Book: Frank Merriwell at Yale

B >> Burt L. Standish >> Frank Merriwell at Yale




"Come now, Harry," came earnestly from Frank. "Just cut clear from the
things. They never did any man any good, and they have taken the wind
and nerve out of hundreds. You don't want me to keep you on the crew and
lose the race by doing so. You don't want it said that I have been
partial to you because you are my roommate and particular friend.
That's what will be said if things go wrong. The fellows will declare I
was prejudiced against Gordon, and they will not be to blame unless you
can prove yourself the best man. I have nothing against Gordon, and I am
bound to use him as white as I can. I have explained why I don't want
him on the crew, and I have tried to make it clear why I'll have to let
him come on at once, unless you drop cigarettes. How is it, my boy? What
do you say?"

Harry got up and went into the bedroom. A moment later he came out with
a big package of cigarettes in his hands. He opened the window and flung
them as far as possible.

"There!" he cried. "By the mumping Joses--I mean the jumping Moses! I'm
done with 'em. I'm not going to smoke them any more!"

"Good boy!" laughed Frank, his face full of satisfaction. "Shake!"

They clasped hands.

Rat-tat-tat! A knock at the door.

"Come in."

The door opened and Dismal Jones, his face longer and sadder than usual,
came slouching into the room.

"Hello, Jones, old boy!" cried Frank, cheerfully. "What is troubling you
now? You look like a funeral."

"I'm mad," said Dismal in a spiritless way.

"Is that what ails you? I'd never suspected it from your appearance."

"Appearances are oftentimes deceitful," croaked Jones. "Whosoever is
deceived thereby is not wise."

"Well, sit down and tell us all about it," invited Frank, offering a
chair. "My boy, it must be that you are studying too hard. You have the
outward appearance of a greasy grind."

"What's that I just told you about appearances? You are too hasty in
your judgments. The trouble with me this evening is that I have found
out something."

"I never supposed it would trouble you like this."

"Wait. You do not know what it is."

"That's right. What is it?"

Frank was familiar with Dismal's queer ways, and he knew it was not easy
to tell when this son of a "shouting Methodist" was jollying and when he
was in earnest; but now he was convinced that Jones was really serious,
and he felt that there must be some cause for it.

Harry, strangely sobered and silent, sat listening. He could not
understand Jones, and he was on his guard, knowing how often the fellow
turned into a farce what seemed a serious matter.

Dismal locked his fingers and twiddled his thumbs. He cleared his
throat and then said:

"Merry, what would you say if I were to tell everything I could find out
about our crew to the sophs?"

"I should say you were a confounded sneak!"

"Hum! I kinder thought you'd say something like that."

"But you do not know too much about the crew."

"I know something, and I could know more if I had a mind to. All I would
have to do would be to play the spy a little."

"Well, I suppose that is right. What about it?"

"Somebody is playing the spy."

"How do you know?"

"I've got it straight enough, for the sophs know all about what our crew
is doing. They are laughing over the Oxford stroke and the English
oars."

"How do you know this?"

"Heard 'em."

"When?"

"To-night."

"Where?"

"On the street. Browning and a party were going down to Morey's, and
they were having a high old time with Hartwick, who was explaining the
advantages of the stroke and the oars our crew has adopted."

"That's not proof that somebody has played the spy. It may have slipped
out through the carelessness of some of our men."

"It may. But I don't think so. I heard Emery ask Hartwick how he knew so
much about us."

"What did Hartwick say?" Frank eagerly asked.

"He said he had a nice fresh flat who thought it a fine thing to play
the spy and blab all he found out."

"Blay bluses--I mean blue blazes!" cried Harry, banging his fist down on
the table. "That's what makes me cot under the hollar! A man who would
do a thing like that will steal a sheep! I'd like to have the pleasure
of thumping him a few times--just a few!"

Merriwell was silent, a dark look on his face.

"It will not be healthy for the spy if I catch him," he finally
declared. "I'll make it pretty hot for him around here!"

"Which would be a highly commendable action," bowed Dismal.

"Have you any idea who would do such a low-down thing?" asked Harry.

"Sometimes we have ideas which we do not care to express."

"That's right; but in a case like this--confidentially--to us, you
know--"

"Well, if I say anything, it is to be strictly confidential."

"Sure!" cried Frank and Harry in a breath.

"You both give me your word for it?"

"We do."

"If I knew, I would not hesitate to come out openly and accuse the
fellow," said Dismal; "but this is merely a case of suspicion, and I
will tell you who I suspect."

"Go ahead."

"Well, there is a certain fellow who has not been above playing into the
hands of the sophs in the past, and it is natural for me to suspect him.
His name is--"

The door opened, and Roland Ditson came in without knocking.




CHAPTER XIX.

WHO IS THE TRAITOR?


"Hello, fellows!" cried Ditson. "How are yer, Jones! I am surprised to
see you here. Is it possible you have let up cramming long enough to
make a call? Why, I have even heard that you had your eye on some
classical scholarship prize as soon as this. Everybody who knows you
says you're a regular hard-working old dig."

"There are fools who know other people's business a great deal better
than their own," said Dismal stiffly.

"That's right," nodded Ditson, who made a great effort to be rakish in
his appearance, but always appeared rather foxy instead. "But I tell you
this matter of burning the midnight oil and grinding is not what it's
cracked up to be. It makes a man old before his time, and it doesn't
amount to much after he has been all through it. Goodness knows we
freshmen have to cram hard enough to get through! I am tired of it
already. And then we have to live outside the pale, as it were. When we
become sophs we'll be able to give up boarding houses and live in the
dormitories. That's what I am anxious for."

"It strikes me that you are very partial to sophs," said Dismal, giving
Roll a piercing look.

Ditson was not fazed.

"They're a rather clever gang of fellows," he said. "Freshmen are very
new, as a rule. Of course there are exceptions, and--"

"I suppose you consider yourself one?"

"Oh, I can't tell about that. But supposing I am; by the time I become a
soph some of the newness will have worn off."

"I am not particularly impressed with any freshman who seems to think so
much of sophomores. You ought to stay with them all the time."

"Oh, I don't know. They have treated me rather well, and I have found
the most of them easy people."

"They seem to have found some freshman easy fruit. Somebody has been
blowing to them about our crew."

"I know it," was Ditson's surprising confession, "and that's why I
dropped in here. I wanted to tell Merriwell about it."

Jones gasped for breath. He was too surprised to speak for some minutes.

Ditson took out a package of cigarettes, offering them first to Harry,
who shook his head.

"What?" cried Roll, amazed. "You won't smoke?"

"No."

"What's that mean?"

"I have left off," said Harry, with an effort.

"Left off? Oh, say! that's too good! You leave off!"

A bit of color came to Rattleton's face, and he gave Ditson a look that
was not exactly pleasant; but Roll was too occupied with his merriment
to observe it.

Frank was studying Ditson. He watched the fellow's every movement and
expression.

Roll knew it was useless to offer cigarettes to Merriwell or Jones, so
he selected one from the package, kneaded it daintily, pulled a little
tobacco from the ends, moistened the paper with his lips, and then
lighted it with a wax match.

"Say, Harry, old man, I pity you," he said, with a taunting laugh,
looking at Harry. "I've tried it. It's no use. You'll break over before
two days are up--yes, before one day is up. It's no use."

Rattleton bit his lips.

"Why, you are dying for a whiff now!" chuckled Ditson. "I know you are.
I got along a whole day, but it was a day of the most intense torture."

"There may be others with more stamina than you, Ditson," snapped
Rattleton. "Just because you couldn't leave off a bad habit, it's no
sign that nobody can."

"Oh, I suppose not. But what's the use? Don't get hot, old man. You
ought to know my way by this time."

"I do."

"What is it that you came to tell me?" asked Frank.

"Eh? Oh, about the sophs. Those fellows seem to know more about our crew
than I do."

"What do they know?"

"Why, they know our men are using English oars, have adopted a new
stroke, and have done several other things. Now, those are matters on
which I was not informed myself."

"How do you know the sophs know so much?"

"I've just come from Morey's. Went in there with Cressy. Fine fellow, he
is. While I was in there Browning and his crowd wandered in. They were
drinking ale and discussing the race. I heard what they were saying.
Couldn't help hearing, you know. They were talking about our crew and
the new methods you had introduced. It was mighty interesting to me, as
I didn't know about those new methods myself."

"How innocent!" muttered Jones.

Ditson elevated his eyebrows.

"What's that?" he demanded. "Why shouldn't I be innocent? I am not on
the crew, and the men are training and practicing secretly. I have had
no way of finding out what they were doing."

"But some sneak has!" cried Rattleton, fiercely, "and he's been and
blowed all he found out!"

"Unless somebody on the crew has done the blowing," suggested Roll,
exhaling a great puff of smoke. "That is barely possible, you
understand."

"Possible! No!" cried Frank. "There's not a man on the crew who would do
such a thing!"

"Oh, well, I suppose you know. But I understand there are two who are
kept in form as substitutes. One of them thinks he should be on the
crew. He is rather jealous of somebody who fills his place. He might be
the one who has talked too much."

"You don't mean--"

"Rattleton ought to be able to guess who I mean," craftily said Ditson
as he arose. "I'm not calling names, for I don't know anything certain.
If I had proof--but I haven't. Never mind. You ought to know enough to
watch a certain fellow who thinks his place is filled by a person not
his equal. He says there is favoritism in the matter. I rather think I
have spoken plainly enough. Wish you success, Merry, old man. Evening,
fellows."

Ditson departed.

Our hero, Rattleton and Jones sat and looked at each other in grim
silence for several minutes.

"Well?"

Frank broke the spell, looking keenly at Jones as he spoke.

"I dunno," mumbled Dismal, falling into the manner of speaking that had
been habitual with him from his childhood. "I dunno--hanged if I do!"

"You thought you knew when you came in, my boy."

"That's right; but I dunno but I was off my trolley. And still--"

"Still what?"

"I don't like the man I suspected, but I never thought the fellow shrewd
enough to play a double game."

"Perhaps it is because you do not like him that you suspected him."

"Oh, it may be--it may be. And I don't suppose that is a square deal. I
didn't have absolute proof."

"You were going to name him when Ditson came in."

"I was, but I will not call any names now. I propose to look into this
matter somewhat. Likely it's too late to prevent the traitor from
completing the damage, but he can be exposed. It will be some
satisfaction to see him held up to public scorn."

"That is true, Dismal, and I want you to do your best to find out who
the man is. Make a sure thing of it. Get positive proof, if possible."

"Whoever he is his sin is sure to find him out."

There were footsteps on the stairs and the sound of laughing voices. The
door burst open and several freshmen came trooping in, as if they felt
quite at home there. Lucy Little was at their head, and his face showed
excitement.

"I say, Merriwell!" he cried, "are you out for a little sport to-night?"

"That depends on what sort of sport it is."

"'Sh!" said Little, mysteriously. "Close the door, uncle."

A fellow by the name of Silas Blossom, who was familiarly called
"uncle," obeyed.

Little looked at Rattleton and then stared hard at Jones, who had the
face of a parson.

"I don't know about you," he said, "but I think you are all right. Even
if you have scruples I don't believe you will blow."

"Very kind!" grunted Dismal.

"The rest of the gang is all right," said Little.

"Then give us your scheme," spluttered Harry, whose curiosity was
thoroughly aroused. "Don't bush around the beat--I mean beat around the
bush."

"What do you fellows say to a turkey chase?" asked Little.

"A turkey chase?"

"Yes. Out around West Rock way. There are plenty of old farmers who
have good fat turkeys out that way. It is a good cool night, and we can
capture two turkeys without trouble. Then we'll take 'em in here and
have a roast. Are you wid us?"

"Those who are not wid us are agin' us!" fiercely declared Bandy
Robinson.

"And that is dead right, me b'hoys," nodded Arthur Street, who was known
at Yale as Easy Street, on account of his free-and-easy way.

Merriwell hesitated. He was in for any kind of honest sport, but he did
not quite fancy the idea of stealing turkeys.

"Why don't we buy our turkeys at the markets?" he asked.

The other lads stared at him in astonishment.

"Buy them!" they shouted. "Say, are you dafty, man? Where would the fun
come in? You know better than to propose such a thing."

"Stolen fruit is ever the sweetest," quoth Uncle Blossom. "It's not many
fellows we would take into such a scheme, but you were just the man we
wanted, Merriwell. If we bought a turkey we wouldn't have any appetite
for it. Now, the run out into the country and back will give us an
appetite. One fellow will have to stay here and get the fire ready,
while the rest of us chase turks. Come on, man--it's what you need to
start your blood circulating."

Merriwell seemed to suddenly make up his mind.

"I am with you," he said as he arose. "Who stays and looks after the
fire? We don't want anybody along that can't run."

"Well, I'm no sprinter," confessed Dismal. "I'd like to go along, but
I'm afraid I'd peg out. I'll have things ready when you show up. But
what time will you be back?"

Frank looked at his watch and then made a mental calculation.

"It will be about eleven," he said.

"All right."

"Say, Jones," said Street, "just go down to Billy's and get a few
bottles of beer. We'll need it to wash the turk down."

"And cigars," cried Blossom. "Don't forget cigars. What would a turkey
feast be without a smoke afterward?"

Matters were soon arranged, and it was not long before five freshmen
left Mrs. Harrington's "quiet house" for freshmen, and started along
York Street at a brisk, steady jog.

Merriwell took the lead, and the others came after him at regular
distances. The night air was rather sharp, and there was a bright moon.

Along the streets of New Haven the five freshmen ran, and those who
observed them supposed they were some crew in training.

Merriwell set a moderate pace, for he knew it was likely they would need
all their wind on the return. There was no telling what sort of a scrape
they might get into.

Rattleton was behind, taking things as easy as possible. He filled his
lungs with the crisp, clear air, and it made him feel like a young race
horse, but he held himself in check.

Street actually loafed along, although he managed to keep his place.

"If one of us is caught, he'll be like the gangplank of a steamer,"
called Harry as they left the main part of the city and entered the
suburbs.

"How's that?" asked Blossom.

"Pulled in," chirped Rattleton. "Don't stop to throw anything this way.
Keep right on."

"They say Browning was caught swiping turks in his freshman year," said
Lewis, "and it cost his old man a round sum to settle and keep the thing
quiet, so Bruce wouldn't be expelled. Dad Browning has got money to
burn."

"Well, his son's a good match for him," Merriwell tossed over his
shoulder.

"A good match for him! Oh, say!" gasped Robinson, exhibiting signs of
sudden weakness.

Away they went, laughing and jesting, finally leaving the city behind
and getting out into the country. Up hill and down dale they steadily
jogged, covering mile after mile in a rather surprising manner.

At length Merriwell called a halt, and they held a council of war.
Blossom said he knew where they were certain to find turkeys, and so
they gave him the lead. He confessed that there was a chance of getting
into trouble, as the owner of the turkeys had been robbed before, and he
might be on the watch. That simply added zest to the adventure, and
there was not one of the party who would have consented to look
elsewhere for their turkeys.

They finally came in sight of a farmhouse that sat on the side of a
hill. Near the house was a stable and sheds. A large orchard lay back of
the sheds.

"There," said Blossom. "That is where old Baldwin lives, and his turks
are in one of those sheds."

"Crumping jickets--I mean jumping crickets!" exclaimed Harry. "How
bright the moon shines! If he's on the watch we can't get anywhere near
those sheds without being seen."

The boys began to realize that they were engaged in a decidedly perilous
adventure. If one of them should be caught it would mean almost certain
expulsion from college, besides a heavy fine if the case were carried to
court.

"We'll have to approach by way of the orchard," said Frank. "Does
Baldwin keep a dog?"

"Sure--a big half-blood bull."

"That's nice. We are liable to find plenty of fun here. Every man must
provide himself with a stout and heavy club to use on that dog in case
of emergency. That is important. The lights are out, and it looks as if
the farmer and his family were sleeping soundly, but, as Jones says,
appearances are sometimes deceptive. We'll have to take our chances.
Three of us will go through the orchard. The other two must get near the
house in front and be ready to create a diversion in case we are
discovered. Harry, you and Bandy take the front. You are both good
runners. If Mr. Baldwin and his dog get after us, attract his attention
in some manner."

"And get him after us?"

"That's the idea."

"Jupiter! I wish I had brought a gun for that dog! Bandy, you are liable
to have to use those crooked legs of yours in a decidedly lively manner
before the night is over."

When everything was arranged Harry and Bandy advanced along the road,
going forward slowly, while Frank, Blossom and Little made a detour and
came into the orchard.

The hearts of the boys were in their throats, and still there was
something about the adventure that filled them with the keenest delight.

Each one had secured a club, and they were ready to give the dog a warm
reception if he came for them.

Little watched beneath a tree, while Merriwell and Blossom slipped up to
one of the sheds which had a favorable look.

In the meantime Rattleton and Robinson had got near the front of the
house and were hiding in a ditch, waiting and listening.

"I am surprised that Merriwell should agree to take a hand in this,"
whispered Harry. "He is a queer chap--has scruples about doing certain
things. I thought he would object to hooking out a turk."

"Oh, such a thing as this isn't really stealing," protested Robinson.
"It is different."

"In our minds, but not in the mind of Farmer Baldwin, by a long shot. If
we're caught it will be called stealing."

"Oh, well, a fellow who won't do anything like this is too good for this
world. He's got wings sprouting."

"You know well enough that Merriwell is no softie," returned Harry,
rather warmly. "He's proved that. Any man has a right to his ideas, and
if he thinks a thing wrong he's justified in refusing to have anything
to do with it."

"Perhaps so; but Merriwell is right on the limit now."

"How?"

"He will not drink, he does not smoke, and I never have heard him cuss."

"Does it make a fellow a man to drink and smoke and swear? I tell you
you'll go a long distance before you find a fellow who is any more of a
man than Frank Merriwell. I was dead lucky when I got him for a
roommate."

"You're stuck on him. I say he is all right, but he is on the limit. I
believe the fellows would like him better if he would break over once in
a while."

"I doubt it. But it is awful still around here. I wonder where that dog
can be? It would be a surprise if the fellows got away with the turks
without making any noise at--"

There was a sudden hubbub, a terrible squalling and squawking, the
barking of a dog, and the report of a gun!




CHAPTER XX.

A HOT CHASE.


"My stars!" gasped Harry. "There's trouble, sure enough!"

"I should remark!" palpitated Robinson. "I'll bet a dollar one of the
fellows is full of shot!"

"And somebody is in danger of being full of teeth directly. Come, this
is our time to create a diversion."

Then Harry let himself out. He whooped like a wild Indian and pranced
right up toward the house. Robinson followed the good example, but they
did not seem very successful in attracting attention to themselves.

Two dark figures were seen scudding through the orchard, and then a man
came out of the house, slamming the door and shouting:

"Sick 'em, Tige--sick the pesky rascals! Chaw 'em up! Don't let 'em git
erway! Take 'em, dorg!"

The dog was doing his duty in the vicinity of one of the sheds, but his
barking suddenly turned to howls of pain, and several blows were
distinctly heard.

Despite the two yelling and dancing lads in the road, the old farmer
made for the shed, and it was seen that he had a gun in his hands.

"He's going to shoot somebody!" cried Harry, wildly. "We must hake a
tand--er--take a hand in this! Come on!"

With all the speed he could command Rattleton dashed after the farmer.
The barking of the dog had suddenly ceased, and a third dark figure was
seen scudding through the orchard.

"Stop, you pesky thief!" yelled the farmer. "If you don't stop I'll
shoot! I'll fire ye full of lead!"

Then he halted and raised his gun to his shoulder. He was quite unaware
that Harry was now quite close upon him.

When Rattleton saw the man raise the gun he swung back the hand that
held the heavy stick. With all his strength he hurled the stick at the
farmer.

Whiz! It sped through the air and struck the man fairly between the
shoulders. At the same instant the gun spoke, but the farmer went down
in a heap, and his aim was spoiled.

"Had to do it to save some one of the fellows from carrying off a load
of buckshot," muttered Rattleton, who was desperate. "I don't want to
see anybody shot to-night."

He did not stop running, but he dashed straight up to the man, snatched
up the gun, and fled onward.

"Hey! hey!" cried the man, as he scrambled to his feet. "Consarn you!
Drop that gun! Bring it back!"

"Come get it!" invited Harry, with a defiant laugh.

The farmer started after the boy, who led him a merry chase across the
fields and over the fences. Harry kept just far enough ahead to lure the
panting man on.

"If I ever git my hands on ye you'll go to jail!" declared the farmer.
"I'll learn you pesky rascals a lesson!"

"Teach--not learn, uncle," Harry flung back. "You should be more careful
about your grammar."

"I believe you are one of them consarned student fellers."

"You are a wonderful guesser."

"If I can't ketch ye I'll report ye."

When he had lead the man far enough so that he was sure the other
fellows had plenty of start, Harry tossed aside the gun, which was an
old muzzle-loading, single-barreled affair.

The panting farmer stopped and picked up the gun, then he stood and
shook his fist at Rattleton, who was speeding away like a deer.

"Oh, I'll report ye--I will, by jee!" he vowed over and over.

In the meantime Merriwell had had a most exciting adventure. He had
found the turkey roost and had selected the biggest old gobbler of them
all. But the gobbler was a hard customer and he showed fight, whereupon
there was a general squawking and squalling.

Clinging to his capture, Frank made a dash for the door. He tripped and
fell, and it is certain that by falling he saved himself from carrying
off a charge of shot, if not from death. He had tripped over a rope that
connected with a spring gun, which was discharged, and some of the shot
tore through his coat sleeve.

Then he heard the dog, and he knew he was in for a hot time. He gave the
old gobbler's neck a fierce wring, then dropped the turkey just in time
to meet the dog.

The creature sprang for Frank's throat, and the boy struck him with the
club which he had brought along. The dog dropped to the ground, but
immediately made another dash. Frank was fortunate in getting in a lick
that stretched the animal quivering on the ground.

He could hear Rattleton and Robinson whooping wildly, but he knew no
time was to be lost in getting away, so he caugh up the gobbler and ran.

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