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Frank Merriwell at Yale; Or, Freshman Against Freshman

by Burt L. Standish · English · Gutenberg #11115 · 430,982 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Frank Merriwell at Yale; Or, Freshman Against Freshman

Author: Burt L. Standish


        
Release date: February 1, 2004 [eBook #11115]
                Most recently updated: October 28, 2024

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/11115

Credits: Produced by Steven desJardins and Distributed Proofreaders


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FRANK MERRIWELL AT YALE; OR, FRESHMAN AGAINST FRESHMAN ***

[Illustration: "He finally found himself slugged under the ear and sent
flying over a chair."]




FRANK MERRIWELL
AT YALE

BY

BURT L STANDISH




1903




CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I--Trouble Brewing
II--Challenged and Hazed
III--The Blow
IV--The Fight
V--The Finish
VI--A Fresh Council
VII--A Surprise
VIII--The "Roast" at East Rock
IX--The Duel
X--At Morey's
XI--"Lambda Chi!"
XII--Freshman Against Sophomore
XIII--Jubilant Freshmen
XIV--The Rush
XV--On the Ball Field
XVI--To Break an Enemy's Wrist
XVII--Talking it Over
XVIII--Merriwell and Rattleton
XIX--Who is the Traitor?
XX--A Hot Chase
XXI--Roast Turkey
XXII--A Surprise for Frank
XXIII--The Yale Spirit
XXIV--Gordon Expresses Himself
XXV--The Traitor Discovered
XXVI--The Race
XXVII--A Change of Pitchers
XXVIII--The Game Grows Hotter
XXIX--The End of the Game
XXX--Rattleton is Excited
XXXI--What Ditson Wanted
XXXII--Ditson is Trapped
XXXIII--"Play Ball"
XXXIV--A Hot Finish





FRANK MERRIWELL AT YALE,



CHAPTER I.

TROUBLE BREWING.


  "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!"

From the open window of his rooms on York Street Frank Merriwell heard
the distant chorus of a rollicking band of students who had been having
a merry evening in town.

Frank had passed his examinations successfully and had been admitted as
a student at Yale. In order to accomplish this without taking a
preparatory course at Phillips Academy, he had found it necessary to
vigorously "brush up" the knowledge he had acquired at the Fardale
Military Academy which was a college preparatory school.

Professor Scotch, Frank's guardian, had been of great assistance to him,
for the professor knew just about what would be required at the
entrance examination, and he had kept the boy digging away away at the
propositions in the First Book of Euclid, had drilled him in Caesar,
caused him to spend weary hours over Virgil and the Iliad, and made him
not a little weary of his Xenophon.

As he passed without a condition, although he had been told again and
again that a course at Phillips Academy was almost an absolute
necessity, Frank was decidedly grateful to the professor.

Professor Scotch's anxiety had brought him to New Haven, where he
remained "till the agony was over," as Frank expressed it. The little
man bubbled over with delight when he found his _protégé_ had gone
through without a struggle.

Having secured the rooms on York Street, the professor saw Frank
comfortably settled, and then, before taking his departure, he attempted
to give the boy some wholesome advice.

"Don't try to put on many frills here the first year," he said. "You
will find that freshmen do not cut much of a figure here. It doesn't
make any difference what you have done or what you have been elsewhere,
you will have to establish a record by what you do and what you become
here. You'll find these fellows here won't care a rap if you have
discovered the North Pole or circumnavigated the globe in--er--ah--ten
days. It will be all the better for you if you do not let them know you
are rich in your own name and have traveled in South America, Africa,
Europe, and other countries. They'd think you were bragging or lying if
you mentioned it, and--"

"You know well enough that I am not given to boasting about myself,
professor, and so you are wasting your breath," said Frank, rather
resentfully.

"Hum! ha! Don't fly off the handle--keep cool. I know you have sand, and
you're made of the right kind of stuff; but you are the greatest hand to
get into scrapes I ever saw, and a little advice won't do you any harm.
You will find that in many things you cannot do just as you would like,
so you must--"

"I'll get into the game all right, so don't worry. You will remember
that I did fairly well at Fardale, and you should not worry about me
while I am here."

"I will not. You did well at Fardale--that's right. You were the most
popular boy in the academy; but you will find Yale is far different from
Fardale."

So the professor took his departure, and Frank was left to begin life at
college.

His roommate was a rollicking, headstrong, thoughtless young fellow from
Ohio. Harry Rattleton was his name, and it seemed to fit him perfectly.
He had a way of speaking rapidly and heedlessly and turning his
expressions end for end.

Frank had been able to assist Harry at examination. Harry and Frank
were seated close to each other, and when it was all over and the two
boys knew they had passed all right, Harry came to Frank, held out his
hand, and said:

"I believe your name is Merriwell. Mine is Rattleton and I am from Ohio.
Merriwell, you are a brick, and I am much obliged to you. Let's room
together. What do you say?"

"I am agreeable," smiled Frank.

That was the way Frank found his roommate.

Harry was interested in sports and athletics, and he confided to Frank
that he was bound to make a try for both the baseball and football
teams. He had brought a set of boxing gloves, foils, and a number of
sporting pictures. The foils were crossed above the mantel and the
pictures were hung about the walls, but he insisted on putting on the
gloves with Frank before hanging them up where they would be ornamental.

"I've taken twenty lessons, old man," he said, "and I want to point you
a few shows--I mean show you a few points. We'll practice every day, and
I'll bet in less than ten weeks I'll have you so you'll be able to hold
your own with any fellow of your age and weight. Ever had the gloves
on?"

"A few times," answered Frank, with a quiet smile.

"That's all the better. I won't have to show you how to start in. Here,
here--that hand goes on the other glove--I mean that glove goes on the
other hand. That's the way. Now we're off. Left forward foot--er, left
foot forward. Hold your guard this way. Now hit me if you can."

Almost like a flash of lightning Frank's glove shot out, and he caused
the glove to snap on Harry's nose.

"Whee jiz--I mean jee whiz!" gasped the astonished boy from Ohio.
"You're quick! But it was an accident; you can't do it again."

He had scarcely uttered the words before Frank feinted and then shot in
a sharp one under Harry's uplifted guard.

"Great Scott! You do know some tricks! I'll bet you think you can box!
Well, I'll have to drive that head out of your notion--I mean that
notion out of your head. Look out for me now! I'm coming!"

Then Harry Rattleton sailed into Frank and met with the greatest
surprise of his life, for he found he could not touch Merriwell, and he
was beaten and hammered and battered about the room till he finally felt
himself slugged under the ear and sent flying over a chair, to land in a
heap in one corner of the room. He sat up and held his gloved hand to
his ear, which was ringing with a hundred clanging bells, while he
stared astounded at his roommate.

"Wow!" he gurgled. "What have I been up against? Are you a prize
fighter in disguise?"

That experience was enough to satisfy him that Frank Merriwell knew a
great deal more than he did about boxing.

As Frank sat by his window listening to the singing, on the evening that
this story opens, he was wondering where Harry could be, for his
roommate had been away since shortly after supper.

Frank knew the merry singers were sophomores, the malicious and
unrelenting foes of all freshmen. He would have given not a little had
he been able to join them in their songs, but he knew that was not to be
thought of for a moment.

As he continued to listen, a clear tenor voice struck into that most
beautiful of college songs when heard from a distance:

  "When the matin bell is ringing,
    U-ra-li-o, U-ra-li-o,
  From my rushy pallet springing,
    U-ra-li-o, U-ra-li-o,
  Fresh as the morning light forth I sally,
  With my sickle bright thro' the valley,
  To my dear one gayly singing,
    U-ra-li-o, U-ra-li-o."

Then seven or eight strong musical young voices came in on the warbling
chorus, and the boy at the window listened enchanted and enraptured,
feeling the subtle charm of it all and blessing fortune that he was a
youth and a student at Yale.

The charm of the new life he had entered upon was strong, and it was
weaving its spell about him--the spell which makes old Yale so dear to
all who are fortunate enough to claim her as their _alma mater_. He
continued to listen, eagerly drinking in the rest of the song as it came
through the clear evening air:

  "When the day is closing o'er us,
    U-ra-li-o, U-ra-li-o,
  And the landscape fades before us,
    U-ra-li-o, U-ra-li-o,
  When our merry men quit their mowing,
  And along the glen horns are blowing,
  Sweetly then we'll raise the chorus,
    U-ra-li-o, U-ra-li-o."

The warbling song died out in the distance, there was a rush of feet
outside the door, and Harry, breathless and excited, came bursting into
the room.

"I say, old man," he cried, "what do I think?"

"Really, I don't know," laughed Frank. "What do you think?"

"I--I mean wh-what do you think?" spluttered Harry.

"Why, I think a great many things. What's up, anyway?"

"You know Diamond?"

"The fellow they call Jack?"

"Yes."

"I should say so! It was his bull pup that chewed a piece out of the leg
of my trousers. I kicked the dog downstairs, and Diamond came near
having a fit over it. He's got a peppery temper, and he was ready to
murder me. I reckon he thought I should have taken off my trousers and
given them to the dog to chew."

"He's a Southerner--from Virginia. He's a dangerous chap, Frank--just as
lief eat as fight--I mean fight as eat. He's been in town to-night,
drinking beer with the boys, and he's in a mighty ugly mood. He says you
insulted him."

"Is that so?"

"It's just so, and he's going to dallenge you to a chewel--I mean
challenge you to a duel."

Frank whistled softly, elevating his brows a bit.

"What sort of a duel?" he asked.

"Why, a regular duel with deadly weapons. He's awfully in earnest,
Frank, and he means to kill you if you don't apologize. All the fellows
are backing him; they think you will not fight."

"Is that so? Looking for me to show the white feather, are they? Well, I
like that!"

"But you can't fight him! I tell you he's a fire eater! I've heard that
his father killed a man in a duel."

"And that makes the son dangerous! No, Harry, I can't afford to--What's
all that racket?"

The sound of voices and of many feet ascending the stairs could be
heard. Harry turned pale.

"They're coming, Frank!" he exclaimed. "It's the whole gang, and Diamond
is with them. He means to force you to fight or squeal!"




CHAPTER II.

CHALLENGED AND HAZED.


The voices were hushed, the feet halted in the hall, and then there was
a sharp knock on the door.

Before Harry could reach the door Frank called out:

"Come in."

Open flew the door, and there stood the tall, straight, dark-eyed
Southerner, with half a dozen other fellows behind him.

"Mr. Merriwell," said Diamond, stiffly, "I have called to see you on a
very important matter, sir."

"Walk right in," invited Frank, rising to receive them. "Bring your
friends in. State your business, Mr. Diamond."

The party came trooping in, and Frank was not a little astonished to
observe among them Bruce Browning, a big, strong, lazy sophomore, a
fellow who was known to be a great hand to plan deviltry which was
usually carried into execution by his friends. As for Browning, he was
not given to exerting himself when he could avoid it.

That a soph should associate with a party of freshmen seemed but a
little short of marvelous, and Frank instantly scented "a job."
Believing he had been singled out for the party to "jolly," his blood
was up in a moment, and he resolved to show them that he was not "easy."

Jack Diamond drew himself up, his eyes fastened threateningly on Frank,
and said:

"Sir, you had the impudence to kick my dog, and when I remonstrated with
you, you insulted me. I demand an apology before these gentlemen."

Frank held himself in check; he appeared as cool as an iceberg.

"Sir," he said, "your confounded dog spoiled a pair of ten-dollar
trousers for me, and I demand another pair--or satisfaction."

Harry Rattleton caught his breath. Was Merriwell crazy? He started
forward, as if to intervene, but Diamond, his eyes blazing, motioned him
back.

"Very well, sir," said the Southerner, addressing Frank, "you shall have
all the satisfaction you desire. Mr. Ditson will represent me."

Roland Ditson pressed forward. He was a loud-voiced youth who wore loud
clothes and sported a large amount of jewelry.

"Name your second, Merriwell," he said in an authoritative way. "We want
to settle this matter as soon as possible."

Frank named Harry, and the seconds conferred together.

Merriwell sat down and coolly awaited the result, with his hands in his
pockets. Diamond drew aside, his friends gathering about him. Bruce
Browning interested himself in what was passing between Rattleton and
Ditson, and it was plain that he was urging them to do something.

After a few minutes Harry approached Frank, a troubled look on his face.

"It's an outrage!" he indignantly exclaimed. "Ditson insists that it be
a degular ruel--I mean a regular duel with rapiers. He says you gave the
challenge, and so Diamond has the right to name the weapons. Such a
thing can't take place!"

"Oh, yes, it can," said Frank, coolly. "Accept the proposition and have
the affair come off as soon as possible."

"But, Frank, think of it! I'll bet Diamond is an expert swordsman, and
he's just the kind of a chap to lose his head and run you through the
body! Why, it would be dimply serrible--I mean simply terrible!"

"I'll have to fight him or take water. Now, Harry, old man, you don't
want me to show the white feather, so go back and complete the
arrangements."

"But there ought to be some other way of settling it. If you could
fight him with your fists I know you'd beat him, but you don't stand a
show this way."

Frank looked his roommate squarely in the eye.

"Go back and accept every proposition Ditson makes," he commanded, and
Rattleton felt the influence of Merriwell's superior will.

Back he went, and it did not take the seconds long, with Bruce
Browning's aid, to settle matters. Browning said he knew a nice quiet
place where the duel could take place without danger of interruption,
and in a short time the entire party was on the street, following the
lead of the big sophomore.

Harry was at Frank's side and he was greatly agitated.

"If you are counting on Diamond backing down you'll be dadly--I mean
sadly disappointed," he whispered. "That fellow doesn't know what it is
to be afraid, and he'll stand up to the end."

"Keep cool," directed Frank. "He'll find there are others."

Harry gave up in despair.

"This is a terrible affair!" he muttered to himself. "It's likely to
mean arrest, disgrace, imprisonment for the whole of us, if those blamed
hot-headed fools don't kill each other!"

But he decided to stand by his roommate, no matter what came.

Browning led them away from the vicinity of the college buildings and
down a dark street. At length they came to an old brick structure, in
which not a light was to be seen. Down some slippery stone steps they
went, and the big soph let them in by unlocking a door.

It was dark inside. Browning closed and locked the door, after which he
conducted them along a narrow passage, opened another door, and ushered
them into a room.

The smell of cigarette smoke was strong there, and Frank knew the place
had been lately occupied by smokers.

A match spluttered, and then a lamp was lighted.

"Get ready for business," directed Browning. "I will bring the rapiers
and another light."

Then he vanished beyond a door that opened into another dark room.

Frank looked around and saw a table, upon which were cards and empty
beer bottles. There were chairs and some copies of illustrated sporting
papers. The walls were bare.

It was warm down there, and Frank immediately discarded his coat.

Diamond was about to follow Merriwell's example, when there was a sudden
rush of feet and the room filled in a twinkling with masked youths, who
flung themselves on the astonished freshmen and made all but Frank a
prisoner in a moment.

Frank instantly understood that they had been trapped and he knocked
down four of his assailants before they could bear him to the floor and
overpower him.

His hands were securely bound, and then he was lifted to his feet.

"Well, fellows, that was a pretty slick trick," he half laughed, as he
coolly looked around. "You sophs have been trying to corral a gang of us
for a week, and with the aid of the smooth Mr. Browning you succeeded
very finely this time."

"Silence!" roared a deep voice, and a tall fellow in a scarlet Mephisto
rig confronted Frank. "You have intruded upon forbidden ground. None but
the chosen may enter here and escape with life."

"Not one!" chorused all the masks in deep and dismal unison.

Mephisto made a signal. Once more the freshmen were seized.

"Away with them!" shouted the fellow in red.

In another moment all but Frank had been hustled out of the room. Then
Frank was suddenly held fast and blindfolded. He was dragged along to
some place where the opening of another door brought to his ears the
sound of horns and shouts of fiendish glee. He was made to mount some
stairs and then his feet were kicked from beneath him, and he shot down
a steep and slippery incline into the very midst of the shouting demons.
He dropped through space and landed--in a vat of ice-cold water. Then he
was dragged out, thumped on the head with stuffed clubs, deafened by the
horns that bellowed in his ears, and tossed in a blanket till his head
bumped against the ceiling. Then he was forced to crawl through a piano
box that was filled with sawdust. He was pushed and pulled and hammered
and thumped till he was sore in every part of his body.

All through this ordeal not a word or murmur escaped his lips. His teeth
were set, and he felt that he had rather die than utter a sound that
betrayed pain or agitation.

This seemed to infuriate his assailants. They banged him about till he
could scarcely stand, and then, of a sudden, there was a great hush,
while a terrible voice croaked:

"Bring forth the guillotine!"

There was a bustle, and then the bandage was stripped from Frank's eyes,
he was tripped up, and a second later found himself lying helpless with
his neck in the socket of a mock guillotine. Above him was suspended a
huge gleaming knife that seemed to tremble, as if about to fall. At his
side was a fellow dressed in the somber garments of an executioner.

It was really a severe strain upon his nerves, but still his teeth were
clinched, and not a sound came from his lips.

"The knife is broken," whispered the mock executioner in Frank's ear,
"so it may accidentally fall and cut you."

"Have you any last message, fresh?" hoarsely whispered the mock
executioner. "There might be a fatal accident."

Frank made no reply save to wink tauntingly at the fellow.

The next instant, with a nerve-breaking swish, the shining blade fell!

A piece of ice was drawn across Frank's throat and a stream of warm
water squirted down his back.

It was most horribly real and awful, and for a moment it seemed that the
knife had actually done the frightful deed.

Despite his wonderful nerve, Frank gasped; but he quickly saw that the
knife had swung aside and his head was still attached to his body.

Then he forced a derisive laugh from his lips, and seemed not the least
disturbed, much to the disgust of the assembly.

"Confound him!" growled a voice, which Frank fancied he recognized as
belonging to Browning. "There's no fun in him. Let's try another."

Then Frank was lifted to his feet and assisted to don his coat.

"If you want to stay and see the fun, put on a mask," directed Mephisto.
"You must not be recognized by the other freshies."

He was given a mask and he put it on as directed.

A moment later the masked youths began to howl and blow horns. A door
opened, and Diamond, blindfolded and bound, was led into the room.

The young Virginian stood up haughtily, and he was seen to strain and
struggle in an effort to free his hands.

"I protest against this outrage!" he cried, angrily. "I want you to know
that my father--"

The horns and the shouts drowned his words. He was forced to mount the
steps to a high platform, and an instant later he found himself shooting
down a slippery incline of planed and greased boards.

The racket stopped as Diamond scooted down the slippery surface. He
dropped sprawling into the vat of icy water. Several hands caught hold
of him, yanked him up, and thrust him down again.

"Oh, somebody shall suffer for this!" gurgled the helpless freshman,
spluttering water from his mouth.

He was dragged out of the vat, and then he was forced to endure all the
hustling, and thumping, and banging which Frank Merriwell had passed
through. His protests seemed to fall on deaf ears.

It had been reported that Diamond had declared that the sophomores would
not dare to haze him, as his father would make it hot for them if they
did. The report was remembered, and he was used more severely than Frank
had been.

Hazing at Yale was said to be a thing of the past, but Frank saw it was
still carried on secretly.

"Make a speech, fresh!" shouted a voice.

"Speech! speech!" yelled the masked lads.

Diamond was placed on a low table.

For a moment he hesitated, and then he fancied he saw his opportunity to
make a protest that would be heard.

"I will make a speech," he declared. "I'll tell you young ruffians what
I think of you and what--"

Swish! a sponge that was dripping with dirty water struck him square in
the mouth. Some of the water went down his throat, and he choked and
strangled.

The table was jerked from beneath his feet, and he fell into the waiting
arms of the masked sophomores.

"He called us ruffians! Give it to him!"

Then the unfortunate freshman was used worse than ever. He was tossed in
a blanket, given a powerful shock of electricity, deafened by the horns,
pounded with the stuffed clubs, and hustled till there was scarcely any
breath left in his body.

Then the bandage was torn from Diamond's eyes and he was confronted by
the guillotine, over which fresh red ink had been liberally spattered.
The blade of the huge knife was dripping in a gory manner, and it really
looked as if it had just completed a deadly piece of work.

Despite himself, the young Virginian shivered when his eyes rested on
the apparently blood-stained blade.

"Be careful!" some one distinctly whispered. "We do not want to kill
more than one freshman in a night."

Some one else spoke of the frightful manner in which the knife had cut
Merriwell, and then, despite his feeble struggles, Diamond was placed
upon the instrument of torture.

"The other fresh died game," muttered the executioner. "Of course we
didn't mean to kill him, but the knife is out of order and it slipped by
accident. We haven't time to fix it properly, but there are only about
nine chances out of ten that it will fall again."

"Oh, you fellows shall pay for this!" feebly gasped Diamond.

Despite himself, although he knew how unlikely such a thing was, he
could not help wondering if a terrible accident had really happened. If
not, where was Merriwell. He looked around, but saw nothing of Frank,
who was keeping in the background.

And then, when his nerves had been quite unstrung, the knife fell, the
ice and warm water were applied, and Diamond could not choke back the
cry of horror that forced itself from his lips.

A roar of laughter broke from the masked students.

When Diamond was lifted to his feet he was almost too weak to stand. He
clinched his teeth, vowing over and over to himself that he would find a
way to square accounts.

"If it takes me a year, I'll find out who the leaders in this affair
are, and they shall suffer for it!" he thought.

"Give him a chance to see the others put through the mill," said
Mephisto, and Diamond's hands were released.

The Virginian looked around, seeming irresolute for a moment. Not far
away he saw a masked lad whose clothes were wet and bedaubed with dirt
and sawdust.

In an instant Diamond sprang toward this person and snatched the mask
from his face.

"It's Merriwell!" he triumphantly shouted, "and he has helped to haze
me! His career at Yale will be suddenly cut short!"




CHAPTER III.

THE BLOW.


There was a sudden hush. The students saw that Diamond was really
revengeful, and his words seemed to indicate that he intended to report
any one whose identity he discovered.

The Virginian was pale and he trembled with anger.

"You don't mean to say that you will blow, do you?" asked one.

"That's exactly what I do mean, sir!" came resolutely from the lips of
the infuriated freshman. "I am a gentleman and the son of a gentleman,
and I'll never stand it to be treated like a cur. Hazing is said to be
no longer tolerated here, and an investigation is certain to follow my
report of this affair."

A little fellow stepped out.

"You claim to be a gentleman," he said, distinctly, "but you will prove
yourself a cad if you peach."

"I had rather be a cad than a ruffian, sir!"

"If you were a gentleman you would take your medicine like a gentleman.
You'd never squeal."

"You fellows are the ones who are squealing now, for you see you have
been imposing on the wrong man."

"Man!" shot back the little fellow, contemptuously. "There's not much
man about a chap that blows when he is hazed a little."

"A little! a little! Is this what you call a little?"

"Oh, this is nothing. Think of what the poor freshies used to go through
in the old days of Delta Kappa and Signa Epsilon. Why, sometimes a
fellow would be roasted so his skin would smell like burned steak for a
week."

"That was when he was burned at the stake," said a chap in the
background, and there was a universal dismal groan.

"This is some of the Delta Kappa machinery here," the little fellow
explained. "Sometimes some of the fellows come here to have a cold bot
and hot lob. You freshies walked right in on us to-night, and we gave
you a pleasant reception. Now, if you blow I'll guarantee you'll never
become a soph. The fellows will do you, and do you dirty, before your
first year is up."

"Such threats do not frighten me," haughtily flung back the lad from
Virginia. "I know this was a put-up job, and Bruce Browning was in it.
He got us to come here. Frank Merriwell knew something about it, or he'd
never been so ready to come. And I know you, too, Tad Horner."

The little fellow fell back a step, and then, with a sudden angry
impulse, he tore off his mask, showing a flushed, chubby, boyish face,
from which a pair of great blue eyes flashed at Diamond.

"Well, I am Tad Horner!" he cried, "and I'm not ashamed of it! If you
want to throw me down, go ahead. It will be a low, dirty trick, and will
show the kind of big stuff you are!"

The masked lads were surprised, for Tad had never exhibited such spirit
before. He had always seemed like a mild, shy, mother-boy sort of chap.
He had been hazed and had cried; but he wouldn't beg and he never
squealed. After that Browning had taken him under his wing, had fought
his battles, and had stood by him through the freshman year. Anybody who
was looking for trouble could find it by imposing on Horner; and
Browning, for all of his laziness, could fight like a tiger when he was
aroused.

Some of the students clapped their hands in approbation of Tad's plain
words, and there was a general stir. One fellow proposed that everybody
unmask, so that all would be on a level with Horner, but the little
fellow quickly cried:

"Don't do it! You'd all be spotted, and the faculty would know who to
investigate if anything should happen to Diamond. If I'm fired, I want
you fellows to settle with him for me."

"We'll do it--we'll do it, Tad!" cried more than twenty voices.

Diamond showed his white, even teeth and laughed shortly.

"Perhaps you think that will scare me," he sneered. "If so, you will
find I am not bluffed so easily."

"We are not trying to scare you," declared another of the masked
students, "but you'll find we are in earnest if you blow."

"Well, you will find I am in earnest, and I do not care for you all."

The boys began to despair, for they saw that Diamond was determined and
obstinate, and it would be no easy thing to induce him to abandon his
intention of reporting the hazing. If he did so, Browning and Horner
would find themselves in deep trouble, and others might become involved
during the investigation. It was not probable that the consequences
would be serious for Merriwell, who would be able to prove his innocence
in the matter.

What could be done?

The boys fell to discussing the matter in little groups, and not a few
expressed regret that Tad Horner had unmasked, as an alibi could have
been arranged for him if he had not done so. Now he would be too proud
to permit them to try anything of the sort, and he would tell the truth
about his connection with the affair if the truth were demanded of him.

"We're in a bad box," said one fellow in one of the little groups.
"Diamond is mad enough to do as he threatens."

"Sure," nodded another. "And that breaks up this joint. No more little
lunches here--no more games of penny ante."

"It's a howling shame!" exploded a third. "It makes me feel grouchy."

"I move we strangle Diamond," suggested the first speaker.

"It seems that that is the only way to keep his tongue still," dolefully
groaned a tall chap. "This is a big horse on us."

"That's what," sighed a boy with a face like a girl's. "The whole
business puts me in a blue funk."

Then they stood and stared silently at each other through the eyeholes
in their masks, and not one of them was able to propose anything
practicable.

The rest of the assembled sophomores seemed in quite as bad a plight,
and some of them were inclined to indulge in profanity, which, although
it relieved their feelings for the moment, did not suggest any way out
of the scrape.

At this point Merriwell spoke up, addressing Diamond.

"Look here, old man," he said in a friendly way, "you've only taken the
same dose they gave me. It's nothing when you get used to it."

Diamond gave him a contemptuous look, but did not speak.

"Now, I don't propose to make a fuss about this little joke," Frank went
on. "What's the use? I'm not half killed."

"Perhaps you think you can hoodwink me!" cried Diamond. "Well, you
cannot! You were in the game all the time. That's why you were so ready
to meet me in a duel--that's why you came here."

"I assure you on my word of honor that you are wrong."

"Your word of honor!"

"Yes, my word of honor," he calmly returned. "See--look at my clothes.
You can tell that I have been through the mill."

"You may have had them fixed that way on purpose to fool me."

"Oh, you must know better than that! Be reasonable, Diamond."

The Virginian made a savage gesture.

"If you are so pleased to be made a laughingstock of it's nothing to
me," he flashed. "Keep still if you want to. I'm going to tell all I
know."

"That would make a very large book--full of nice clean, blank pages,"
said some one in the background.

Frank's manner suddenly changed.

"Look here, Diamond," he said, "you won't tell a thing."

The Southerner caught his breath and his eyes stared.

"Eh?" he muttered, surprised at the other's manner. "I won't?"

"Not on your life."

"Why not?"

"Because it will mean expulsion for you as well as myself if you do."

Every one was listening. They gathered about the two freshmen, wondering
not a little at Merriwell's words and manner.

"Expulsion for me?" slowly repeated Diamond. "How is that?"

"It's straight goods."

"Explain it."

"Well, I will. We came here to fight a duel, didn't we?"

"Yes, sir."

"You admit that?"

"I do, sir."

"That is all that's needed."

"How? Why? I don't understand."

"Duels are not countenanced in the North, and nothing would cause a
fellow to be fired from Yale quicker than the knowledge that he had had
anything to do with one while here. Do you twig?"

There was a moment of silence and then a stir. A deep sigh of relief
came from the masked lads, and some of them showed an inclination to
cheer Merriwell.

Diamond seemed nonplused for the moment. He glared at Frank, his hands
clinched and his face pale.

At last he slowly said:

"A duel is something no gentleman can blow about, so if you are a
gentleman you will have to remain silent, sir."

"That's the way you Southerners look at it, but yon will excuse us
Northerners if we do not see it in the same light. A hazing is something
we do not blow about, but you seem determined to let out everything, for
all that it would be a dirty thing to do. In order to even the matter,
these fellows are sure to tell that you came here to fight a duel with
deadly weapons, and you'll find yourself rusticating in Virginia
directly."

"'Way down in ole Virginny," softly warbled one of the delighted
sophomores. "That's the stuff, Merry, old boy!"

Diamond trembled with intense anger. He tried to speak, but his voice
was so hoarse that his words were unintelligible. A blue line seemed to
form around his mouth.

"Merriwell's got him!" Bruce Brown lazily whispered in Tad Horner's ear.
"See him squirm!"

Tad was relieved, although he endeavored not to show it; but a satisfied
smile crept over his rosy face, and he felt like giving Frank Merriwell
the "glad hand."

Diamond's anger got the best of him. He strode forward, looked straight
into Frank's eyes, and panted:

"I hate you, sir! I could kill you!"

And then, before he realized what he was doing, he struck Merriwell a
sharp blow on the cheek with his open hand.




CHAPTER IV.

THE FIGHT.


The blow staggered Frank. It had come so suddenly that he was quite
unprepared for it. His face became suddenly pale, save where Diamond's
hand had struck, and there the crimson prints of four fingers came out
quickly, like a danger signal.

With the utmost deliberation Merriwell removed his coat.

"Come, sir!" he said to Diamond as he passed coat and hat to a ready
sophomore.

"I--I can't fight you that way!" protested the Virginian. "Bring the
rapiers."

"This time I claim the right to name the weapons, and they will be bare
fists."

"Right! right!" cried several voices. "You'll have to fight him that
way, Diamond."

"I will fight him!" grated Jack, furiously. "It is the prize fighter's
way, but I'll fight him, and I will lick him!"

He tore off his coat and flung it down. The boys quickly formed a ring,
and the freshmen foes faced each other.

Then the door of the room where the other freshmen were confined was
thrust open, and Harry Rattleton excitedly cried:

"Whee jiz--I mean jee whiz! what do you fellows think? Do you imagine we
are going to stay penned in here while there is a scrap going on? Well,
I guess not! We're coming out!"

Harry came with a rush, and the other freshmen followed at his heels,
the party having been abandoned by the sophs who had been placed on
guard over them.

"Hold on! hold on!" commanded Harry, forcing his way toward the
fighters. "I am Merriwell's second, and I'm going to see fair play, you
bet!"

"And I am Diamond's second," said Roland Ditson. "Just give me a chance
in the ring there."

The appearance of the freshmen caused a brief delay. There was some talk
about rules and rounds, and Diamond said:

"If I must fight with my fists, I'll fight as I please. I don't know
about your rules, and there will be but one round--that will finish it."

"How does that suit you, Merriwell?" asked Tad Horner, who seemed to
have assumed the position of referee.

"I am willing that Mr. Diamond should arrange that matter to suit
himself."

"But there is to be no kicking," Tad Horner hastily put in.

"Certainly not," stiffly agreed the Southerner.

"All right. Shake hands."

Diamond placed both hands behind his back, and Merriwell laughed.

"Ready!" called Horner. "On guard! Now you're off!"

Barely had the words left the little referee's lips when--top, tap,
slap!--Merriwell had struck Diamond three light blows with his open
hand.

A gasp of astonishment came from the watching sophomores. Never had they
seen three blows delivered in such lightning-like rapidity, but their
ears had not fooled them, and they heard each blow distinctly.

Merriwell's guard was perfect, his pose was light and professional, and
he suddenly seemed catlike on his feet.

Diamond was astonished, but only for an instant. The tapping blows
started his blood, and he sprang toward his foe, striking out with his
left and then with his right.

Merriwell did not attempt to guard, but he dodged both blows with ease,
and then smiled sweetly into the face of the baffled Virginian.

"Oh, say!" chuckled Harry Rattleton, hugging himself in delighted
anticipation, "just you fellows wait a minute! Diamond will think he has
been struck by an earthquake!"

Bruce Browning, himself a scientific boxer, was watching every movement
of the two freshmen. He turned to Puss Parker at his side and said:

"Merriwell handles himself like an old professional. By Jove! I believe
there's good stuff in that fellow!"

"Diamond would like to kill Merriwell," said Parker. "You can see it in
his face and eyes."

In truth there was a deadly look in the eyes of the pale-faced young
Virginian. His lips were pressed together, and a hardening of the jaws
told that his teeth were set. He was following Merriwell up, and the
latter was avoiding him with ease. Plainly Diamond meant to corner the
lad he hated and then force the fighting to a finish.

The rivals were nearly of a height and they wore built much alike,
although Frank had slightly the better chest development.

Merriwell seemed to toy with Diamond, giving him several little pat-like
blows on the breast and in the ribs. When the Virginian felt that he had
Frank cornered he was astonished to see Merriwell slip under his arm and
come up laughing behind him.

Merriwell's laughter filled Diamond's very soul with gall and wormwood.

"Wait!" he thought. "He laughs best who laughs last."

"Give it to him, Frank!" urged Rattleton. "You'll get out of wind
dodging about, and then it will not be so easy to finish him off."

But Frank saw that in a scientific way Diamond was no match for him, and
he disliked to strike the fellow. He regretted very much that the
unfortunate affair had come about, and he felt that there could be no
satisfaction in whipping the Southerner.

Merriwell hoped to toy with Diamond till the latter should see that his
efforts were fruitless and give up in disgust.

But he did not yet recognize the kind of stuff of which John Diamond was
built.

"Come! come!" impatiently called one of the spectators. "Quit ducking
and dodging and get into the game."

"That's right! that's right!" chorused several. "This is no sport."

"And it's no six-day walking match," sneered Roland Ditson. "Merriwell
seems afraid to stand up and face Diamond."

"Is that what you think?" Frank mentally exclaimed. "Well, I suppose I
will have to hit him a few times, although it goes against my grain."

A moment later he dropped his hands by his side and took a step to meet
the Virginian. It seemed like a great opportunity for Diamond, and he
led off straight for Frank's face, striking with his left.

With a slight side movement of his head Frank avoided the blow, allowing
his enemy's fist to pass over his shoulder. At the same time he cross
countered with his right hand, cracking Jack a heavy one under the ear.

"Hooray!" cried Harry Rattleton in delight. "That was a corker! Bet
Sparkler saw more stars than there are in the Wilky May--I mean Milky
Way."

For a few minutes the fight was hot. Again and again Frank struck his
enemy, but without putting his full strength into any of the blows, but
it did not seem to have any effect on Diamond save to make him more
fierce and determined.

"The Southerner's got some sand," commented Bruce Browning.

"That's right," nodded Puss Parker.

"He takes punishment well for a while, at least; but I don't believe he
will hold out much longer. I think he is the kind of a fellow to go to
pieces in an instant."

"You can't tell about that. I have a fancy that he's deceptive."

None of them, save Rattleton, possibly, knew that Merriwell was
reserving any of his strength when he struck his foe.

The fellows who a short time before were the most indignant against the
Southerner because he seemed determined to "blow" were now forced to
admire his bulldog tenacity and sand.

Merriwell had no desire to severely injure Diamond, although he had felt
some resentment toward the fellow for forcing him into a duel with
rapiers.

To Frank it had seemed that the Virginian had no hesitation in taking
advantage of an enemy, for Diamond must have presumed that Merriwell
knew nothing of the art of fencing and swordplay.

But for this belief, Merriwell would have been inclined to keep on and
tire his enemy out, without striking a single blow that could leave a
mark.

But when Frank came to consider everything, he decided that it was no
more than fair that he should give his persistent foe a certain amount
of punishment.

Again and again Frank cross countered and upper-cut Diamond, and
gradually he came to strike harder as the Virginian forced the fighting,
without showing signs of letting up.

Bruises and swellings began to appear on Diamond's face. On one cheek
Merriwell's knuckles cut through the skin, and the blood began to run,
creeping down to his chin and dropping on the bosom of his white shirt.

Still, from the determination and fury with which he fought, it seemed
that Diamond was utterly unconscious that he had been struck at all.

Jack did not consider how he had led Frank into a duel with rapiers
without knowing whether the fellow he hated had ever taken a fencing
lesson in all his life.

His one thought was that, being an expert boxer himself, Merriwell had
forced him to a fist fight, believing it would be easy to dispose of him
that way.

Diamond's hatred of Frank made him blind to the fact that he was in the
least to blame, and filled him with a passionate belief that he could
kill the smiling Northerner without a qualm of conscience--without a
pang of remorse.

At last, disgusted with his non-success in striking Frank at all, he
sprang forward suddenly and grappled with him.

Frank had been on the watch for that move.

Then the boys saw a pretty struggle for a moment, ending with Diamond
being lifted and dropped heavily, squarely on his back.

Merriwell came down heavily on his persistent enemy.

Frank fell on Jack with the hope of knocking the wind out of the fellow
and thus bringing the fight to a close.

For a few moments it seemed that he had succeeded.

Frank sprang up lightly, just as Tad Horner grappled him by the hair
with both hands and yelled: "Break away!"

Roland Ditson was at Diamond's side in a twinkling.

"Come, come, old man!" he whispered; "get up and get into the game
again! Don't let them count you out!"

But the Virginian was gasping for breath, and he did not seem to hear
the words of his second.

"That settles it," said Puss Parker, promptly.

"Better wait and see," advised Bruce Browning. "Diamond may not give up
when he gets his breath."

"It doesn't look as if he'd ever get his breath again."

Harry Rattleton was at Frank's side, swiftly saying:

"Why didn't you knock him out and show the fellows what you can do? You
monkeyed with the goat too long. He's stuffy, and you had to settle him
sometime. It didn't make a dit of bifference whether it was first or
last."

"That's all right," smiled Frank. "He's got sand, and I hated to nail
him hard. It seemed a shame to thump such a fellow and cover his face
with decorations."

"Shame? shame?" spluttered Harry. "Why, didn't he force you into a duel
with rapiers, or try to? and he is an expert! Say, what's the matter
with you? If I'd been in your place I'd gone into him tooth and nail,
and I wouldn't have left him in the shape of anything. Have you got a
soft spot around you somewhere, Merriwell?"

"I admire sand, even if it is in an enemy."

"You take the cherry pie--yes, you take the whole bakery!"

Harry gazed at his roommate in wonder that was not entirely unmingled
with pity and disgust. He could not understand Merriwell, and such
generosity toward a persistent foe on the part of Frank seemed like
weakness.

In the meantime Ditson had been urging Diamond to get up.

"They'll call the scrap finished if you don't get onto your pins in a
jiffy," he warned. "Horner's got his watch in his hand."

Still the Virginian gasped for breath and seemed unable to lift a hand.
If ever a fellow seemed done up, it was Diamond just then.

Roll Ditson ground his teeth in despair.

"Oh, Merriwell will think he is cock of the walk now!" he muttered.
"He'll crow and strut! He's laughing over it now!"

"Wh-what's that?" gasped Diamond, trying to sit up.

"He is laughing at you," hurriedly whispered Ditson, lying glibly. "I
just heard him tell Rattleton that he could have knocked the stuffing
out of you in less than a quarter of a minute. He says you'll never dare
face him again."

"Oh, he does! oh, he does!" came huskily from Diamond's lips. "Well,
we'll see about that--we'll see!"

With Ditson's aid he got upon his feet. Then his breath and his strength
seemed to come to him in a twinkling. With a backward snap of his arm he
flung his second away. Then uttering a hoarse cry, he rushed like a mad
bull at the lad he hated.




CHAPTER V.

THE FINISH.


Diamond's recovery and the manner in which he resumed the fight caused
general astonishment. Even Bruce Browning had come to think that the
Virginian was "out."

Frank was taken by surprise. Before he could square away to meet his
foe, Diamond struck him a terrific blow near the temple, knocking him
into Rattleton's arms.

"Foul!" cried Harry, excitedly. "Horner hadn't given the word."

"Foul! foul!" came from all sides.

"There is no foul in this fight save when something is used besides
fists," declared Merriwell as he staggered from his roommate's arms.
"It's all right and it goes."

But he found that everything seemed swimming around him, and dark spots
were pursuing each other before his eyes. The floor seemed to heave like
the deck of a ship at sea. He put out his hand to grasp something, and
then he was struck again.

Once more Rattleton's arms kept Frank from going down.

"This is no square deal!" Harry shouted. "By the poly hoker--I mean the
holy poker! I'll take a hand in this myself!"

He would have released Merriwell and jumped into the ring, but Frank's
strong fingers closed on his arm.

"Steady, old man!" came sharply from Merriwell's lips. "I am in this yet
awhile. If Diamond finishes me he is to be let alone. The fellow that
lays a hand on him is no friend of mine!"

"You give me cramps!" groaned Harry.

Instead of aiding in finishing Frank, Diamond's second blow seemed to
straighten him up, as if it had cleared a fog from his brain. The spots
disappeared before his eyes and things ceased to swim around him.

Into the ring to meet his foe sprang Frank, and, to the astonishment of
everybody he still smiled.

At the same time, Merriwell knew he had toyed with Diamond too long. He
realized that the Virginian's first blow had come within a hair of
knocking him out, and he could still hear a faint, ringing and roaring
in his head.

Frank saw that the only way he could end the fight was to finish his
unrelenting and persistent foe.

Diamond fought like an infuriated tiger. Again and again Frank's fist
cracked on his face, and still he did not falter, but continued to
stand up and "take his medicine."

In less than a minute the Virginian was bleeding at the nose, and had
received a blow in one of his eyes that was causing it to swell in a way
that threatened to close it entirely.

The spectators were greatly excited, and not a few of them declared it
was the most gamey fight they had ever witnessed.

The front of Diamond's shirt was stained with blood, and he presented a
sorry aspect. His chest was heaving, but his uninjured eye glared with
unabated fury and determination.

"Will he never give up?" muttered Harry Rattleton. "He's a regular hog!
The fellow doesn't know when he has enough."

It was true Southern grit. It was the unyielding Southern spirit--the
spirit that led the soldiers of the South to make one of the pluckiest
struggles known in history.

While the fellow's grit had won Frank's admiration, still Merriwell had
learned that it would not do to let up. The only way out of the fight
was to end it, and he set about trying to accomplish that with as little
delay as possible.

Once Diamond succeeded in getting in another blow, and it left a slight
swelling over one of the other lad's eyes.

But Merriwell did not seem to know that he had been hit. He soon cracked
the Virginian upon the uninjured eye, and that began to swell. In a few
seconds it seemed that Diamond must soon go blind.

"Finish him, old man--finish him!" urged Harry.

Frank was looking for the chance, but it was some time before he found
it. It came at last, and his left landed on the jaw beneath Diamond's
ear.

Over went the Southerner, and he lay like a log where he fell.

At a glance, it was evident to all that he was knocked out.

The boys crowded around Merriwell, eager to congratulate him, but he
thrust them back, saying:

"It's the first time in my life I ever did a thing of which I was
ashamed! Look after him. I'm all right."

"Say!" exploded Harry Rattleton, "you make me sick! Didn't you have to
do it?"

"I suppose so."

"Didn't he strike you foul twice?"

"He knows nothing of rules, and we were fighting by no rules, so there
could be no foul."

"Oh, no! If he'd soaked you with a brick you'd said it was all right! I
say, you make me sick! Wait till he gets a good chance to do you, and
see how quick he will take it."

"He'll not be to blame if he tries to get square."

"Oh, go hoke your sed--I mean soak your head! I'll catch you some time
when you are asleep and try to pound a little sense into you."

"Well, take care of Diamond," ordered Merriwell. "That last one I gave
him was a beastly thump."

"Let the other fellows take care of him," said Harry. "We'll rub you
down. You need it. Got any towels, Mr. Horner?"

"Guess we can find one or two," cheerfully answered Tad. "Come on,
Merriwell. We'll fix you up."

Frank followed them into the room where the captured freshmen had been
confined, and there they found running water, an old iron sink, a tin
wash basin, and some towels.

The visitor was stripped and given a brisk and thorough rubbing and
sponging by Harry and Tad.

Bruce Browning, with his mask still over his face, came loafing in and
looked the stripped freshman over with a critical eye. He inspected
Frank from all sides, poked him with his fingers, felt of his arms and
legs, surveyed the muscles of his back and chest, and then stood off and
took him all in at a glance.

"Humph!" he grunted.

Frank's delicate pink skin glowed, and he looked a perfect Apollo, with
a splendid head poised upon a white, shapely neck. Never had he looked
handsomer in all his life than he did at that moment, stripped to the
buff, his brown hair frowsled, his body glowing from the rubbing.

"By Jove!" cried Tad Horner, who was sometimes called Baby, "he's a Jim
Hickey--eh, old man?"

The interrogation was directed at Browning.

"Humph!" grunted Bruce, and then with his hands in his pockets he loafed
out of the room.

Afterward it was reported that Browning said the freshman was the
finest-put-up chap he had ever seen, but he didn't want to give him the
swelled head by telling him so.

By the time Merriwell was well rubbed down one of the freshmen came in
and reported that Diamond had come around all right.

"They're going to bring him in here and give him a rubbing," said the
freshman.

Frank hastened to get into his clothes, in order that Diamond might have
a chance. Rattleton had brushed the dirt and sawdust off those clothes,
so they looked pretty well, and Merriwell showed no traces of what he
had passed through when he stepped out of the little room.

Some of the boys were trying to induce Diamond to be rubbed down, but he
objected, declaring he was going directly to his room. The blood had
been washed from his face, and one or two cuts had been patched up with
court-plaster, but his eyes were nearly closed, and he presented a
pitiful appearance.

Frank hesitated a moment, and then he stepped up to his foe, saying in a
manner most sincere:

"Old man, I am sorry this affair took place. I had the advantage,
because I have taken boxing lessons, but you made a beautiful fight. I
hold no hard feelings. Let's call it quits and shake."

He held out his hand.

Diamond's reply was to turn his back squarely on the proffered hand.

An additional flush arose to Merriwell's cheeks, and he dropped his hand
by his side, turning away without another word.

A few moments later Diamond left the building, accompanied by a single
companion, and that companion was not Roland Ditson.

Ditson remained behind, and he was among those who crowded about Frank
Merriwell and offered congratulations.

"I was Diamond's second," said Roll, "but I am satisfied that the best
man won. He is no match for you, Merriwell. I shouldn't have been his
second, only he urged me to. I was glad to see you do him up."

He got hold of Frank's hand and held on, but received no friendly
pressure in return. When he said he was glad that Merriwell did Diamond
up Frank looked incredulous.

"As for me," said the victor, "I was sorry to have to do him up."

Somewhere about the place Rattleton had found an old floral decoration
representing a harp. He brought it forward and presented it to Frank.

"Take it," he said. "You'll need it pretty soon. Your wings must be
sprouting already!"

"What is it?" asked Frank.

"Why, can't you see? It's a harp."

"It looks to me like a blasted lyre," said Merriwell. "You'd better give
it to Ditson."

Then everybody but Ditson laughed.




CHAPTER VI.

A FRESH COUNCIL.


Diamond was in a wretched condition. Hunk Collins, his roommate,
procured two slices of fresh beefsteak, and the Virginian had them bound
over his eyes, while his face was bathed with soothing and healing
lotions; but nothing could soothe his bruised and battered spirit, and
Collins said he was kept awake all night by hearing Diamond grind his
teeth at irregular intervals.

Even when he slept near morning the Southerner continued to grind his
strong white teeth.

Collins was dropping off to sleep from sheer weariness when he awoke to
find his roommate astride him and clutching him by the throat.

"This time I'll fix you!" mumbled Diamond, thickly. "I'll kill you,
Merriwell--I'll kill you!"

Then he struck feeby at Collins, who rolled over and flung him off. They
grappled, and it was a severe struggle before Diamond was flung down on
the bed and held.

"What in thunder is the matter with you?" gasped Collins, whose hair
was standing. "I'm not Merriwell! Have you gone daft?"

"Where are we?"

"Why, in our room, of course. Where did you think we were?"

"I didn't know. I was dreaming."

"Well, if you are going to be this way often, I'll have to take out a
life insurance policy or quit you."

"Don't mind. I'll be all right in the morning. Oh, hang the luck!"

Then the passionate Southerner turned over with his face toward the
wall. Collins smoked a cigarette to quiet his nerves, after which he got
into bed once more. At intervals he could feel the bed shake, and he
knew Diamond was shivering as if he had a chill.

In the morning Diamond was not all right. He was ill in bed, and it was
necessary to call a physician, although he protested against it. His
eyes were in wretched shape, but when the doctor questioned him, he
persisted in saying he had injured them by falling downstairs.

Of course he could not appear at chapel or recitations, and he sent in
an excuse.

Then Mr. Lovejoy came around to investigate.

Now, Mr. Lovejoy was most mild and lamblike in appearance, and one would
have thought never in all his life had he indulged in anything that was
not perfectly proper.

But appearances were deceptive in the case of Mr. Lovejoy. When a
student at Yale he had made a record, but he had been fortunate, and he
was never detected in anything the faculty could not approve. By those
who knew him he was regarded as a terror, and by the faculty he was
looked on as one of the most quiet and docile students in college.

When Cyrus Lovejoy became an instructor he did not forget the days when
he had been a leader in scrapes of all sorts, and he was not inclined to
be prying into the affairs of students under him. Not only that, but he
could be blind to some things he accidentally discovered.

So when Mr. Lovejoy reported that John Diamond's eyes, being naturally
weak, were inflamed by too close application to his studies, especially
in the evening, no one thought of investigating further. The doctor, it
was said, had forbidden Diamond to attempt to study for several days,
and had ordered him to wear a bandage over his eyes.

Two or three evenings after the fight a party of freshmen gathered in
Merriwell's room, for they were beginning to realize that Frank was
likely to be a leader among them.

"I say, fellows," cried Dan Dorman, who was sitting on the sill of the
open window, with a cigarette clinging to his lips, "do you know what
Diamond is doing?"

"He's doing his best to cure those beautiful eyes of his," said Bandy
Robinson.

"I'm giving it to you straight that he was out to-day and went down to
the nearest gun store," declared Dorman. "Collins says he bought a
Winchester rifle, a shotgun, two revolvers, a bowie knife, a slungshot,
and a set of brass knuckles."

"Wo-o-oh!" groaned Dismal Jones. "Why didn't he purchase a cannon and
start for some battlefield?"

"Look out, Merry," laughed Ned Stover. "He's after your scalp."

"He'll have to get a bigger outfit than that before he takes it,"
declared Harry Rattleton.

"How about it, Merry?" asked Bandy Robinson.

"I'll tell you, fellows," said Frank, who was not smoking. "Diamond is
not the fellow to give up whipped very soon. I'm dead sure to hear from
him again."

"He's a cad," growled Dismal Jones.

"I think you fellows judge him rather harshly," said Frank. "He is a
Southerner, and he looks at many things differently than we do. From his
standpoint he seems to be right."

"Well, he'll have to get those notions out of his head if he wants to
stay in college," airily declared Dan Dorman. "Now, I came here with
the idea of falling into the ways in vogue. Everything goes with me.
That's the way to get along."

"I am not so sure of that," Merriwell returned. "A man must have some
individuality. If you do everything everybody wants you to, it won't be
long before they'll not want you to do anything."

"Oh, well, what's the use to be always hanging off and getting yourself
disliked?"

"One extreme is as bad as the other. Now, I make allowances for Diamond,
and I am not inclined to believe him such a bad fellow."

Harry Rattleton flung a book across the room.

"Oh, you give me the flubdubs!" he exploded. "Why, that fellow hates
you, and he means to do you some time. Still you are soft enough to say
he's not such a bad fellow! It's disgusting!"

"Time will tell," smiled Frank. "All of you fellows must admit that he
has sand."

"Oh, a kind of bulldog stick-to-it-iveness," murmured Stover.

"I'll tell you one thing," said Bandy Robinson; "now that Diamond has
not blowed, he's going to be backed by some of the leading sophs."

"Eh? What makes you think so?"

"Oh, I've got it straight. Browning has been to see him."

"No! Why, Browning is king of the sophs!"

"And he is jealous of Merriwell."

"Jealous?"

"Sure. He says Merry is altogether too 'soon' for a fresh, and he must
be taken down. I tell you I've got it straight. He'll put up some kind
of a game to enable Diamond to get square."

"Well, this is rather interesting," confessed Frank, showing that he was
aroused. "I'll have to look out for Mr. Browning."

"He's a hard fellow to go against," solemnly said Dismal Jones. "He's a
Le Boule man, and they say he may take his choice of the other big
societies next year."

"Oh, what's that amount to?"

"It amounts to something here; but then he's a fighter, and he is
authority on fighters and fighting."

"He is too fat to fight."

"They say he can train down in a week. He was the greatest freshman
half-back ever known at Yale."

"Half-back--Browning a half-back! Oh, say, that fellow couldn't play
football!"

"Not a great deal now, perhaps, but he could last year. He'd be on the
regular team now, but his father swore to take him out of college if he
didn't stop it. You see, Browning is not entirely to blame for his
laziness. He inherits it from his father, and the old man will not
allow him to lead in athletics, so whatever he does must be done
secretly."

Frank was interested. He wondered how a fellow like Bruce Browning could
come to be know as "king of the sophomores," unless such a title was
applied to him in derision. Now he began to understand that Browning was
something more than the lazy mischief planner that he had seemed.

Frank's interest in Browning grew.

"And you say he is backing Diamond?"

"That's the way it looks from the road."

"Well, Mr. Bruce Browning may need some attention. It is he who puts the
sophs up to their jobs on us. We ought to put up a big one on him."

"That's right! that's right!"

"Merry," said Jones, "set the complicated machinery of your fertile
brain to work and see what it will bring forth."

"That's right! that's right!"

"I'll have to take time to think it over."

"We have a few soph scalps," grinned Rattleton, pointing to a number of
caps with which the walls were decorated, all of which had been snatched
from the heads of sophomores. "Have the rest of you fellows done as
well?"

"I have lost two," confessed Dan Dorman. "They seem to single me out as
easy fruit."

"And haven't you made an attempt to get one in return?" asked Bandy
Robinson.

"I haven't had a good chance."

"If you wait for a good chance you'll never get a scalp. You must snatch
'em whenever you can."

"By Jove!" laughed Frank, "this talk about scalps has given me an idea."

"Let's have it!" exclaimed several of the boys in unison.

"Not now," he said. "Wait till I have perfected it."

Roll Ditson strolled in, smoking a cigarette, and said:

"Hello, Merry! Hello, fellows! What's up? Council of war?"

"Just that," said Dan Dorman. "Merry is perfecting a scheme to put a
horse on Browning."

"Eh? Browning? Great Scott! Is that so? He's a bad man to monkey with.
Better let him alone, Merry."

Ditson had a patronizing way that was offensive to Frank, who had given
him numberless digs; but he was too thick to tumble or he deliberately
refused to take Merriwell's words as they were intended.

"You'll have to kick him before he knows he's not wanted," Rattleton had
said.

"Thank you for your advice," said Frank, with mild sarcasm--"thank you
exceedingly! Perhaps you are right."

"Oh, I know I am. I don't want to get the king after me, and I don't
believe you care to have him on your trail. He is the most influential
soph in college. Why, his name is on a table down at Morey's."

Ditson looked around as if his last statement had settled the question
of Browning's vast superiority over all sophomores.

Morey's was the favorite resort of the students, and no freshman could
enter there. It was an old frame house, with low-posted rooms, and there
one could drink everything except beer. No beer could be had at Morey's.

Morey's was headquarters for the Society of the Cup. This cup had six
handles and was kept in a locked closet. On the cup was engraved in
large letters the word "Velvet," which is a well-known Yale drink,
composed of champagne and Dublin stout, a drink that is mild and soft,
but has a terrific "kick."

Besides the word "Velvet," a number of students' names were engraved on
the cup, and no one whose name was not there could ask the proprietor to
show the cup.

The marked tables were two round tables on which names of the
frequenters of the place had been cut in the hard wood. One table had
been filled with six hundred and seventy-five names and was suspended
against the wall, where it would revolve, and the other tables were fast
filling up.

Merriwell laughed at Ditson's statement.

"I don't see as it is such a wonderful thing for a soph to get his name
on one of those tables," he said. "If you had said that Browning's name
was on the cup, it would have seemed a matter of some consequence."

"It may be, for all I know. Sophs are not in the habit of telling us
everything. Steer clear of Browning, Merry, old man."

"Thanks again! You have made me so nervous that I think I will take your
advice."

"That's right, my boy--that's right," nodded Ditson, swelling with
importance. "Always listen to your uncle, my lad, and you will never go
wrong."

The other lads seemed rather disappointed, but Merriwell said nothing
more of his scheme to get a "horse" on Browning--that is, he said
nothing more that night.




CHAPTER VII.

A SURPRISE.


It was singular how quickly Browning learned that Merriwell had
contemplated working a job on him. It seemed an absolute certainty that
some one of the party in Merriwell's room had gone forth and "blowed."
Who had done so was a question.

As was the most natural thing, considering his dislike for the fellow,
Frank felt that Roll Ditson was the telltale. Of this he had no proof,
however, and he was too just to openly condemn a man without proof.

It was certain that Browning had learned all about it, for he sent word
to Merriwell to go slow. At the same time, in all public places he
avowed the utmost contempt and disregard for the freshman who had done
up Diamond.

"The boy is altogether too new," Browning sneered. "What he needs is
polishing off, and he is bound to get it."

Now, Frank had won admiration from the sophomores, and there were one or
two who did not like Browning and would have given not a little to have
seen him beaten at anything.

This being the case, it is not surprising that Merriwell received an
anonymous note warning him to keep in his room on a certain evening and
look out for squalls.

Frank knew Browning would not come alone, and he determined to be
prepared. With this object in view, he gathered ten stout freshmen and
had them come to his room early on the evening mentioned.

The curtains were drawn closely, and the arrivals were astonished to see
a lot of Indian toggery piled up on tables and chairs, imitation
buckskin suits, feathered headdresses, bows, arrows, tomahawks, and so
forth. On Merriwell's table was a full supply of Indian red grease
paint.

"Oh, say," gasped Ned Stover, his eyes bulging, "what's this--a powwow
outfit?"

"This is the result of the idea you fellows gave me when you spoke of
capturing scalps the other evening," laughed Frank. "Select your suits,
gentlemen, and proceed to make up."

"Make up? What for?"

"Just you make up, and I will tell you what for afterward."

Merriwell's influence was sufficient to induce them to obey, and he
aided them in the work.

"Blate grazes--I mean great blazes!" chuckled Rattleton, as he rubbed
the war paint on his face. "Won't we make a bloodthirsty gang of roble
ned men--er, noble red men!"

The boys aided each other, and Frank assisted them all.

"Aren't you going to make up, Merry?" asked Bandy Robinson.

"Not now. I am to be the decoy."

"The decoy? What's in the wind, anyway?"

"Well, I have it pretty straight that some sophs, led by Browning, are
coming to take me out for an airing to-night."

"Eh? Take you out?"

"Yes."

"And he means to take them in," laughed Rattleton, arranging a war
bonnet on his head.

"That's just it," nodded Frank. "If they come here, we'll be ready for
them. If they do not come, we'll call on Mr. Browning."

"I'm afraid this is rather a serious matter," said Dismal Jones.

"Oh, don't begin to croak!" cried Rattleton. "Merriwell knows his
business. Hurry up with your makeup. Can't tell how early the sophs will
call."

So the boys hastened to complete their disguise, and a decidedly
savage-looking band they were when all was completed. Frank surveyed
them with satisfaction.

"Ah! my bold warriors!" he cried. "I am proud of you.
To-night--to-night we deal the enemy a terrible and deadly blow."

"We're ready to hear what the layout is," eagerly said Ned Stover.

"Well, you are to retire to Robinson's room, which is exactly opposite
this, and wait. I have two fellows outside to let me know when the enemy
approaches and to take a hand in the game at the right time. When I
whistle you are to make your way into this room if you have to break
down the door. That's all."

The boys retired to Robinson's room, where they smoked and waited with
great impatience.

Frank sat down and coolly went at his studies.

Nearly an hour passed, and then there was a sound of wheels outside. The
sound stopped before the door.

A few moments later some one ascended the stairs and there came a knock
on the door.

"Come in," called Frank.

The door opened, and Roll Ditson sauntered in, smoking the inevitable
cigarette.

"Hello, Merry!" he cried, looking around. "All alone?"

"All alone, Ditson," yawned Frank. "It's beastly stupid but I am having
a hard pull at my studies."

"Better come out with me and get a little air. It's stuffy here."

"Oh, you'll have to excuse me to-night. I don't believe I'll go out."

Ditson urged, but Frank persisted in refusing. Roll stopped near a table
and picked up a stick of grease paint.

"Hello! what's this?" he exclaimed. "Aren't going into amateur
theatricals, are you, Merry?"

"Oh, I don't know," smiled Frank. "I may do a turn."

Ditson looked at Merriwell curiously, as if in doubt concerning his
sincerity, but Frank simply continued to smile.

"Indian red," said Roll, reading the lettering on the stick. "You don't
mean to become a big chief, do you?"

"Perhaps so."

"Well, you are pretty sure to become a big chief here at Yale, old man,"
said Ditson, with apparent earnestness. "You will be a leader here some
day."

"Think so?"

"Oh, I am dead sure of it."

"Thank you."

Merriwell yawned again.

"Oh, come on!" Ditson urged. "You're stupid from digging over those
books. Come out and have a walk."

"No."

"You won't?"

"You'll have to excuse me to-night, Ditson."

"All right. But say, I came near forgetting something. As I came in,
there was a fellow down to the door who said he wanted to see you."

"A fellow? Who was it?"

"Don't know. Some of the students, I think."

"Oh, if that is the case, go down and bring him up, Ditson. You can open
the door and let him in without disturbing Mrs. Harrington."

"All right," nodded Roll. "Sorry you won't come out, old fel. You'll get
grouchy. Good-night."

"Good-night."

Ditson went out, and Frank heard him descending the stairs.

"There'll be music in the air," muttered Merriwell as he again lay back
in his chair, elevating his feet to the top of the table. "But the
surprisers are liable to be surprised."

He heard the front door creak. Often he wondered why Mrs. Harrington did
not grease the hinges.

Frank had good ears, and it was not long before he was sure he could
hear rustlings and whisperings in the hall. Then one person seemed to
ascend the stairs very slowly, but he made out that there were two or
three others with that one, the others stepping as softly as possible.

Merriwell remained cool and apparently quite unaware that anything
unusual was taking place.

The footsteps reached the head of the stairs and advanced to the door,
on which there was a distinct knock.

"Come in!" Frank once more called.

The door was promptly flung open, and into the room strode a person who
was wrapped in a big overcoat and wore a wide-brimmed hat slouched over
his eyes. His face nearly to his eyes was covered with bushy whiskers.

"Hello!" exclaimed Frank, as if surprised. "Who are you?"

"'Sh!" hissed the stranger, with a warning gesture. "Are we alone?"

"Yes."

"Where is your roommate?"

"Out."

The fellow whistled sharply, and the next minute four masked lads
appeared at the door and leaped into the room. One of them slammed the
door shut and the others sprang at Frank.

Merriwell flung a book at the first one, and it struck the fellow's
mask, tearing it from his face.

The well-known countenance of Bruce Browning was exposed!

"Good-evening, Browning!" cheerfully called the lively freshman as he
darted behind the table. "I have been expecting a call from you."

"Grab him!" directed Browning. "Get hold of him!"

Frank was on the point of uttering a whistle, but it was not required,
for the whistle that came from the lips of the disguised fellow had
served as a signal to the painted braves.

There was a bang at the door, which flew open as if assaulted by a
catapault, and into the room poured the disguised freshmen.

The Indians leaped upon the masked sophomores, and for a short time a
very sharp struggle took place.

Bruce Browning did his best to escape from the room, but three of the
savages laid hold of him, and he was finally subdued.

"Out of the house with them as soon as possible," ordered Frank. "Come
on, two or three of you. We must nail the hack and the fellows outside."

Down to the door he led the way.

Mrs. Harrington came out into the hall, caught a glimpse of the painted
faces, uttered a wild shriek of terror, and dodged back, slamming the
door.

"All ready?" said Frank as he prepared to fling open the front door.

"All ready!" panted Harry Rattleton, close behind him.

"Don't let anybody get away," warned Merriwell. "I will look after the
driver."

"Go ahead."

Creak! open swung the door, and out into the night leaped a youth who
seemed to be hotly pursued by four painted and bloodthirsty-appearing
redskins.

The hack was standing exactly as Frank expected it would be, and he was
on the box with the driver at two springs.

"It's all right," he asserted. "We've got the fellow up there, though he
did kick up some. A part of our gang was rigged up like Indians, and
they nipped him all right."

"It's the divil's own set ye shtudints are!" muttered the driver. "Av ye
hurry, Oi'll sthay to take him away; but Oi'll not remain here long, fer
it's th' cops will be down on us roight away."

"We'll get away ahead of the cops, don't fear that," declared Frank.
"They're bringing him downstairs now. We had to take two or three others
with him; but well not bother with them long."

"Arrah! th' poor freshman!" said the driver. "Oi'd not loike to be in
his place this noight!"

He was completely fooled, thinking all the time that Frank was one of
the party he had brought there to capture the freshman.

As they rushed out Frank had seen a fellow standing near the open door
of the hack, and that fellow had promptly taken to flight at sight of
the Indians, two of whom pursued him hotly.

Frank hoped they would be able to overtake the fugitive, for if one of
the party escaped he would report to the sophs, who were bound to make a
big hustle to rescue their captured comrades.

The disguised freshmen came downstairs, bearing their captives, who were
swiftly thrust into the hack, which was a big, roomy, old-fashioned
affair.

As many of the freshmen as could do so piled inside and upon the hack,
and then Frank gave the signal, the driver whipped up his horse and away
they went.

"East Rock," said Frank.

"Eh?" exclaimed the driver. "Thot's not pwhere ye wur goin' in th'
firrust place."

"We have changed the programme. East Rock is where we are bound for
now."

"All roight, me b'y."

The triumphant freshmen felt like shouting and singing in jubilant mood.
Indeed, Rattleton could not refrain from "letting off steam," as he
called it, and he gave one wild howl of triumph that made the streets
echo:

"'Umpty-eight! 'Umpty-eight!"

"Break it off!" sharply commanded Frank. "Want to let the sophs know
we're up to something?"

"I don't care."

"They might raise a rescue party and follow us."

"But they wouldn't frop any chost--I mean chop any frost with us."

"Pwhat's thot?" came suspiciously from the driver. "An' is it not
softmores ye are yersilves?"

"Of course we are," returned Harry, instantly.

"Thin pwhat fer do ye yell fer 'Umpty-eight?"

"Oh, it's a way we have. Don't mind it, but keep on driving if you want
to retain your scalp, paleface. We are mighty bad Injuns!"

The driver knew how to pick out the darkest and most deserted streets.
By the time the outskirts of the city were reached the freshmen were
bubbling over.

Frank Merriwell improvised a stanza of a song, and in a few moments the
entire band caught the words and the tune. As the hack rolled along
toward East Rock the freshmen sang:

  "We belong to good old 'Umpty-eight,
  For she's a corker, sure as fate, sure as fate.
    We have met the sophomores,
    And they're feeling awful sore;
  So hurrah for good old 'Umpty-eight! 'Umpty-eight!"

"Begobs! ye're th' quarest gang av softmores Oi iver saw!" cried the
driver. "An' it's not wan av yez Oi remimber takin' up to th' freshman's
boording house."

"We have changed," explained Ned Stover.

"And it's the first change I have seen for a week," declared Harry
Rattleton. "I'm waiting to hear from the governor."

"Howld on," said the driver. "Oi want to see the mon thot hired me."

He threatened to pull up, but Frank caught the whip and cracked it over
the horses.

"What do you want?" asked Merriwell.

"Oi want me pay."

Now, Frank knew well enough that the driver had received his pay in
advance, but he was beginning to suspect that the party that hired him
had come to grief, and so he was for exacting an extra payment from the
victors.

"Look here, driver," said Frank, sternly, "I want your number."

"Pwhat fer?"

"In case it may appear later on that you have received money at two
separate and distinct times for doing the same piece of work."

"Get oop!" yelled the driver. "It's ownly foolin' Oi wur."

So the hack rolled on its way, with the happy freshmen smoking and
singing, while the captive sophs ground their teeth and railed at the
bitter luck.

Inside the hack Dismal Jones, most hideously bedaubed, was smoking a
cigarette and brandishing a wooden tomahawk at the same time, while he
sat astride of Bruce Browning, who was on the floor.

"This is a sad and solemn occasion, paleface," croaked Dismal. "You have
driven the noble red man from his ancestral halls, which were the dim
aisles of the mighty forests; you have pushed him across the plains, and
you have tried to crowd him off the earth into the Pacific Ocean. Ugh!
You have pursued him with deadly firearms and still more deadly fire
water. You have been relentless in your hatred and your greed. You have
even been so unreasonable that whenever a poor red man has secured a few
paleface scalps as trophies to hang in his wigwam you have taken your
trusty rifles and gone forth with great fury and shot the poor Indian
full of hard bullets. You have done heap many things that you would not
have done if you had not done so. But now, poor, shivering dog of a
paleface, the injured red man has arisen at last in his might. If we are
to perish, we are to perish; but before we perish, we will enjoy the
gentle pleasure of roasting a few white men at the stake. Ugh! We have
held a council of war, we have excavated the hatchet, we have smashed
the pipe of peace to flinders, or something of the sort, and have struck
out upon the war trail."

"You act as if you had struck out," growled one of the captives.

"That's because he has had a few balls," gurgled Browning. "Talk about
being burned at the stake! That's not torture after being obliged to
inhale his breath. My kingdom for some chloroform! Will somebody please
hit me on the head with a trip hammer and put me out of my misery?"

"Whither art thou bearing us, great chief?" asked one of the captives.

"We will bare you out yonder," answered Dismal. "At the stake you shall
stand arrayed in the garments nature provided for you."

"I don't care for tea," murmured Browning--"not even for repartee."

"This is worse than being roasted at the stake!" muttered a soph in a
corner. "It is severe punishment."

"Help!" cried Dismal. "Somebody take me out! I can't get ahead of these
miserable palefaces."

"You'll get a head if I ever find a good chance to give it to you,"
declared the voice of Puss Parker from the darkness.

Outside the painted savages were roaring:

  "Farewell! farewell! farewell, my fairy fay!
    Oh, I'm off to Louisiana
    For to see my Susy Anna,
  Singing 'Polly-wolly-woodle' all the day."

And thus the captured sophomores were borne in triumph out to East Rock,
and as they were the ones who engaged the hack, they paid for their own
conveyance.

Never before had anything like it happened at Yale. It was an event that
was bound to go down in history as the most audacious and daring piece
of work ever successfully carried through by freshmen in that college.

And Frank Merriwell was to receive the credit of being the originator of
the scheme and the general who carried it out successfully.




CHAPTER VIII.

THE "ROAST" AT EAST ROCK.


A strange and remarkable scene was being enacted in the peaceable and
civilized State of Connecticut--a scene which must have startled an
accidental observer and caused him to fancy for a moment the hand of
time had turned back two centuries.

Near a bright fire that was burning on the ground squatted a band of
hideously-painted fellows who seemed to be redskins, while close at
hand, bound and helpless, were a number of palefaces, plainly the
captives of the savages.

That a council of war was taking place seemed apparent. And still the
savages seemed waiting for something.

At length, out of the darkness advanced a tall, well-built warrior, the
trailing plumes of whose war bonnet reached quite to the ground. If
anything, this fellow was more hideously painted than any of the others,
and there was an air of distinction about him that proclaimed him a
great chief.

"Ugh!" he grunted. "I am here."

The savages arose, and one of them said:

"Fellow warriors, the mighty chief Fale-in-his-Hoce--I mean
Hole-in-his-Face--has arrived."

Then a wild yell of greeting went up to the twinkling stars, and every
savage brandished a tomahawk, scalping knife, or some other kind of
weapon.

"Brothers," said Hole-in-his-Face, "I see that I am welcome in your
midst, as any up-to-date country newspaper reporter would say. You have
received me with great _éclat_--excuse my French; I was educated
abroad--in New Jersey."

"Go back to Princeton!" cried one of the captives.

"Fellow warriors," continued Hole-in-his-Face, without noticing the
interruption, "I am heap much proud to be with you on this momentous
occasion."

"Yah! yah! yah!" yelled the savages.

"And now," the chief went on, "if you will proceed to squat on your
haunches I will orate a trifle."

Once more the redskins sat down on the ground, and then the late arrival
struck an attitude and began his oration:

"Warriors of my people, why are we assembled together to-night?"

"Because we couldn't assemble apart," murmured a voice.

"We are assembled to avenge our wrongs upon the hated paleface," the
chief declared. "It was long ago that the proud and haughty paleface got
the bulge on the red man, and we have not been in the game to any great
extent since then. Every time we have held two pairs he has come in with
one pair of sixes or a Winchester and raked the pot. He has not given us
any kind of a show for our white alley. Whenever we seemed to be getting
along fairly well and doing a little something, he has wrung in a cold
deck on us and then shot us full of air holes, purely for the purpose of
ventilation in case we objected. Warriors, we have grown tired of being
soaked in the neck."

"That's right," nodded a savage, "unless we are soaked in the neck with
fire water."

"At last," shouted the orator--"at last we have arisen in our wrath and
our war paint and we are out for scalps. We have decided that the joy of
the red man is fleeting. To-night a flush mantles your dark cheeks, but
to-morrow it will be a bobtail flush. What have we to live for but
vengeance on the white man and a little booze now and then? Nothing! Our
squaws once were beautiful as the wild flowers of the prairie, but now
the prize beauty of our tribe is Malt Extract Maria, whose nose is out
of joint, whose eyes are skewed, whose teeth are covered with fine-cut
tobacco, and who lost one of her ears last week by accidentally getting
it into the mouth of her husband.

"My brothers, we are not built to weep. It is not the way of the noble
red man. A few more summers and we will be no more. We will have kicked
the stuffing out of the bucket and wended our way up the golden stair.
But before we cough up the ghost it behooves us to strike one last blow
at the hated paleface. When we get a chance at a paleface it is our duty
to do him, and do him bad. Are you on?

"We have been successful in capturing a few of our hated foes, and they
are bound and helpless near at hand. Shall they be fricasseed, broiled,
fried, or made into a potpie? That is the question before the meeting,
and I am ready to listen to others. Let us hear from Squint-eyed
Sausageface."

"It doesn't make a dit of bifference--I mean a bit of difference to me
how I have my paleface cooked," said the one indicated as Squint-eyed
Sausageface. "Perhaps it would be well enough to cook them at the
stake."

"I think that would be the proper mode," gravely declared another
warrior; "for I have heard that they boast they are hot stuff. They
should not boast in vain."

"Warriors," said Hole-in-his-Face, "you have heard. What have you to
say?"

"So mote it be," came solemnly from one.

"Yah! yah! yah!" yelled the others.

"That settles it, as the sugar remarked to the egg dropped into the
coffee. Prepare the torture stakes."

There was a great bustle, and in a short time the stakes were prepared
and driven into the ground, one of the savages hammering them down with
a huge stick of wood.

Then the captives were bound to the stakes and a lot of brush was
brought and piled about their feet.

Some of the sophs actually looked scared, but Browning kept up a
continual fire of sarcastic remarks.

"Ugh!" grunted Hole-in-his-Face. "This paleface talks heap much. Remove
his outer garments, so the fire may reach his flesh without delay."

Then Browning was held and his clothes were stripped off till he stood
in his under garments, barefooted, bareheaded, and still defiant.

"Oh, say!" he muttered, "won't there be an awful hour of reckoning!
Merriwell will regret the day he came to Yale!"

At this Hole-in-his-Face laughed heartily, and Browning cried:

"Oh, I know you, Merriwell! You can't fool me, though you have got the
best makeup of them all."

When everything was ready, one of the savages actually touched a match
to the various piles of brush about the feet of the unfortunate
sophomores.

As the tiny flames leaped up the painted band joined in a wild war dance
about the stakes, flourishing their weapons and whooping as if they were
real Indians. Some of their postures and steps were exact imitations of
the poses and steps taken by savages in a war dance.

"Say, confound you fool freshmen!" howled one of the captives. "This
fire is getting hot! Do you really mean to roast us?"

"Yah! yah! yah! Hough! hough! hough!"

Round and round the stake circled the disguised freshmen, and the fire
kept getting higher and higher.

Puss Parker fell to coughing violently, having sucked down a large
quantity of smoke. Some of the others raved and some begged. But still
the wild dance went on.

"Merciful cats!" gasped Tad Horner. "I believe they actually mean to
roast us!"

"Sure as fate!" agreed another. "They won't think to put out the fires
till we are well cooked, if they do then!"

"This is awful!" gurgled Parker. "Browning, can't you do something?"

"Well, I hardly think so," confessed the king of the sophomores. "But I
will do something if I ever get out of this alive! You hear me murmur!"

"Say!" cried Tad Horner. "I can't stand this much longer. The fire is
beginning to roast me."

"It's getting warm," confessed Parker. "But it seems to keep burning
around the outside edge."

"Keep cool," advised Browning.

"What's that?" yelled Horner. "Who said 'keep cool?' Oh, say! That's
too much!"

"Just look at the wood," directed the king of the sophomores. "You will
notice that all the wood about our feet is water soaked, and there's
only a little dry wood out around the edges. That's all that is
burning."

This they soon saw was true, and it gave them great relief, for it had
begun to seem that the crazy freshmen actually meant to roast them.

At the very moment when the uproar was at its height there came a sudden
loud cry, like a signal, and out of the darkness rushed at least twenty
lads.

They were sophomores who had somehow followed them out there to East
Rock, having been aroused and told of the capture of Browning and his
mates by the soph who escaped.

One fellow on a bicycle had followed them till he felt sure of their
destination, and then he had turned back and told the others, who
hastily secured teams and flew to the rescue.

"'Umpty-seven! 'Umpty-seven! 'Rah, 'rah! 'rah!" yelled the rescuers as
they charged upon the freshmen.

"'Umpty-eight! 'Umpty-eight! 'Rah! 'rah! 'rah!" howled the painted lads
in return.

Then for a few moments there was a pitched battle.

The battle did not last long, for the freshmen saw they were
outnumbered, and at a signal from their leader they broke away and took
to their heels.

By rare good luck every man was able to get away, for, not knowing
anything about the water-soaked wood piled about the feet of the
captives, the rescuers nearly all stopped to scatter the burning brush.

"Oh, say!" grated Browning, as he was released. "But this means gore and
bloodshed! We'll never rest till we have squared for this roast, and we
will square with interest! Merriwell's life will be one long, lingering
torture from this night onward!"

"What's all this racket and cheering?" asked one of the rescuers.
"Listen, fellows! By Jove! it seems to come from the place where we left
our carriages!"

"That's what it does, and it's the freshman yell," cried another. "Come
on, fellows! If we don't get a move on we may have to walk back."

They started on a run, but when they arrived at the place where the
teams had been left not a team was there.

The freshmen had captured the teams, drivers and all, together with the
hack, and far along the road toward the city could be heard a cheering,
singing crowd. As the disgusted and furious sophs stood and listened the
singing and cheering grew fainter and fainter.

"Fellows," said Chop Harding, "I am sorry to leave Yale, but I am
certain to be hanged for murder. After this, whenever I see a freshman I
shall kill him instantly."

It was a doleful and weary crowd of sophs that came filing back into
town and sneaked to their rooms that night.

Of course the sophs would have given a great deal could they have kept
the story quiet, but on the following morning it seemed that every
student in the college knew all about it.

The juniors laughed and chaffed the sophomores, who were sullen and
sulky and who muttered much about getting even.

The freshmen were jubilant. They were on top for the time, and they all
knew they might not have long to crow, so they did all the crowing they
could in a short time.

And still nobody seemed to know just who was concerned in the affair,
save that Merriwell and Browning must have been.

When Browning was questioned he was so blankly ignorant of everything
that it seemed as if he had slept through the whole affair. He had a way
of turning every question off with another question, and it was soon
discovered that no information could be obtained from him.

Still it was passed from lip to lip that the great and nighty king had
been found by the rescuers, stripped to his underclothes, and tied to a
stake, while the smoke arose thickly around him and nearly choked him.

Some one suggested that Browning's complexion seemed to have changed in
a remarkable manner, and then the students fell to asking him if he
really enjoyed a smoke.

Browning seemed subdued; but those who knew him best were telling
everybody to hold on and see what would happen.

"This is just the beginning," they said.

However, several days passed and still nothing occurred. It began to
look as if the sophs had decided that they were outgeneraled and were
willing to let the matter drop.

Frank Merriwell was not deceived. He knew the sophs were keeping still
in order to deceive the freshmen into a belief that there was no danger,
and he continued to warn all his friends to "watch out."

In the meantime Diamond had recovered and was in evidence among the
freshmen. It was said that he went down to Billy's, a favorite freshman
resort, and spent money liberally there almost every night.

The result of this soon became apparent. Diamond was surrounded by a
crowd of hangers-on who seemed to regard him as a leader. He was working
for popularity, and he was obtaining it in a certain way.

Now, Frank Merriwell was no less generous than Jack Diamond, but he
would not drink liquor of any kind--he would not touch beer. It did not
take him long to discover that this peculiarity caused many of the
students to regard him with scorn. He was called the Good Templar and
was often derisively addressed as Worthy Chief.

The very ones who were first to apply the name in derision afterward
came to call him Worthy Chief in sincere admiration.

Frank went around to Billy's occasionally, and although he would not
drink, he treated frequently, paying for anything his companions wanted
to take, from beer to champagne.

One evening Frank, Harry and Dismal Jones went into Billy's and found
Diamond and a large crowd there. Jack had been drinking something
stronger than lemonade, and he was holding forth to a crowd of eager
listeners.

One look at Diamond's flushed face did Merriwell take, and then he knew
the fellow was open for anything. The high color in the cheeks of the
Virginian was a danger signal.

Merriwell and his two friends ordered drinks, Frank taking ginger ale.
Harry and Jones lighted cigarettes.

Frank examined the pictures around the walls. There were ballet dancers
who were standing on one toe, famous trotters, painted pictures of
celebrated fighting cocks, hunters in red coats leaping five-barred
fences, and so forth.

As he looked over the pictures he became aware that Diamond was saying
something that was intended for his ears.

"Southerners never fight with their fists," the Virginian declared.
"They consider it brutal and beastly, and so they do not learn the
so-called 'art.' They are able to fight with some other weapons, though.
There is a man in this college who is trying to be a high cock of the
walk, but he will never succeed till he shows his right by meeting me
face to face with weapons of which I have knowledge. I have met him with
his weapons, and if he is not a coward he will give me a show. But I
think he is a coward and a sneak, and I--"

That was more than Frank could stand. He did not pause to think that
Diamond had been drinking and was utterly reckless, but he whirled and
advanced till he stood squarely in front of the Virginian.

"I presume, Mr. Diamond, that you are referring to me," he said, coldly
and steadily, although he could feel the hot blood leaping in his veins.

Diamond looked up insolently, inhaled a whiff of his cigarette, and then
deliberately blew the smoke toward Frank.

"Yes, sir," he said, "I presume I did refer to you. What are you going
to do about it?"

"You called me a coward and a sneak."

"Exactly, sir."

"If I had not already left the marks of my knuckles on you I would slap
your face. As it is, I will simply--pull your nose!"

And Frank did so, giving Diamond's nose a sharp tweak.

Up to his feet leaped the Virginian, his face white with wrath. He
picked up a glass of champagne as he arose, and then he dashed it into
Frank's face.

In a twinkling friends were between them, keeping them apart.




CHAPTER IX.

THE DUEL.


Merriwell smiled and wiped the champagne from his face with a white silk
handkerchief. The proprietor bustled in and threatened. Diamond quivered
with excitement.

"There will be no further trouble here," calmly said Frank. "This matter
must be settled between us--I could see that plainly enough. It wan just
as well to bring it to a head at once."

"Lunder and thightning--I mean thunder and lightning!" panted Rattleton.
"He won't fight you again with his fists."

"I do not expect him to."

"You'll have to fight with rapiers, sure!" said another.

"Merriwell, you're a fool!"

"Thank you."

"You have fallen into his trap. He was making that talk to drive you to
do just what you did."

"Well, he may congratulate himself on his success."

"Blamed if I understand you! You seem cool enough, and still you act as
if you actually meant to meet him with deadly weapons."

"I shall meet him with any kind of weapons he may name."

Roll Ditson came forward.

"Of course you understand that I have no feeling, Merry, old man," he
said; "but Diamond has chosen me as his second once more, and so I can't
refuse to serve him. It is a most unfortunate affair, but he insists
that you fight him with rapiers."

"Very well; I agree to that. Arrange the time and place with my second,
Mr. Rattleton."

Frank sat down, picked up an illustrated paper, and seemed deeply
interested in the pictures.

Ditson drew Rattleton aside.

"My principal," said he, swelling with importance, "demands that this
meeting take place at once."

"Great Scott!" exploded Harry. "I object to this sort of business. It is
outrageous! If one of them should be seriously wounded, what excuse can
be made?"

"We'll find some excuse that will go."

"But what if one of them should be killed?"

"I hardly think anything as serious as that will occur."

"But should it, there would be an investigation, and expulsion and
disgrace, if nothing worse, would overtake us."

"Oh, well, if you are afraid, just go back and tell Mr. Merriwell to
apologize here and now, and I think Mr. Diamond will let him off."

Harry looked at Merriwell and then shook his head.

"He'll never do that," he said, hoarsely. "We'll have to arrange this
duel. There is no other way for it."

Between the ages of sixteen and twenty-three blood runs hot and swift in
the veins of a youth. It is then that he will do many wild and reckless
things--things which will cause him to stand appalled when he considers
them in after years.

Frank believed that in order to retain his own self respect and the
respect of his comrades he must meet Diamond and give him satisfaction
in any manner he might designate.

But there was another reason why Frank was so willing to meet the
Virginian. Merriwell was an expert fencer. At Fardale he had been the
champion of the school, and he had taken some lessons while traveling.
He had thoroughly studied the trick of disarming his adversary, a trick
which is known to every French fencing master, but is thought little of
by them.

He believed that he could repeatedly disarm Diamond.

His adventures in various parts of the world had made him somewhat less
cautious than he naturally would have been and so he trusted everything
to his ability to get the best of the Virginian.

Roland Ditson longed to force Merriwell to squeal. He did not fancy
Frank knew anything of fencing, and he thought Merriwell would soon lose
his nerve when he saw himself toyed with by Diamond.

And Diamond had promised not to seriously wound the fellow he hated.

The meeting was arranged as quietly as possible, and the freshmen who
were to witness it slipped out of Billy's by twos and threes and strode
away.

Thirty minutes later, in a small, stuffy room, two lads, with their
coats and vests off and their sleeves turned back, faced each other,
rapiers in hand.

"Ready, gentlemen!" called Ditson.

They made ready.

"On guard!"

The position was assumed.

Then came the command that set them at it.

In less than twenty seconds the spectators, who kept back as well as
possible, had seen something they never beheld before. They saw two
beardless lads fighting with deadly weapons and using skill that was
marvelous.

It took Jack Diamond far less than twenty seconds to discover that
Frank Merriwell was a swordsman of astonishing skill. He had expected to
toy with the Northerner, but he found himself engaged with one who met
every stroke like a professional.

A great feeling of relief came over Harry Rattleton.

"Whee jiz!" he muttered. "Merry is a cooler at it! I believe he's
Diamond's match!"

With Diamond astonishment gave way to fury. Was it possible that this
fellow was to get the best of him at everything? He fought savagely, and
Ditson turned white as a ghost when he saw the Virginian making mad
thrusts at the breast of the lad he hated.

"He's forgotten his promise--he's forgotten!" huskily whispered Ditson.
"What if he should run Merriwell through the body?"

Then came a cry of anger from Diamond and a cry of surprise and relief
from the spectators.

Frank Merriwell, with that peculiar twisting movement of his wrist, had
torn the rapier from the Virginian's hand.

The blade fell clanging to the floor, and Merriwell stepped back, with
the point of his rapier lowered.

Snarling savagely, Diamond made a catlike spring and snatched up the
weapon he had lost.

"On guard!" he cried, madly. "The end is not yet! I'll kill you or
you'll kill me!"

There was a clash of steel, and then the fight was on with more fury
than before.

Diamond was utterly reckless. He left a dozen openings where Frank could
have run him through. But Merriwell was working to repeat the trick of a
few seconds before.

The frightened spectators were beginning to think of intervening, when
once again Diamond was disarmed.

At the same moment there came a heavy knocking at the door.

One fellow, who had been on guard, ran in from a corridor and cried:

"It's the faculty! Somebody has given them wind of this!"

"Here! here!" called a freshman. "Follow me!"

They did so, and he led them to a back window, out of which they
clambered.

Diamond was the last to get out, and just as he touched the ground
somebody came around the corner and grabbed him.

"I have one of them!" shouted a voice, which he recognized as belonging
to one of the faculty.

He struggled to break away, but could not.

Then somebody dashed back to his side, caught hold of him, and with
wonderful strength tore him from the grasp of the man.

"Run!" panted Frank Merriwell's voice in his ear.

And they ran away together, and in a short while were safe in their
rooms.

It turned out that it was not the faculty that had tried to get in where
the duel was taking place, but some of the sophs. At the time he turned
back to rescue Diamond, however, Frank had believed the Virginian was in
the grasp of one of the professors.

Merriwell was regarded as more of a wonder than ever when it became
generally known that he had twice disarmed the Virginian in a duel with
rapiers--or a "fencing contest," as the matter was openly spoken of by
those who discussed it.

But Bruce Browning, king of sophomores, was awaiting an opportunity to
get at Frank.




CHAPTER X.

AT MOREY'S.


"Say, fellows, this thing must stop!"

Puss Parker banged his fist down upon the table as he made this emphatic
declaration, the blow causing the partly emptied glass of ale to dance
and vibrate.

"Aw, say," yawned Willis Paulding, "you want to be a little cawful or
you will slop the good stuff, don't yer know."

Willis affected a drawl, had his clothes made in London, and considered
himself "deucedly English," although he sometimes forgot himself for a
short time and dropped his mannerisms.

Tad Horner gave Paulding a look of scorn.

"Come off your perch, Paul!" he invited. "You give me severe pains! Get
onto yourself! I don't wonder Parker is excited over this matter."

"Who wouldn't be excited?" exclaimed Puss. "These confounded freshmen
have overthrown all the established customs of the college. They have
been running things with a high hand. Why, they have really been cocks
of the walk ever since that little affair out at East Rock."

"'Sh!" cautioned Punch Swallows, a lad with fiery red hair. "Don't
speak of that, for the love of goodness! Just think of a gang of sophs
being captured by freshmen disguised as Indians, taken out into the
country, tied to stakes and nearly roasted, while the freshmen dance a
gleeful _cancan_ around them! It's awful! The mere thought of it gives
me nervous prostration!"

It was two weeks after the duel, and the five sophomores had gathered in
the little back room at Morey's, They looked at each other and were
silent, but their silence was very suggestive.

"By Jawve!" drawled Paulding, "it is awful! I wasn't in the crowd. If I
had been--"

"You'd been roasted like the rest of us," cut in Parker.

"But I'd made it warm faw some of the blooming cads."

"Haven't we been doing our level best to make it warm for them?" cried
Horner. "But no matter what we do, they see us and go us one better."

"It all comes from Merriwell," asserted Swallows. "He's king of the
freshmen, the same as Browning is king of the sophomores."

"And he's a terror," nodded Horner. "He can put up more jokes than one."

"And they say he can fight."

"They say! Why, didn't you see him do Diamond, the fresh from Virginia?
Oh, no. I remember you were not with us that night. Yes, he can fight,
and he doesn't seem to be easily scared."

"I think he is a blawsted upstart," said Paulding, lazily puffing at his
cigarette. "He needs to be called down, don't yer know."

"Some time when he is upstairs, call him down," suggested Horner.

"Fists are not the only things that fellows can fight with," said
Parker. "The matter has been kept quiet, but it is said to be a fact
that Diamond forced him into a duel with rapiers, and he disarmed the
Southerner twice, having him completely at his mercy each time."

"And Diamond prides himself on being an expert with that kind of
weapon," nodded Horner.

"Why doesn't Browning do something?" asked Paulding. "It is outrageous
faw a lot of freshies to run things this way."

"Browning is in training," said Parker.

"In training? What faw? Why, he is so lazy--"

"He's training to get some of the flesh off him. It is my opinion that
somebody must check Merriwell's wild career, and he is getting in
condition to do it. You know that Browning was one of the hardest men
who ever entered Yale. He is a natural athlete, but he's lazy, and he
has allowed himself to become soft. Why, he knocked out Kid Lajoie, the
professional, in a hard-glove contest of three rounds. Lajoie was easy
fruit for him. I fancy he means to go up against this fresh duck
Merriwell and do him. That's the only thing that will pull Merriwell off
his perch. He doesn't mind being hazed."

"Doesn't mind it!" shouted Horner. "Confound him! He always manages to
turn the tables in some way, and hazes the parties who try to haze him."

Two youths came in from the front room.

"Hey, Browning! Hello, King! Come join us. You, too, Emery"--to the
other fellow. "What'll you have, Browning?"

Browning accepted a seat at the table, but waved his hand languidly as
he declined to drink.

"I'm not taking anything now," he said.

"Oh, but you must! Have some ale, old man."

"Excuse me, gentlemen. I tell you squarely that I am not taking anything
just now. By and by I will be with you again. Emery will go you one.
That's what he came in for."

"That's right," declared Browning's companion. "I was out stargazing
last night. Looked at the Long-Handled Dipper a long time, and it gave
me an awful thirst. I've had it with me all day. Yes, mine's ale."

So another round was ordered. Horner passed around the cigarettes, and
Browning declined them. The others lighted up fresh ones.

"Say," broke out Emery, suddenly, "do you know that fresh Ditson gives
me that tired feeling?"

Tad Horner grinned.

"He's no good," said Tad. "He is crooked and he's a toucher. Touched me
for a V once, and I am looking for that fiver yet. That was two years
ago, before I came here. I knew him then."

"He tried to touch us for a drink as we came along," said Browning. "I
took him in here once, but I've been sorry ever since. He said he had
his thirst with him just now. I told him to go sit on the fence and let
the wind blow him off."

"And he is a big bluff," asserted Emery. "The other day he was telling
how he once sat at the table with kings and queens. I told him that I
had--and with jacks and ten spots. Here comes the amber. My! I won't do
a thing to it!"

The waiter placed the glasses of ale before them, and Emery eagerly
grasped his.

"Here's more to-morrow," was his toast, and he seemed to toss it off at
a single swallow.

"By Jawve!" drawled Paulding. "You must be thirsty!"

"I am. Have been all day, as I said before. It was hard stuff last
night, and we went the rounds. My head needed hooping when I arose from
my downy couch this morning."

"Well, you shouldn't have gotten intoxicated, in the first place," said
Parker.

"I didn't. It was in the last place. If I'd gone home before we struck
that joint I'd been all right."

"Wow!" whooped Tad Horner. "You seem full of 'em!"

"Oh, I am. I've been eating nothing but red pepper lately, and I'm hot
stuff. Let's have another one all around."

More ale was ordered.

"Your neck must be dry enough to squeak, old man," said Parker,
addressing Browning. "It doesn't seem natural for you to go thirsty.
Won't you have just one?"

"Not one," smiled Bruce, lazily. "I've got too much flesh on me now, and
I'm trying to get some of it off."

"Going to try for the football team--or what?"

"Nothing of that sort--but I have a reason."

"We know."

"You do?"

"Sure."

"What is it?"

"You're laying for Merriwell, and you mean to do him. I am right, am I
not?"

The king of the sophomores smiled in a lazy way, but did not reply.

"That settles it," laughed Parker. "I knew I was right. Well, somebody
must curry that young colt down and it must be done right away."

Browning showed sudden animation. He looked around at the faces of his
companions and then said:

"This crowd is straight, and I am going to make a few remarks right here
and now. I feel just like it."

"Drive ahead." "Go on." "We are listening."

"I am not inclined to talk this matter over publicly," said Bruce, "but
I will say that the time is ripe to get after these confounded freshmen,
and we must do it. I want to tell you what I found this morning. Open
wide your ears and listen to this."

His companions were quite prepared to listen.

"You know I am getting up every morning and taking a stiff walk. I turn
out at daybreak."

"Good gracious!" gasped Tad Horner. "How do you do it?"

"Well, I've got one of those electric alarm clocks, and I put it just as
far away from my bed as possible."

"Why is that?"

"So I won't get hold of it and smash thunder out of the thing when it
gets to going. You know it won't stop its racket till somebody stops it
or it is run down, and it takes an hour for it to run down after it
starts in to ring you up."

"By Jawve!" drawled Paulding; "I hawdly think I'd like to have one of
the blooming things in my room."

"I don't like to have one in my room, but it is absolutely necessary
that I do. Hartwick, my roommate, admires it!"

The listeners laughed.

"I should think he might," said Puss Parker. "He's got a temper with an
edge like a cold-chisel."

"Oh, yes, he admires it! I've got so I believe I should sleep right
through the racket, but he kicks me out of bed and howls for me to
smother the thing. So you see I am bound to get up at the proper time.
Once I am out of bed, I stay up. The first morning after I bought the
clock the thing went off just as it was beginning to break day. I got up
and stopped it and then went back to bed. Hartwick growled, but we both
went to sleep. I had been snoozing about five minutes when the clock
broke loose once more. Hartwick was mad, you bet! I opened my eyes just
in time to see him sit up in bed with one of his shoes in his hand.
Whiz! Before I could stop him he flung the shoe at the clock. I made a
wild grab just as he did so, struck his arm, and disconcerted his aim.
The shoe flew off sideways and smashed a mirror. Hartwick said several
things. Then I got up and stopped the clock again. I dressed and went
out for my walk, leaving Hartwick in bed, sleeping sweetly. When I came
back I found him, about half dressed, jumping wildly up and down in the
middle of the bed, upon which was heaped all the bedclothes, all of
Hartwick's clothes except those he had on, all of mine, except those I
was wearing, and as I appeared he shrieked for me to tear down the
window shades and pass them to him quick.

"'What's the matter?' I gasped. 'Are you mad?'

"'Yes, I am mad!' he howled, tearing his hair. 'I am so blamed mad that
I don't know where I am at!'

"'But what's the matter?'

"'Matter! Matter! Hear it! Hear the daddly thing! It has driven me to
the verge of insanity! I tried to stop it, but I couldn't find how it
works. And now I am trying to stifle it! Hear it! Oh, bring me a club!
Bring me something deadly! Bring me a gun, and I will shoot it full of
holes!'

"Then I found that I could hear my clock merrily rattling away under
that heap of clothes. It seemed to be defying Hartwick or laughing at
him.

"I got him off the bed, pawed around till I found the clock between the
mattresses, and then stopped it. Hartwick offered me three times what it
was worth if I'd let him use his baseball bat on it. I told him it
seemed to be a very willing and industrious alarm clock, and it was
mine. I warned him to injure it at his peril. Since then I have learned
how to stop it so it will stay stopped, but it barely commences to
rattle at daybreak when I feel Hartwick's feet strike me in the small of
the back, and I land sprawling on the floor. That explains how I succeed
in getting up at daybreak."

"You started in to tell us what you found this morning," said Punch
Swallows, to Browning, lighting a fresh cigarette.

"So I did, and the alarm clock ran me off the trail. Well, I got up this
morning as usual--when Hartwick kicked me out to stop the clock. I went
out for my walk and crossed the campus. What do you think I found?"

"A diamond ring. We'll all have ale."

"Oh, no, Tad, it wasn't a diamond ring. I noticed something stuck up on
one of the trees. It was a big sheet of paper, and on it was skillfully
lettered these words:

"'Bruce Browning will wear a new set of false teeth to chapel to-morrow
morning.'"

Browning stopped and looked around. He was very proud of his even,
regular, white teeth. They were so perfect that they might be taken for
"store teeth" at first glance, but a second look would show they were
natural.

The sophs laughed, and Bruce looked indignant.

"That caused me to look still further," he went on, "and I soon found
another sheet upon another tree. This is what I read:

"'Conundrum. Why is King Browning a great electrician? Because all his
clothes are charged.'

"By that time I felt like murdering somebody. I did take a morning walk,
but it was in search of more stuff of the same order. I found it
everywhere in the vicinity of the college, and some of the stuff was
simply awful. It made me shudder. I knew who was back of it all.
Merriwell put up the job."

"But you outwitted him by getting around in time to tear down everything
he had put up. You matched him that time."

"By accident. But I must more than match him. He must be suppressed."

"That's right! that's right!" cried the boys in chorus.

"I know he put the advertisement for black and white cats and yellow
dogs in the papers. My name was signed to it, and more than two hundred
black and white cats and yellow dogs were brought me by parties anxious
to sell them at any price. One time there were seven women with cats in
my room, when two men came up leading dogs. The first woman had managed
to get into the room, and while I was arguing with her, trying to
convince her that I did not want her blamed old cat, the others found
their way in. They opened on me altogether. Hartwick shut himself in the
clothespress, and I could hear him laughing and gasping for breath. I
was nearly crazy when the men sauntered in with the dogs in tow. Oh,
say!"

Browning fell over limply in his chair, as if the memory of what
followed was too much for him.

"You have had a real warm time of it," grinned Swallows.

"Warm! Warm! My boy, it was warm! Two of the women were showing me their
cats. The dogs saw the cats; the cats saw the dogs. One of the cats made
a flying leap for a dog. The other fled, and the other dog pursued. The
seven women shrieked all together, and the two men swore and tried to
catch the dogs. The other cats escaped from the baskets in which they
were confined. Warm! Say!"

The king of the sophomores mopped his face with his handkerchief. He
seemed on the verge of utter collapse.

The listening lads could not entirely restrain their laughter. The
picture Browning presented and the incident he was relating were
altogether too ludicrous.

"Talk about rackets!" he wearily continued; "we had one then and there.
The cats yowled and the dogs howled. The women fell over each other and
screamed blue murder. The men chased the dogs and roared blue blazes.
And the wind blew hard!

"One of the cats alighted on an old lady's head. The cat's mistress
grabbed her and took her away. The cat had socked her claws into the old
lady's wig, and it came off, leaving her almost as bare as a billiard
ball. Oh, marmer!

"Two of the cats fell to tearing the fur out of each other. Some of them
walked on the ceiling, like flies, in their endeavors to get away from
the dogs. One of them pounced on a dog's back and rode him around the
room, as if she were a circus performer. The other dog chased a cat
under the bed, and they were having it there. Oh, they didn't do a
thing--not a thing!

"After a while one of the men captured one of the dogs and dragged him
toward the door. The other man saw him and made a rush for him. 'Drop
that dawg!' he yelled. 'It's my dawg!' the other man yelled back. And
then the other man howled, 'You're another. It's my dawg!'

"Right away after that there was trouble between the owners of the dogs.
They tried to hurt each other, and they succeeded very well. One of them
had both eyes blacked, while the other lost two teeth, had his lips
split and his nose knocked out of plumb. But they smashed the stuffing
out of the furniture while they were doing it.

"I climbed up on something in one corner and did my best to cheer them
on. I sincerely hoped both would be killed. The dogs seemed to feel it
their duty to enter into the spirit of the occasion, and they chewed
each other more or less.

"Then the police came in. I came near landing in the station house,
along with the two men who were fighting, but they concluded not to
pinch me. The women departed after having once more expressed their
opinion all around concerning me.

"When they were gone Hartwick came out of the clothespress. We sat down
amid the ruins and said over some words that will not bear repetition.

"That's the whole of the cat-and-dog story. I've never been able to
prove that Merriwell put the advertisement into the paper, but it is all
settled in my mind. It was directly after this that I went into
training."

Some of the sophs laughed and some showed indignation.

"It was a very nawsty thing to do," declared Paulding.

"I can't help laughing over it." chuckled Tad Horner. "But of course you
ought to get back at Merriwell."

"Well, I shall do my best."

"I don't think you need to train to do that trick," said Punch
Swallows. "A man who can knock out Kid Lajoie ought to polish off a
freshman in a minute."

"You haven't seen Merriwell fight?"

"No."

"I have."

"He is clever?"

"He is a corker. Of course I believe I can do him, but I want to do him
easy, and that is why I am training."

Another party of sophomores came in.

"It is Harrison and his crowd," said Parker, "and I'm blowed if they
haven't got Roll Ditson with them! That cad of a freshman has succeeded
in getting in here again."

"Ditson hates Merriwell, don't yer know," said Paulding. "He pretends to
be friendly with Merry, but he's ready to do him any time."




CHAPTER XI

"LAMBDA CHI!"


Ditson had fawned around Browning a great deal since entering college,
with the result that the king of the sophomores came to entertain a
feeling of absolute disgust for the fellow. The very sight of Ditson
made the "king" feel as if he would enjoy giving him a good "polishing
off."

But Bruce was no bully, although he was a leader of the sophomores. He
had proved his ability to fight when it was necessary, but no one could
say that he ever showed any inclination to do bodily harm to one who was
weak and peaceable.

During his freshman year Browning had originated any number of wild
projects for sport, and he had always succeeded in carrying them through
successfully. Thus it came about that he was called the "king," and his
companions continued to call him that when he became a sophomore.

But now there was a man in college who had fairly outwitted Browning on
several occasions, and so it came about that the king was aroused
against Frank Merriwell.

Browning keenly felt the sting of being beaten at his own game, and he
was obliged to confess to himself that Merriwell had accomplished the
trick.

But our hero was not inclined to let Bruce alone. He did not wait for
the king to become aggressive; he set about keeping Bruce in hot water,
and he succeeded very well.

The other freshmen, stimulated by the example of one who was distinctly
a leader among them, carried on such an energetic campaign against the
sophomores that the latter found themselves almost continually on the
defensive.

Such a thing had never before been known at Yale and the sophs were
highly indignant. They informed the freshmen that they were altogether
too fresh. They said the freshmen were breaking a time-honored custom,
and it must be stopped.

But the triumphant freshmen kept right on, laughing in the faces of
their angry foes.

It was expected that Browning would not delay about getting back at
Merriwell and his friends, and the admirers of the king were surprised
when he seemed to remain inactive.

Then it came out that Bruce was in training, and it was said that he was
putting himself in condition to give Merriwell the worst licking of his
life.

Frank heard about it, but he did not seem disturbed in the least.
Whenever any one spoke to him about it he merely smiled.

Among the freshmen there were some who believed Merriwell able to hold
his own against Browning. They were Harry Rattleton, Jack Diamond and
one or two more.

Diamond and Merriwell were not friendly, but they had ceased to be open
enemies. For the time being the hatchet was buried, and there was peace
between them.

But the two did not become friends. Merriwell continued to assert that
Diamond had sand, and Diamond was ready to back his judgment in saying
that Merriwell was a match for any man in Yale.

Morey's was a sophomore resort. Juniors and seniors patronized the
place, but a freshman was not allowed there unless invited to accompany
some of the regular frequenters of the place.

Ditson was ambitious. He was not satisfied to associate with those of
his own class, but he wanted it thought he was such a fine fellow that
the sophomores picked him up for his company.

Thus it happened that he had succeeded in getting into Morey's several
times, but he was killing his own chances of ever having any popularity,
although he did not know it.

Browning was angry when he saw the fellow come in. He called one of the
sophs over and said:

"Say, what are you bringing it in here again for, my boy? It's been here
too many times already."

"Who--Ditson?"

"Sure."

"We're working him."

"Working him? He's working you--for the drinks."

"That's all right. He's telling us what he knows about Merriwell. If
there is anything in that fellow's history that we can use as a sore
spot, we may be able to suppress him."

"All right," scowled Browning. "Go ahead and pump the crooked sneak, but
don't swallow his lies. I don't believe he knows anything at all about
Merriwell."

A few minutes later the soph returned and said:

"I don't think he knows much about him, myself, but he says he's down at
Billy's now--or was an hour ago. We might get a chance to Lambda Chi him
a little."

Browning seemed to arouse himself.

"That's right," he agreed. "We'll go down to Billy's."

The party filed out of Morey's and Browning took the lead. Ditson went
along with them as if he was a sophomore. He seemed to feel himself
highly honored, but Browning had hard work to choke back his absolute
contempt for the fellow.

As they went along, it was arranged that Ditson should go into Billy's
and see if Merriwell was there. One of the sophomores should accompany
him. If Merriwell was there and he should come out alone or in company
with one or two others, he was to be captured. Browning had a plan that
should be carried out if the capture was made.

Ditson seemed to think he was doing something very smart and cunning in
betraying a fellow freshman into the hands of the sophomores. He fancied
he was making himself solid with Browning's crowd.

Billy's was reached, and one of the sophs went in with Ditson, while the
others kept out of sight nearby.

After a little the soph came out and reported that Merriwell and
Rattleton were in there. He had treated the house, but Merriwell had
absolutely declined to take anything.

"Oh, yes," nodded Browning. "They say he never drinks. That's how he
keeps himself in such fine condition all the time. He will not smoke,
either, and he takes his exercise regularly. He is really a remarkable
freshie."

Arrangements were then made that a cab should be brought to the corner
near Billy's, where the driver should remain, apparently waiting for
somebody.

It was known to be quite useless to attempt to decoy Merriwell out, so
dependence must be placed on chance. If he came out with no more than
one or two companions his name was "mud," according to the assembled
sophs.

Arrangements were made to bind handkerchiefs over their faces to the
eyes, so they would be partly disguised. Some of them turned their coats
wrong side out, and some resorted to other means of disguising
themselves.

Then they waited patiently.

It was not so very long before Ditson came out in a breathless hurry. He
signaled, and they called him. As he hastened up he panted:

"Merriwell is coming right out, fellows! Be ready for him!"

The sophomores knew which way Frank was likely to go after leaving
Billy's, and they lay in wait at a convenient spot.

"Is he alone?" eagerly asked Puss Parker.

"No."

"Who is with him?"

"Rattleton."

"Any others?"

"Not likely."

"Good! Take a tumble to yourself and skip."

Ditson did so.

"Now, fellows," hurriedly said Browning, "be ready for a struggle.
Remember that Merriwell is a scrapper and he is likely to resist. We
must take him completely by surprise. Get back and lay quiet till I give
the signal."

They did as directed, and as they were in a dark corner, there was not
much danger that they would be seen till they were ready to light on
their game.

Footsteps were heard.

"Here he comes!"

Browning peered out, and two figures were seen approaching.

"How many?" anxiously whispered Tad Horner, quivering with anxiety.

"Two. They are easy. Ready for the rush."

The sophomores crouched like savage warriors in ambush.

Merriwell's peculiar, pleasant laugh was heard as the two unsuspecting
freshmen approached.

Rattleton was talking, and, as usual, he was twisting his expression in
his haste to say the things which flashed through his head.

"It doesn't make a dit of bifference if we haven't proved anything
against him, I say Ditson can't be trusted. He's got a mooked crug--I
mean a crooked mug."

"Oh, don't be too hard on the fellow till you know something for sure,"
advised Merriwell. "I will confess that I do not like him, but--"

There was a sudden rush of dark figures out of the shadows, and the two
freshmen were clutched. Coats were flung over their heads and they were
crashed to the ground.

Although taken by surprise, both lads struggled.

In the suddenness of the rush Browning had made a mistake and flung
himself on Rattleton, while he had intended to grasp Merriwell. The coat
being cast over the head of the lad prevented him from discovering his
mistake.

Punch Swallows and Andy Emery were devoting themselves to Merriwell, and
it was their first impression that they had tackled Rattleton.

For an instant it seemed that the trick had worked to perfection, and
the freshmen had been made captives easily.

Then came a surprise.

Swallows and Emery were unable to hold their man down. He tore off the
smothering coat and rose with them, despite all they could do. They
cried out for help:

"Give us a hand, fellows! He's like an eel! Quick!"

Some of the sophs had been unable to render much assistance, and they
now did their best to aid Swallows and Emery. In their haste to do
something they seemed to get in the way of each other.

"Well, I don't know--I don't know!" laughed a familiar voice, and the
freshman gave Swallows a snap that lifted him off his feet and cast him
into the stomach of another fellow, who received such a blow from
Punch's head that the wind was knocked out of him in a moment.

"We'll have to see about this," said the freshman as he cracked Emery on
the jaw and broke his hold.

"Great smoke! It's Merriwell!" gurgled Emery as he reeled back.

"Onto him, fellows!" urged a soph, and Frank suddenly found six or seven
of the crowd were at him.

Just how he did it no one could tell, but he broke straight through the
crowd and in another moment was rushing back toward Billy's, shouting:

"Lambda Chi! Lambda Chi!"

It was useless to try to follow him, as all quickly saw.

In the meantime Rattleton had been cornered, and the disappointed sophs
resolved to escape with him. They lifted him and made a rush for the
cab. He was bundled in, and away went the cab.

Frank rushed into Billy's and gave the alarm. He was out again in a
very few seconds, with a crowd of excited freshmen at his heels; but
when they came to look for the sophomores and Rattleton they found
nothing.

"Confound it!" exclaimed Frank in dismay. "How could they get him away
so quick? I can't understand it."

The freshmen searched, but they found nothing to reward them. Rattleton
was in the toils of the enemy, and the would-be rescuers were given no
opportunity to rescue him.

Then Merriwell blamed himself for leaving his roommate at all. But
Billy's had been so near and his chance with his many assailants had
seemed so slim that he had done what seemed the right thing to do on the
spur of the moment. He had not fancied that the sophomores would be able
to get Harry away before he could arouse the freshmen and bring them to
the rescue.

"Poor Harry! I wonder what they will do with him?" Frank speculated.

"Oh, they won't do a thing with him!" gurgled Bandy Robinson.

"How did it happen, anyway?" asked Roland Ditson, who had joined the
freshmen after the affair was over.

He tried to appear innocent and filled with wonder and curiosity, but
his unpopularity was apparent from the fact that nobody paid enough
attention to him to answer his question.

Frank, however, found it necessary to tell his companions all about the
assault, and Ditson pretended to listen with interest, as if he had
known nothing of the affair.

The freshmen went back to Billy's and held a council. It was decided to
divide into squads and make an attempt to find out where Harry had been
taken.

This was done, but it proved without result, and not far from midnight
all the freshmen who had been there at the time of the capture, and many
others, were again gathered at Billy's. They were quite excited over the
affair, and it seemed that the beer they had absorbed had gone to the
heads of some of them.

In the midst of an excited discussion the door burst open, and a most
grotesque-looking figure staggered into the room. It was a person who
was stripped to the waist and painted and adorned like a redskin, his
face striped with red and white and yellow, his hair stuck full of
feathers, and his body decorated with what seemed to be tattooing.

"Bive me a gear--I mean give me a beer!" gasped that fantastic
individual. "I am nearly dead!"

"It's Rattleton!" shouted the freshmen.

They crowded around him.

"Well, say, you are a bird!" cried Lucy Little, whose right name was
Lewis Little.

"A regular bird of paradise," chuckled Bandy Robinson.

"Where are those fellows?" demanded Frank Merriwell. "Where did they
leave you? Tell me, old man."

"At the door," faintly replied Rattleton as he reached for a mug of beer
which some one held toward him. "They took me right up to the door and
made me come in here."

"Out!" shouted Frank--"out and after them! Capture one of them if
possible! We want to even this thing up."

Out they rushed, but once more the crafty sophomores had vanished, and
not one of them was to be found.

The freshmen went back and listened to Harry's story. He told how he had
been blindfolded and taken somewhere, he did not know where. There they
had kept him while his friends were searching. When there was no danger
that the freshmen would discover them, they set out to have fun with
Rattleton.

"Say, Merry, old man," said Harry, "I know Browning was the leader of
this job, although he was disguised. They seemed to feel pretty bad
because you got away. They got twisted--took me for you at first, and by
the time they discovered their mistake you were knocking them around
like tenpins. One chap insists you broke his jaw."

"Well, I am glad I did that much. I didn't mean to leave you, Harry.
Billy's was so near I thought I could get the boys out and rescue you
before they could carry you off. I couldn't rescue you alone, so I ran
here to stir up the fellows."

"That was right. I was glad you got away. They were laying for you. They
told me so."

"Well, come back, and we'll wash this stuff off you."

"I don't know as you can do it."

"Eh? Why not?"

"They said it was put on to stay a while. They told me we were so fond
of playing the noble red man's part that they would fix me so I could
play it for a week or two. Some of them advised me to use sand to scrub
myself with if I hoped to get the paint off."

"Oh, that must be all a bluff. It will come off easy enough if a little
cocoa butter is used on it. Here, somebody run out to a drug store and
get some cocoa butter."

After they had worked about fifteen minutes they looked at each other
in dismay, for they had scarcely been able to start the paint, and it
become plain that cocoa butter, soap and water would not take it off.

"Didn't I tell you?" murmured Harry, sorrowfully. "I'm done for! I'll
never be able to get it off! I'll have to go out West and live with the
Sioux! If I do I'll take along the scalps of a few sophomores!"

They continued to work on him for nearly an hour, but were unable to get
off more than a certain portion of the paint. Harry was still
grotesquely decorated when the boys arrived at the conclusion that
further scrubbing with the materials at hand was useless.

Then Frank went out and rang up a druggist who had gone to bed, for it
was after midnight. He told the man the sort of scrape his friend was in
and offered the druggist inducements to give him something to remove the
paint.

The druggist said it could not be paint, but must be some sort of
staining, and he gave Frank a preparation.

Frank went back and tried the stuff on Harry. It removed a certain
amount of the stain, but did not remove it all.

At last, being thoroughly worn out, Rattleton said:

"I'll give it up for to-night, fellows. Perhaps I'll be able to get the
rest off in the morning. I'll poultice my face and neck. But you'll
have to watch out, Frank. They say they will use you worse than this
when they get hold of you."

For the time the sophomores seemed to have the best of the game.




CHAPTER XII.

FRESHMAN AGAINST SOPHOMORE.


On the following morning a large piece of cardboard Swung from the door
of Merriwell and Rattleton's room in Mrs. Harrington's boarding house.
On the cardboard was this inscription:

  "Good-morning!
  Have you used
  Soap?"

Harry was up at an early hour industriously scrubbing away. He succeeded
fairly well, but despite his utmost efforts the coloring refused to come
off entirely.

And it was absolutely necessary that he should attend chapel.

On their way to chapel Frank and Harry came face to face with Professor
Such, who peered at them sharply and said:

"Good-morning, gentlemen."

"Good-morning, professor," returned the boys.

Harry tried to keep behind Frank, so that his face would not be noticed.
The professor was nearsighted, but he immediately noted Rattleton's
queer actions, and he placed himself in front of the boys, adjusting
his spectacles.

"Hang his curiosity!" muttered Harry in disgust.

"Eh?" said the professor, scratching his chin with one finger and
peering keenly at Harry. "Did you speak, sir?"

"Yes, sir--I mean no, sir," spluttered Harry, while Frank stepped aside
and stood laughing silently to himself.

"I thought you did. Er--what's the matter with your face, young man?"

"That's the result of my last attack of chilblains," said Harry,
desperately. "They hent to my wed--I mean they went to my head."

"Eh?"

The professor seemed to doubt if he had heard correctly, while Merriwell
nearly exploded.

Rattleton looked frightened when he came to think what he had said. He
felt like taking to his heels and running for his life.

"Chilblains, sir?" came severely from Professor Such. "Sir--sir, do not
attempt to be facetious with me! You will regret it if you do!"

Cold sweat started out on Harry's forehead, and he looked appealingly
toward his companion; but Frank had turned away to conceal his
merriment.

"I--I don't think I--I understood your--your question," stammered
Harry. "I'm a little heard of haring--I mean hard of hearing."

"I asked you what was the matter with your face, sir."

"Oh, my face! Ha! ha! He! he! I thought you said something about my
pace, because I was walking so slowly. That made me fancy you were
interested to know what ails my feet. Excuse me! I beg your pardon,
professor!"

"Hum!" coughed the professor, again scratching his chin with the tip of
his finger, while he peered through his spectacles, plainly still
somewhat suspicious. "It is rather remarkable that you should get things
mixed in such a manner."

"I am not feeling well, professor, not at all."

And it was apparent to Frank that Harry told the truth.

"You are not looking well," came somewhat sarcastically from Professor
Such's lips. "Your countenance has a strangely mottled hue."

"It comes from Injun jestion," explained Merriwell, coming to his
roommate's relief.

"Eh? From what, sir."

"From indigestion," said Frank, very soberly. "He is much troubled that
way."

"Much troubled! much troubled!" exclaimed the professor, whose ear had
been offended and who immediately turned his attention on Frank. "I
advise you to be somewhat more choice and careful of your language,
young man. There is a right and a wrong use of words."

Just then the chapel bell clanged, and the professor exclaimed:

"Bless me! we'll be late if we're not careful!"

Away he hurried.

Frank and Harry followed him, and as they went along Harry expressed his
feelings forcibly and violently.

"How dare you howl before me?" laughed Frank.

"Excuse me," said Rattleton. "I didn't know you wanted to howl first."

At chapel Harry felt that the eyes of everybody were upon him. He kept
one hand up to his face as much as possible, but he saw the sophomores
smiling covertly and winking among themselves. He longed to get even;
that was his one burning ambition and desire.

When the service was over the freshmen stood and bowed to the faculty as
they passed out. They were supposed to keep bowing to the seniors,
juniors and sophomores, but that custom had long been a dead letter at
Yale. The freshmen had become too independent for such a thing.

However, they stood and saw the upper classmen go past, and it seemed
to poor Harry that every fellow stared at him and grinned. The sophs
added to his misery and anger by winking at him, and Tad Horner ventured
to go through a swift pantomime of taking a scalp.

"Oh, I am liable to have yours yet," thought Harry.

On their way back to their rooms Harry and Frank were greeted by all
sorts of calls and persiflage from the sophomores, who had gathered in
knots to watch them pass.

This sort of chaffing gave Rattleton "that tired feeling," as he
expressed it, and by the time they reached their room he was in a
desperate mood.

"I'll get even!" he vowed, fiercely. "I'll do it."

"Go ahead--you can do it," laughed Frank. "You can do anybody."

Then Harry flung a book at him, which Frank skillfully caught and
returned with the utmost politeness.

At breakfast Rattleton was chafed by the freshmen, and he boiled more
than ever.

"Somebody has my coat, vest, hat, shirt and undershirt," he said as he
thought the affair over. "I had to go home in a linen duster which I got
down to Billy's last night. I don't care so much for the clothes I lost,
but I'd like to know who has 'em. I'd sue him!"

But after breakfast an expressman appeared with a bundle for Rattleton,
and in the bundle were the missing articles.

The sophomores were jubilant, and they taunted the freshmen. They said
the fate that had befallen Rattleton was simply a warning. It was
nothing beside what might happen.

For the time the freshmen were forced to remain silent, but they felt
that the sophomores had not evened up matters by any means. And the
affair would not be dropped.

During the afternoon of that day it rained for at least two hours, and
it did not clear up and let the sun out, so there was plenty of dirt and
mud at nightfall.

Then it was that Rattleton some way found out that a number of
sophomores who dined at a club on York Street were going to attend a
party that evening. It was to be a swell affair on Temple Street, and
the sophs were certain to wear their dress suits.

"They'll din for dresser--I mean dress for dinner," spluttered Harry as
he was telling Frank. "It's certain they'll go directly from dinner to
the party."

"Well, what has worked its way into your head?"

"A scheme."

"Give it to us."

"We'll be ready for 'em when they come from dinner, and we'll give 'em a
rush. They're not likely to be in any condition to attend a party after
we are through with them. What do you say, old man? What do you think
of it?"

"We are likely to get enough of rushing in the annual rush, but I'm with
you if you want to carry this job through."

"All right, then, we'll do it. We'll give those sophs a warm time. I
have been grouchy all day, but I begin to feel better now."

So Frank and Harry communicated the plan to their friends, and a party
gathered in their room immediately after supper.

Dismal Jones was out as a scout, and he had agreed to let them know when
the sophomores left their club. They were inclined to take much more
time in dining than the freshmen.

Pretty soon Jones came racing up the stairs and burst into the room.

"Come on, fellows!" he cried. "The sophs are leaving their club, and
there's lots of 'em wearing dress suits. We'll have a picnic with 'em!"

Dismal seldom got excited, but now he was quite aroused.

The freshmen caught up their caps and hurried downstairs. They were soon
on the street, and they hastened to meet their natural enemies.

The sophomores had formed by twos, with Browning and Emery in advance.
It was true that many of them were in dress suits, and they were not a
little disturbed when they saw the solid body of freshmen coming swiftly
to meet them.

To pass on the right the sophomores were entitled to the inside of the
sidewalk, and although they would have given much to avoid the
encounter, they formed solidly and prepared to defend their rights.

The freshmen also formed in a compact mass, and came on with a rush,
keeping hard up against the wall.

"Turn to the right! Turn to the right!"

The sophomores uttered the cry as they hugged the wall on the inside.

"Sweep 'em off! Sweep 'em off!"

That was the cry that came from the determined freshmen.

"Hold on! hold on!" ordered Browning. "There is a law for this!"

"Then you will have to produce officers to enforce it," laughed Frank
Merriwell.

"But there is a regular time for rushing."

"This is not a regular rush, so we don't mind."

"But you fellows have no right to do it!"

"Is that so?" was the derisive retort. "Hear the sophs squeal fellows!
Oh, my! but this is funny!"

"Stop a minute and we will argue this matter, freshies," invited
Browning, who was thoroughly disgusted over the prospect.

Then the whole crowd of freshmen roared with laughter.

"Hear the baby cry!" they shouted. "He is begging! Ha! ha! ha!"

Browning's face was crimson with anger and confusion.

"You are an insolent lot of young ruffians!" he snapped, "and Merriwell
is the biggest ruffian of you all!"

"Back it up! back it up!"

"I can!"

"Why don't you?"

"I will when the right time comes."

"What's the matter with this for the right time?"

"No! no! Turn to the right and let us pass now. We will see you again."

"We see you now, and we are going to raise you the limit."

The sophomores held a hurried consultation, and then Browning said:

"If you fellows will wait till we go change our clothes we'll come out
and give you as warm a time as you want."

"All right, we will wait."

"Then let us pass."

"We'll do that, but you will have to pass on the outside."

That was something the sophomores could not do without yielding to the
freshmen, and they felt that they had rather die than yield unless
compelled to do so.

The sophomores stormed and scolded, and the freshmen, who outnumbered
them, laughed and flung back taunts.

Then the sophomores determined on a quick, sudden rush, but it happened
that the freshmen had decided on a rush at the same moment, and the two
bodies of lads plunged forward as if at one signal.

"'Umpty-eight! 'Umpty-eight!" yelled the freshmen.

"'Umpty-seven! 'Umpty-seven!" shouted the sophomores.

Crash! They met!

Then there occurred one of the liveliest struggles of the season up to
that date. Each side did its best to force the other off the sidewalk,
and for some moments they swayed and surged in one spot.

At last the superior weight of the freshmen began to tell, and the
sophomores were slowly swept backward, contending every inch.

Feeling that they must be crowded to the outside, Browning gave the
signal for them to break and make it a hand-to-hand affair. Then he
grappled with Merriwell.

Frank was ready, and he willingly left the line as the freshmen forged
onward. He was anxious for an opportunity of seeing just what sort of
stuff the king of the sophomores was made of, and this was his chance.

Finding that they could not hold the freshmen back, the sophs had each
singled out a man, and the contest became hand to hand.

In a few moments several parties were down, and some of them rolled from
the sidewalk into the street.

Now that they had been forced to do battle, the sophs were desperate,
and they sailed in like a lot of tigers.

Rattleton found himself pitted against Andy Emery, and Emery had the
reputation of being as full of grit as a bulldog. He was on the 'Varsity
crew, and he had a back and shoulders which were the admiration of those
who had seen him strip to the buff.

Emery had a quick temper and a strong arm. He grappled with Harry,
lifted him off his feet and tried to throw him, but the freshman came
down on his feet like a cat.

A second later Emery was astonished to feel his own feet flung into the
air, and he could not help falling, but he clung to his antagonist and
they went down together.

Over and over they rolled, each striving to get on top. They were soon
off the sidewalk and into the street.

Emery was furious, for he felt that his dress suit was the same as
ruined, and he uttered some very savage language.

"That's right," chuckled Harry. "Cuss a little--it may help you."

It seemed to, for Emery finally succeeded in getting astride Rattleton
and holding him down for a few moments. He was soon pulled off by
another freshman, and the merry war went on.

Little Tad Horner was right in the hottest scrimmage, and he proved
formidable for the freshmen, despite his size. He had a way of darting
under them and tripping them up, then getting away before he could be
grappled.

Dismal Jones was quoting Scripture and doing his best to make himself
felt by the sophomores. Jones was a character. His parents were
"shouting Methodists," and they intended him for the ministry. He had a
long, sad face, but he was full of deviltry, and it was very seldom that
the freshmen entered into any affair against the sophomores that he was
not on hand and interested.

"Lay on and spare not!" he cried, after the style of a camp-meeting
revivalist. "If the wicked entice thee, consent thou not. Get behind me,
Satan! Brothers, oh, my dear brothers! it makes my heart sad and weary
to see so much wicked strife and contention."

Punch Swallows, the red-headed soph, found himself pitted against Lucy
Little. Despite his name, Little was not a "sissy," and he was no mean
antagonist, as Punch found out. It was nip and tuck between them, and
neither seemed to have the best of it.

Some of the sophs were able to down their men, but they were so
outnumbered by the freshmen that they could not hold an advantage very
long.

The struggle between Browning and Merriwell waxed furious. The big
sophomore exerted himself to his utmost, and he found that it was
necessary that he should do so if he had any thought of holding his own
with the freshman leader.

Frank knew all the time that he was pitted against a hard man, and so
his muscles were strained and his nerves were taut.

"Now, fresh, we'll see what we can do for you," Browning said, as he
made a mighty effort to land Frank on his back.

"You are very kind," laughed Merriwell. "I will not forget your
kindness."

"You are not the only one," panted Browning. "There are others."

"Are you going to the party this evening?" chuckled Frank.

"Not till I have done you up, my friend with the swelled head."

"Then you expect to be rather late?"

"We'll see!"

Frank resorted to all the tricks he knew, but Browning was familiar with
every one of them. They gave up trying to down each other by main
strength, and science cut quite a figure in their battle.

At length Browning got Frank foul, and to his dismay the leader of the
freshmen felt himself falling. Browning fell with him, a cry of triumph
coming to his lips.

That cry turned to an exclamation of dismay, for Merriwell seemed to
twist about in the air, and they fell side by side on the ground. In a
twinkling they were at it again, and over and over they went, till they
finally stopped and got upon their feet together.

"Very good thus far," laughed Merriwell. "But I see your wind will not
hold out. I am bound to do you in the end."

That was the very thing Browning feared.

"Well, I don't know about that," he said as he broke Frank's grip. "This
may settle the whole business."

He struck hard and straight at Merriwell's face!




CHAPTER XIII.

JUBILANT FRESHMEN.


Spat!

Merriwell staggered.

"Down you go!"

Browning followed the freshman closely, launching out again, with the
full expectation that the second blow would be a settler.

Frank had been taken slightly off his guard, so that he had failed in
getting away from the first blow, but he skillfully ducked the second,
countering as the king's fist passed over his shoulder.

Browning reeled backward, having received a terrific crack on the ear.

If Frank had not been slightly dazed he might have followed the
sophomore closely, but he was a bit slow in getting after Bruce.

For a few seconds the boys gave an exhibition of scientific sparring
which would have proved very interesting to their comrades if all had
not been too busy to watch them.

Frank Merriwell contiuued to laugh, and it had been said at Yale that
he was most dangerous in an encounter when he laughed.

"You came near doing it, Browning," he admitted, "but it was rather
tricky on your part. I wasn't looking for a fight."

"You will get many things you are not looking for before you have been
at Yale much longer," returned the king.

"Think so?"

"Dead sure."

The two lads seemed to be very evenly matched, save that Merriwell was
the more catlike on his feet. Browning was solid, and it took a terrific
blow to stagger him. Merriwell was plainly the more scientific. He could
get in and away from his foe in a most successful manner, but he saw
that in the confined limits of a ring Browning's rush would be difficult
to escape.

What the result of this encounter might have been cannot be told, for
two freshmen suddenly appeared and gave the alarm that at least a
hundred sophomores were coming in a body to aid their comrades.

A moment later the sophs appeared, hurrying along the street toward the
scene of the encounter.

"'Umpty-seven! 'Umpty-seven! Rah! rah! 'rah!"

Then the signal was given for the freshmen to break away and take to
flight, which they promptly did.

"Oh, soph--oh, my poor soph!" cried many taunting voices.

"Good-evening, gentlemen!" called Bandy Robinson. "Shall I toss you down
soap and towels?"

"Say, fellows," cried Lucy Little, "don't you think it is rather warm
out this evening?"

"Hello! hello!" shouted Rattleton. "Has it been raining, or did we have
a small shower?"

Then Merriwell's beautiful baritone voice pitched the chorus of a
familiar negro melody, in which the triumphant and delighted freshmen
joined:

  "Git erway from de window, mah love an' mah dove!
  Git erway from de window--don't yeh heah?
    Come eround some odder night,
    For dere's gwine ter be er fight,
  An' dar'll be razzers er-flyin' through de air."

The sophomores retired to a safe distance and then challenged the
freshmen to come out and fight. They called them cowards and other
things, but the freshmen laughed and taunted them in return.

"Is--er--King Browning present?" yelled a freshman, leaning out of a
window. "If so, I'd like to inquire if he means to attend the party this
evening."

"If he does," said another freshman, "he will be able to obtain a dress
suit down at Cohen's, price 'von tollar ber efenin' to shentlemen.'"

"Oh, you wait till we get at you fresh ducks!" shouted back an angry
sophomore. "We'll make you sweat for this!"

"Go on! you're only fooling!" sang the freshmen.

"We'll show you we're not fooling!" excitedly declared Punch Swallow.
"We'll scalp a few of you!"

"Ah!" cried Bandy Robinson. "He is a bad man! Methinks I can detect his
cloven foot."

"You're wrong," laughed Merriwell. "But you may have been near enough at
some time to detect his cloven breath!"

The three freshmen who were leaning out of one of the upper windows
repeated in chorus:

  "Punch, brother--punch with care,
  Punch in the presence of the passenjair."

Another freshman shouted:

"Say, Swallows, give us a lock of your hair. It'll save the expense of
gas in my room."

"I'd like a lock of it, too," declared another. "I'm troubled with rats,
and I haven't any paris green handy."

"Oh, rats!" yelled twenty voices.

"Hello, Parker!" cried Little. "I hear you were held up last night? Is
it true?"

"Oh, yes," said Rattleton. "He'd been down to Morey's, and that was the
way he got home."

"But oh, what a difference in the morning," sang the freshmen.

"Ask Rattleton if he means to join the Indians?" called a soph.

"Or will he Sioux for damages?" put in another.

"Oh, say!" groaned Dismal Jones. "That's the worst I ever heard! It's
enough to give one heart failure!"

"Come out and fight! Come out and fight!" urged the sophomores. "You
don't dare to come out and fight!"

"You will have to excuse us this evening, gentlemen," said Merriwell,
suavely. "We have done our best to entertain you, and we will see you
again at some other date."

"You are certain to see me again," assented Browning. "You ran away, or
we would have settled matters between us this evening. As it is, I am
going to watch my opportunity to do you fairly and squarely. When I am
done with you one of us will be beautifully licked."

"And that one will not be King Bruce," declared Andy Emery.

"Say! say! say!" spluttered Rattleton. "I'll go you a shot that it is!
I'll stand you a supper for twenty at any place you'll name that
Merriwell knocks the everlasting stuffing out of Browning."

"Done!" returned Emery.

"You name plime and tace--I mean time and place, and we'll be there,
you bet!" declared Harry. "All we want is a fair deal."

"You'll get that," assured Browning. "This little affair shall be
arranged very soon."

"The sooner the better. Don't delay on our account."

The sophomores, seeing it was useless to linger there and be taunted by
the freshmen, began to stroll away one by one.

Up in Merriwell's room Rattleton got down his banjo and began to put it
in tune. A merry party gathered there. One of the strings snapped, and
as he was putting on another Harry fell to laughing.

"What are you laughing at?" asked Bandy Robinson.

"Down at the table to-night," explained Harry, "Merriwell was poking his
finger into the butter. I asked him what he was doing that for, and he
said he was only feeling its muscle."

The boys who dined in the house appreciated that, and there was a
general laugh. Then Harry adjusted the string and placed the banjo in
tune. Pretty soon the boys were singing "Bingo," "Upidee," "Nellie Was a
Lady," and other college songs. Every one of them seemed familiar with
"Paddy Duffy's Cart" and its pretty chorus:

  "Twinkling stars are laughing, love,
    Laughing on you and me,
  While your bright eyes look into mine,
    Peeping stars they seem to be."

Such glorious days and such merry nights will never come again to those
who have known them. Here's to good old Yale!




CHAPTER XIV.

THE RUSH.


At last the sophomores were thoroughly aroused. The freshmen had long
been carrying things with a high hand, but the rushing of a lot of them
who were in dress suits and bound for a swell party was the straw that
broke the camel's back.

An indignation meeting was held, and certain freshmen were placed under
the ban.

Of these Merriwell was the leader, and it was agreed that every effort
must be made to "take the starch" out of him. That Browning intended to
"do" Merriwell was well known, but some of the others proposed to get at
him.

"Wait," advised Bruce--"wait till I have had it out with that fellow.
Then you may do whatever you like with him. But I feel it a solemn duty
to settle our little affair before anybody else tackles him."

The freshmen were getting their ball team in condition for the coming
season, and they were practicing as often as possible. Frank was
interested in the team, and it was said by those who watched him that he
seemed to have the making of a pitcher in him. He had sharp curves and
good control. If he had a head, they said, he was all right. But this
was something that could not be decided till he had been tried in a
game.

Another freshman by the name of Walter Gordon seemed certain to be the
regular pitcher of the team. He had a record, as he had shown, while
Merriwell would say nothing about what he had done in the way of
pitching.

The students had found it extremely difficult to find out much about
Merriwell, as he persistently avoided talking about himself. If he had
been one of the kind of fellows who go around and brag about themselves
and what they have done he would not have aroused so much interest; but
the very fact that he would not talk of himself made the students
curious to know something of his history.

In a vague sort of way it became known that although he lived in simple
style, like any freshman whose parents were not wealthy, he had a
fortune in his own right and had traveled extensively in various parts
of the world.

Frank's silence seemed to cast an air of mystery about him, and that air
of mystery made him all the more interesting, for the human mind is ever
curious to peer into anything that has the flavor of a secret.

The sophomores had been rushed by the freshmen, and they resolved to
retaliate in a similar manner. On Saturday afternoons the freshmen ball
team practiced, and Saturday was at hand. It would be an opportune time
to meet the youngsters and make it warm for them.

The affair was carefully planned, but wind of it reached the freshmen.
As a result, the youngsters prepared for what they knew must take place.
There could be no such thing as avoiding it, so when Saturday noon came
they dressed themselves in their old clothes and started for the park,
going out as much as possible in a body.

When the park was reached it was found that the sophomores were there
ahead of them. More than that, the sophs had closed and fastened the
gate, and they proposed to hold it. They taunted the freshmen, and told
them they would have to climb the fence if they hoped to get into the
park.

Then there was a consultation among the freshmen. "We'll have to make a
rush," was the universal decision.

Frank looked the ground over, and he decided that an ordinary rush would
not be successful, for that was the very thing the sophomores were
expecting. But there seemed no other way of getting into the park unless
they climbed the fence, and not a man thought of doing such a thing as
that.

The sophomores formed in front of the gate, five deep. In the front
rank of the sophs were Browning and two 'Varsity crew men. Bruce was in
the middle, with the rowers on either side. The ends were two men from
the football team.

Thus the very first line of the sophomores made a formidable array, and
it is not surprising that some of the freshmen were chicken-hearted.

With assistance, Frank marshaled the freshmen, reserving a place in the
first line for himself. While that might be considered a position of
honor, it was the most dangerous, and every fellow there knew this rush
was to be no baby play.

For companions Merriwell selected Dismal Jones, Jack Diamond, Puss
Parker and a big, broad-shouldered fellow by the name of Hovey.

Rattleton and Robinson, together with a dozen others, were appointed as
"scouts." It was their duty to "hook" out men from the ranks of the
sophs and break the force of the enemy's rush as far as possible.

The sophomores had likewise appointed a dozen scouts, strong, active
fellows, every one of whom had shown ability as an athlete.

The sophs prepared quickly for the rush, but it took more time to get
the freshmen in order. In this the seniors rendered not a little
assistance.

When everything was ready the order was given, and the freshmen started
forward. Those in the front line leaned back at a slant, and those
behind pushed.

At the same time the sophomores moved toward the freshmen, and then
there were shouts, taunts and jeers. Each side gave its own cheer.

"This is the last of the freshmen!" cried the sophomores. "We'll wipe
them off the earth. Good-by, freshies!"

"'Umpty-seven will never be heard of again," returned the freshmen.
"They'll be angels right away."

Then the two bodies came together with a frightful impact. They had
locked their arms about each other's waists, and there they clung, while
they pressed upon each other with all their might.

For a little time they swayed and swayed. There were screams and cries
of pain. They wavered and turned about, but still the crush continued.

The scouts were getting in their work, hooking their bent arms around
the necks of their opponents and yanking them out of the line.

Before long the rush turned into a general pushing and hauling. Freshman
pitted himself again sophomore, and a score of wrestling matches were in
progress.

Merriwell and Browning had clinched at the outset, but it was a long
time before they could do anything but cling to each other. When they
did have an opportunity another soph, a scout, spoiled the match by
making a low tackle on Frank and flinging him to the ground. Browning
came down heavily on the leader of the freshmen, but he immediately
jumped up, crying:

"That was not a square deal. Let's have it over."

But the breath had been knocked out of Frank with the force of the fall,
and he fell back twice as he struggled to arise.

"Are you hurt?" asked Browning.

"No," panted Frank, who could dimly see his opponent through a thick
haze which seemed to hang before his eyes.

"Then why don't you get up?"

"I--I'm going to."

Setting his teeth, he did so, but Rattleton caught Browning by the
collar and flung him aside as the big soph sprang at Frank.

"You are hurt, old man!" insisted Harry. "I saw the fellow when he
tripped you. It wasn't a fair thing. You are in no condition to meet
Browning now. Wait till you get your wind."

"I must meet him!" cried Frank. "He'll say he did me up if I do not."

"Then he'll lie. It's all right. You do as I say."

Frank tried to resist, but Rattleton dragged him aside, being able to do
so because Browning found himself occupied by a little freshman who
stuffily blocked his way, declaring that Merriwell should have a show.

Frank was more than disgusted by the result of the affair. He felt that
he must have it out with Browning then and there, and he made desperate
attempts to break from Harry. Ordinarily he would have succeeded with
the greatest ease, but the fall had robbed him of his strength.

Then came the knowledge that the freshmen had been repulsed. The
sophomores were cheering wildly, and the unfortunate freshmen were
downcast.

"They've held us out," muttered Harry, bitterly. "It begins to look as
if we'll have to climb over the fence if we get inside."

"What's that?" cried Frank, bracing up a little. "Climb the fence? Not
much!"

"Then how'll we get in? Will you tell me that?"

"We'll find a way."

"Wind a fay!" spluttered Harry excitedly. "It's easy enough to say that,
but I don't believe we can do it."

"Oh, freshies! oh, you poor freshies!" tauntingly cried the victors.
"Don't you wish you could? But you can't do it, you know!"

"That remains to be seen," muttered Merriwell, brushing the hair back
from his eyes. "I didn't think we could do it in this way. But there are
others."

"You'll be a dandy if you devise a way," declared Little.

Diamond, with his coat off, his vest ripped up the back and his shirt
torn open at the throat, was regarding the jeering sophomores with a
fierce, sullen look. Evidently he was ready for anything. He glanced at
Merriwell, but said nothing.

Frank called the freshmen around him.

"Look here, fellows," he said, "we are bound to go into that park, and
we're going through that gate."

"That sounds well," said Dismal Jones, who wore an unusually long face,
"but I'm inclined to believe we're not in it with that crowd."

"Guess again!" exclaimed Frank. "Now listen to me, and I don't want one
of you to look around. You might arouse suspicion if you did. Close to
the wall there lies a long stick of timber."

"Well?"

"We'll use it."

"How?"

"As a battering-ram."

"To batter down the gate? Why, how are we to get to the gate?"

"The timber will take us there, and it will open the gate. When I give
the word we will rush for it, pick it up, and sail right into the sophs.
I'll bet anything they get out of the way when they see us coming with
that. It will take them by surprise."

"'Rah! 'rah! 'rah!" yelled several of the enthusiastic freshmen.

The sophomores yelled back at them in derision.

"They think we are beaten now," said Diamond, whose face had lighted up
somewhat as he listened to Merriwell's plan. "If we only can get the
best of them that way!"

"We can and we will," assured Frank. "Those who can't get hold of the
timber may look out that they don't hook our men away from it. That is
all."

The freshmen became eager for the effort, but Frank held them back till
he was certain they all understood just what was to be done.

"Are you ready?" he finally asked.

"All ready," was the eager reply.

"Then go!"

The sophomores were astonished to see the freshmen suddenly whirl all
together and rush toward the wall.

"They're going over! They're going over!"

The sophomores shouted their satisfaction and delight, fully convinced
that they had forced the freshmen to abandon all hope of going through
the gate.

Then came a surprise for them.

The freshmen caught up the timber, and Merriwell cried:

"Charge!"

Like a tornado they bore down on the men near the gate, toward which the
timber was directed.

With cries of amazement the alarmed sophomores broke and scattered
before the oncoming freshmen.

Crash!

The timber struck the gate, bursting it open instantly, and the
triumphant freshmen swarmed into the park, cheering wildly.

"Hurrah for 'Umpty-eight!" yelled Bandy Robinson, turning a handspring.
"We are the boys to do 'em!"

"Hurrah for Frank Merriwell!" shouted Harry Rattleton, his face beaming
with joy. "It was his scheme that did it."

"Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!" roared the freshmen. "'Rah! 'rah! 'rah!"

Then Frank felt himself lifted to the shoulders of his enthusiastic
admirers and carried to the home plate of the ball ground, where the
freshmen cheered again and again.

The sophomores were filled with rage and chagrin.

"That was the blamedest trick I ever heard of in all my life!" declared
Andy Emery. "We weren't looking for anything of the kind."

"And we have Merriwell to thank for it!" snapped Evan Hartwick. "He's
full of tricks as an egg is full of meat."

"By Jawve!" said Willis Paulding, who had managed to keep out of harm's
way during the entire affair. "I think somebody ought to do something to
that fellaw--I really do, don't yer know."

"Suppose you try to see what you can do with him," grinned Tad Horner.
"You ought to be able to do something."

"Aw--really you will hawve to excuse me!" exclaimed Willis in alarm. "I
hawdly think I could match his low cunning, don't yer understand."

"Oh, yes, I understand," nodded Horner, significantly. "It takes a man
to go up against Merriwell."

"I hope you don't mean to insinuate--"

"Oh, no!" interrupted Tad. "I have said it."

"Eh? I hawdly think I understand, don't yer know."

"Think it over," advised the little soph as he turned away.

It is probable that Bruce Browning was more thoroughly disgusted than
any of his friends.

"Confound it!" he thought. "If I'd stuck to that fellow and done him up
anyway he wouldn't have been able to carry out this trick. If he is
given any kind of a show he is bound to take advantage of it."

Bruce felt like fighting.

"I'm going in there and lick him," he declared. "I will settle this
matter with Merriwell right away."

But some of his friends were more cautious.

"It won't do," declared Puss Parker.

"Won't do?"

"No, sir."

"Why not?"

"It might be done under cover of a rush, but a single fight between a
soph and a fresh under such public conditions would be sure to get them
both in trouble."

"I don't care a continental! I've stood him just as long as I can! If I
can give him a good square licking I'll stand expulsion, should it come
to that!"

They saw that Browning was too heated to pause for sober thought, and so
they gathered close around him and forced him to listen to reason.

It took no small amount of argument to induce the king to give over the
idea of going onto the ball field and attacking Merriwell, but he was
finally shown the folly of such a course. However, he vowed over and
over that the settlement with Merriwell should come very soon.




CHAPTER XV.

ON THE BALL FIELD.


The sophomores went in to watch the freshmen practice and incidentally
to have sport with them.

Two nines had been selected, one being the regular freshman team and the
other picked up to give them practice.

As Merriwell had been given a place on the team as reserve pitcher, his
services were not needed at first, and so he went in to twirl for the
scrub nine.

Walter Gordon went into the box for the regular team, and he expected to
fool the irregulars with ease. He was a well-built lad, with a bang, and
it was plain to see at a glance that he was stuck on himself. He had a
trick of posing in the box, and he delivered the ball with a flourish.

The scrub team did not have many batters, and so it came about that the
first three men up were disposed of in one-two-three order, not one of
them making a safe hit or reaching first.

Rattleton had vainly endeavored to get upon the regular team. He had
played pretty fast ball on a country nine, but he was somewhat out of
practice and he had not made a first-class showing, so he had failed in
his ambition.

He went into catch for Merriwell, and they had arranged a code of
signals beforehand, so that they were all prepared.

There was no affectation about Frank's delivery, but the first man on
the list of the regulars found Merriwell's slow drop was a hard ball to
hit. He went after two of them before he saw what he was getting. Then
he made up his mind that he would get under the next one and knock the
peeling off it.

He got under it all right, for instead of being a drop it was a rise,
and the batter struck at least eighteen inches below it.

"Well, say," laughed Gordon, who had been placed second on the list at
his own request. "I'll go you something he doesn't work that on me."

He was full of confidence when he walked up to the plate. The watching
sophomores were doing their best to rattle Merriwell, and it seemed that
he must soon get nervous, even though he did not seem to hear any of the
jolly that was being flung at him.

The very first ball seemed to be just where Gordon wanted it, and he
swung at it with all his strength. It twisted in toward him and passed
within two inches of his fingers.

Gordon looked mildly surprised, but he was still confident that he
would be able to hit the next one with ease. He found out his mistake
later on when he went after an out drop and failed to come within six
inches of it.

Then it was Gordon who grew nervous. He did not fancy the idea of being
fanned out by his rival, and he felt that he must make connections with
the next one. He resolved to wait for a good one, and Frank fooled him
by putting two straight ones right over the center of the plate. Gordon
felt sure that both would be curves, and so he offered at neither of
them. The umpire, however, who was a particular friend of Gordon, called
them both balls. Then Gordon went after the next ball, which was a
raise, but found nothing but empty air.

The third man was easy, and he fanned, also, making three in succession.

Parker punched Browning in the ribs.

"Say," he observed, "I'll go you two to one that Merriwell is on the
'Varsity team before the end of next season."

"If he is alive he may be," returned the king, grimly.

Our hero's pitching was a surprise to his friends, for until that day he
had not seemed to let himself out. Even then he did not appear to be
doing his best work, and one who watched him in a friendly way fancied
he might do still better if forced to make the effort.

Walter Gordon was filled with disgust and dismay.

"He's having great luck," muttered Gordon. "Why, I don't see how I
missed a ball I struck at. Every one was a dead easy thing, and I should
have killed any of them."

He squirmed as he heard Burn Putnam--familiarly called Old Put--the
manager of the team, compliment Merriwell on his skillful work.

"I fancy I'll be able to use you more than I thought I should at first,
Merriwell," said Putnam. "We can tell more about that in the future."

"I've got to strike that fellow out," thought Gordon as he went into the
box.

But he did not. Merriwell came first to bat in the second inning, and he
sent a safe single into right field, deliberately placing it, as was
evident to every ball player present.

Gordon turned green with anger, and then he became nervous. To add to
his nervousness, Merriwell obtained a lead from first and stole second
on his delivery, getting it easily.

But that was not the end of Gordon's woes, for Merriwell seemed in a
reckless mood, and he made for third on the next pitch, getting it on a
beautiful slide, although the catcher made an attempt to throw him out.

The catcher came down scowling, and Gordon went to meet him, asking as
he did so:

"What's the matter with you? You ought to have stopped him at second and
held him there."

"I ought to have stopped him!" came derisively from the disgusted
backstop. "I came down to ask you if this was the way you were going to
pitch in a regular game. Why, that fellow is getting a long start on
your delivery, and he does it every time. You've got to stop that kind
of business."

For some moments they talked, and then Gordon sulkily walked back to the
box. He tried to catch Frank playing off third, but simply wasted time.
Then he made a snap delivery and hit the batter, who went down to first.

By this time Gordon was rattled, and he sent the next ball over the
heart of the plate. The batter nailed it for two bags, and two men came
home.

Gordon walked out of the box and up to the bench where Old Put was
sitting.

"I am sick," he declared.

He looked as if he spoke the truth.

"I thought something was the matter with you," said the manager. "You're
white as a sheet. It's folly for you to practice while you are in this
condition."

Gordon put on his sweater and then drew his coat over that. He wandered
off by himself and sat down.

"Hang that fellow Merriwell!" he whispered to himself. "I never thought
he would bother me so much. I am beginning to hate him. He is too cool
and easy to suit me."

The practice was continued, and Merriwell showed up finely, so that Old
Put was pleased.

The sophomores quit trying to have sport with the freshmen, as it
happened that two of the professors had wandered into the park and were
looking on from a distance.

Browning saw them.

"Why are they out here?" he snapped. "Never knew 'em to come before. I
won't even get a chance to talk to Merriwell."

"Better keep away from him this afternoon," cautioned Hartwick. "He
can't escape you, and there is plenty of time."

"That's so," agreed Bruce. "But I hate to think how he is crowing to
himself over the way the freshies got into the park. I'd like to take
the starch out of him at once."

Hartwick induced Browning to leave the park, and the departure of the
king caused the sophomores to wander away in small groups.

As a general thing they were discussing Merriwell, his position with the
freshmen, and his pitching. Some insisted that he was not a pitcher and
would never make one, while others were equally confident that he was
bound to become a great twirler some day.

Some of the groups discussed the antagonism between Merriwell and
Browning, and all were confident that the king would do the freshman
when he got himself into condition. It was not strange that they
believed so, for they remembered how Bruce had knocked out Kid Lajoie,
who was a professional.

Browning himself proceeded directly to his rooms, where he sat himself
down and fell to thinking. Twice had he been up against Merriwell, and
he had found out that the leader of the freshmen was no easy thing. In
neither struggle had he obtained an advantage through his own unaided
efforts, and in this last affair he had felt that he was losing his
wind, while Merriwell seemed as fresh as ever till he was thrown by a
third party.

"That's where I am not yet his match," Bruce soberly decided. "If I were
fortunate enough to land a knockout blow with my left at the outset I'd
finish him easily; but if he should play me and keep out of my reach he
might get me winded so he could finally get the best of it. I must work
off more flesh."

Having arrived at this conclusion, Browning was decidedly glad that his
friends had kept him from closing in on Merriwell and forcing a fight on
the ball field.

"Another week will do it," Bruce thought. "No matter what is said, I'll
not meet that fellow till I am his match--till I am more than his match,
for I must do him. If I do not my days as king of the sophs are
numbered. I can see now that some of the fellows sympathize secretly
with Merriwell, although they do not dare do so openly. It must be
stopped. He may be a first-class fellow, but when he treads on my corns
I kick."

Hartwick tried to talk to Bruce, but the latter would say very little,
and it was not long before he left the room.

Browning stepped out briskly, and a stranger who saw him could not have
believed that he had the reputation of being the laziest lad in college.

In one line Bruce was thoroughly aroused, but he was neglecting his
studies in a shameful manner, and more than once a warning voice told
him that while he was putting himself in condition to dispose of
Merriwell he was getting into trouble in another quarter.

He did not heed that warning, however. His one thought was to retain his
position as king of the sophomores, and in order to do that he must not
let any freshman triumph over him.

In town he went directly to a certain saloon and stopped at the bar,
although he did not order a drink.

"Is the professor in?" he asked.

"I think he is," replied the barkeeper.

Then Browning passed through into a back room and climbed some dirty
stairs, finally rapping at a door.

"Come in!" called a harsh voice.

Bruce pushed open the door and entered. The room was quite large, but
was not very clean. The walls were pasted over with sporting pictures
taken from illustrated papers. There was a bed, some old chairs, one of
which had a broken back, a center table, a cracked mirror, and two
cuspidors. A door opened into another room beyond.

Lounging in a chair, with his feet on the table beside an empty beer
bottle and dirty glass, was a ruffianly-looking chap, who had a thick
neck that ran straight up with the back of his head. His hair was close
cropped and his forehead low. There was a bulldog look about his mouth
and jaw, and his forehead was strangely narrow.

The man was smoking a black, foul-smelling pipe, while the hands which
held a pink-tinted illustrated paper were enormous, with huge knuckles
and joints. His hand when closed looked formidable enough to knock down
an ox.

"How do you do, professor?" saluted Bruce.

"Waryer," growled the man, still keeping his feet on the table. "So it's
you, is it? Dis ain't your day."

"I know it, but I decided to come around just the same. I am not
getting the flesh off as fast as I ought."

"Hey?" roared the man, letting his feet fall with a crash. "Wot's dat?
D'yer men ter say I ain't doin' a good job wid yer? Wot der blazes!"

"Oh, you are doing all right, professor, but I find I must be in
condition sooner than I thought. My gymnasium exercise doesn't seem
to--"

"Dat gymnasium work is no good--see? I knows wot I'm givin' yer, too. I
told yer in der first place ter stick ter me, an' I'd put yer in shape.
It'll cost more, but--"

"I don't mind that. No matter what it costs, I must be in condition to
lick that fellow I was telling you about, and I must be in condition one
week from to-day."

"Dat's business. I'll put yer dere. An' yer know wot I told yer--I'll
show yer a trick dat'll finish him dead sure ef de mug is gittin' de
best of yer. It'll cost yer twenty-five extra ter learn dat trick, but
it never fails."

Browning showed sudden interest.

"I had forgotten about that," he said. "What will it do?"

"It'll do der bloke what ye're after, dat's wot."

"Yes, but how--how?"

"T'ink I'm goin' ter give der hull t'ing erway? Well, I should say nit!
I tells yer it'll fix him, and it'll fix him so dere won't be no more
fight in him. It'll paralyze him der first t'ing, an' he won't be no
better dan a stiff."

"How bad will it hurt him?"

The man paused a moment and then added:

"Well, I don't mind sayin' dat it'll break his wrist. Yer can do it de
first crack arter I shows yer how, but it'll cost twenty-five plunks ter
learn der trick."

After a few moments of hesitation Browning drew forth his pocketbook and
counted out twenty-five dollars.




CHAPTER XVI.

TO BREAK AN ENEMY'S WRIST.


Buster Kelley was a character. Professor Kelley he called himself. He
claimed to be a great pugilist, and he was forever telling of the men he
had put to sleep. But he couldn't produce the papers to show for it. The
public had to take his word, if they took anything.

In fact, he had never fought a battle in his life, unless it was with a
boy half his size. He made a bluff, and it went. The youngsters who came
to Yale and desired to be instructed in the manly art were always
recommended to Kelley.

To give Kelley his due, he was really a fairly good boxer, and he might
have made a decent sort of a fight if he had possessed the courage to
accept a match and the self denial and energy to go through a regular
course of training.

But Kelley was making an easy living "catching suckers," and there was
no real reason why he should go through the hardships of training and
actually fighting so long as he could fool the youngsters who regarded
him as a one-time great and shining light of the prize ring.

He was too shrewd to stand up with any pupil who might get the best of
him and permit that pupil to hammer away at him. He kept them at work on
certain kinds of blows, so he always knew exactly what was coming. In
this manner of training them he never betrayed just how much he really
knew about fighting.

Some of the young fellows who became Kelley's pupils were the sons of
wealthy parents, and then it happened that the professor worked his
little game for all there was in it. He sold them "secrets," and they
paid dearly for what they learned. Some of the secrets were of no value
at all, and some were actually worth knowing.

It happened that he did know how to break a man's wrist in a very simple
manner, providing he could find just the right opportunity. It was a
simple trick, but the opportunity to practice it could seldom be found
in a fight.

Kelley's eyes, which were somewhat bleary, bulged with greed as he saw
Browning count out the money.

"It's givin' yer der trick dirt cheap--see?" said the professor. "I
never sold it less dan twice dat ermount before. Dat's straight. I'll
have ter make yer promise not ter tell it ter der odder chaps before I
instructs yer."

"If I buy it it is mine," said Bruce.

"Come off der roof! You enters inter an' agreement wid me dat yer don't
blow dis t'ing, ur I don't tell yer."

"What if I want to tell a particular friend?"

"Yer don't tell him. Dat's all. I had ter pay t'ree hunderd dollars ter
learn dis, an' sign a 'greement dat I wouldn't give it erway. Jem Mace
tort me dis trick w'en I sparred wid him in Liverpool. He says ter me,
says he: 'Buster, ye're a boid, dat's wot ye are. If you knowed der
trick of breakin' a bloke's wrist dere ain't no duffer in der woild dat
can do yer. I'll show yer der crack fer sixty pound.' He wouldn't come
down a little bit, an' I paid him wot he asked. Since dat time I've
knocked roun' all over der woild, an' it's saved me life fife times. Dat
was a cheap trick wot I got from old Jem, dat were. A dago pulled a
knife on me oncet fer ter cut me wide open, but I broke der dago's wrist
quicker dan yer can spit."

"Well, here is your money, and now I want to know that trick."

"Yer 'grees not ter tell it ter anybody?"

"Yes, I agree."

"Dat settles it."

Kelley took the money and carefully stowed it away in his clothes.

"Strip up an' git inter yer trainin' rig," he directed.

Bruce went into the back room, and Buster poked himself in the ribs
with his thumb, grinning and winking at his own reflection in the
cracked mirror.

"Oh, say! but I'm a peach!" he told himself in a confidential whisper.
"If der college perfessers don't git arter me ergin I'll make me
forchune right yere."

Kelley had originally hung out a sign and advertised to instruct young
gentlemen in boxing, but the faculty had made it rather warm for him,
and it was generally supposed that he had been forced to leave New
Haven. He had not left, but he had changed his quarters to the rooms he
now occupied, one flight up at the back of a saloon.

In a short time Bruce called that he was ready, and the professor
leisurely strolled into the back room, where there was a punching bag, a
striking machine, all kinds of boxing gloves, and other paraphernalia
such as a man in Kelley's business might need.

At one side of the room were several small closets, in which Kelley's
pupils kept their training suits while they were not wearing them. The
door of one closet was open, and Browning's street clothes were hanging
on some hooks inside.

Browning had got into trunks, stockings, and light, soft-bottomed shoes.
He was stripped to the waist.

Buster walked around the lad, inspecting him with a critical eye,
punching here and there with his fingers, feeling of certain muscles
and some points where there seemed to be a superabundance of flesh.

"Well, say!" cried the professor. "I'd like ter know wot yer kickin'
erbout! I never seen a feller work off fat no faster dan wot youse has,
an' dat's on der dead. Why, w'en yer comes yere yer didn't have a muscle
dat weren't buried in fat, an' now dey're comin' out hard all over yer.
You'd kick ef yer wuz playin' football!"

"That's all right," said Bruce, rather impatiently. "I know what I want,
and I am paying you to give it to me. Go ahead."

"Don't be so touchy," scowled Kelley. "Tackle der bag a while, an' let's
see how yer work."

Browning went at the punching bag while the professor stood by and
called the changes. He thumped it up against the ceiling and caught it
on the rebound thirty times in succession, first with his right and then
with his left. Then he went at it with both hands and fairly made it
hum. Then, at the word, with remarkable swiftness, he gave it fist and
elbow, first right and then left. Then he did some fancy work at a
combination hit and butt.

By the time Buster called him off Browning was streaming with
perspiration and breathing heavily.

"Dat's first rate," complimented the professor. "Yer does dat like yer
wuz a perfessional."

"Great Scott!" gasped Bruce. "I'd never torture myself in this way if I
didn't have to! It is awful!"

He looked around for a chair, but Buster grinned and said:

"Dat's right, set right down--nit. Youse don't do dat no more in dis
joint. Wen I gits yer yere, yer works till yer t'rough--see? Dat's der
way ter pull der meat off er man."

"Well, what's next?"

"See if yer can raise yer record anoder pound on der striker."

Bruce went at the striking machine, which registered the exact number of
pounds of force in each blow it received.

"Has any one beaten me yet?" he asked.

"Naw. Dere ain't nobody come within ninety pound of yer."

Bruce looked satisfied, but he made up his mind to raise his record if
possible, and he succeeded in adding twelve pounds to it.

"Say!" exclaimed Buster, "if dat cove wot yer arter does you he's a
boid!"

"That's just what he is," nodded Bruce, streaming with perspiration. "He
is a bad man to go against."

"If yer ever gits at him wid dat left ye'll knock him out, sure."

"He is like a panther on his feet, and I shall be in great luck if I
find him with my left."

"Yer don't want ter t'ink dat. Yer wants ter t'ink yer goin' ter find
him anyhow. Dat's der way."

"I have thought so before, and I have discovered that he is a
wonderfully hard man to find."

"Wen yer goin' ter fight him?"

"I am going to try to make him meet me one week from to-day."

"Where?"

"I don't know yet."

"Is he a squealer?"

"I don't believe you could drag anything out of him with horses."

"If dat's right yer might make it yere, an' it could be kept quiet. I'd
charge a little somet'ing fer der use of der room, but dat wouldn't come
out of eder of youse, fer we'd make der fellers pay wot come in ter see
it."

"We'll see about that," said Bruce. "But now I want to know that trick."

"Oh, yes. I near fergot dat."

"Well, I didn't."

"Say, if yer use dat on him I don't t'ink we can have der scrap here."

"Why not?"

"If one of dem freshies got injuries in dis place so bad it might git
out, an' dat would fix me."

"I don't intend to use it on him unless I have to. Go ahead and explain
your trick. If it isn't straight I want my money back."

"Dere won't be any money back, fer der trick is all right, all right.
Now stan' up here an' I'll show yer how it's did."

Kelley then showed Bruce how to bring the edge of his open hand down on
the upper side of an enemy's wrist just back of the joint.

"Yer wants ter snap it like dis," Buster explained, illustrating with a
sharp, rebounding motion. "If yer strikes him right dere wid der cushion
meat on der lower edge of yer hand an' snaps yer hand erway like dis,
it's dead sure ter break der bone. Jes' try it on yer own wrist, but be
careful not ter try it too hard."

Bruce did as directed, and he found that he hurt himself severely,
although he struck a very light blow.

"Dat's ter trick," said Kelley, "an' it's a dandy. Don't yer ever use it
'less yer dead sure yer wants ter break der odder feller's wrist."

Then the professor called up a colored boy, who rubbed Bruce down, and
the king of the sophomores finally departed.

As he walked back toward his room in the dusk of early evening,
Browning began to feel sorry that he had learned the trick at all.

"It would be a dirty game to play on Merriwell," he muttered, "but now
that I know it, I may get mad and do it in a huff, especially if I see
Merriwell is getting the best of me."

The more Browning thought the matter over the greater became his regret
that he had learned the trick of breaking an opponent's wrist. For all
that he had a strong feeling against Merriwell, he could see that the
leader of the freshmen was square and manly, and he did not believe
Frank would take an unfair advantage of a foe.

Bruce became quite unlike his old jovial self. He was strangely downcast
and moody, and he saw that he was fast losing prestige with those who
had once regarded him as their leader.

Hartwick, Browning's roommate, was more bitter against Merriwell.

"The confounded upstart!" he would growl. "Think of his coming here and
carrying things on with such a high hand! When we were freshmen the
sophomores had everything their own way. They Lambda Chied us till they
became sick of it, and all our attempts to get even proved failures. Now
the freshmen who are following the lead of this fellow Merriwell seem to
think that they are cocks of the walk. I tell you what it is, Bruce,
you must do that fellow, and you must do him so he will stay done."

"Oh, I don't believe he is such a bad fellow at heart, It wouldn't be
right to injure him permanently."

"Wouldn't it? Give me the chance and see if I don't fix him."

Hartwick began to regard his roommate with disdain.

"For goodness' sake, don't get soft," he implored. "The fellows will say
you are chicken-hearted, and that will settle your case. You'll never
get back to your old position if you once lose it."

"I'd rather be thought chicken-hearted than hold my position by dirty
play."

Hartwick made no retort, but it was plain to see that he entertained a
different view of a case like the one in question.

Browning worked like a beaver to get himself in shape for the coming
struggle, but he promised himself over and over that he would never do
such a thing again. It was pride and hope that sustained him through his
severe course of training.

"No fresh mug can do youse now," Buster Kelley finally declared. "I'll
put me dough on you, an' I'll win, too."

Bruce was really in very good form, and he felt that he stood more than
an even chance with Merriwell.

He had seen the freshman fight, however, and he realized that he would
not have a walkover.

The freshmen began to think that Browning feared to meet Merriwell, and
they openly told him as much. They taunted him to such an extent that it
was with the utmost difficulty he held himself in check till the
expiration of the time he had set for getting himself in condition.

"What if I should see the freshman getting the best of me and should
break his wrist?" he thought. "I might make it appear to be an accident,
but I would know better myself. I'd get the best of Merriwell, and the
fellows would still hail me as King Browning, but I would be ashamed of
myself all the while."

It was that thought which troubled him so much and made him appear so
grouchy.

"Browning is in a blue funk whenever he thinks of stacking up against
the freshman," one sophomore confidentially told another. "I believe he
has lost his nerve."

"It looks that way," admitted the other.

Thus it came about that Bruce's appearance led his former admirers to
misjudge him, and he saw a growing coolness toward him.

"I'll meet Merriwell on the level," he finally decided, "and I will whip
him on the level or I'll not whip him at all."

Then he instructed Hartwick to carry a challenge to Frank.

"I will fight him with hard gloves," said Bruce.

He had decided that with a glove on his hand he could not easily perform
the trick of breaking his enemy's wrist in case he was seized by an
impulse to do so.

"Gloves?" cried Hartwick. "Why, man, why don't you challenge him to meet
you with bare fists?"

"Because I have decided that gloves are all right."

"The fellows will say you are afraid."

"Let them say so if they like," returned Bruce, but he winced a bit, as
if a tender spot had been touched.

Hartwick did his test to induce his friend to challenge Merriwell to a
fight with bare fists, but Bruce had made up his mind and he was
obstinate.

So it came about that Hartwick carried the challenge 

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