where he went, down this alley."

The mouth of a dark alley was before him, and he plunged into it. He did not go far before he decided that further pursuit was folly, and he turned back.

"He's slippery," muttered the boy; "but I'll catch him some time, if he continues to shadow me."

Dark forms appeared at the mouth of the alley, and a hoarse whisper came to Merriwell's ears:

"He went in here, and the alley is blind, so he can't get out. Do him—and do him dirty!"

For all that Frank had been often in desperate peril, something about this situation chilled him to the heart. The uncanny darkness, the unknown alley, his creeping foes coming down upon him, possibly with deadly intent, all served to make him feel weak and helpless for the moment.

There are times when the bravest heart shrinks with dread, and, for all that Frank was a lad with remarkable nerve, it is not strange that he felt a thrill of fear at that moment.

It is claimed that men have lived who "never knew the meaning of the word fear," and it is possible that this may be true; but in case they ever were placed in situations of extreme peril, such persons must have been lacking in some of the essential elements that compose a human being. We think of them as deficient in certain ways, wanting in the finer qualities, and naturally coarse and brutish.

It is the person who experiences fear and conquers it by his own determination to do so who is the greatest hero.

One of the bravest generals America has produced, a man who had the reputation of being utterly fearless, once was asked if he ever had been afraid while in battle. "No, sir," was his reply, "never in battle; but sometimes just before going into an engagement, I have felt it necessary to keep my teeth clinched to prevent my heart from jumping out of my mouth."

Still the men whom he commanded never knew that he experienced a single thrill of fear. He conquered his trepidation by his wonderful will power, and always in battle he appeared perfectly unaware that there was the least danger. Indeed, he was sometimes criticised for his apparent recklessness in exposing himself to deadly peril.

Frank Merriwell never courted peril, and he avoided danger when he could do so in a manly way and without lowering his own sense of dignity.

Once engaged in a dangerous encounter, or forced into a position of peril, Frank's blood arose, and he seemed to be seized by a reckless disregard of his personal safety. Then it was that he laughed in a singular manner, and his enemies had learned that he was the most dangerous when that laugh sounded from his lips.

As he heard those unknown foes creeping down upon him in the darkness of the alley, Frank crouched close to the ground, and felt about with his hand for some weapon of defense.

Fear suddenly gave place to anger, and he longed to retaliate on his enemies. He knew well enough that the men creeping down upon him were hired tools, chosen by his foes to do him severe bodily injury.

"Oh, for a club—a stone—anything!" he thought.

But his hand found nothing that suited his need at that moment.

The cautiously advancing men came nearer and nearer. He could hear them whispering to each other, and they seemed to block the entire width of the narrow alley. He could not make out their number, but he was sure there must be several of them.

"Can yer see him, Jake?"

"No, an' I can't hear him neither."

"But he's here somewhere, and they say he'll fight. Look out fer him."

Frank heard these whispered words, and then, without realizing that he was about to do so, he laughed!

There were hoarse cries, curses and blows. A savage struggle suddenly was begun in the dark alley.

Frank had hoped to break through the line of his foes by his sudden rush, but he was not successful, although his hard right fist knocked a man down with his first blow.

Then he received a shock that seemed to cause a thousand bright lights to flash before his eyes, and he knew he had been struck on the head with some sort of weapon.

The boy staggered. Uttering hoarse exclamations, his assailants, like beasts of prey, sprang upon him.

"Give it to him!" cried a voice.

With new strength, Frank twisted and squirmed. In doing so, he threw his head from side to side, and it chanced that he succeeded in saving it from the blows which were intended to render him helpless.

Those blows, many of them, at least, fell on his shoulders and his back with benumbing force.

He forgot that his left hand was not yet well, but he used it as freely and as vigorously as his right.

And, once more, something like a laugh came from his lips.

"Hear him!" hissed one of the ruffians. "Why, he's a perfect young fiend!"

But Frank could not long hold his own against such odds. Some of the blows aimed at his head fell glancingly, but they were enough to rob him in a measure of his strength. He tried to tear away, and then he was felled to the ground.

Merriwell felt that "the jig was up" with him. They had him at their mercy, at last.

Then it was that a surprising thing happened. With encouraging cries, two men came through the darkness and attacked the boy's assailants.

That the new arrivals on the battlefield were armed with heavy clubs was apparent, and they used them mercilessly on the ruffians.

This attack was unexpected by Frank's assailants, and they could not meet it. Immediately they turned and fled, pursued by one of the men who had set upon them.

Just then, apparently disturbed by the sounds of the fight, some person came to a nearby window with a lighted lamp.

The light shone out into the alley, and fell on Frank Merriwell and one of the men who had saved him.

"Plug Kirby!" gasped Frank, sitting up.

"Dat's wot, me boy!" cried the bruiser, cheerfully. "An' I kinder t'ink we didn't git round any too quick neider."

"You came just in time."

"Be yer hurt much, youngster?" asked Kirby, anxiously, assisting Frank to arise.

"I think not. Got a few cracks and was upset, but that is all. Where is the man who was with you?"

"He whooped it along after der gang. Kinder t'ink he wanted ter ketch one of der blokes an' hold him fer der perlice ter pinch."

"Who was he?"

"Dunno."

"What?" cried Frank, astonished—"don't know who was with you when you came to my aid?"

"Well, I dunno his name, youngster, and that's on der level."

Frank was eager to ask more questions, but Plug said:

"We'd best push outer dis. Dunno wot'll happen if we stays here too long. Der gang might come back."

So they hurried out of the alley, Frank receiving some assistance from Kirby, as he was rather dizzy when he tried to walk.

When the street was reached no one seemed to be in the immediate vicinity.

"Shall we wait for your friend?" asked Merriwell.

"Naw," answered Plug. "He ain't likely ter come back."

A short time later they were seated at a table in a nearby resort, and Frank was treating Kirby.

Frank had examined his own injuries, and discovered they were not serious, although it was likely that he would be sore about the head and shoulders from the bruises he had received.

"Now tell me," urged Frank, "who was with you when you came to my assistance? I am eager to know."

"I tole yer dat I don't know der cove's name, but I do know dat he is all right an' on der level."

"Well, how is that you do not know his name?"

"Never asked him."

"How do you happen to know him?"

"Well, yer see, it was dis way: I was inter Jackson's der odder evenin' takin' me nightcap. Dere was some fellers in dere wot was college chaps, and dey was talkin' about races and t'ings. Pretty soon dey said somet'ing about you. Some of 'em was hard on you, an' dat got me mad up. I jes' waded inter der gang an' offered ter lick anybody wot didn't t'ink you was der clean stuff."

Frank smiled a bit, realizing that he had, indeed, made a firm friend of this bruiser who had once tried to whip him, but had received a severe drubbing, instead.

"Dey didn't want ter shove up against me," Kirby went on, "an' dey got out right away. Den a man walks up ter me, and he says I was all right, an' he blows me. He continues ter blow me, an' ask me questions about you. Arter a while, he asks me if I would fight fer you if I had der chance. 'Would I!' says I, jes' like dat. 'Well, old sport, show me der chance!' Den he says dat you has some enemies wot is plannin' ter do yer, an' he might be able ter give me a chance ter put in a few licks fer yer.

"Well, dis evenin', as I was inter Jackson's, who should come in an' call me aside but dis same cove. He says ter me, 'Kirby'—he had found out me name—'Kirby,' says he, jes' like dat, 'I'm goin' ter give yer dat chance ter put in some licks fer Frank Merriwell.'

"Den he tells me dat he were in a place an' heard a scheme ter put some toughs onter yer ter-night w'en yer was goin' home from der t'eeter. Dey had heard some feller say dat he was goin' ter invite yer ter be in er box wid him at der t'eeter, an' so dey knew yer was goin'.

"Dat's all, 'cept dat me an' der bloke wot was wid me went ter der t'eeter, him payin' all expenses, an' we kept watch of yer. W'en we came out, you started fer him, an' he hooked it. I was s'prised, but I follered. Den I found dere was odders follerin', an der gang run yer in here. Der feller I was wid, as was in a doorway nigh der alley all der time, skipped back fer me, an' we jumped right down inter der alley, takin' some heavy canes, wot we had wid us all der time. You know wot happened arter dat."

Frank was puzzled and mystified. He asked Plug to describe the mysterious man, and Kirby did so. This added to Frank's wonderment, for the description tallied with that of the stranger who had tried to bribe him to throw a ball game to Harvard; but that it could be the same man, even though everything indicated that it must be, Frank could not believe.

That night, after going to bed, Frank lay awake for hours, thinking of the stranger and the mystery which surrounded him.



CHAPTER XXVII.

AN EMISSARY FROM THE WEST.

Frank was determined to solve the mystery of the unknown man. He did not tell Rattleton everything concerning his adventure of the previous night, although he was forced to explain that he had been in an encounter, and that he did not know who his assailants were.

The theatre party had wondered greatly at Frank's sudden disappearance, and Frank confessed that he had followed the mysterious unknown, who had given him the slip.

"That fellow is playing the shadow on you, Frank," cried Harry, indignantly. "He's up to some sort of crookedness."

"He must bear a charmed life, or he would have been killed the night he jumped from the New London special," said Frank.

"He decided it was best to take chances by jumping rather than to fall into the hands of Old Eli's sons, and I think he was right."

Creighton came around to inquire how it happened that Merriwell disappeared so suddenly the previous evening.

Since the boat race Creighton had sought Merriwell's company, although he had scarcely given Frank any attention before that.

Creighton was a prominent society man and had considerable influence at Yale; his friendship was of value to any fellow on whom he saw fit to bestow it.

His father was rich, and Charlie spent money freely, as his whims dictated. Not even those with whom he was not on friendly terms, however, could justly accuse him of being a cad.

"Awfully jolly time last night," yawned Creighton. "It was rather kiddish, but it is a relief to play the boy once in a while. It capped the whole business when the actors themselves finished the fun by giving the manager away in the last act."

Frank smiled, but did not explain his connection with the crowning event of the evening.

"Jove! I'm hungry," Charlie declared. "Come on, Merriwell and Rattleton, we'll go down to Bob's, and have a chop."

He would not take no for an answer, and so, a few minutes later, the trio crossed the campus, Creighton in the middle, his arms locked with those of the other lads. All were laughing and joking in a light-hearted manner.

Creighton took them directly to a restaurant that was famous for its chops. They ordered, Charlie and Harry taking ale with their food.

Just as the chops were brought on, a man came in and took a seat at a table nearby. This man was dressed in a new suit of "store clothes," and wore a full beard. He gave his order to the waiter in a low tone, and then began perusing a paper, behind which his face was almost entirely hidden.

Rattleton happened to sit so that he naturally looked toward the man, and, several times, he caught that individual peering over the top of the paper. It did not take Harry long to note that the person with the paper seemed to be watching Frank Merriwell.

Suddenly Frank's roommate arose, and, with two swift steps, he was at the man's side. Without a word, Harry caught the gentleman by the beard, which he gave a sharp jerk.

The beard came off in Harry's hand!

It was false!

"Look, Frank!" cried Rattleton, pointing at the smooth-shaven face exposed; "it is the mysterious man who has been following you about!"

It was in truth the mysterious unknown, and Frank was on his feet in a twinkling, resolved not to let the man escape till he had given a full explanation of his remarkable conduct.

To Merriwell's surprise, the stranger showed no desire to run away, but sat smiling serenely up at him, calmly observing:

"Do not excite yourself, Mr. Merriwell; there is no reason for it. I have completed my business in a most satisfactory manner, and I am now ready to explain everything to you."

"It is an explanation which I expect and demand," said Frank, coldly. "It is no more than fair that I should have one, as you have shown yourself my persistent enemy, and that without any just cause that I know of."

"You are mistaken," returned the man; "instead of your enemy, I have been your firm friend from the very first."

"I fail to see how you can make that out."

"I will call at your rooms this evening and give you a full explanation."

"No!" cried Frank, promptly, "you will give me an explanation here and immediately."

"I do not think you will press me to that," was the calm assertion. "I might speak of affairs of a personal and family nature."

"You—you speak of such affairs—to me? Now it strikes me that you are attempting a bluff, sir; but it will not work."

The stranger reached into his pocket and took out something, which he held up before Frank's eyes.

"This," he said, with confidence, "will convince you that I speak nothing but the truth."

"My father's ring!" gasped Frank.

"Yes," bowed the man; "it is the ring that led him to one of the richest mines in the Southwest. He said that it would simply be necessary for me to show it to you, and you would know that he sent me. Shall I call this evening, Mr. Merriwell?"

"If you please, sir," said Frank, bowing respectfully.

The boys were surprised, but Frank said he would explain some time later.

That evening the stranger called, as he had said he would. Frank had taken pains to run Harry out of the room, so they were quite alone. The boy locked the door, as a precaution against unwelcome interruptions.

The mysterious man introduced himself as David Scott, the confidential agent of Charles Merriwell, Frank's unfortunate father, who had spent the best years of his life and separated himself from his family and friends in the mad search after "phantom fortune."

At last Charles Merriwell had "struck it rich," and he was now a very wealthy man; but he was broken in health, and he often feared for his reason. As Charles Merriwell had been eccentric and unfathomable all his life while poor, thus he remained now that he was rich. Of late he had been seized by a conviction that he could not live long, and it was his desire to make a will that would give almost his entire wealth to his son. But before he made such a will, Mr. Merriwell decided to know just what sort of a young man his son had become. As he did not feel like leaving his mine and going East to investigate, he sent his confidential clerk, David Scott.

In his instructions to Scott, Charles Merriwell showed the peculiarities of his character. He provided the agent with plenty of money, and instructed him to thoroughly probe the inward character of the youth about which he was to acquire information. Scott was instructed to discover all of Frank's bad habits, and to determine if the lad could be led astray by evil influence, or in any other manner. The agent had carried out his instructions to his complete satisfaction, and he complimented the blushing boy on his integrity of character and sterling manhood.

Scott explained how he had pretended to ally himself with Frank's foes, and thus had heard the plots against the boy. He had sent Frank the warnings, and he had secured the aid of Plug Kirby to aid him in beating off Merriwell's ruffianly assailants.

"I scarcely think you will be troubled any more by your enemies," declared Scott. "I had a session with them last night, after the failure of their attempt on you, and I sent the varmints scurrying for tall timber in a hurry. I told them that I was your friend, and not your enemy, and that I would come up as a witness against them if you saw fit to prosecute them. Then they begged me to keep still, and agreed to let up on you for good and all if I wouldn't chirp. I made the galoots no promises."

For hours Frank and Scott sat and talked of Charles Merriwell, his health, his mine and his plans. And when the man departed, it was with a letter from Frank Merriwell to Charles Merriwell in his possession.

The next evening Frank received a call which surprised him greatly. What it was the next chapter will tell.



CHAPTER XXVIII.

FRIENDS OR FOES.

Thump—bang! thump—bang!

"Open this door!"

Thumpety—thump—bang! bang; bang!

"Open this door, or I will dake it brown—I mean I will break it down!"

Harry was excited.

"Hold on a moment, can't you?" cried the laughing voice of Frank from within the room.

Harry was pressing against the door with one hand, having rained the heavy blows upon it with the other hand, which was clinched in a most threatening manner.

The door flew open with a suddenness that precipitated Rattleton into the room with a headlong rush and plunged him plump into the stomach of a young man who happened to be in the way.

"Ugh!"

"Wow!"

Bump! bump!—both went down, clasped in each other's arms.

Two other lads stood staring at the fallen ones. They were Frank Merriwell and Fred Flemming.

Tom Thornton was the unfortunate who stood in the way of Rattleton's headlong rush.

And Harry, quite unintentionally, had struck Thornton a smart blow with his clinched fist.

At that moment it did look as if the excited lad had rushed into the room with the premeditated purpose of hitting Tom.

"Here! here!—break away!" cried Merriwell, sharply.

"Not much!" panted Tom, in excitement and anger. "Think I'm going to let him go, so he can hit me again?"

"Catch hold, Flemming," ordered Frank—"catch hold of your friend, and we'll part them."

He grasped Rattleton by the collar as he spoke, but Fred made no move to pull Thornton away.

Seeing this, Merriwell obtained a firm hold on the collars of both Harry and Tom, and, with a surprising display of strength, wrenched them apart, yanked them to their feet, and held them at arm's length.

"Steady, now!" he cried, as they seemed to betray a desire to get at each other. "Quit it!"

"He struck me!" cried Thornton.

"It was antirely excidental—no, entirely accidental," declared Harry, flourishing his arms.

Tom dodged.

"Well, you act as if you are trying to bring about another accident," he said. "I know you hit me intentionally, and I'll make you pay for it, too!"

"Bah! you can't make me pay for anything!" flung back Harry, his anger aroused by Thornton's words.

"Do you think you can run around punching fellows in this way without getting it back? You'll find you are mistaken!"

"You were in my way when I came in."

"I didn't have time to get out of your way."

"Well, what's all this about anyway?" demanded Frank. "Are you fellows trying to settle some sort of a score?"

"It looks to me," said Flemming, stiffly, "as if Mr. Rattleton took advantage of our presence in this room to strike Thornton."

"Well, what are you chaps here for, anyway?" demanded Harry. "That is what I would like to know. We don't run in your class, and so——"

"Hold up, old man," interrupted Merriwell, promptly. "Mr. Flemming and Mr. Thornton called to see me about a personal matter."

"I thought so," declared Rattleton, "and I decided you would get the worst end of it, as they were two to your one—and the door was locked. If they are here to do you, count me into it. I'll take care of this fellow Thornton while you polish off Flemming."

"We did not come here to fight," said Fred, haughtily.

"Didn't?" exclaimed Harry, in surprise. "Then what sort of a game are you up to, for I know it is something crooked?"

Flemming tossed his head.

"Mr. Rattleton," he said, "your language is very offensive to me."

"Had to glear it—I mean glad to hear it," shot back Rattleton, rudely. "I didn't want you to misunderstand me."

"Mr. Merriwell," said Fred, turning to Frank, "I think we had better go. Our business was with you, and Mr. Rattleton seems determined to raise a quarrel with us. As you know, we did not come here to quarrel, and, regarding Mr. Rattleton as your friend, we will endeavor to overlook his behavior and insulting language."

"But we cannot forget it," added Thornton, giving Harry a fierce look. "It will be remembered."

"I am sure I don't want you to forget it," flung back Rattleton.

"Come, Tom," urged Flemming, "we will go. Good-day, Mr. Merriwell."

Frank released Thornton, who followed Flemming from the room, simply pausing at the door to say:

"Good-by, Mr. Merriwell."

"Good-by," smiled Frank.

And then, when the door had closed behind them, Frank dropped into a chair and laughed softly but heartily.

"Well, I fail to fee anything sunny about it—I mean I fail to see anything funny about it," growled Rattleton, prancing fiercely up and down the room. "If you'll tell me where the laugh comes in, I'll snicker, just to keep you company."

"The whole thing is very funny," laughed Merriwell. "Why, you were eager to hammer Thornton, and the fellow was afraid you would, for all the bluff he put up."

"It would have given me great satisfaction to thump him," confessed Harry; "for I know it is exactly what he deserves. What were they up to, anyway? That's what puzzles me. I expected to find that they had done you up."

"Oh, nothing of the sort!"

"But they were up to some crooked game—I know it. I thought they had fastened the door, so that they could do the job without being interrupted."

"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Frank. "That explains why you looked as if you were literally thirsting for gore when you lunged into the room and grappled with Thornton."

"Did I hit him?"

"You had your fist clinched, and you may have given him a slight rap in your excitement."

"Well, I did not give him that rap intentionally; if I had, he'd found something entirely different. By jingoes! I may get the chance to show him the difference some time!"

"You'd better drop it, old man."

"Eh? Drop it?"

"That's what I said, Harry, and that is what I meant, my boy."

"But why? I don't think I understand you. Those fellows are your enemies, and that makes them mine."

"They have been my enemies, but we have had a peace conference."

"The dickens!"

"And we buried the hatchet."

"Well, I didn't suppose you could be fooled so easy! I knew they were up to some sort of a game—I knew it."

"Well, what sort of a game do you think it was?"

"They're trying to fool you—trying to make you think they are ready to bury the hatchet, while they are still waiting to hit you behind your back whenever they can. That's the kind of chaps they are. They can't fool me, if they can you. If they can lull you into carelessness till their opportunity comes, they will drive the knife into you, and sink it deep. Don't mink I'm thisted—I mean don't think I'm twisted. I am dead certain of the sort of cattle I'm talking about. You will be playing right into their hands if you get the idea that they have let up on you in the least. When they get a good chance, you'll get it in the neck."

"Well, Harry, you may be right; but I have reasons to believe that Flemming is anxious to call a truce just at present. He made a serious mistake when he tried to enlist David Scott against me. Scott found out all of Flemming's plots and secured enough evidence of the fellow's rascality to cause his expulsion from Yale if it were made public."

"Well, it should be made public immediately."

"Oh, I don't know about that! Expulsion from college might mean the ruin of Flemming's future."

"If he keeps on, he'll do that, whether he is expelled or not."

"If he does it himself, I shall not have it on my conscience. If I were to bring about his expulsion, and he went to the dogs, I might blame myself for it, thinking he would have done differently had he remained here. Do you catch on?"

"I catch on that you are dead easy with your enemies till they force you to down them for good."

"But when they do compel me to down them——"

"I will acknowledge that you always do a good job," said Rattleton, with an approving grin.

"Mr. Scott believed that I should be severe with Flemming and Thornton," admitted Frank; "but I knew that Thornton was dragged into the business by Flemming, without having any real heart for what he was doing. If I were to expose Flemming, it would implicate Thornton, and that seemed too much of a retaliation. I thought the whole matter over carefully, and decided to give the fellows a chance. Then Mr. Scott went to them and nearly frightened the life out of them by saying he meant to expose them to the faculty. That brought them to their knees immediately."

Rattleton expressed his satisfaction by a vigorous pantomime.

"Finally," continued Frank, "when they had begged and promised, Mr. Scott agreed to let up on them if they would come to me, offer apologies, and give me their pledge to let me alone in the future."

"And that is how they happened to be here to-day?"

"Yes."

"Why was the door locked?"

"I locked it to prevent any of the fellows from dropping in on us while we were talking the matter over."

"Well, Jones told me he had seen those chaps come in here, and I decided they were looking for bother, so I made a hustle to get here. When I found the door locked, I was sure they had you in a corner, and so I threatened to break it down if it was not opened without delay."

"And, when it was opened, you came in like a raging lion."

"Well, I was ready for any scrim of a shortage—I mean any sort of a scrimmage."

"You showed your readiness," laughed Frank. "I have the word of those fellows that they will let me quite alone if I drop the past."

"I wouldn't believe either of them under oath!"

"You are a doubter anyway. We'll wait and see what will occur."



CHAPTER XXIX.

TALK OF A TOUR.

There was a rap on the door, which immediately popped open, and in bobbed a head, thatched with carroty hair, upon which was perched a crumpled cap. A freckled, jolly face was wrinkled into a cheerful grin, and a voice that was made up of bubbles and hollows cried:

"Hello, chaps! I just looked in to see if you were doing well, as the cook said to the lobster, when she lifted the sauce-pan lid."

"Come in, Stubbs," invited Frank, promptly—"come in and make yourself as big a nuisance as possible."

"No need to tell me to do that," piped the lad at the door, as he bounced into the room. "I always make myself a nuisance wherever I am. It is my policy."

He was a little short-legged fellow, with a roly-poly body and twinkling eyes. Good nature bubbled out all over him. At a glance you could see he was the sort of chap who would try to be merry under almost any circumstances.

This was Bink Stubbs, a lad with whom Frank and Harry had recently become acquainted. Frank had picked him up because of his merry ways and quaint sayings of the wise and humorous order.

"Have you fellers got any smokers?" asked Bink, as he deposited himself on a chair.

"No, we haven't got any smokers," answered Harry. "And the last time you were here, Bruce Browning said you swiped a whole package of cigarettes from him."

Stubbs tried to look horrified, and then cried:

"Well, I'll be hanged! as the picture said when it found the cord was tied to it."

"You know neither of us smoke," said Merriwell.

"I know you pretend you do not, but I don't know that you are not bluffing when you say so."

"What's that? Do you mean to insinuate that I am lying? Why, I'll step on you, Stubbsie!"

"In that case my days are numbered, as the calendar said to the blotter."

There was a sound of voices outside the door, and then, with very little ceremony, three lads came filing into the room.

There were Browning, Diamond and Griswold.

"Get up, you little villain!" said Bruce, as he collared Stubbs and yanked him off the easy-chair. "Don't you know enough to let other folks have a chance to sit down, you lazy little rascal?"

And then, with a sigh of relief, Bruce deposited his corpulent form on the chair.

Stubbs bristled up, as if he meant to fight, then seemed to change his mind, and shook his head and remarked:

"Such things are bound to a cur, as the dog said when he looked at the tin can that was tied to his tail."

The boys were welcomed by Frank and Harry, and Merriwell said:

"I'm glad you fellows dropped in. I want to find out how many of you are going to take that bicycle trip across the continent during the summer vacation."

"Jeewhiskers!" grinned Danny Griswold. "Think of Bruce Browning, the champion lazy man at Yale, riding a bicycle across the continent. The exertion of riding across the campus would utterly prostrate him."

"Um!" grunted Bruce. "It's singular that small things annoy one worst."

"Oh, yes," returned Danny, promptly; "even a little mosquito bores me frightfully."

"Say, Griswold," piped Stubbs, "that's a bad habit to get into."

"What's a bad habit to get into?" demanded Danny, bristling up resentfully.

"That suit of clothes you have on," said Stubbs, whimsically. "It's a miserable fit."

"Well, you'll have a bad fit if I get after you!" exclaimed Griswold, hotly. "You're a base fraud and an impostor! You are trying to steal my thunder by reading the same comic papers that I do. If you keep this up you'll use up all of my original jokes."

"Oh, well," said Stubbs, "cough up a cigarette and I'll let you forgive me. I'm dying for a whiff."

Griswold hesitated, and then flung a package of cigarettes at Bink, who skillfully caught them, extracted one, closed the package, and tossed it back. A moment later the little chap had lighted the cigarette, and, as he deposited himself at full length on a tiger-skin rug, he puffed out a great whiff of smoke, and murmured:

"Now I have something to blow about, as the cyclone said when it lifted a house and barn into the next State."

"Speaking about clothes," said Browning, languidly, "did you see Goldstein, the tailor, to-day, Rattleton?"

"Yes, I saw him," nodded Harry.

"And did you tell him I said I would settle that little bill?"

"Sure."

"That's kind of you. Did he seem convinced?"

"He said he was."

"Was what?"

"Convinced that you lied."

This provoked a laugh. When the laughing had ceased, Griswold sagely observed:

"It is remarkable that man is the only animal that can lie standing up."

"Say, you chaps," called Frank, "drop this sort of chatter, and answer my question. How many of you are in for spending the summer vacation in a bicycle trip across the continent?"

"You'll have to excuse me," said Griswold, as he followed Stubbs' example and lighted a cigarette. "I'm going down to Bar Harbor, and play tennis on my vacation."

"I can't endure tennis," drawled Browning.

"I should say not. Too much exertion for you."

"It is not that. I don't like to be around where others are playing it."

"Don't? Why not?"

"Because it is so noisy."

"Noisy? Christmas! How do you make that out?"

"Why, you can't play it without a racket," said Browning.

Griswold staggered and clutched at his heart.

"What papers have you been reading?" he gasped.

Diamond spoke up for the first time:

"I'll tell you what I'll do, Merriwell—I'll go on this bicycle trip across the continent, if I can secure my mother's consent?"

"Will you?" cried Frank, eagerly. "Then see her as soon as possible. I couldn't ask for a better fellow than you. Harry thinks he can go, and that makes three of us. We'll do the trick, even if we can't get another fellow. Is it agreed?"

"It is agreed if I can get my mother to agree to it," assured Jack.

"Well, let's talk about another matter," said Bruce. "The tournament at Madison Square Garden is right upon us. Are you on for anything, Merriwell?"

"Yes," answered Frank, "I shall take part in several contests."

"How about the mile run?" questioned Diamond.

"I believe Yates is in for that," said Merriwell.

"That's something I want to speak to you about," drawled Bruce.

Frank was rather surprised, as Browning had taken very little interest in athletics of late. During his early days at Yale, Bruce had been a pusher in athletic matters, being at that time an athlete himself, as he kept himself in form and held back the threatening development of flesh by the severest sort of training.

But Bruce could not continue to resist the temptations of his appetite, and it became more and more difficult for him to keep in trim. As long as he was a freshman he had done so, but when he became a sophomore he gradually abandoned the struggle.

Still he had remained active as a leader, and had been known at one time as "the King of the Sophomores." His final effort at training had been when he put himself in condition to meet Merriwell in a four-round hard-glove contest.

The bout had been pronounced a draw, but Browning afterward acknowledged that he must have been knocked out had it continued to a finish.

From that time Browning's interest in athletic matters waned.

He lost ambition in that line, and he soon became so overburdened with flesh that nothing save a question of life or death could have induced him to go into training.

It was not so very long before Bruce was known as the champion lazy man at Yale. All that he seemed to care about was to eat, drink, smoke and loaf. He seldom was known to "grind," and his attempts at "skinning" were pitiable failures.

Then he was dropped a class, and, as he still stuck to Yale, he found himself arrayed with Merriwell and the fellows whom he at one time had regarded as enemies.

In that class Merriwell was regarded as a leader in athletic matters, and Bruce seldom mentioned anything of the kind. Now, however, to Merriwell's surprise, he displayed sudden interest in the great intercollegiate tournament to be held in Madison Square Garden, New York, directly at the close of the spring terms.

In the various contests Yale was to be represented by her best men. There had been some uncertainty concerning the one who would wear Yale's colors in the mile run, but the belief grew that Duncan Yates, a junior, would be the one finally settled on by the committee in charge of the matter.

"Why don't you go into that race, Browning, old sylph?" grinned Danny Griswold. "You would astonish the public."

"Some time I'll sit on you, runtie," growled Bruce.

Stubbs remarked:

"That will settle it, as the sugar observed when the egg dropped into the coffee."

Rattleton threw a slipper at Bink, who grunted as it struck him in the ribs, but serenely continued to smoke, his mottled face wrinkled into a quaint grimace.

"What is it that you want to say about the mile race, Browning?" asked Frank, his curiosity aroused.

"I want to say that I do not believe Yates is the proper man to represent Old Eli."

"He is fast, and he has a record."

"It's no use to talk about his record."

"Why not?"

"Orton, of U. P., lays over him, and this will be a case of Yale against the field. Better men than Orton may show up."

"Yates may break his own record."

"That word 'may' is all right, but it can be applied both ways. He may not."

"There's Van Tassle," said Diamond. "He claims to be a record-breaker."

"A record-breaker!" sniffed Griswold. "Why, that fellow couldn't break an egg!"

"That's right," nodded Rattleton. "He breaks records with his mouth. Don't talk about him."

"Well, there are others," laughed Frank.

"Name a few of them," invited Browning, with more animation than he had displayed for some time.

"There's Hickson."

"He's stiff in the joints, as you know."

"Walter Gordan."

"He's no stayer. That fellow can run, but he has not the sand to make himself a winner."

"He thinks himself the biggest thing on ice," said Rattleton.

"By the way," broke in Griswold, "what is the biggest thing on ice?"

"The profit," promptly answered Stubbs, and then he made a scramble to get out of Griswold's way.

"It's no use, I can't shine when that chap is around!" exclaimed Danny, with attempted seriousness. "He has an answer for all my conundrums."

"That makes me think of one for you," piped Bink, who was now perched on the back of a high chair, like a monkey. "Why is a duel a quick affair?"

"Answer it yourself. I'll never tell."

"Well, a duel is a quick affair because it takes only two seconds to arrange it."

"There won't be a duel in this case," grunted Browning; "but there'll be a cold-blooded murder if you kids keep on. I'll assassinate you both!"

Frank laughed.

"Oh, let them go it, Bruce," he said. "It seems to amuse them, and it doesn't harm anybody else."

"I think Browning is right about Yates," declared Diamond. "He is not the proper man to represent Yale in that race."

"Whom would you suggest?" asked Frank.

"Frank Merriwell, by all means."

"Now that is folly!" said Merriwell, seriously.

"I fail to see why it is folly," cried Browning. "You are the man I have had in my mind all along."

"But I have no record."

"To the winds with your records! What we want is a man who can run. He'll make a record."

"Why do you think I can run?"

"I have seen you run, and I have heard the fellows tell about your speed. That is enough in your case."

Frank shook his head.

"It is not enough," he contradicted. "I know I have a record as a base runner in a ball game, but the best base runners are not always able to make good showings in races. Besides that, base running is dash work, and this is a case of running a mile. There is a vast difference."

"That's all right," spluttered Harry, quickly. "You can mun a rile—I mean run a mile with the best of 'em. I've seen you on a long run."

"When was that?"

"When we had that turkey chase. You led us all, and it didn't bother you a bit. Then, after you made the run out into the country and back, Pierson got after you before you could get to our rooms. You ran away from him, and held on to the turkey. That settled in Pierson's mind that you could hustle along all right, and it had something to do with his giving you a place for a trial on the ball team."

"That is true," Frank was forced to confess.

"Have you ever been in any races?" asked Diamond.

"Oh, I took part in some races when I was at Fardale Academy."

"What did you do in them?"

"I believe I won, but you must remember that I had no such rivals to go against as will be found at the tournament."

"And you were in no such condition as you are now. Is that right?"

Frank was forced to confess that it was. Then Browning tried to pin Frank down and make him answer the question whether he did not have confidence enough in himself to believe he could race Duncan Yates for a mile.

"Of course I could race him," smiled Frank, "but the matter of winning is another question."

"Well, I believe you are the man to run for Yale in that race," said Browning; "and I am going to use my influence to see that you, and not Yates, are entered. That is settled, and it is no use for you to make any objections."



CHAPTER XXX.

A HOT RUN.

Soon it became evident that Bruce Browning had not lost his old-time push entirely. When there was something to arouse him, he could bestir himself and get to work in a marvelous manner, as long as it was not necessary for him to again go into training.

Browning knew Paul Pierson, who was one of the committee of arrangements for the coming tournament, and he knew that Pierson was well aware of Frank Merriwell's general ability. Bruce had heard Pierson express a belief that Merriwell was one of the persons who, by sheer determination and sand, as well as ability, was bound to win in almost everything he attempted.

Bruce went to Pierson immediately after leaving Merriwell's room. Pierson was one of the sort who seldom said much, and Browning left him without knowing whether he had made an impression or not.

Late that afternoon, however, Pierson accidentally met Frank, who was crossing the campus.

"I say, Merriwell," said Paul, in his abrupt manner, "can you run?"

"Some," answered Frank, sententiously.

"Hum!" grunted Pierson.

Then he looked Frank all over, as if he had never seen him before and was taking his physical measure.

"You keep yourself in the very best condition all the time, I see," he finally observed.

"Well I seldom do anything to abuse myself."

"Are you in training for a race?"

"Not exactly."

"How long would it take for you to put yourself in condition?"

"Possibly a week."

"What are you good for—a short dash, or a long run?"

"I think I can do either fairly well."

"Fairly well does not go at Yale, as you know, Merriwell. You must do things exceptionally well. You are altogether too modest. If something had not brought you out, nobody could have known you could do anything at all. You have been pushed in various ways by others, but you fail to push yourself."

"Oh, I do not go about blowing my own horn," said Frank, smiling.

"You will find you'll have to blow your own horn when you go into business, or my brother is a liar. He keeps hammering at me that the man who does not blow his horn is the fellow who gets left. To a large extent, it is that way here at Yale. The fellow who keeps still and sits back gets left. That's my sermon. I'm not going to say any more now. Get into training for a long run. I'll come round at nine this evening and go you a sprint of a mile or two, just to see how you show up."

That was all. Pierson turned and sauntered away, without another word.

Frank whistled softly, and smiled.

"This is Browning's work," he muttered. "Pierson takes things for granted. How does he know I will take any part in a race? He does not ask if I will, but he tells me to go to work and get into shape. He is coming round to-night to see how I show up. All right."

At ten minutes of nine that evening, Paul Pierson rapped on the door of Merriwell's room, and was invited to walk in. He was in a rig for running, and he immediately said:

"Come, come! get out of those duds, Merriwell. You are to run with me to-night."

"How far?"

"From one to five miles, as I take a fancy."

"Oh, well, I won't change my clothes for a little thing like that," said Frank, carelessly.

"You'd better," declared Paul. "I'm going to give you a hustle, and you'll find you can keep up better if you are in a suitable rig."

"I'll take the chances of keeping just as I am."

Pierson's teeth came together with a click. He did not like that, although he tried not to show it.

"The fellow thinks he can outrun me on a long pull, as he happened to do so for a short distance once on a time," he thought. "I'll see if I can fool him."

Pierson considered himself an excellent long-distance runner, although he seldom took part in races, realizing that, good though he was, there were still better men.

Frank had on a loose thin shirt, and a light-weight suit of clothes. He caught up a cap, and announced that he was ready to go with Paul.

They went out, and soon were crossing the campus. Having arrived at a point quite outside the college grounds, Paul paused and said:

"We will start from here and make a run out into the country. I will set the pace going out, but when we turn to come back, it will be a case of the best man gets home first. The termination of the run will be your room."

"That is satisfactory," nodded Frank.

Far away a band of jolly students were singing "Stars of the Summer Night," their melodious voices making sweet music beneath the great elms. The soft breath of June came across the campus, seeming to gently bear the words of the beautiful song to their ears.

"Are you ready?" asked Pierson, sharply.

"All ready."

"Then here we go."

They were off, shoulder to shoulder.

Although Frank had not seemed to prepare for the run, he had put on his running shoes, feeling that he might absolutely need them.

Along the streets of New Haven they went, attracting but little attention, as it was not an uncommon sight at that season to see some of the college lads taking a night run in that manner.

They passed a group of fellows who were standing beneath a street light near a corner.

"Here!" softly exclaimed one of the group; "who are these chaps?"

The entire party turned to take a look at the runners.

"It's Pierson——"

"And Merriwell!"

"What did I tell you, Yates!" exclaimed Fred Flemming, a ring of satisfaction in his voice.

"Well, may I be kicked!" growled Duncan Yates, as he started after the two lads, who had passed and were scudding along the street at a steady trot.

"Flem seldom makes a mistake," murmured Tom Thornton.

"But Merriwell is not in his rig," said Andy Emery, the fourth one of the group.

"That doesn't make any difference," declared Flemming. "He is taking a run with Pierson, and that proves what I told Yates. You all know how that chap undermined me on the crew. I don't say that he can't row, mind you—I do not claim that I could have done any better than he did; but I do claim that he is full of such sneaking underhand tricks, and I knew he was trying for something when I saw him stop Pierson on the campus to-day."

Yates was silent, staring along the street, down which the two runners had disappeared.

"Come, old man!" cried Flemming, slapping Yates on the back, "let's go into Morey's and sit down, where we can have a drink and talk this matter over."

Duncan shook his head.

"I won't go in there," he said.

"Why not?"

"I am in training, you know, and somebody would see me drinking there. That would kick up some talk."

"Well, will you go anywhere?"

"Yes, I'll go somewhere that we can sit down in a quiet room, where there is no chance that fellows who know me will drop in. I feel just like having something."

"I know the very place," declared Flemming. "Come on."

Then the quartet moved away, Flemming leading.

In the meantime Merriwell and Pierson had continued on their way. As had been agreed, Pierson set the pace. At first he ran along at a gentle trot, but by the time the outskirts of New Haven were reached he had begun to increase his speed.

"Now," he thought, "I'll put Merriwell to the test, and I do not fancy he will be in condition to make a very hot run on the return."

Faster and faster went Paul, and still the lad at his side kept there with apparent ease. With their clinched hands held close to their breasts and their heads thrown back, they ran on and on.

There was a slice of a moon in the western sky, shedding a thin white light over the world. From far to the south came the shrill whistle of a locomotive, cutting through the air like a keen knife.

The road which Pierson had selected was one over which there was considerable travel, and it was in very fair condition.

Without appearing to do so, Paul slyly kept watch of Merriwell, wishing to see just how Frank stood the strain. He was forced to acknowledge that, for a time at least, Merriwell was standing it very well.

"Oh, he is endeavoring to show me how easy he can do it!" mentally exclaimed Paul. "Wait—wait a bit! I think I will give him a hot push for a bit."

Faster and faster ran Pierson, and soon he was rather gratified to hear Frank beginning to breathe heavily. Yes, although Paul had hoped that Merriwell would show up well, he did feel a momentary sense of satisfaction when it seemed that he was making the pace a hot one for his companion.

Then Frank began to lag. He did not fall far behind Paul, and still he seemed unable to keep his place at Pierson's side.

"I won't do a thing to him coming back!" decided Paul. "Browning was dead wrong. The fellow is capable of short dashes, but he is not the man for a long run. I am rather sorry."

At last, he decided that they had gone far enough into the country, and so he turned about, without stopping, calling to Frank:

"Now for the hustle into town, and let's see what you are made of, my boy. I am going to run away from you as if you were standing still."

"I wouldn't do that!" flung back Merriwell, as he wheeled about.

Somehow it seemed to Paul that there was a touch of sarcasm in the way Frank uttered the words. That aroused the committeeman still more, and he retorted:

"No, you wouldn't do it, because you couldn't; but I am going to."

"All right," laughed Frank. "I don't suppose there is any danger that somebody will steal me for my beauty if you leave me alone out here in the country. Go ahead and run away from me."

"Good-by."

"Good-by."

Then Pierson did run. He skimmed over the ground in a wonderful manner, but the sound of running feet clung close behind him, and, when he glanced over his shoulder, Merriwell was still there.

"Hanged if he doesn't hold on well!" mentally exclaimed Paul.

Then, as he glanced around, it began to seem that Merriwell was running with still greater ease than he had at any previous time. Somehow it appeared as if he was keeping close behind Pierson without any particular effort.

"You're doing well," Paul finally flung over his shoulder. "Can you keep it up?"

"I think so," was the half-laughing answer. "I am holding myself in so that I can make an attempt to follow you a short distance when you get ready to run away from me."

"Great smoke!" thought Paul. "Is he guying me? or does he fancy I have not been doing my best?"

After a little, he confessed:

"I am beginning to think that won't be an easy trick, Merriwell. You will not be far behind when we reach your room."

At this, Frank suddenly came up beside Paul.

"Judging by the way you talk, you are somewhat out of wind," he said.

"Not at all," declared Pierson.

"Then I presume you are in condition for a little dash?"

"Oh, of course! But you may beat yourself out if you crowd yourself too hard."

"Think so?"

"Sure. Better not."

"Oh, I think I'll chance it. Come on, old man, let's tear up some dust."

Then Frank spurted.

Pierson set his teeth and made a desperate effort to keep up, but, despite his determination not to fall behind, he found that Merriwell was steadily and surely drawing away.

"Come on," called Frank, in a rather tantalizing manner. "It can't be that you are going to let me run away from you?"

Paul did not answer.

"What's the matter?" called Frank again. "Are you ill?"

Still no answer.

"Well, you are not sociable at all," laughed the lad in advance, tauntingly. "I don't seem to like your company, and so I think I will move along. Good-by."

With that, Pierson could see that the tantalizing fellow actually made an increase of speed.

"Confound him!" grated Paul. "I believe he was fooling me all along when he seemed to be having a hard time to keep up. All that panting and heavy breathing was put on."

It was decidedly humiliating to be "jollied" in such a manner; but Paul found he could not hold his own with Frank, and he finally gave up the struggle. Still he continued to run on, thinking that the lad ahead would use up his wind by such a burst of speed, and believing there was a possibility of overtaking Merriwell before South Middle was reached.

This did not happen, however, and when Paul burst into Frank's room, he found Rattleton there, listening to a funny story that Merriwell was telling.

And Merriwell? He had his feet resting comfortably on the top of a table, while he lay back in an easy-chair, looking remarkably cool, as if he had not lately made a run of several miles.

More than that, he had changed his clothes, as the suit he had on was not the same he had worn during the run!

Paul staggered in, and dropped limply on the couch, staring at Frank, as if he saw a ghost.

"Look—here—Merriwell," he panted, "what—are—you—made—of? Are—you—run—by—steam?"

"Oh, no!" laughed Frank. "I beg your pardon for leaving you in such a manner, but you know you had become so very unsociable that I had to do——"

Pierson made a weak gesture, and interrupted with:

"Don't apologize for that—it was the agreement that one should run away from the other, if possible, on the way back. You had a right to do it."

"What is all this about?" asked Rattleton, in a mystified manner. "What have you fellows been doing?"

"Don't you know?" cried Paul, amazed.

"No, I don't know," declared Rattleton. "Frank walked into the room a short time ago, went into his bedroom, took a sponge bath and changed his clothes, and we have been telling stories since then."

"Took a sponge bath?" shouted Pierson, popping bolt upright. "Jerusalem. You talk as if he had been here half an hour! I will admit that this beats anything I ever experienced!"

Then he flopped down on the couch again, as if utterly overcome.



CHAPTER XXXI.

AN INCENTIVE TO WIN.

Paul Pierson had made a discovery that night, and, before he left, he told Frank Merriwell to put himself into condition to enter one of the races at the Madison Square Garden tournament in New York.

"You seem to be in pretty good condition now," he said, with a grim smile; "but you know whether you can improve your condition or not. If you can, do it, for you are liable to be pitted against men who will give you a decidedly hotter time than you have ever struck."

"All right," said Frank, quietly. "You'll find that I shall be in shape, and I'll do my best to be a credit to Old Yale."

"You have been a credit to Yale ever since the day you entered college," said Pierson, sincerely. "To-night has settled one thing in my mind. I believe you are a wonder in almost anything in the way of athletics."

"Oh, not a wonder!" said Frank. "But you can be sure that I am bound to do my level best in anything I attempt."

"I know it! I am not sure I'll be able to get you on, but I am going to try to run you into the one-mile race. We have some men for the shorter dashes, but do not seem to have but one man besides yourself who can be considered for the mile run. He has been in training for some time, and the committee had nearly decided on him. Now I am satisfied that you are the better man, but I'll have to satisfy the others."

"I want you to bear witness that I have not worked to fill the place of any other fellow."

"It might be better for Yale if you would work for such things," growled Pierson. "You will not find other fellows holding back. If any chap is capable of filling your place at anything, you may be sure he will fill it, and he'll never stop to consider your feelings about the matter."

"That is rust jite—I mean just right!" cried Rattleton, approvingly.

"Well, I am going to my rooms and take a rub down," said Paul. "Good-night, fellows."

"Good-night, Mr. Pierson."

When the door had closed behind Paul, Rattleton executed a grotesque dance on the carpet.

"Whoop!" he softly cried. "Didn't I knock him silly when I pretended not to know anything about the run this evening! Oh, wheejiz—er, jeewhiz! he nearly fainted when I told him you calmly walked into the room, took a sponge bath, put on another suit, and then we had been telling stories."

"You rascal!" cried Frank, laughing and giving Harry a shake. "That was all your own work. I didn't know you were thinking of running such a bluff on him."

"Never thought of it myself till he came in," chuckled Harry. "Between us we managed to get you out of your other clothes, give you a quick rub, and jump you into a fresh suit before Pierson showed up."

"It has been a very enjoyable evening," smiled Frank, as he again deposited himself on the easy-chair. "If I had planned to have sport with Pierson, I could not have worked it better. You should have heard me panting and puffing along behind him on our way out! You should have heard him bidding me good-by when we started to come back! And then you should have heard me asking him if he was ill when I got ready to leave him!"

Harry laughed in the heartiest manner, as his imagination supplied the picture.

"It is too good!" he cried. "And you will go into the mile run sure! Browning caused Pierson to tackle you."

"It seems that I have done pretty well in athletic matters this spring," said Frank, "and I was rather indifferent concerning the matter of taking any prominent part in the tournament at Madison Square. However, if I can do anything to uphold the standard of Old Eli, I want to do my best."

"Frank, if you run in that race, you will win," came soberly from Harry's lips. "I shall stake every dollar I can rake on you. If you do win, I'll have enough cash to take me through the summer vacation we have planned."

The door had been softly opened, and the most of Rattleton's speech was overheard by a third person, who now exclaimed:

"And I'm going to bank my cash on you, Merriwell! If you win, I'll—I'll—why, hang me! I'll make that trip across the continent with you!"

It was Bruce Browning, who advanced into the room.

"Are you in earnest about that, Bruce?" asked Frank.

"You bet I am in earnest!" was the assurance.

"You will try to pump a bicycle from New York to San Francisco?"

"Try it! Confound it! I tell you I'll do it if you win the mile run for Old Yale!"

"Then," said Frank, "I have a double object to work for, and I am going to win if it is in my body to do so!"

Rattleton was astonished to see Browning show so much animation.

"Why, you actually appear like your old self!" he exclaimed.

Bruce sat down.

"Tell me about it," he invited, speaking to Frank. "Some of the fellows said they saw you and Pierson chasing yourselves, and I caught what Rattleton was saying just as I came in."

Frank told Bruce all about the night run, and a lazy smile spread over the fat lad's round face as he listened.

"That's one on Pierson!" he exclaimed. "He thinks he is unequalled when it comes to a long-distance run, and I'll wager something that you have fixed him so he will fight to get you into that race. I can see him bidding you farewell! Ha! ha! ha! And then I can see him when you took your turn! Ha! ha! ha!"

Bruce laughed in a hearty manner, and, for some time they talked over the events of the evening.

"What sort of a fellow is Yates?" asked Frank. "I've never met him to have a talk with him."

"Oh, he isn't half bad," answered Bruce, in a somewhat noncommittal manner.

"I presume he will feel injured if I am chosen to run, instead of him?"

"What if he does? That's none of your business."



CHAPTER XXXII.

THE RUN TO THE STATION.

The final ball game of the series between Harvard and Yale was to take place at Springfield. The day of the game arrived, and there was an exodus from Yale.

There was a rush for the last train by which the college lads could reach Springfield in time to witness the whole of the game.

On their way to the station, Frank and Harry fell in with Jack Diamond and Danny Griswold.

"We've got to hurry," said Diamond, glancing at his watch. "There is no time to waste if we want to catch the train."

They soon overtook Flemming, Emery and Yates. These fellows were in the company of several other lads, among whom were two of the committee of arrangements for the tournament.

"You fellows seem to be in a great rush," one of the party called to Frank and his friends.

"You had better rush a little, if you want to catch the train," flung back Griswold.

"Ah!" said Andy Emery, with an undisguised sneer; "it's Merriwell and his trainers. They are putting him in condition to beat the field in that race he expects to enter."

"Go him to the station, Yates!" exclaimed one of the lads accompanying Duncan. "Just show him he doesn't know how to run."

"Yah!" flung back Griswold, quick as a flash. "Yates knows better than to try that. Where would he be when Merriwell reached the station?"

"Buying his ticket inside," sneered Emery, in return.

That aroused Jack Diamond, who flushed hotly and turned on Andy.

"I'll go you ten even that Merriwell beats Yates to the station platform," he flashed, producing a roll of bills. "This is business! Take me if you have the nerve!"

"Oh, I'll take you!" cried Emery; "and, when the business is over, I'll take your money, too."

He promptly produced a ten-dollar bill, and the money was quickly thrust into the hands of a stakeholder, who was chosen by mutual agreement.

"It strikes me you men are pretty swift," said Yates, in a manner that showed his disapproval. "How do you know I will run?"

"'Sh!" warned Flemming. "You'll have to run now, or they'll say you were afraid to go against Merriwell."

It was plain that Yates did not feel at all pleased by the situation, but he said:

"If I must run, I will, and I'll beat the fellow, but I don't care about getting into a sweat just now."

"Never mind that," said Emery, in Yates' ear. "If you beat Merriwell to the station, it is pretty sure that you spoil his show for getting into the mile run. This is your chance to do that little job, so don't let it slip."

Frank had said very little. It was not easy to tell if he felt satisfied or displeased over the situation.

The party turned a corner, and came in view of the station.

"Here is a good starting point," said Emery. "Does it satisfy you, Diamond?"

"Perfectly," bowed Jack.

"Then that's all right. Are you going to run, fellows?"

"I leave that entirely to Mr. Yates," said Frank, quietly.

"Oh, I'll go you—and I'll do you!" exclaimed Yates, as he tore off both coat and vest and flung them at Flemming, who caught them.

That started Rattleton, who excitedly cried:

"I'll tet you ben dollars—I mean I'll bet you ten dollars you don't do it!"

Yates paid no attention to this, but Flemming said:

"I'll have to go you, Rattleton. Put up the tenner."

The money was quickly posted, and then the rivals stood side by side, with their coats and vests removed, ready for the word.

Merriwell seemed quiet and indifferent, as if it were an event of no particular moment; while on Yates' face there was a look that plainly showed he was determined to settle all dispute by winning the dash to the station.

One of the committee had been chosen to give the word, and he stepped out, sharply calling:

"Ready!"

The lads leaned forward over the scratch in the dirt, which had been drawn by somebody's heel.

"Go!"

Away shot the rivals like leaping fawns. They seemed like two foxes, and the crowd of lads who broke away in pursuit resembled a pack of hounds.

It was a hot dash, and, for some time, the boys were running side by side, neither seeming to have an advantage.

"Wait a bit," panted Emery, at Diamond's side; "you'll soon see Yates spurt and leave Merriwell."

"What do you think Merriwell will be doing while Yates is spurting?" asked Jack, sarcastically.

"He'll seem to be standing still."

"Will he? Wait and see!"

The rivals were drawing near the station, and still it seemed that they were keeping side by side.

"Now they are spurting!"

Yes, they were spurting for the finish, but, to the amazement of Yates' friends, a single bound had seemed to carry Frank Merriwell two yards in advance of the other runner, and this advantage Merriwell maintained.

In another moment the station would be reached, and the race must end. Seeing this, Andy Emery was bitterly grinding out an exclamation of rage and disgust.

Suddenly Yates seemed to trip and fall heavily. He tried to spring up, but seemed to be hurt, and he was struggling to rise when Flemming reached the spot and lifted him to his feet.

"Are you hurt?" asked several, as they gathered around Duncan.

"Not much," he answered, rather thickly; "but I lost the dash by that fall."

"Rats!" muttered Harry Rattleton. "He had lost it before he fell."

"I was ready to make the final spurt, which would have carried me ahead of Merriwell at the finish," declared Yates.

"Oh, it is a case of beastly luck!" growled Andy Emery. "It is the way everything turns in Merriwell's favor. He never wins except it is by cold luck."

"Oh, come off!" chirped Danny Griswold. "You're sore, that's all ails you!"

"Shut up, or I'll wring your neck!"

"You can't catch me, you know," taunted the little fellow, as he skipped out of reach.

On the station platform Merriwell was quietly waiting the arrival of the others, fanning himself with his handkerchief.

It happened that Bruce Browning was at the station, and he had seen the race between the rivals. In his ponderous manner, he hurried to congratulate Frank.

"Yates was a fool to try it!" declared Bruce, his round face seeming to expand into one broad grin. "He might have known what would happen. I see Crockett and Gibbs, two of the committee, with the fellows. They witnessed the whole business, and it must have settled matters in their minds."

"I wish Yates had not fallen," said Frank, with regret.

"He did not fall accidentally, and you can bet your greasy coin on that! It was plain enough."

"Then you think—just what?"

"That he saw he was beaten, and fell so that he might make a claim that you outran him by accident."

"I had the lead."

"Yes, and he could not have recovered and overtaken you in a week! But that makes no difference. Allee samee, I rather fancy Yates will not fool anybody very much."

The knot of fellows now approached the station, where there was a great throng of Yale lads who had seen the race.

Yates was very pale, but there was a burning light in his eyes. He advanced straight to Frank, and distinctly said:

"Mr. Merriwell, you beat me this time through an accident; but I will run you again, and I'll win."

Frank bowed with the utmost courtesy.

"Mr. Yates," he said, "you will find me willing and ready to run with you any time."

"Whoopee!" squealed Danny Griswold, turning a handspring. "That's business straight from headquarters!"

"Here comes the train!" was the cry.

Then there was a scramble for tickets and for seats on the train.



CHAPTER XXXIII.

ENEMIES AT WORK.

It happened that Merriwell and his friends entered the smoker. They found Bink Stubbs curled up in a corner, puffing away at a cigarette.

"You seem to be well fixed, Stubbs," said Frank.

And the little fellow cheerfully returned:

"Oh, I've got a snap, as the bear said when he stepped into the steel trap."

Then room was made for a jolly little party in the corner, and all the fellows who smoked lighted up cigarettes or cigars.

"I've got ten more to put on the game to-day," cried Rattleton, gleefully. "And I took it out of Flemming. That is what pleases me the most."

Jack Diamond smiled.

"It pleases me to say that I pulled a sawbuck out of Emery," he said. "He squirmed a little, but it was too late to squeal."

"We'll all come back with our clothes stuffed with money," declared Browning. "Yale is sure to win to-day, and that will put lots of fellows on their feet. Some of the boys have soaked everything they could rake together to get money to put on the game, for Heffiner's arm is in great form, and he says he will make monkeys of the Harvard Willies."

"Speaking about hocking things," said Bandy Robinson, "I let my unc. have a dozen white shirts, among other things. If Yale doesn't win, I won't have a shirt to my name."

"That's nothing," declared Ben Halliday, nonchalantly, as he blew out a big whiff of smoke. "I've soaked my entire wardrobe, save what I have on my back. But Willis Paulding did the slickest trick to raise the wind."

"Paulding?" cried Diamond. "I'd never dreamed he could do anything very smooth."

"He did, just the same. Last year, when Merry pitched the deciding game of the series, Paulding felt sure Harvard would win, and he stuck on 'em every last rag of money he could rake and scrape. Well, Yale won, and Willis was busted. He was forced to tell his old man the whole truth before he could get money enough to let him out of New Haven for the summer. More than that, the old man has taken precautions to prevent Willis from having any money to waste in betting this year. He has all of Willis' bills sent to him to settle, and keeps his son horribly short of filthy. Just as hard, Willis found out that the governor had told his tailor to make the boy all the clothes he wanted. That was enough. Willis ordered six suits at fifty dollars each, and he soaked every one of them at ten each as soon as he got them. So you see Paulding is provided with plenty of coin for this little racket, and he says he is going to put every red he has on Old Yale. Last year cured him of betting against his own colors."

"If Willis thought of that scheme himself, he has more brains in his head than I fancied," smiled Diamond.

"Tell you how I made a strike," chirped Danny Griswold. "You know I've been writing a few things and giving them away to the papers. Well, the governor heard of it, and he decided I was making a fool of myself, so he sat down and fired a shot at me. He called my attention to the fact that Johnson said the man who writes for anything but money is a fool. This is the way I answered: 'Dear Gov: I observe you say some chap by the name of Johnson says the man who writes for anything but money is a fool. I quite agree with Mr. Johnson. Please send me one hundred dollars.' That must have hit the old boy about right, for he sent me fifty."

Danny ended with a gleeful chuckle, and the listening lads laughed.

"That's pretty good—for you," nodded Bink Stubbs; "but speaking about clothes reminds me that I had a little lunch in a restaurant last evening, and I found a button in the salad. I called the waiter's attention to it, and he calmly said, 'That's all right, sir; it's part of the dressing.'"

"Now he has broken loose!" cried Danny Griswold. "There is no telling what sort of a rusty old gag he'll try to spring. If we only had a few stale eggs for him!"

Bink grinned, as he observed:

"There's nothing like poached eggs, as the nigger said when he robbed the hencoop."

Diamond proposed a song, and soon the boys were at it. When they had finished one song, Browning soberly observed:

"It seems to me that there is one song which would be particularly appropriate for this season when all of us are soaking something in order to raise the wind."

"What is it?" shouted several voices.

"Solomon Levi."

In another moment the merry lads were shouting:

"My name is Solomon Levi, my store's on Salem Street; That's where you buy your coats and vests and everything that's neat. I've second-handed ulsterettes, and everything that's fine, For all the boys they trade with me at a hundred and forty-nine.

CHORUS: "Oh, Solomon Levi! tra, la, la, la! Poor Sheeny Levi! tra, la, la, la, la, la, la, la!

"And if a bummer comes along to my store on Salem Street And tries to hang me up for coats and vests so very neat, I kick that bummer right out of my store, and on him sets my pup, For I won't sell clothing to any man who tries to hang me up."

Thus the rollicking lads spent the time as the train rolled along bearing them to witness the great ball game of the season with Harvard.

Again and again Frank Merriwell's friends expressed regret because his hand, on which there had been a felon, prevented him from taking part in the game. They could not forget that he had pitched the deciding game between Yale and Harvard the previous year, and had won it.

Frank had also done some good work during the present season, and sporting papers all over the country had declared that he was one of the very best college "twirlers."

This, however, was Hugh Heffiner's last year at Yale, and, without doubt, the coming game was the last he would ever pitch for "Old Eli."

Until Merriwell appeared, Heffiner had been Yale's mainstay in the box, and his admirers declared that it was pretty sure that a long time would elapse before he would have a worthy successor.

But Heffiner was overworked, and he came near throwing his arm out. As it was, he strained his arm so that he was utterly unable to pitch at all.

Then it was that it was found necessary to find somebody to assist the "change pitcher," Dad Hicks, in his work.

Hicks was good for four or five innings, but he was unable to keep up the strain through an entire game.

Paul Pierson, captain and manager of the Yale nine, had seen Merriwell do some pitching for the freshmen, and he resolved to give Frank a trial.

Pierson's judgment was not at fault, and Merriwell quickly proved that he was worthy to become Heffiner's successor.

Of course there was much regret because Frank could not be on the bench, at least, ready to go into the game if needed; but all seemed to feel confident that Heffiner would make his last game for Yale a hot one. He had done some marvelous work, and, as he declared himself in prime condition, there was no reason why he should not hold Harvard down on this occasion.

While Merriwell was surrounded by friends in the smoker, and the boys were having a decidedly jolly time, Duncan Yates was getting into a decidedly ugly mood in the adjoining car.

When Yates thought of his failure to beat his rival in the dash to the station he ground his teeth and muttered bitter curses.

And he was egged on by Fred Flemming and Andy Emery. Tom Thornton had joined the group, but he said very little; and, when he found an opportunity, he whispered in Flemming's ear:

"Better go slow. Remember the promise we gave Merriwell. If he finds out we are working against him, it will go hard with us."

"He won't find it out. I hate him too much to keep still if I can arouse another fellow against him. Give me your flask. Yates has killed all I have in mine."

Thornton took a whiskey flask from his pocket, and slipped it into Flemming's hand. Then he left, for he did not wish Merriwell's friends to see him in such company.

Flemming and Emery made a pretense of drinking with Yates, but they did not take much. Yates, however, continued to "hit the bottle hard." His face became flushed, and his eyes glowed as Flemming continued to tell him of Merriwell's "underhand work."

"That fellow did me dirt," declared Flemming. "In this same sneaking way, he had me dropped from the crew this spring, and got on in my place."

"That's right," agreed Emery. "He has a way of influencing such men as he can get at, and he is using his influence to get the committee to throw you over."

"And he can't run with you, anyway," said Flemming. "It is possible that he can lead you in a short dash, like the race to the station to-day, but he would not be in it in a long run."

"That race was one of his tricks," asserted Emery. "I believe the job was put up by him."

"How?" asked Yates, huskily.

"Why, he saw you in company with the rest of us, and he thought he stood a good show of outrunning you for a short spurt, so he had Diamond and Rattleton make the talk that they did to bring the race about."

"If that was not crooked, I don't know what you could call it," nodded Flemming. "He sprung it on you when you were not suspecting, and he led you to go against him for a short run, in which he is at his best. All the time, he knew he was not your match for a long race. That doesn't make a bit of difference to him."

"Not a bit," said Andy. "He is not looking for the good of Old Yale, but he is looking to get into the big race at the tournament. He has been lucky in everything he has tried, and he is depending on his luck to win the race and acquire further glory for himself."

"Let's have another drink all round," suggested Flemming, as he produced Thornton's flask once more.

Yates took several swallows. Emery and Flemming pretended to drink in a hearty manner, but they allowed very little whiskey to go down their throats.

This drink seemed to be the one that aroused Yates to action. He suddenly jumped to his feet, and there was a fierce look on his face as he cried:

"Come on!"

"What are you going to do?" asked Flemming, quickly thrusting the flask into his pocket.

"I am going to find Frank Merriwell!" came hoarsely from Yates' lips.



CHAPTER XXXIV.

BASEBALL.

There was a crush in the rear end of the smoker. A crowd had gathered there, and the lads were singing, shouting, laughing and making merry in various ways.

Some fellows were sitting on the backs of the seats. The trainmen could not drive them down. It was useless to try with such a set of lads.

Danny Griswold was astride the shoulders of Dismal Jones, who was the only solemn-looking man in the car. Occasionally Jones would "break out" in his peculiar camp-meeting revivalist's style and would deliver fragments of a sermon on the frivolous things of the world. Each time he was quickly suppressed, however.

Into the midst of this jolly crowd came a lad whose face was flushed and whose eyes were gleaming strangely. His lips curled back over his set teeth, and he seemed to quiver with a strange eagerness.

"Let me through!" he growled, forcing his way along. "There is a fellow here I want to see."

There was something in his voice that caused them to give him room to advance till he was standing directly in front of Frank Merriwell. Then his hands clinched, and, as he tried to speak, he choked with passion, so that words failed him.

A sudden hush came over the throng, for they saw that there was trouble impending.

"It's Yates!"

Somebody muttered the words, and they seemed to break the spell that had fallen on the enraged lad who was glaring at Frank.

"Yes, it is Yates!" he snarled. "I suppose all you fellows are Frank Merriwell's chums, but that makes no difference to me."

He stopped a moment, but he did not take his eyes from Frank's face. He seemed to be gathering himself for the supreme effort.

"Merriwell," he said, his voice shaking, "you are a sneak!"

Every one expected Frank would leap to his feet and strike Yates, but he did nothing of the kind. The hot blood rushed to his face, and then fled away again, leaving him cold and pale. About his firm jaws there was a sudden hardening, and in turn he showed his teeth.

"Mr. Yates," he said, "you are not complimentary."

"I do not mean to be to such a fellow as you!" Yates shot back.

"You are insulting!"

"I am if the truth can be considered an insult."

"I demand an explanation."

"I do not propose to waste any breath in giving explanations to such as you. You know why I say you are a sneak—you know you are a sneak!"

Frank Merriwell laughed. That laugh was a warning that he was dangerous. Diamond knew it; Rattleton knew it. They held themselves ready to make room when Frank Merriwell saw fit to act.

"You put yourself in a bad light by calling a man a sneak and then refusing to tell why you call him that," said Frank.

Yates did not know Merriwell very well and that laugh had not sounded a warning to him. Instead, it really seemed that Frank was frightened, and he had laughed to conceal the fact.

"It is my conviction," he cried, "that you are not only a sneak, but you are also a coward! If that is not enough, I will make it still more forcible."

Quick as a flash, he struck Frank in the face with his clinched fist.

A gasp came from those who witnessed this act. There was no time given for further words.

Like a leaping panther, Frank Merriwell shot up and alighted on Duncan Yates. He clutched Yates in his strong grasp, snapped him off his feet, swung him into the air.

The spectators had fallen back in a wild sort of scramble to get out of the way. Thus enough room was made for Merriwell to act.

It was a warm day, and the car door was open. Almost before any one could tell what Frank thought of doing, he leaped out through the doorway, and, with the lad who had delivered the blow still poised above his head, seemed on the verge of hurling Yates from the flying train!

"Stop, Frank!"

Diamond shouted the words.

Cries of horror broke from the lips of the other spectators of the scene, but, strangely enough, none of them made a move to prevent Merriwell from carrying out his apparent purpose.

If Merriwell flung Yates from the train the unfortunate lad who had aroused Frank's wrath must be instantly killed.

At first, when he had felt himself clutched, Yates had struggled, but, to his amazement, he seemed like a child in the grasp of the infuriated athlete.

As Frank reached the platform and poised Yates aloft, the latter seemed to realize his peril, and fear robbed him of nerve and strength. He was limp and helpless in Merriwell's grasp.

And then, almost as quickly as Frank had caught the lad up, he lowered him to his feet.

Again Merriwell laughed, but this time there really seemed to be something of amusement in the sound.

"If I had dropped you off, Mr. Yates, you must have been injured," he said, and his voice was soft and gentle.

Yates gasped.

"Jee!" chattered Bink Stubbs. "That was a regular hair-raiser, as the fellow said when he finished the blood-and-thunder story."

Yates swayed and caught at the iron rail. The flush had gone out of his face, which was ashen-gray.

"Better go into the car," said Merriwell. "You seem rather unsteady, and you might fall off here."

Without a word, Yates steadied himself by taking hold of the side of the door, and entered the car.

Merriwell followed, taking out his handkerchief and pressing it lightly to the spot on his cheek where a slight bruise marked the spot that had felt the enraged lad's fist.

The witnesses of this scene seemed to breathe freely for the first time. They stared at Frank as if his marvelous display of strength had been a revelation to them.

Yates had plenty of friends, as he had never seemed a bad sort of fellow, but the fact that he had struck Merriwell while the latter was sitting down was against him.

"He's been drinking," one declared. "Merriwell could not have handled him that way otherwise."

"Did Merriwell really mean to throw him off?" asked another.

There were some murmurs of disapproval at Frank's action, but the expressions of astonishment and admiration for his display of strength drowned all other sounds.

Yates turned and looked at Frank, but he seemed unable to express his feelings by means of words.

Jack Diamond was flushed with rage.

"It would have served the fellow right if Merriwell had dropped him off!" declared the hot-blooded Southerner.

Andy Emery was near at hand, but he had been unable to give Yates any assistance when the latter was grasped by Frank.

"Good heavens!" he kept repeating, as he stared at Frank Merriwell in a manner that showed his unutterable amazement.

It was plain that such a display of strength had been a revelation to him, and from that time Emery was bound to regard Merriwell with renewed respect.

"Mr. Yates," said Frank, quietly, "this is no place to settle any quarrel that has arisen between us; but I wish to say before witnesses that I consider you entirely in the wrong, and certainly you owe me an apology. You may not think so now, but I believe you will think so in time."

That was all. He returned to his seat and sat down. Yates seemed to hesitate, and then turned away, accompanied by Emery.

Flemming had kept himself in the background during the entire affair.

When the train reached Springfield Yates was in no condition to go to the ball ground. He had taken too much whiskey to carry, and his pretended friends, Flemming and Emery, were forced to get him out of sight as soon as possible.

"That ought to be a settler for him," said Diamond. "A fellow who is in training for a race can't afford to get loaded."

Yale men had heavily backed their own club to win, and it seemed that the majority of the Harvard crew was trying to put money on the blue.

It was expected by Harvard that Merriwell would pitch the deciding game, for the actual condition of his hand had been kept a secret, and Harvard feared Merriwell.

To himself Frank confessed that he could pitch the game, as his hand was in fairly good condition, but such improvement had not been expected, and it had been arranged that he should do no "twirling."

Besides that, it was Heffiner's last game for Yale, and, taking into consideration the record he had made, it seemed no more than right that he should be placed in the box.