Book: Frank Merriwell at Yale

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




"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.

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