FRANK 
 NEERIWELL'S 
 LADS 
 
 BURT L 
 STAN DISH
 
 THE LIBRARY, 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 IN MEMORY OF 
 EDWIN CORLE 
 
 PRESENTED BY 
 JEAN CORLE
 
 The monoplane shot onward and upward, and they gazed after it with white, 
 despairing faces. I age 229.
 
 FRANK MERRIWELL'S LADS 
 
 OR 
 
 THE BOYS WHO GOT ANOTHER CHANCE 
 
 BURT L STANDISH 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 Frank Merriwell's School Days," " Frank Merriwell's Chums,' 
 
 "Frank Merriwell's Foes," "Frank Merriwell's 
 
 Trip West," etc. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA 
 
 DAVID McKAY, PUBLISHER 
 604-8 SOUTH WASHINGTON SQUARE
 
 All rights reserved, including that of translation Into forrign language*, 
 including the Scandinavian.
 
 FRANK MERRIWELL'S LADS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 DROPPED TO THE SCRUB. 
 
 Dropped to the scrub ! 
 
 Bob Wendell, still dressed in his football togs, sat 
 hunched down in a chair, his chin resting on his hands, 
 his eyes staring moodily at the door. He had man- 
 aged to hold himself together as long as there was any 
 one to see him. But, now that he was shut in his own 
 room, the rage and humiliation which had filled him 
 almost to overflowing for the past two hours found in- 
 stant expression. 
 
 Dropped to the scrub! 
 
 After four weeks of strenuous effort, of rigid train- 
 ing and single-minded endeavor, he had, in a single 
 moment, been summarily turned down; his place on 
 the eleven had been given to Leavenworth, one of the 
 substitutes, and a fellow whom he had always been 
 accustomed rather to look down on from the height 
 of his seemingly unassailable superiority. 
 
 Jim Phillips, the captain, had given no real reason. 
 There had been some vague talk about Wendell's in- 
 deasiveness of character and lack of initiative, which 
 made him more or less slow in getting under way. 
 But Bob knew that was all tommyrot. 
 
 "Of course," Phillips also told him, "you under- 
 stand that it is only a trial. Leavenworth may not
 
 fl Dropped to the Scrub. 
 
 make good at right guard. But I want to try him out 
 and see if he doesn't develop a little more speed than 
 you have, Bob. It's quite possible he may not pan out 
 at all, and in that case you'll be back in a few days. 
 I hate to do it, old fellow, but I've got to think of the 
 team first and do my best to strengthen it regardless 
 of any personal feelings. But then, you understand 
 that, of course." 
 
 Wendell had forced a careless smile and assured him 
 that he did understand perfectly. Not for the world 
 would he have shown any of the fellows how hard hit 
 he was at the blow which had come so unexpectedly. 
 He would take his medicine without whimpering, if 
 only to disappoint the fellows who would have been far 
 too glad to see him shamed and humiliated. 
 
 Yes, he understood perfectly. He was a fool not 
 to have expected it and been on the lookout for a move 
 of this sort. He might have known that it would 
 come sooner or later. Phillips had never liked him, 
 even at the start, and the feud between himself and 
 Don Shasta, the quarter back, one of the captain's 
 closest friends, rapidly widened the breach. 
 
 "The little runt leads him around by the nose," Wen- 
 dell muttered, "and gets him to do anything he wants. 
 He's the one I've got to blame for this. I'll bet he's 
 been working to get me out from the very beginning." 
 
 Like many other fellows, Bob Wendell was lacking 
 in a sense of proportion. 
 
 It was impossible for him at any time to survey 
 things from any but his own point of view. And, when 
 in a rage, as he was at the present moment, his sense 
 of justice reached almost the vanishing point.
 
 Dropped to the Scrub. 7 
 
 He hated Don Shasta intensely, for the simple rea- 
 son that the brainy, rather quick-tempered quarter back 
 had never cared particularly for him, nor been at the 
 least pains to hide that fact. 
 
 Shasta was, perhaps, the most popular, best liked 
 boy at Farnham Hall, though no one could explain ex- 
 actly why. He was impulsive, inconsequent, and hot- 
 tempered. He could, and often did, ruffle a fellow to 
 the point of incoherent fury, by a few pithy, well- 
 chosen remarks. He was frank and open to an unusual 
 almost an uncomfortable degree, for he never 
 made false pretenses of any sort. If a fellow bored 
 him, or did not appeal to him, he shunned that fellow 
 without hesitation. Life was too short, he said, to 
 waste time with persons one did not care for when 
 there were always plenty of nice chaps around. 
 
 That there were plenty around him was due to an 
 elusive something Shasta possessed which made almost 
 everybody like him. If he could rouse a boy to anger 
 in record time, he could also soothe him into perfect 
 amiability in less. A smile, a joking word or two, a 
 friendly clap on the back, and it was done. 
 
 Wendell had been one of those who bored Shasta, 
 and the fact had been made plain without delay. 
 
 Unfortunately, instead of resigning himself quietly 
 to the inevitable and seeking his friends elsewhere, 
 Wendell made the mistake of persisting. He con- 
 sidered the circle which revolved about Shasta to be 
 the most desirable coterie in school. He wanted to 
 be one of them, and so he kept on trying until he 
 was thrown down so hard by the expert quarter back
 
 8 Dropped to the Scrub. 
 
 that intense hatred of the mercurial youth filled Wen- 
 dell from that moment. 
 
 t Wendell reasoned with the masterly simplicity of the 
 heavy-minded. 
 
 If he hated Shasta, it followed without question 
 that the quarter back detested him. He really believed 
 it, not being able to understand the volatile chap's atti- 
 tude of absolute indifference. 
 
 Wendell should have known better, however, than to 
 credit Jim Phillips with ulterior motives in dropping 
 him to the scrub. Shasta and Phillips were great 
 chums, to be sure; but the captain of the team was not 
 at all the sort to allow friendship to interfere with, or 
 influence, his judgment. 
 
 Perhaps, had he not been in such a rage, Wendell 
 would have comprehended this, and perhaps not. At 
 all events, he was mad through and through at what 
 he considered the injustice of it all. 
 
 "I hate the whole bunch of 'em," he muttered 
 fiercely, as he got up and began stalking back and forth 
 across the room. "They're a lot of low-down muckers. 
 If I don't pay 'em up, I'm a dub. Phillips and Shasta 
 are the worst, though, and I'll make them good and 
 sorry they ever did this." 
 
 Not being possessed of a very fertile brain, how- 
 ever, an appropriate and satisfying means of revenge 
 did not occur to him. 
 
 He could not very well pick a quarrel with Shasta, 
 for the slight chap was a wonder with his fists, and 
 the result would probably only further humiliate the 
 deposed guard. Nothing else came into his mind,
 
 Dropped to the Scrub. 9 
 
 and he gave up puzzling over it for the moment to con- 
 sider another question which was troubling him. 
 
 He did not know whether to stay on the scrub or 
 not. 
 
 His first impulse had been contemptuously to refuse 
 to make a work horse of himself so that the favored 
 few might receive the requisite amount of practice. It 
 had been on the tip of his tongue to tell Phillips he 
 could find somebody else for that role, but somehow he 
 refrained. 
 
 If he did that, he would lose every chance of taking 
 part in any of the games. A substitute can always 
 hope, and Wendell cared too much for the game to put 
 himself deliberately in that position. 
 
 It was going to be almost intolerable, however, to 
 get through those first few days. He could picture the 
 suppressed grins and overt sneers with which his falling 
 backward would be received by certain fellows on both 
 teams who were his enemies. No doubt at this very 
 moment they were gathered downstairs, or congregated 
 around the showers, talking it over. 
 
 Wendell was not abnormally thin-skinned; but, 
 somehow, he felt an overwhelming fear of that first ap- 
 pearance on the field in his new capacity. 
 
 "I wish I could get away from it all for a bit," he 
 thought, as he ceased his restless pacing up and down 
 the room and stood by the table. "I wish there was 
 somewhere I could go so I wouldn't have to see any- 
 body." 
 
 A moment later, as if in answer to his unspoken 
 wish, his eyes fell for the first time upon a letter lying
 
 io Dropped to the Scrub. 
 
 half under a magazine. It had come in the noon mail, 
 and some one must have brought it up to his room. 
 
 "From Clarence !" he exclaimed aloud, as he picked 
 it up. "Wonder what he's writing about." 
 
 Ripping the envelope impatiently, Wendell twitched 
 out the inclosure and read it swiftly. As his eyes fol- 
 lowed the sprawling lines, they brightened and he fin- 
 ished with an exclamation of pleasure. 
 
 "By Jove !" he exclaimed aloud. "He wants me to 
 come over to Haddon for Sunday. Say, that would be 
 all to the good, and I'd get away from seeing those 
 dopes around here for a bit. I wonder if they'll let me 
 
 gar
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A RESPITE. 
 
 Clarence Fellows was a student at Haddon Prepara- 
 tory School, which was situated some eighteen miles 
 from Bloomfield. He was a cousin of Bob Wendell's, 
 and the two had always gotten along well enough to- 
 gether, though they had never been very close friends. 
 
 The invitation to spend the coming Sunday with 
 him, though it might not ordinarily have appealed 
 greatly to Wendell, was exactly the thing he had been 
 looking for. 
 
 To-day was Friday. If he could only obtain per- 
 mission to make the brief visit, He would leave about 
 noon the next day, returning Monday morning. In 
 this manner he would see none of the fellows for two 
 days, and by Monday afternoon the matter of his 
 humiliation would be an old story. 
 
 He could scarcely wait until supper was finished to 
 hurry over to Frank Merriwell's house and make the 
 request for leave of absence. 
 
 Merry hesitated at first, for it was not his policy 
 to let the boys make visits of this sort during the school 
 year. He had been on the field that afternoon, how- 
 ever, and witnessed Wendell's reduction to the scrub. 
 Having a pretty good knowledge of human nature, he 
 understood what an intense disappointment it must be 
 to the lad, and knew intuitively that things would be 
 easier all around if the unlucky fellow were out of 
 the way a day or so.
 
 12 A Respite. 
 
 "I have no objection, Wendell," he said, at last, "pro- 
 vided you get Phillips' permission to cut practice to- 
 morrow. I fancy he'll let you off for that single after- 
 noon." 
 
 "Thank you, sir," Wendell returned gratefully. 
 "I'm very anxious to see my cousin. I don't think 
 there'll . be any difficulty in filling my place on the 
 scrub." 
 
 Frank smiled a little, quite ignoring the bitterness 
 in the fellow's voice. 
 
 "Probably there won't, for a day, anyway," he said. 
 "Be sure you take that first train back Monday morn- 
 ing, though." 
 
 Wendell promised readily and hastened off to find 
 Phillips and get the necessary permission. Then he 
 sent a wire to his cousin to meet him at the station. 
 
 That done, he felt considerably better, though the 
 sight of Shasta and one or two other members of the 
 team, laughing and joking together in the hall, fanned 
 the flame of his anger to a white heat. 
 
 They were talking over his downfall, of course, and 
 making merry about it. He was a very self -centered 
 young man, and it did not occur to him that any one 
 else could fail to view the matter in as important a light 
 as he did. 
 
 "Never mind," he said, as he passed the group, head 
 high and face averted. "I'll get even with you yet, you 
 little runt. I'll make you sweat blood." 
 
 It was with intense relief that he stepped aboard the 
 twelve-forty train next day. 
 
 For almost forty-eight hours he would not lay eyes 
 upon a single inmate of Farnham Hall. There would
 
 A Respite. 13 
 
 be absolutely nothing to remind him of the unpleasant 
 event which made him rage whenever he thought of 
 it. He would be in a different place, with an entirely 
 new lot of fellows. As he took his seat and opened 
 the magazine he had bought, he made up his mind to 
 enjoy himself to the utmost, leaving the question of 
 getting even until after his return. 
 
 Clarence Fellows, short, stocky, and sandy-haired, 
 was on the platform when the train pulled in. As Wen- 
 dell alighted, he rushed forward and grabbed his hand. 
 
 "Well, you old slob, how are you?" he said, grin- 
 ning. "Didn't think they'd let you come, till I got your 
 wire." 
 
 "Neither did I," Wendell confessed. "Mr. Merri- 
 well doesn't usually. But I managed to work it." 
 
 Fellows winked slyly. 
 
 "Pull, eh?" he suggested. 
 
 "Sure," returned the Farnham Hall boy readily. "He 
 thinks everything of me. I'm the original prize pack- 
 age in Bloomfield, let me tell you." 
 
 "I believe you," scoffed Fellows. "Well, let's get on. 
 My ninety-horse power Reindeer is out of commission 
 just now, so we'll have to hoof it. Good for you, 
 though. It's only two miles." 
 
 Having only a small bag, Wendell was not averse 
 to the walk. The cousins left the station and set out 
 along the main street of the little village. 
 
 "Anything special doing this Sunday?" Wendell in- 
 quired presently. 
 
 Fellows laughed. 
 
 "Not a darned thing," he chuckled. "I just wanted
 
 14 A Respite. 
 
 to see your ugly mug before we smash it all up on the 
 gridiron next Saturday." 
 
 "The deuce you will !" said the Farnham Hall man, 
 forgetting for an instant his grievance. "We're going 
 to put it all over you dopes." 
 
 Then he remembered, and scowled. He was not 
 going to play in the forthcoming game, and it did not 
 matter much to him who won. It would serve the 
 stuck-up bunch right if they were licked out of their 
 boots. 
 
 Fellows apparently did not notice the frown. 
 
 "Don't be too sure of that," he admonished. "We've 
 got a dandy little team this year, and a corking fine cap- 
 tain. By the way, how the mischief did you get off 
 from practice to-day? I was wondering about that 
 before and forgot to ask you." 
 
 Wendell smiled bitterly. 
 
 "That was easy," he returned shortly. 
 
 "I don't see hgw it was," Fellows persisted. "Why, 
 Con Phelps, our captain, would never think of letting 
 a chap off practice." 
 
 "One of the regular team, perhaps," Wendell said 
 bitterly. "I don't guess he's so mighty particular about 
 the scrub, though." 
 
 Fellows whirled around, his eyes wide. 
 
 "Scrub?" he repeated incredulously. 
 
 The Farnham Hall lad nodded slowly. His expres- 
 sion was not a pleasant one. 
 
 "Exactly," he returned, with a hard smile. "I was 
 dropped to the scrub yesterday." 
 
 Fellows gave a long whistle of astonishment. 
 
 "Well, well!" he commented. "That's the biggest
 
 A Respite. 15 
 
 surprise I've had in a long while. What in time was 
 the reason for that?" 
 
 Wendell's lips curled. 
 
 "I didn't happen to be a friend of the quarter back, 
 Don Shasta," he said significantly. "He and Phillips 
 are great pals, you know." 
 
 The Haddon chap nodded understandingly. 
 
 "So that's how things are run, is it?" he said, with 
 pursed-up lips. "Judas Priest! that's hard lines. I 
 should think you'd want to get after this Shasta and 
 give him what's coming to him." 
 
 Clarence's tone was not altogether one of regret. 
 Though he seemed sorry for Wendell, there was a 
 faint undercurrent of something like satisfaction in 
 his voice. His eyes remained fixed upon his cousin in 
 a thoughtful, half appraising, almost absent sort of 
 way, as if he were turning over something in his mind 
 which was intimately connected with the chap from 
 Bloomfield. 
 
 "Get after him !" the latter repeated sharply. "What 
 do you take me for, anyhow? Did you think I was 
 going to sit still and not do a blamed thing ? Trouble 
 is, I can't think up a way to get even." 
 
 Fellows hesitated a minute. 
 
 "Can't you get him into a scrap and smash the face 
 off him?" he suggested at length. 
 
 Wendell shook his head. 
 
 "Nix on that !" he said decidedly. "He's about the 
 best boxer in the school, and I never took a lesson. 
 The shoe would be on the other foot for fair." 
 
 "Hum yes, I suppose so," Fellows agreed abswitly.
 
 1 6 A Respite. 
 
 "That makes it bad. How about Phillips ? He a scrap- 
 per, too?" 
 
 "More or less. No, it's got to be something else. 
 I wish I could think of a way that would hit the whole 
 crowd at once. I'm sore on that bunch of swelled 
 heads." 
 
 Fellows' lips parted, and he seemed about to say 
 something. Before the words came, however, he 
 changed his mind, and for a moment there was silence. 
 
 "No chance at all of your getting back onto the 
 team?" he asked presently. 
 
 "No, of course not," Wendell replied scornfully. "I 
 got the old song-and-dance about it's being just a try- 
 out, but you know well enough what that means." 
 
 Fellows nodded. 
 
 "Hot air," he commented succinctly, bending down 
 to pluck a long piece of grass from the roadside. 
 
 He chewed meditatively on this for some little time 
 before he remarked, without glancing at his com- 
 panion : 
 
 "Only one way I see that you can get even with the 
 jvhole push at once." 
 
 "What's that?" Wendell asked eagerly. 
 
 "Fix it so they won't win the game next Saturday," 
 Fellows explained tersely.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE TEMPTER. 
 
 For an instant there was dead silence. Then both 
 boys glanced swiftly at each other. 
 
 "You mean signals?" Wendell asked, in a low 
 tone. 
 
 "Sure," nodded Fellows. 
 
 His companion looked away, and a slow flush be- 
 gan to creep up into his face. 
 
 "I thought of that," he acknowledged. "I I don't 
 like the idea, though." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 The Farnham Hall chap frowned. 
 
 "Oh, you know why," he replied impatiently. "It's a 
 dirty trick. It's working against the school. Nobody 
 but a mucker would do that." 
 
 Fellows shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "Don't see it," he returned. "What kind of a trick 
 do you call it to throw you off the team the way they've 
 done? That's about as rotten a thing as I've heard of 
 in a long time. They don't deserve to win the game." 
 
 "Still," Wendell objected, "that doesn't really give 
 me any license to play the traitor." 
 
 Fellows sniffed. 
 
 "Tbmmyrot! You'd be only paying them back in 
 their own coin. It would pay 'em good, too. They're 
 cocksure of winning, and they'd be the sorest bunch 
 you ever saw if things went against them. It's the 
 only way you can get even with them all at once, and
 
 l8 The Tempter. 
 
 it strikes me you ought to be obliged to little Willy for 
 thinking of it." 
 
 But Wendell looked anything but obliged. For some 
 time he strode along biting his lips and scowling. Out 
 of the corner of his eye Fellows watched him keenly, 
 trying to fathom what was going on in his mind. 
 
 "It's kiddish of you to feel that way," he said at 
 length. "You've been thrown off the team unfairly, 
 and you don't owe them a thing. Strikes me as a cork- 
 ing chance to pay the whole crowd up, and I don't see 
 why you hesitate. I'm sure I'd jump at it." 
 
 "Think if it was found out, though," Wendell ob- 
 jected. 
 
 Fellows laughed. 
 
 "You're bughouse !" he exclaimed. "How the mis- 
 chief would it be found out? Suppose you hand over 
 the signals to me, how are they going to get wise that 
 we have them? They'll think we're a mighty clever 
 bunch, that's all. In the rush and hurry of a game, 
 there isn't a man living that can tell for certain that 
 the other team knows his signals." 
 
 "It might leak out through some of you fellows," the 
 Farnham Hall chap protested. 
 
 "I'll look out for that," his cousin returned briskly. 
 "I'll guarantee that not one of our boys'll blab. So 
 don't you worry your nut about that." 
 
 He stopped abruptly as they came out of a bit of 
 woods and saw before them the athletic field of Had- 
 don School. There were already a number of boys 
 about, a few in football togs passing a ball in a desul- 
 tory manner. But the majority were simply strolling
 
 The Tempter. 19 
 
 about or watching the tennis players on the courts on 
 the farther side of the gridiron. 
 
 On a little rise some distance beyond the field, stood 
 the buildings. They were of wood, painted white and 
 arranged in an irregular rectangle. The whole estab- 
 lishment was decidedly smaller than Farnham Hall, but 
 for all that it looked very homelike and comfortable. 
 
 "Well?" Fellows questioned, his eyes fixed intently 
 on his companion's face. 
 
 Wendell squirmed uncomfortably. 
 
 "I'll think it over," he returned slowly. "You don't 
 have to know right away?" 
 
 "Oh, no. But the sooner you decide the better." 
 
 "Well, I'll decide one way or the other before I 
 leave," Wendell said, with an air of relief at being 
 able to put off the vexing question. 
 
 "There's really only one way to decide," Fellows re- 
 minded him. Then he started forward briskly. "Well, 
 come ahead and meet the boys. I want you to know 
 Con Phelps particularly. He's a dandy!" 
 
 "Is he on the field?" Wendell inquired interestedly, 
 his eyes roving swiftly over the more or less familiar 
 scene. 
 
 "Don't see him, but he'll be along soon. Practice 
 is due to start at three sharp. Sorry I can't ask you 
 to watch it, but that would hardly do." 
 
 "No, of course not," the Farnham Hall chap agreed 
 hastily. "Do you have to stay?" 
 
 Fellows grinned. 
 
 "They'll find it hard to get along without my mana- 
 gerial advice, of course," he chuckled. "Seeing as I 
 have a guest, though, I'll try and wrench myself away
 
 20 The Tempter. 
 
 this once. Come ahead. There's Con just showing 
 up." 
 
 He led the way toward a group of fellows in foot- 
 ball togs, who had just appeared on the farther side 
 of the field. In a few moments Wendell was shaking 
 hands with a number of boys, getting their names and 
 faces hopelessly twisted. 
 
 He had no difficulty, however, in remembering the 
 captain of the team. 
 
 For Con Phelps was a chap whom one would have 
 noticed almost anywhere. Tall and well built, with a 
 thick crop of curly brown hair, the kink of which 
 was an abomination to him, he looked at Wendell with 
 a pair of level brown eyes and gripped his fingers 
 with a heartiness which made the Farnham Hall boy 
 take to him at once. 
 
 "Glad to know you," he said crisply. "Clarence said 
 you were coming over. Sorry I can't stop now, but 
 we're a bit late, and I want to commence practice. Wish 
 I could ask you to watch it, though I don't suppose it 
 would be very interesting to you. But, of course, you 
 understand ' ' 
 
 "Naturally," Wendell interrupted, with a smile. 
 "That would be hardly in order, would it?" 
 
 "Not quite," laughed Phelps, "seeing as we'll be up 
 against each other in just a week. Well, by-by for a 
 while. I'll see you a little later." 
 
 He hustled off, followed by the other members of 
 the teams, and Wendell and his companion turned 
 slowly toward the school. 
 
 "He is a good sort, isn't he?" Wendell commented,
 
 The Tempter. 21 
 
 his eyes roaming over the undulating turf and coming 
 to rest on the group of white buildings. 
 
 "Best ever," Fellows agreed promptly. "You'd 
 never think, to look at him, that his family is poor as 
 poverty, would you?" 
 
 Wendell looked interested. 
 
 "Really?" he questioned. "Why, I thought Had- 
 don School was a rather expensive one, as they go." 
 
 "So it is," Fellows returned. "But Con's managed 
 to keep his head above water by working like a steer 
 all summtr and doing all kinds of odd jobs on the side 
 during the year. Mr. Olmstead, our head master, is 
 interested in him, too, and helps him along. You see, 
 he's dead set on going to Yale. For that reason he 
 wants a good prep-school training. He's got the right 
 idea, of course. A fellow can enter any big college by 
 boning away by himself and passing the exams, but 
 he never really gets anywhere once he's in. Most of 
 the fellows worth knowing come from prep school, and 
 if you don't start in with one bunch or another, you're 
 likely as not to be left out of things altogether." 
 
 Wendell nodded. 
 
 "Yes, that's what I've been told," he agreed. 
 "There's such a whopping number in your class that, 
 if you don't get a start by being chummy with some 
 nice crowd in the beginning, you'll be shoved off by 
 yourself, like as not. But, if he's so rotten poor, how's 
 he expect to enter Yale?" 
 
 Fellows shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "You've got me," he returned. "He's a determined 
 rooster, and I don't think there's a doubt of his enter- 
 ing if he'd be content to go through the year looking
 
 22 The Tempter. 
 
 after furnaces, shoveling snow, and all that. He isn't 
 that kind, though. He wants to go in for athletics 
 and do everything that anybody else does. It isn't 
 that he's afraid of work. He's shown his grit before 
 now. He simply wants to get everything out of col- 
 lege life there is to be had, and just how he's going 
 to manage it, I don't know." 
 
 "Can't he tutor?" Wendell suggested. 
 
 "Hardly. He's not much of a star in that line. I 
 suppose it'll come out somehow, though. I sure hope 
 it does, for he's one of the straightest, most decent 
 chaps I ever knew. If he could only enter Yale with- 
 out being hampered, I'll bet he'd be the most popular 
 fellow in his class." 
 
 Wendell did not speak for a moment. His face 
 was clouded, and there was a deep wrinkle between his 
 eyes. Somehow, the thought of Con Phelps made him 
 feel mean and small. He did not believe that a chap 
 like that would ever consider for an instant the be- 
 traying of his own school team to a rival.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE DECISION. 
 
 Fellows seemed to have a shrewd idea of what was 
 passing in his companion's mind, for he made haste to 
 interrupt Wendell's train of thought. 
 
 "Well, let's not stay mooning here," he said briskly. 
 "You'd better take a look over the school, and leave 
 your bag in my room. Then we might have a set or 
 two of tennis. I can scare up a racket and some shoes." 
 
 Wendell roused himself with a slight start, and 
 acquiesced readily. 
 
 Anything was better than bothering his head and 
 depressing his spirits over a matter which would not 
 have to be decided for another whole day, at least. 
 
 Under his cousin's guidance, he inspected the school 
 and was much pleased with it, though inwardly he de- 
 cided that Farnham Hall was preferable. 
 
 Haddon was comfortable enough and rather pictur- 
 esque, but it had been built by degrees and lacked 
 many of the conveniences of the larger school, besides 
 being far from as well equipped. 
 
 By dint of raiding the room of one of his friends, 
 who happened to be about Wendell's size and build, 
 Fellows secured a pair of flannels and some tennis 
 shoes. From another room the racket was forthcom- 
 ing. Thus equipped, they sought the tennis courts, 
 where they were able to play two sets before football 
 practice was over and the crowd started back to the
 
 24 The Decision. 
 
 gymnasium where the showers, locker room, and the 
 like were situated. 
 
 As the two cousins left the courts to join the others, 
 Wendell suddenly bethought him of something he had 
 meant to say. 
 
 "By the way, Clarence," he remarked, in some em- 
 barrassment, "I don't suppose it's necessary to say 
 anything about my having been dropped from the 
 team." 
 
 "Not in the least," Fellows returned promptly. "I 
 hadn't intended to. Considering everything, it'll be 
 much better to let the fellows here think that you're 
 still on it. If you decide about that er matter the 
 way you ought to, they won't be nearly so quick to 
 guess where my information has come from, as they 
 would if they knew you'd been thrown down only yes- 
 terday." 
 
 Bob frowned. 
 
 "I don't see how they can fail to guess, anyhow," he 
 protested, "considering that I'm your cousin and visit- 
 ing here, and all the rest. A fool could put two and 
 two together in a case like this." 
 
 Fellows winked significantly at him. 
 
 "Don't you worry, Bob," he said soothingly. "Can't 
 you trust your Uncle Dudley to frame up a good story ? 
 I'm pretty clever at that sort of thing, if I do say it 
 myself. I'll bet I can work it so that not a man on 
 the team will really know." 
 
 That his cousin had always been more or less adept 
 at deception was quite true, and Wendell took some 
 comfort in the fact. His earliest recollection of Fel-
 
 The Decision. 25 
 
 lows was of a boy with an almost uncanny ability of 
 evading responsibility. 
 
 When the two had spent their summers on a grand- 
 father's farm, it was Clarence who planned, and often 
 helped to execute, various pranks and forbidden amuse- 
 ments, but never Clarence who was found out and pun- 
 ished. Usually that role had been reserved for Bob, 
 and more than one fight had resulted. 
 
 In those days Wendell had hated his cousin and 
 detested the underhand methods which now he remem- 
 bered with more or less relief, as he felt that Clarence's 
 agile brain could, indeed, be depended on to make up a 
 plausible story. 
 
 As they joined the crowd in the gymnasium, Wendell 
 made a strenuous effort to forget the matter which 
 was worrying him, and was presently taking part in 
 the talk and laughter and joshing, as well as any 
 stranger could. 
 
 He found the fellows a very decent lot, but somehow 
 Conant Phelps impressed him more favorably than any 
 of the others. There was a certain honest directness 
 about him which, together with the faculty of making 
 a stranger feel as though he were one of the crowd, 
 pleased Wendell immensely. 
 
 He saw at once just what Fellows meant when he 
 said that the chap would be popular at Yale. There 
 was a breezy freshness in everything he did. When 
 he was discussing any subject, he had a way of making 
 it seem as if he were vitally interested in that one 
 matter above everything else. There was no pretense 
 about it, either. He really was interested in a great
 
 26 The Decision. 
 
 many things, and he had the gift of concentration to a 
 remarkable degree. 
 
 Naturally the principal subject of discourse was foot- 
 ball in general and the approaching game with Farn- 
 ham Hall in particular. 
 
 "We're going to give you boys a run for your money, 
 anyhow," Phelps laughed, when a few of them congre- 
 gated in Fellows' room that evening. "Of course we 
 haven't the material to pick from that you have, but 
 the team's better this year than I've ever known it. 
 You didn't make such a great showing against Wells- 
 burg High, either, did you, Wendell?" 
 
 The Farnham Hall chap shook his head. 
 
 "Not very," he returned. "But we were handi- 
 capped by losing one of our best men the very day of 
 the game, besides having two or three others, including 
 the quarter back, knocked out in the second quarters. 
 The game should never have been scheduled so early, 
 either. We hadn't had three weeks' practice, and you 
 know what that means when a whole team has to be 
 picked out and coached." 
 
 Unconsciously his tone was defensive. He had not 
 yet become used to the feeling of being on the scrub, 
 and for the moment he had forgotten that he was de- 
 termined to get even with the entire team. 
 
 Phelps nodded understandingly. 
 
 "Yes, of course," he agreed at once. "It's hard in 
 any case. But when you haven't any old men to form 
 the backbone of the team, it must be something fierce. 
 Staying at the school only a year, I could never under- 
 stand how you fellows did so well. I suppose it must 
 be your coaching."
 
 The Decision. 27 
 
 "That's just it," Wendell returned. "Mr. Merriwell 
 is one of the finest football coaches in the country, and 
 he takes no end of pains with us. We'd never do any- 
 thing if it wasn't for that." 
 
 "Great work, Bob," Fellows remarked, a little later 
 when they were left alone. "That spiel of yours -was 
 just right for putting them off the track and making 
 them think you were all for your team winning the 
 game. I never supposed you could be so slick." 
 
 Wendell looked annoyed. 
 
 "It happens that it wasn't done intentionally," he 
 said stiffly. "I really meant it at the time." 
 
 He was angry with his cousin for intimating that he 
 had been deliberately working to bring about an effect. 
 
 He disliked, also, the way Fellows seemed to be tak- 
 ing it for granted that he meant to play the traitor. 
 He had not yet made up his mind, and the chances of 
 his deciding against it were more than even. 
 
 The stocky chap, seeming to understand that he had 
 made a false move, did not continue the subject, but 
 branched off onto something else, inwardly berating 
 Wendell for his indecisiveness. 
 
 Had the decision lain with Fellows, he would not 
 have hesitated for a single instant to take advantage 
 of such an excellent chance for revenging himself with 
 almost no risk of being found out. 
 
 Sunday passed quietly. The visitor would have 
 enjoyed himself more had it not been for occasional 
 twinges of conscience which assailed him now and 
 then, particularly when in the company of Conant 
 Phelps. 
 
 The captain of the Haddon team seemed so frank
 
 28 The Decision. 
 
 and honest and open, that Wendell, thinking of the 
 treachery he himself had in mind, was ashamed. Sev- 
 eral times he pictured the contempt and scorn with 
 which Phelps would regard him, could he have had 
 any conception of what was passing in his mind. 
 
 It was not a pleasant thought, and more than once 
 he almost decided to give up the idea and get his re- 
 venge some other way. The fact that nothing else in 
 the least feasible occurred to him, was what kept him 
 from telling Fellows that he had decided definitely 
 against the scheme. 
 
 The result of all this mental dillydallying was that 
 Sunday night arrived with Wendell no nearer to hav- 
 ing his mind made up than he had been twenty- four 
 hours before. 
 
 "I don't like the idea," he said, when Fellows pressed 
 him for a decision. 
 
 His cousin suppressed an angry retort with difficulty. 
 Whatever other good qualities he lacked, the sandy- 
 haired chap was not weak nor indecisive, and he had 
 no patience with fellows who were. 
 
 "I don't see what's the matter with it," he rejoined, 
 with some tartness. "There isn't a chance in a hun- 
 dred of your being found out." 
 
 "I wasn't thinking of that," Wendell returned, rather 
 vaguely. "It's so beastly low-down and muckerish." 
 
 "Rot!" sniffed Fellows. "It's only paying those 
 slobs back in their own coin. I can't see how you're 
 going to do it as effectually any other way." 
 
 Wendell sighed. 
 
 "That's just it," he complained. "Neither can I. 
 You're good at that sort of thing, Clarence. I don't
 
 The Decision. 29 
 
 see why you couldn't think up something else, if you 
 put your mind to it." 
 
 Fellows frowned. 
 
 "Well, I can't," he almost snapped. "I've thought 
 up one good idea. If you don't take it, I wash my 
 hands of the whole business. If you're so squeamish 
 as all that, and mean to let those dubs walk all over 
 you, it's none of my affair." 
 
 A prolonged silence followed, during which the boy 
 from Farnham Hall sat hunched in a chair looking 
 anything but happy. 
 
 He wanted intensely to get even with the fellows 
 who had humiliated him, but the innate sense of de- 
 cency and loyalty to his school, of which he had a 
 little in his make-up, made his cousin's plan extremely 
 distasteful. 
 
 Besides, there was Conant Phelps. Somehow, he 
 could not get him out of his mind. 
 
 "Look here, Clarence," he said suddenly, "you'll 
 never persuade Phelps to use the signals if I give them 
 to you." 
 
 Fellows suppressed a slight start with difficulty. This 
 was the one point in which he had anticipated trouble, 
 and he was surprised that his rather slow-witted cousin 
 should have thought of it. 
 
 "Don't let that worry you," he said nonchalantly. 
 "Thajt's up to me, you know. All you have to do is to 
 turn them over, and I'll see to the rest." 
 
 Another pause followed, during which the sandy- 
 haired lad regarded his companion anxiously out of 
 the corner of his eye. 
 
 Apparently Wendell was approaching a favorable
 
 3O Tfie Decision. 
 
 decision. But he knew that it might not necessarily 
 come to anything. Bob was quite likely to change his 
 mind at the last moment on the slightest pretext or 
 none at all. 
 
 Fellows had the sense to see that perfect silence was 
 his role. The time for argument had gone by. 
 
 For a long time Wendell sat scowling at the floor. 
 
 "You're perfectly certain nobody'll suspect?" he 
 asked, at last, glancing up at his cousin. 
 
 "Of course they won't," the latter hastened to as- 
 sure him. "I'll fix it so they won't have an idea. You 
 can trust me to do that, can't you?" 
 
 "I suppose so," grumbled Wendell. 
 
 He stood up with a sigh and went to the window. 
 
 "Well, I'll do it on two conditions," he said pres- 
 ently, without looking around. "I'll give you the sig- 
 nals. But you've got to promise not to use them unless 
 you can do it without giving me away." 
 
 "Sure thing," Fellows returned readily. "You 
 needn't be a bit afraid of that. What's the other con- 
 dition ?" 
 
 "If Phelps objects to using them, I want you to drop 
 the whole thing without making any effort to argue 
 him into it, and send them back to me." 
 
 He had come to the conclusion that if a fellow like 
 Conant Phelps could bring himself to making use of 
 the signals, he himself would not be doing anything so 
 awful in giving them. 
 
 It was more or less of a conscience salve, and also 
 an easy way of letting some one else settle the ques- 
 tion for him. Privately he had no doubt whatever
 
 The Decision. 31 
 
 that Phelps would refuse to have anything to do with 
 the matter, in which case he would be let out. 
 
 Fellows raised his eyebrows in amazement, his lips 
 parted, and then closed quickly again. When he spoke 
 an instant later it was in a tone of perfect agreement. 
 
 "That would naturally follow, Bob," he said slowly. 
 "If Con won't have anything to do with them, I can't 
 very well force him. In that case, they wouldn't be an 
 earthly bit of use to me." 
 
 Wendell turned and caught his eye. 
 
 "And you won't try to wheedle him into it?" he ques- 
 tioned. "If he refuses after you've put the matter to 
 him, it's understood that you let it drop for good and 
 all?" 
 
 "Sure," lied Fellows instantly. 
 
 He had no intention whatever of abiding by his 
 promise. But, being a chap more or less lacking in 
 any moral sense, he had no hesitation in making it, 
 though he meant to break it the next minute. 
 
 Wendell straightened up as if a load had been re- 
 moved from his mind, and walked over to the table. 
 
 "Well, under those conditions I'll do it," he said 
 decidedly. "Where's some paper?" 
 
 Furnished with a pad, he sat down and wrote stead- 
 ily for some minutes, only pausing now and then to 
 make sure he had forgotten nothing. When he had fin- 
 ished jhe handed the sheet to Fellows, who took it hur- 
 riedly as if fearful that the indecisive youth might 
 change his mind. 
 
 "Now you're talking," he remarked lightly, thrusting 
 the paper into his pocket. "If this goes through, you'll 
 have squared things with that swelled-up bunch good
 
 32 The Decision. 
 
 and proper. You ought to be darned glad that I hap- 
 pened to think of such a good scheme." 
 
 But Wendell did not look particularly glad, and his 
 face did not belie his feelings. In fact, he had never 
 felt more mean and despicable and ashamed in all his 
 life than at this particular moment.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 REMORSE. 
 
 Bob Wendell's feelings as he came out for practice 
 on Monday afternoon were rather mixed. 
 
 He expected, to begin with, that Shasta and the 
 rest of that crowd would welcome his appearance with 
 some signs of triumph at his downfall. When they 
 did not, when they paid no more attention to him than 
 they did to any other members of the scrub, he was 
 actually disappointed. 
 
 The truth was he had counted on their antagonistic 
 attitude to fan the flame of his resentment. He needed 
 something of the sort to keep his temper stirred up and 
 stifle the qualms of conscience which had been assail- 
 ing him at irregular intervals ever since he handed that 
 paper to Clarence Fellows the night before. 
 
 Had he been met on the field by shrugs and raisings 
 of the eyebrows, had the men who, he told himself, 
 were responsible for his downfall, shown the faintest 
 symptoms of gloating over him, he would have been 
 able to bolster up his inner self with the defense that 
 what he had done was only something well deserved 
 and well earned the paying up of an underhand action 
 by one equally mean. 
 
 Unfortunately he was not allowed that mental satis- 
 faction. 
 
 Shasta's manner, to be sure, was cool and indifferent. 
 But, from the very beginning of their acquaintance, the 
 quarter back had never put himself out in the slightest
 
 34 Remorse. 
 
 to be nice to Wendell. The other fellows greeted the 
 deposed guard pleasantly enough, while Phillips even 
 took the trouble to ask him how he had enjoyed the trip 
 to Haddon, and inquired about several of the boys 
 there whom he happened to know. 
 
 No one, apparently, had any intention of rubbing it 
 in. Their treatment of Wendell was, if anything, a de- 
 gree pleasanter than it had been while he remained on 
 the regular team. And, instead of being glad, Bob 
 resented it bitterly. 
 
 "They're so glad I'm out of the way that they take 
 the trouble to be decent," he told himself angrily. "It'll 
 serve 'em good and right to be taken down a peg or 
 two. I'll certainly enjoy watching the process." 
 
 This subterfuge sufficed for some little time to keep 
 remorse at bay. 
 
 It required something of a mental effort, to be sure. 
 In spite of himself there came moments now and then 
 when he had a sudden sinking feeling at the thought 
 of what he had done and the more awful possibility of 
 what would be his lot were it discovered. 
 
 However, in spite of everything, he managed to get 
 through the afternoon in comparative comfort. He 
 deliberately refrained from hurrying off the field, as 
 had been his first impulse, the instant practice was over. 
 Just in time he bethought him that he must do nothing 
 which would show how sore and disgruntled he was. 
 If he did so, and the fact that the signals had leaked 
 out ever became known, he would be much more liable 
 to suspicion than if he had the appearance now of 
 being resigned to the inevitable.
 
 Remorse. 35 
 
 Consequently he made a special effort to be agree- 
 able, talked over what little he had seen of the Haddon 
 team with Phillips, and strolled back to the school with 
 Garrett Strawbridge, Don Shasta's roommate, who 
 played right tackle on the eleven. 
 
 It thus happened that when he got upstairs he found 
 all the showers occupied. So he took his seat in the 
 hall outside on a bench placed directly beneath some 
 stairs leading to the corridor above, and quite out of 
 sight of any one coming down. 
 
 He was alone on the bench, and had not been there 
 many minutes before Phillips and Strawbridge came 
 along, glanced into the shower room, failed to see Wen- 
 dell in his corner, and then strolled to a window near 
 the bottom of the steps, where they stood looking out. 
 
 "Notice how decent Wendell was to-day?" Phillips 
 remarked presently. "I never thought he'd take it so 
 nicely." 
 
 "Nor I," Strawbridge agreed. "I tell you, Jim, it's a 
 mighty tough thing to be dropped from the team the 
 way he was. If it had happened to me, I'd been 
 grouchy as a bear with a sore ear." 
 
 "It is tough," the captain acquiesced. "I hated like 
 the mischief to do it, for Bob's a good fellow, if he 
 is a bit touchy at times. And he's worked like a steer 
 and not missed a single day since we began. He's too 
 slow getting started, though. You know that your- 
 self." 
 
 "Yes, I suppose so," Strawbridge returned. "I 
 sympathize with him, though, for that used to be my 
 fault before Don took me in hand. Is Leaven worth 
 an improvement?"
 
 36 Remorse. 
 
 "So far as speed goes, yes. I can't say I care so 
 much about him in other respects. Do you know, 
 Garry, I've misjudged Bob a lot. I always had a no- 
 tion he was inclined to be something of a poor sport. 
 But, after the way he's behaved to-day and Friday, I 
 can see it's just the reverse. He's got his full share 
 of grit to laugh and fool when he must have felt like 
 the mischief." 
 
 As he listened, Bob Wendell felt his face grow red- 
 der and redder until it must have been flaming. For a 
 moment he tried to tell himself that they had seen him 
 and were talking for his benefit. But, even in his more 
 or less bewildered condition, he could not make him- 
 self believe anything quite so absurd as that. 
 
 They were speaking without the slightest idea that 
 he was within hearing distance; and what they said 
 must be the truth. 
 
 And he had blamed Shasta for it all! He had in- 
 sisted to himself and to Fellows, the only one with 
 whom he had spoken of the matter, that he had been 
 dropped because Shasta and one or two others on the 
 eleven disliked him, when all the time it was for a 
 very simple, ordinary reason. He had not been up to 
 the standard of the team, that was all. 
 
 He had nothing to blame any one for. 
 
 He was just enough to understand that Shasta was 
 under no obligation to like him. His wrath and indig- 
 nation had been because he believed the mercurial chap 
 had worked to bring about his downfall for personal 
 reasons alone, whereas it would appear to be nothing 
 like that. 
 
 Wendell felt as if the last prop had been knocked
 
 Remorse. 37 
 
 from under him, letting him down into a bottomless 
 abyss. A rush of shame overwhelmed him and made 
 him long to get back to his room and shut himself in. 
 He would have fled at once had there been any way. 
 But the two fellows by the window made it impos- 
 sible for him to do that, and in the other direction 
 the corridor led into quite a different part of the 
 building. 
 
 There was nothing for it but to stay where he was. 
 Drawing his bath robe tightly about him, he edged 
 farther into the corner. At any moment, Phillips and 
 Strawbridge might take it into their heads to come 
 around to the bench, and he felt that he simply could 
 not face them now. 
 
 Probably he was never so relieved in his life as when 
 a couple of fellows emerged from the showers and 
 raced down the corridor. In an instant, before the 
 two by the window could even turn around, he had 
 dashed through the doorway into one of the vacated 
 compartments. 
 
 Kicking off his slippers and throwing the gown aside, 
 he stepped under the spray without a moment's delay. 
 He scarcely felt the tingling of the cold water, and was 
 away from it in another minute, rubbing himself hur- 
 riedly with a towel. 
 
 Through it all, his one intense desire was to get away 
 where he could think things over quietly. 
 
 He did not want to see any one, nor talk with any 
 one. For he felt as if it would take very little to break 
 down his self-control. 
 
 All about him the fellows laughed and joked with 
 one another from the various compartments or yelled
 
 38 Remorse. 
 
 frantically from under the showers. He heard Phillips 
 and Strawbridge come in and take possession of some 
 more of the vacated booths. And the instant they were 
 under cover, Wendell slipped into his things and has- 
 tened out. 
 
 He reached his room without being held up, closed 
 the door, and turned the key. Then, standing in the 
 middle of the floor, he asked himself for the first time 
 a definite question. 
 
 What had he done? 
 
 Without the faintest shadow of a reason, he had 
 played the traitor and betrayed his comrades. He was 
 contemptible beyond everything. He realized, now 
 that it was too late, that nothing under heaven should 
 have induced him to take that step. Nothing could ex- 
 cuse it. Even had things been as he at first supposed, 
 or worse, it could not make what he had done any 
 less despicable. Because others did not play fair, was 
 no reason why he should lose all sense of decency and 
 honor. 
 
 And they had played fair. That was the worst of it. 
 That was what made him cringe under the lash of his 
 own thoughts and wish miserably, desperately, that he 
 could turn back the hand of the clock twenty-four 
 hours. 
 
 But was it still too late ? Perhaps Fellows had not yet 
 made use of the information he had given. On second 
 thought, it was quite likely that he would take his time 
 in broaching the subject to Conant Phelps. 
 
 Perhaps there was yet time to stop him. 
 
 With renewed hope, Wendell flung his towel aside
 
 Remorse. 39 
 
 and dragged up a chair to the table. With trembling 
 fingers, he snatched a sheet of paper and began a letter 
 to his cousin. Halfway through the rather incoherent 
 appeal he stopped abruptly. 
 
 "A wire will be better," he muttered. "That'll get 
 to him to-night, or the very first thing in the morning, 
 at the latest. I'll have to work it out so nobody'll 
 guess what I mean, though." 
 
 Tearing the half-finished letter into tiny fragments, 
 he tossed them into the wastebasket and bent to the 
 other, briefer task. It proved, however, to take longer 
 than he had expected. It was not easy to put his mean- 
 ing into words which would be understood by Fellows 
 alone. 
 
 He wrote and tore up a dozen messages. The sup- 
 per bell rang, but he paid no heed. 
 
 He must get the message off to-night. He was be- 
 ginning to be frightened now at the possibility of dis- 
 covery. Just why his treachery was greater than it 
 had been before, he did not reason out. He simply felt 
 afraid, and horribly shamed, and desperately anxious 
 to retrieve his wrongdoing before it was too late. 
 
 And so he wrote and tore up, and wrote and tore up 
 again and mopped his perspiring face. 
 
 The message which finally went over the wires from 
 the Bloomfield office brought in three minutes before 
 closing time by a breathless student who had cut his 
 supper might have been evolved by a more agile brain 
 in about three minutes. 
 
 "Have changed my mind," it read. "On no account 
 do anything until you receive letter."
 
 40 Remorse. 
 
 There was no signature, but the letter which went 
 out on the first mail next morning bore explicit direc- 
 tions that Fellows was instantly to return the paper 
 containing the Farnham Hall signals, and consider the 
 entire deal off.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE FELLOW WITHOUT PRINCIPLES. 
 
 Clarence Fellows lounged on the window seat in his 
 room, his lips curling scornfully over a letter in his 
 hand. 
 
 "Fool!" he commented aloud. "I wondered what 
 that telegram meant. A perfect jackass !" 
 
 He glanced out of the window and frowned. Then 
 his eyes returned to the letter, and he proceeded to 
 read it aloud. 
 
 " 'DEAR CLARENCE : I have changed my mind, and 
 don't want you to do anything about those signals. I 
 was wrong altogether. I have found out that there 
 was nothing to complain of in the way I was dropped 
 to the scrub. It was perfectly fair, and I don't want 
 to get even with Phillips and the rest. They are not 
 what I thought. 
 
 " 'Please send me back that paper at once. I hope 
 you have not spoken to Phelps the name was 
 scratched out and "anybody" substituted about it. 
 But if you have, you must stop the thing from going 
 any farther. 
 
 " 'Don't lose a minute in attending to this, for I am 
 very much worried about it. Yours, BOB.' " 
 
 Fellows read the name of his cousin with scornful 
 emphasis, and, folding the letter with a vicious twist, 
 thrust it back into his pocket. 
 
 "Fool!" he repeated contemptuously. "I wonder 
 what the deuce he takes me for? 'Don't lose a minute,
 
 42 The Fellow Without Principles. 
 
 for I'm very much worried/ " he mimicked in a fairly 
 good imitation of Wendell's tone. "Very likely you are. 
 I'm sure I'd be if I'd done a crazy thing like this. But 
 it's nothing to me how you feel so long as I've got 
 what I wanted out of you." 
 
 Which sentence was about as accurate a keynote of 
 Fellows' character as any one could devise. 
 
 So long as he got his way by fair means or foul, 
 he was perfectly indifferent to the wishes, prejudices, 
 or desires of other people. 
 
 Thoroughly selfish and quite unhampered by con- 
 scientious scruples of any sort, he was the sort of 
 chap who seems to thrive and forge ahead to a phe- 
 nomenal degree by means of his deceitful ways and 
 underhand methods. Some day, of course, he would 
 come a cropper, and his fall would be as rapid as his 
 rise had been. But, in the meantime, his almost dia- 
 bolical cleverness kept him afloat on the crest of the 
 wave of success, while many a chap a thousand times 
 more honest and decent than he sank beneath the sur- 
 face. 
 
 All his life he had detested Bob Wendell. 
 
 As boys they had been thrown much together, spend- 
 ing almost all their vacations on the farm of the old 
 man whose only grandchildren they were. Even in 
 those early days, Clarence began to show signs of the 
 duplicity which became later his dominating character- 
 istic. The old man was wealthy. So Fellows set about 
 systematically to ingratiate himself in his relative's 
 favor, at the same time doing his best to show up Bob 
 in a bad light. 
 
 He planned and helped to execute various pranks,
 
 The Fellow Without Principles. 43 
 
 and then managed to throw the entire blame on his 
 cousin. He even endeavored to make it appear that 
 Bob was underhand and dishonest, and went to great 
 pains to produce this effect, weaving his little plots dex- 
 terously and inwardly sneering at Wendell for falling 
 into them. 
 
 It was all in vain. 
 
 Like many men who have lived long in the world, 
 John Wendell was not to be deceived. He seemed to 
 sense, almost by intuition, which was the honest boy; 
 and, no matter how much he was lectured and pun- 
 ished, Bob always remained his grandfather's favorite, 
 while Clarence was viewed with distinct dislike. 
 
 From that time dated Fellows' hatred of Wendell. 
 But he had managed to conceal it so well that Bob 
 looked upon him as a friend. It never occurred to 
 the Farnhani Hall chap that he had been asked to Had- 
 don that Saturday for any other reason than because 
 Clarence wanted to see him. 
 
 He would have been amazed had he known that his 
 cousin was moved to send the invitation solely and 
 entirely on the chance of obtaining information about 
 the rival eleven. 
 
 During his stay at Haddon Fellows had discovered 
 sundry so-called sporting characters about the village 
 who were willing to put up real money on almost any 
 event. 
 
 They were not governed by patriotic motives in their 
 Betting, being quite as ready to back another team pro- 
 vided it was stronger than the Haddon eleven; and, 
 when approached quietly by Fellows on the subject, 
 they announced their intention of putting their money
 
 44 The Fellow Without Principles. 
 
 on Farnham Hall in the game to take place the fol- 
 lowing Saturday. 
 
 It was this decision unassailable by argument, which 
 had caused Fellows to invite his cousin to come over 
 and see him. Knowing Bob so well, he thought it pos- 
 sible that he might be able to extract something inter- 
 esting from him concerning the strength of his eleven, 
 and perhaps even get a line on some of the plays. 
 
 The possibility of securing the signals had never 
 occurred to him. But when he discovered how matters 
 stood, he had lost not an instant in working to that 
 end. He had succeeded admirably. And, now, when 
 success was in his very hand, Wendell wanted to back 
 out. 
 
 "I'll see him in Halifax first," Fellows commented 
 aloud, with considerable force. "It's likely I'll back 
 water now, after putting up my money, and all that! 
 Hang him ! He always was a milk-and-water sissy for 
 all his hulking size. But he'll find out he's up against 
 the wrong proposition this time." 
 
 He stood thoughtfully considering the matter for 
 some time. It was a delicate one, which he would have 
 to handle with considerable finesse. As yet he had 
 said nothing to Con Phelps. He was awaiting a more 
 propitious time; for he knew that it was going to be 
 extremely hard to persuade the captain to take advan- 
 tage of the leaked signals. 
 
 For all his talk, he was not especially fond of the 
 Kg, hearty chap. 
 
 Phelps was, however, so universally popular in the 
 school that it suited Fellows' purpose to be on friendly
 
 The Fellow Without Principles. 45 
 
 terms in that quarter. And he had sized the captain 
 up pretty accurately. 
 
 The dominating characteristic of Conant Phelps was 
 honesty. He was clean-minded, and straight as a 
 string, but he was also extremely ambitious. Long ago 
 he had set his mind on going to Yale, and from that 
 moment he had bent every effort to that end. He did 
 not wish to go through college as so many men are 
 forced to do, denying himself every pleasure, and wear- 
 ing himself out in order that he might obtain the cov- 
 eted bit of parchment at the end of four dreary years 
 of toil. 
 
 That did not appeal to him at all. He wanted the 
 diploma, of course; but he did not want it half so 
 much as did the elusive, indescribable something known 
 as "college life." 
 
 He wanted to do just what the normal, average fel- 
 low did. He wanted to go out for football, and make 
 the freshman team. He wanted to make a society, to- 
 be elected president of his class, perhaps. He wanted 
 to be popular, and to be one of the men who stand head 
 and shoulders above their companions. He desired, in 
 short, to have at Yale very much the same position he 
 held at Haddon School. 
 
 That was why he had come to Haddon, and why he 
 worked like a slave through every summer vacation, 
 and saved every cent he could without giving himself a 
 reputation for meanness. 
 
 That was also why he wanted desperately to win the 
 game from Farnham Hall. If he could be victorious 
 against the stronger, much better-known team, his foot- 
 ball future at college would be almost assured.
 
 46 The Fellow Without Principles. 
 
 It would help in many other ways, also ; for the chap 
 who can lead his men to victory against a stronger, 
 better organization is pretty sure to be regarded with 
 favor by those who are on the lookout for just such 
 material. 
 
 Clarence Fellows knew all this perfectly. With un- 
 erring eye, he saw the flaw in the other's armor, and 
 made ready to pierce it with his weapons of insinuation 
 and deceit. To begin his underhand maneuverings, he 
 was only awaiting a favorable moment when Phelps 
 should be downhearted and discouraged at some par- 
 ticularly bad showing of the team. 
 
 Meanwhile, Wendell had to be settled. Fellows 
 laughed scornfully again as he thought of his cousin's 
 frantic appeal, which had not touched him in the 
 slightest. 
 
 "What's he take me for, anyhow?" he sneered, pull- 
 ing a chair up to the table. "J ove ! I'd give a lot if I 
 could manage it so they'd find out what he's been up 
 to. It would just about tickle me to death to get back 
 at him that way. But I'm afraid it's impossible. Can't 
 show him up without getting in bad myself. Still, I 
 must keep that in mind. Maybe I can work it out 
 later." 
 
 Without further delay, he took a sheet of paper and 
 proceeded to pen an answer to Wendell's letter. When 
 it was finished he arose and thrust it into his pocket. 
 
 "That'll about do for you," he commented. "Now 
 I'll see if I can't do something with our esteemed and 
 lordly captain."
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 CUNNING CLARENCE. 
 
 "Judas!" exclaimed Conant Phelps hotly. "It's 
 enough to drive a fellow wild, Clarence." 
 
 Fellows nodded, his expression anxious and thought- 
 ful. 
 
 "Pretty bad," he agreed. "The whole bunch seemed 
 to be on the fritz this afternoon. What's got into 'em, 
 I wonder?" 
 
 Phelps sighed. 
 
 "Heaven only knows," Phelps said, in a discouraged 
 tone. "I suppose every team has its off days. But this 
 is the second one in succession. With the game so 
 close, I tell you it's got me worried. If it keeps up, we 
 won't have the ghost of a show on Saturday, and I 
 want to win against Farnham Hall the worst way." 
 
 "So do I," echoed Fellows, speaking the truth for 
 once. 
 
 He hesitated, turning the matter over swiftly in his 
 mind, and wondering whether his chance had come. 
 They were walking slowly back from the field, after 
 an afternoon of practice, in which almost every man 
 on the team had been so absolutely and unimitigatedly 
 "bum" that even Phelps, optimistic as he usually was, 
 became downcast and discouraged. 
 
 For a moment or two they kept on in silence; then 
 Fellows shot a keen, sidelong glance at his companion's 
 clouded face.
 
 48 Cunning Clarence. 
 
 "I'm afraid we really haven't much of a chance, any- 
 way," he said slowly. "You've done wonders with 
 the team, Con. But you know yourself the sort of 
 crowd Farnham Hall always turns out. They've got 
 the material to pick from, and we haven't. It's rather 
 like butting up against a stone wall." 
 
 "I don't see why you say that," Phelps protested. 
 "We've at least got a show of winning if the fellows 
 only brace up and do their best." 
 
 "No team from Haddon has ever licked them yet," 
 Fellows reminded him. 
 
 "Doesn't follow that we won't some day," the cap- 
 tain returned. 
 
 Fellows shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "It's all very well to talk that way before the men, 
 Con," he said meaningly. "But, just between our- 
 selves, do you honestly believe that we'll come out 
 ahead on Saturday ? Knowing what you know of their 
 team and their past records, can you really admit that 
 we have more than one chance in a hundred of licking 
 them ?" 
 
 Phelps did not answer. His pleasant face was 
 twisted into a rather hopeless scowl which told what 
 he thought almost as plainly as any spoken word. 
 
 "No, of course, you don't you can't," Fellows went 
 on, the next moment. "It's enough to make a fellow 
 sick, this playing year after year, and being beaten 
 every time, simply because we're smaller and haven't 
 the material. The boys are all good enough in their 
 way. I'll freely admit that you've picked out the very 
 cream of the lot, and gone to no end of trouble to work 
 them into shape. But you know as well as I do, that
 
 Cunning Clarence. 49 
 
 there isn't one of them who couldn't be improved on 
 a whole pile. I tell you, Con, we're outclassed, that's 
 what's the matter. I, for one, am good and tired going 
 up against Bloomfield just to give that Farnham Hall 
 crowd something a little more interesting to practice 
 on than their own scrub." 
 
 Phelps made no answer ; but his face was darker and 
 more discouraged than ever. 
 
 A gleam of satisfaction leaped into Fellows' eyes as 
 he noted this. The ground would never be better pre- 
 pared for seed than at the present moment. 
 
 "And yet," he mused, almost as if talking to himself, 
 "you have only to say the word, and the game's as good 
 as ours." 
 
 Phelps stopped stock-still and gazed at his com- 
 panion in utter amazement. 
 
 "What?" he exclaimed, thinking he had not heard 
 aright. 
 
 Fellows smiled slightly. 
 
 "I repeat," he said calmly, "that if you say the word 
 we can win the game." 
 
 The captain snorted impatiently. 
 
 "Have you any idea what you're talking about, 
 Clarence?" he inquired sarcastically. "Is it likely that 
 I'd stop at anything anything fair, that is to bring 
 that about?" 
 
 Fellows shrugged his shoulders a little. 
 
 "That's just it," he said. "You would probably not 
 consider this fair. Superficially, perhaps, it might not 
 seem to be; but I've thought it over carefully, and it 
 seems to me " 
 
 "For Heaven's sake, cut out the small talk, and get to
 
 5O Cunning Clarence. 
 
 your point," Phelps rasped. "What is it you mean? 
 Spit it out quick. The ethics of the case can come 
 later." 
 
 He dared not hope, and yet something about his 
 companion's assured manner made him think that he 
 might just possibly have an idea which would amount 
 to something. 
 
 "Very well," Fellows returned coldly. "I happen 
 to have a complete, accurate copy of the Farnham Hall 
 signal code." 
 
 Phelps looked at him in bewilderment. 
 
 "The signal code?" he repeated dazedly. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "But how in creation " 
 
 "It was given me by a fellow who's just been dropped 
 to the scrub," the manager explained smoothly. "He 
 didn't pull well with Jim Phillips, and was consequently 
 dropped, though the man they put in his place didn't 
 touch him as a player. Naturally, he was pretty sore, 
 and passed the signals on to me, thinking that he'd get 
 even that way with the whole bunch." 
 
 By this time Phelps had recovered his composure to 
 a great extent, and stood watching his companion's 
 face sternly. 
 
 "And you mean to make use of them?" he asked, in 
 an ominously quiet voice. 
 
 Fellows smiled a bit. 
 
 "I can't use them," he returned. "But if I were in 
 your place, I shouldn't hesitate a minute." 
 
 "Lord Harry, man!" the captain exclaimed indig- 
 nantly. "Don't you see that if I did, I'd be putting
 
 Cunning Clarence. 51 
 
 myself on a par with the contemptible scoundrel who 
 turned them over to you?" 
 
 Fellows shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "I don't see it at all," he said emphatically. "The 
 positions are quite different. While I should never, 
 under any circumstances, think of betraying my team 
 as he has done, I can sympathize with him to a certain 
 degree. How would you feel to be thrown off the 
 team simply because the captain and quarter back had 
 a grudge against you? It would make me mighty 
 sore, and I can understand his taking the first means at 
 hand to get even." 
 
 "Nothing under the sky can excuse a fellow for do- 
 ing a thing like that," Phelps retorted. "There isn't 
 any use talking about it, Clarence. I can't consider 
 using them for a minute." 
 
 "That's what you think now," Fellows said quickly. 
 "Just let me draw your attention to one or two points. 
 You agree that otherwise we don't stand a show of 
 winning, don't you?" 
 
 "Perhaps so." 
 
 "You admit that we're hopelessly outclassed, and 
 always have been?" 
 
 "Well, ye-es." 
 
 "Just listen to me, then. If we made use of those 
 signals we'd just about put ourselves on equal terms 
 with Farnham Hall. It would be really nothing more 
 than when a chap has a handicap at golf or a small 
 boat has time allowance in racing with a larger one. 
 Those things are perfectly fair and legitimate. Why 
 shouldn't we have a handicap in football? Goodness 
 knows we're smaller and weaker than they are."
 
 52 Cunning Clarence. 
 
 "I see what you're driving at, Clarence," Phelps 
 said, more quietly. "But it can't be done. Handicaps 
 in golf or racing are open and aboveboard things 
 which everybody knows about, and which are in vogue 
 everywhere. You never heard of a handicap in foot- 
 ball, though, and if we made use of this knowledge to 
 give ourselves one, it would be utterly low-down and 
 contemptible." 
 
 His words were strong enough, and his voice em- 
 phatic; but Fellows' sharp ears caught a faint under- 
 current of something like doubt, which heartened him 
 [wonderfully. 
 
 "There's another thing, Con," he hastened to say. 
 "You've wanted to win this game for one reason in 
 particular. I know, of course, that you want to win 
 for the school; but, even more than that, you've been 
 thinking of the future. You know that if you should 
 come out ahead on Saturday, there won't be a ques- 
 tion of your athletic future at Yale. A man who can 
 drill a team like ours to lick Farnham Hall is sure to 
 attract attention in the right quarters. It'll help you 
 more than anything else you could do, and you know 
 it." 
 
 They had reached the door of the gymnasium and 
 stopped. . 
 
 Phelps did not answer his companion at once, but it 
 became apparent that Fellows' words had struck home. 
 His face was fixed in a thoughtful frown, and his 
 strong, muscular fingers worked unconsciously as he 
 considered that phase of the matter. At last he gave a 
 long sigh, which had something of regret in it.
 
 Cunning Clarence. 53 
 
 "I understand all that," he said slowly. "But I'm 
 uraid " 
 
 "Don't decide now," Fellows put in hastily. "Think 
 it over to-night, and don't forget to think what it 
 would feel like to be captain of the freshman eleven at 
 Yale, and maybe president of the class." 
 
 He hesitated a second, his hand on the doorknob. 
 Suddenly his eyes brightened with a light of malicious 
 satisfaction. 
 
 "It may interest you to know that the man who gave 
 me the signals is Bob Wendell," he said significantly. 
 
 The next moment he disappeared into the gym, 
 leaving Phelps alone with only his thoughts to keep 
 him company.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 CONTAMINATION. 
 
 "Bob Wendell !" he repeated in astonishment. "Well, 
 I'll be hanged!" 
 
 During Wendell's brief visit to the school, Phelps 
 had come to like him very much. He had found him 
 straightforward and pleasant, and they had discov- 
 ered a number of similar tastes, a fact which always 
 goes far toward ripening acquaintance into friendship. 
 
 To the captain of the Haddon team, Wendell did not 
 seem at all the sort to do a thing like this, and at first 
 he was inclined entirely to discredit Fellows' story. 
 
 Instantly, however, he realized that it must be true. 
 Wendell's recent visit, his intimacy with Fellows, all 
 united toward proving him the traitor to his school. 
 
 "Bob Wendell !" repeated Phelps, in a quieter, more 
 thoughtful tone. 
 
 The provocation must be very great to induce a fel- 
 low like that to betray his team. 
 
 Phelps tried to picture himself in the other's place, 
 and had to acknowledge that he would be furious did 
 such a thing happen to him. 
 
 "Of course, nothing can excuse his giving away the 
 signals," he thought. "But the temptation to get even 
 for such a dirty trick must have been mighty strong." 
 
 Presently, realizing that he had better be changing 
 his clothes, the Haddon captain joined the others in 
 the dressing room of the gym. It might have been
 
 Contamination. 55 
 
 noticed, however, that he was extremely quiet, and 
 he departed as soon as he had his shower and was 
 dressed. 
 
 He was thinking over the situation and, in particular, 
 the cleverly put arguments of Clarence Fellows. 
 
 At first he told himself that it would be entirely out 
 of the question to make use of the signals. Such a 
 thing would be contemptible to a degree, and he would 
 not consider it for an instant. 
 
 And yet, for all that, he continued to think of it all 
 through the evening. Somehow the subject fascinated 
 him. He wanted to win that one game more, perhaps, 
 than he had ever wanted anything in all his life before. 
 
 Fellows had been right in saying that such a vic- 
 tory over such a team would result in making him solid 
 with the athletic crowd at Yale. 
 
 Fellows had also been right in saying that without a 
 handicap of some sort, victory for Haddon would be 
 almost impossible. 
 
 Up to this moment, Phelps had not only encouraged 
 his men into hoping, but had actually deluded himself 
 into the belief that they stood a good chance. 
 
 It often happens that when a person wants a thing 
 tremendously, he usually ends by believing it to be 
 possible. 
 
 Phelps knew now that he had been wrong. They 
 could 'not possibly win, unless 
 
 "Of course, I'd never think of using them," he said 
 aloud, in his room that night. "But we'd have a cork- 
 ing chance if we only could." 
 
 He allowed himself the luxury of a mental picture
 
 56 Contamination. 
 
 of winning over Farnham Hall. It was a pleasing idea, 
 and he derived considerable enjoyment from it. 
 
 The possession and use of the rival's signals would, 
 as Fellows had said, put Haddon about on a par with 
 her great rival. It would be a desperate, hard- fought 
 battle, but Phelps had confidence enough in his men to 
 believe that they would win. 
 
 After all, it did seem as if it would be more inter- 
 esting, more exciting to the spectators, and really more 
 fair, were the two teams thus reduced to a state of 
 equality. When one came to think of it, the spectators 
 should be considered to some extent. Nobody liked to 
 sit through a game which was simply a walk-over. 
 
 "If I could only use those signals," Phelps thought 
 during the course of the evening, "that game would be 
 anything but tame." 
 
 An hour ago he had said, "Of course I couldn't think 
 of using them." The two remarks were very much 
 alike, but there was a vast gulf between them. Phelps 
 himself did not realize quite how deep that gulf was, 
 but had Fellows been present he would have under- 
 stood and hugged himself for joy. 
 
 Unconsciously, the captain of the Haddon team had 
 been working around all that evening to a little "if." 
 Much as he wanted to win the game, he was not the 
 sort who could make use of unfair means so long as 
 he considered them unfair. He must first argue him- 
 self into an acquiescent state of mind, and it was char- 
 acteristic of Conant Phelps that he honestly tried to 
 eliminate the question of what effect a victory would 
 have on his chances at Yale. 
 
 But, though he did not know it, that question was ut-
 
 Contamination. 57 
 
 terly impossible to ignore. It was the crux of the 
 whole situation; the motive power, not only of the 
 game with Farnham Hall, but of the boy's entire ex- 
 istence. His life at Haddon was nothing more than a 
 preparation for that greater, broader, fuller life which 
 he hoped to live later in the New Haven university. 
 It was, in every sense of the word, only preparatory. 
 
 And so, though he meant to cut it out altogether, 
 and really thought he had, the consideration of his 
 chances at Yale never ceased influencing Phelps for a 
 single instant 
 
 When he supposed he was arguing the matter out in 
 a reasonable, logical, unprejudiced manner, somewhere 
 in his subconscious mind he was picturing himself as 
 captain of the Yale freshman team next fall. It was 
 not his solicitude for the spectators and a desire to 
 give them the worth of their money in a close, ex- 
 citing game, which influenced him half so much as did 
 the thought of what it would be like were he elected 
 president of the freshman class. 
 
 The truth was that he wanted to use those signals. 
 To his mind it was true only way whereby Haddon 
 could come off victorious; and, when he reached the 
 point of using that very small word with an infinitely 
 great meaning, the ultimate conclusion was not in much 
 doubt. 
 
 The transition from "if" to "how" was compara- 
 tively simple and natural. Pursuing the same trend of 
 fallacious, but plausible, reasoning, almost the next 
 question in Phelps' mind was : 
 
 "If the signals could be used, how are we going to
 
 58 Contamination. 
 
 keep the fact that we know them from being per- 
 ceived by the other team?" 
 
 After that it was as good as over. Without having 
 admitted for a single moment that he had the slightest 
 intention of taking Fellows' advice, Phelps worked out 
 an elaborate plan of campaign, going so far as to de- 
 cide how many and just which members of his own 
 team would have to be let into the secret. 
 
 And then, having deluded himself deliberately with 
 arguments which he knew to be false, but to whose 
 flimsiness he remained purposely blind, he slipped out 
 of his clothes, put out the light, and went to bed. 
 
 But not to sleep. In the still hours of the night, 
 with the crisp breeze blowing across him from the open 
 window, and his eyes fixed on the blue-black arch of 
 sky sprinkled with myriads of clean, untarnished stars, 
 he could not quite keep down the qualms of conscience. 
 
 He knew that what he had decided on was wrong. 
 He knew that by accepting the stolen signals he was 
 placing himself on a level with the traitor who had 
 given them. But he did not change his mind ; for am- 
 bition gripping, powerful ambition dominated him 
 now, and stifled those other, better qualities w r hich 
 might have saved him had they been a little stronger. 
 
 It was a pity!
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 DESPAIR. 
 
 Bob Wendell caught his breath sharply 2nd snatched 
 the letter from little Willie Stearns. Without a word 
 of thanks, without even hearing the boy's halting ex- 
 planation of how he got it at the office with his own 
 mail, the older fellow turned abruptly and strode away, 
 his face a perfect mirror for the anxious suspense 
 which filled his soul. 
 
 "I thought it would never come," he muttered, tear- 
 ing the envelope with nervous fingers and taking out 
 the inclosure. 
 
 For an instant he held it in his hand as if not daring 
 to look at it. Then, with a muttered growl at his fool- 
 ishness, he twitched the sheets open. The letter cov- 
 ered two closely written pages : 
 
 "DEAR BOB: I was very much surprised at your 
 wire last night, and even more surprised when I re- 
 ceived your letter, which I have just read. There's no 
 sense in my commenting on your extraordinary change 
 of mind after having had a whole day in which to con- 
 sider the matter and decide exactly as you wished to 
 without any one trying to influence you. Of course, 
 the discovery you say you have made about the attitude 
 of the fellows you thought were responsible for your 
 being dropped makes some difference ; but I can't help 
 wondering if you aren't mistaken about this last. 
 
 "But that doesn't make much difference one way or 
 another. The point is this : What you ask me to do is
 
 60 Despair. 
 
 utterly impossible. Before your wire reached me I 
 had already taken up the matter with Phelps, who 
 proved quite agreeable, and together we arranged a 
 plan for using the signals. By this time more than 
 half the members of the team have copies of the code 
 and are committing it to memory. You can see from 
 this that it is too late to do anything about it. Even 
 if I could bring myself to back water, it wouldn't do a 
 particle of good. Once the boys know the signals 
 and are able to tell in advance what play is going to 
 be made, it would be a physical impossibility to prevent 
 them from using that knowledge. They couldn't do it 
 if they tried. They would know instinctively what 
 play was coming, and no power on earth could keep 
 them from preparing for it. 
 
 "Why not stop worrying about it, and just drift with 
 the tide? Let things go for that's what you'll have 
 to do. Personally, I think you're mistaken about 
 Phillips and Shasta not being your enemies. It sounds 
 a bit fishy when you say you were bounced because you 
 didn't make good. I know you and your playing pretty 
 well, and I know it would be hard to find your equal 
 at right guard. 
 
 "Of course, I've been very careful about all this, and 
 no one suspects where the signals came from. I'm 
 sorry if you're disappointed, but you can easily see 
 the situation for yourself. 
 
 "By-by, old fellow, and don't worry. Everything 
 Kill come out all right. See you Saturday. 
 "Ever yours, 
 
 "CLARENCE." 
 
 For a full minute Wendell stood staring at the letter 
 in actual horror. He had counted so much on being 
 able to stop Fellows before he got under way that the 
 disappointment was one of the bitterest he had ever 
 known. It made him sick for a second or two really
 
 Despair. 6f 
 
 physically nauseated. After that came a wave of 
 despair, intense and utter. 
 
 What was there left for him to do now ? Absolutely 
 nothing. He was helpless, bound hand and foot, 
 obliged to stand aside and watch the result of his 
 despicable treachery. 
 
 It never occurred to him that Fellows' letter was a 
 mass of fabrication from beginning to end, that there 
 was scarcely a word of truth in it. His cousin's argu- 
 ments were plausible enough. He had to admit that 
 they were unanswerable. Once the men had learned 
 the signals, nothing could prevent their profiting by 
 them. He was surprised that Clarence had carried the 
 thing through with such expedition, but even that was 
 quite possible. He had had all day Monday in which 
 to put his plans into action. 
 
 The fact that Conant Phelps had agreed so readily to 
 the underhand scheme brought with it not a grain of 
 comfort. Wendell was conscious of a sort of dull sur- 
 prise at having so misjudged the chap he had liked, 
 but not for an instant did he delude himself with the 
 idea that this was an excuse for his own treachery. 
 
 He was to blame and no one else. He had done triis 
 thing with his eyes open, and now he must bear the 
 consequences alone. 
 
 Utterly, intolerably miserable, he went up to his 
 room and shut himself in. Was there nothing he 
 could do to repair the mischief? 
 
 At first he came to the conclusion that the only 
 thing for him to do as, of course, it was was to go 
 to Phillips and confess everything. He even got so
 
 62 Despair. 
 
 far as to open the door and step out into the corridor, 
 and then his heart failed him. 
 
 He could not bring himself to do it. He knew that 
 the result would be annihilation, utter and complete, 
 so far as his school and college future was concerned. 
 The fellow who had once betrayed his team to a rival 
 could never again expect to take part in athletics. Not 
 only that, but he would always be regarded with con- 
 tempt and scorn wherever he went. His whole life 
 would be practically ruined. He could not do it. He 
 had not enough courage. 
 
 At length, after searching desperately for some 
 other way out, a tiny ray of hope came to him. If he 
 could only persuade Phillips to change the signals 
 before the game with Haddon, all would be well. But 
 could he do it without giving his reason ? He was not 
 an adept at deception, being a chap who always went at 
 things directly, without any circumlocution; but he 
 made up his mind to do his best ; and with that end in 
 view he lingered after the practice that day, hoping to 
 get a chance to walk back with the captain alone. 
 
 His clumsy maneuverings happened to succeed. 
 
 Phillips was detained, talking over some matters with 
 Frank Merriwell. When they parted, he naturally fell 
 into step with Wendell, whose shoe laces had become 
 untied several times and slowly retied with elaborate, 
 time-consuming care. 
 
 For a moment or two they walked along in silence. 
 Wendell was nerving himself to the point of speech, 
 and Phillips seemed absorbed in thought. 
 
 At last the scrub man took the plunge.
 
 Despair. 63 
 
 "1 suppose you'll be changing the signals pretty 
 soon," he remarked, in a carefully casual tone. 
 
 The captain looked at him in surprise. 
 
 "Change the signals?" he repeated. "Why should 
 I do that?" 
 
 Wendell was thankful that the gathering darkness 
 hid the embarrassed expression he knew was on his 
 face. 
 
 "Oh, I don't know," he returned slowly. "Matter of 
 precaution, I suppose. I thought you always changed 
 them before an important game." 
 
 Phillips laughed. 
 
 "You don't call the game with Haddon important, 
 do you?" he inquired lightly. "They've never licked 
 us yet." 
 
 "They've got a mighty nice little team this year," 
 Wendell protested. 
 
 "So have we. Besides, I can't see a chance of the 
 signals leaking out. I may change them before we 
 play Fardale, for that's the big game of the season; 
 but the boys are all well up in them now, and it seems 
 like unnecessary work to give them a lot to do before 
 Saturday." 
 
 Wendell was bitterly disappointed, but he dared not 
 say anything more on the subject. 'As it was, he was 
 stricken with a sudden fear that he had said too much. 
 'After .the game on Saturday, Phillips might remember 
 this conversation and become suspicious. Conse- 
 quently he hastened to agree with his companion, and 
 at once turned the conversation into other channels. 
 
 The days which followed were full ol positive tor- 
 ture for Bob Wendell. He worried and fretted until
 
 154 Despair. 
 
 it was surprising he did not give himself away to his 
 companions. Several of them remarked on his serious- 
 ness, and more than one surmised that he must be sick ; 
 but none of them seemed to realize that it was sickness 
 of the mind which troubled him. 
 
 From time to time he cudgeled his brain, striving to 
 think of some way in which he could prevent the thing 
 he dreaded happening, but all in vain; and at last he 
 awoke on Saturday morning with the realization that 
 a few short hours would tell the story. 
 
 The Haddon team arrived shortly before dinner, 
 and were met at the station by their rivals, who es- 
 corted them to the house. Wendell was among the 
 number, though he would have given almost anything 
 Jo be able to stay away. 
 
 Fellows approached him at once. 
 
 "You're still worrying," he said reprovingly, after 
 an appraising glance at his cousin's frowning face. 
 "Don't be a fool, Bob. It'll all come out right, and 
 nobody '11 suspect you." 
 
 Wendell promptly shut him up. He did not wish to 
 talk about the matter. Besides, the sight of Conant 
 Phelps had given him an idea. It was absurd, of 
 course, and wholly futile had he realized it; but still, 
 by the time they had reached the school, his mind was 
 made up. He would go to the captain of the Haddon 
 team and beg him not to use the signals. 
 
 He hated the thought, for it would mean giving 
 himself away to the chap he liked, and who seemed so 
 honest and open; but he meant to do it. He had no 
 way of knowing that Fellows had betrayed his trust 
 and broken his word by telling Phelps already v/ho
 
 Despair. 6$ 
 
 was responsible for the leak. But, then, Bob had no 
 conception of many, many underhand things which 
 had emanated from that precious cousin of his. 
 
 It seemed as if he was never going to get a chance 
 to speak to Phelps alone. Dinner over, the fellows 
 lounged about the grounds for an hour or so before 
 dressing, but always the pleasant-faced fellow from 
 Haddon was surrounded by a group of others. Even 
 after they had dressed and made their way to the field, 
 the same trying conditions prevailed. 
 
 Wendell hung about, growing more and more anx- 
 ious and impatient; but at last, not five minutes before 
 three, the moment came for which he had been waiting, 
 and he lost not a second in taking advantage of it. 
 Stepping swiftly forward, he touched the rival captain 
 on the arm. 
 
 "Look here, Phelps," he said, in a low, hurried tone, 
 without preamble of any sort, "won't you please not 
 use those signals of ours? I was a contemptible cur 
 to give them to Fellows, and I've worried myself 
 nearly sick over it. If you'd only " 
 
 While he had been speaking, Phelps' face grew sud- 
 denly darker, and his lips straightened out in a thin, 
 determined line. 
 
 "I don't know what you're talking about, Wendell," 
 he broke in curtly. "I'm here to play the game for all 
 it's worth. I know nothing of any signals except our 
 own." 
 
 There was 'an utter finality in his tone which' cut 
 Wendell like the lash of a whip, and made him realize 
 the futility of further argument. Phelps had evidently 
 made up his mind, and nothing could change it.
 
 156 Despair. 
 
 Without another word, the disheartened chap turned 
 on his heel and walked away to where the substitutes 
 were already gathering. It was too late now even for 
 confession. Nothing was left him but the hope that 
 his team might prove strong enough to win even 
 against the heavy handicap. 
 
 They were so totally unsuspicious, so unprepared for 
 what was coming. If they only had an inkling of 
 what was in store for them, there might be a little 
 chance. But they had not, and Wendell could not give 
 them even a hint. He could only crouch there on the 
 side lines and watch with sinking heart and remorseful 
 eyes the evidence of his handiwork. 
 
 His lot was not one to be envied.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 RETRIBUTION. 
 
 The game started with a rush and swing. Farnham 
 Hall had the ball and began at once to work it down 
 the field. The boys were confident that they would 
 have little difficulty in making a goal during the first 
 quarter. 
 
 Their opponents averaged a good ten pounds lighter 
 than they, and, while this might not count for as much 
 as it would have a couple of seasons before, weight 
 and strength must always be desirable qualities in a 
 football player. 
 
 Very soon, however, it was seen that the Farnham 
 Hall boys had underestimated their opponents. In- 
 stead of carrying everything before them, as they had 
 expected, by sweeping gains of six or eight yards at a 
 time, they found themselves opposed with a fierce deter- 
 mination, backed by brainwork of a very high order. 
 Evidently the Haddonites made up in speed and swift- 
 ness and grit what they lacked in other ways. 
 
 It was a complete surprise to every one on the team. 
 Shasta's brain was never in finer working order. He 
 varied the plays with amazing cleverness, and yet the 
 defense met them each time, solid as a rock. Instead 
 of six or eight yard gains, they crept forward like a line 
 of snails, sometimes barely making their five yards in 
 three downs. At length they were driven to punt, and 
 the pigskin changed hands.
 
 68 Retribution. 
 
 Though not so strong on the attack, Haddon showed 
 up well. Phelps, playing at quarter, was fully the 
 equal of Don Shasta, if not his superior; and the ball 
 was forced to within twelve yards of the Farnham 
 Hall goal before it was lost by a fumble. During the 
 remainder of the quarter it did not once cross into the 
 fifty-five yard line. 
 
 "Greatest frost I ever saw," Shasta commented, as 
 the players gathered in a little group during the three- 
 minute intermission. "We've certainly sized up those 
 boys wrong. They're corkers." 
 
 "It's Phelps, I think," Phillips said thoughtfully. 
 "I've heard some mighty good things of his work, but 
 I never thought he'd get together a bunch like this. 
 We've got to brace up, fellows, and come alive. It's 
 not going to be any cinch. We've got to get after 'em 
 and hammer their weak spots. Their defense is quite 
 some better than their attack." 
 
 "It sure is," Shasta agreed emphatically. "I did my 
 little darndest to get through them; but, no matter how 
 I varied things, they were right on the spot every time. 
 Seems like Phelps was almost a mind reader, and 
 knew what was coming beforehand." 
 
 "He's a clever boy, all right," Phillips agreed ab- 
 sently. "Just step over here, Don. I want to tell you 
 something." 
 
 From his place on the ground, Wendell watched 
 them fearfully out of the corner of his eye. Shasta's 
 words, uttered as they were, in a half -joking tone, 
 struck terror to his heart. Was it possible that they 
 had any idea of the truth? Did Phillips suspect, and 
 what was it they were discussing?
 
 Retribution. 69 
 
 It was an awful thought. What should he do if they 
 found out that he was a traitor who had betrayed them 
 to the enemy ? He felt sick and faint until the whistle 
 of the referee called the two teams back to the field 
 and the continuation of the game gave him something 
 else to think about. 
 
 With sinking heart, he watched the waging of this 
 unequal struggle. Presently he began to long fiercely 
 for a chance to go into the game. He felt that any- 
 thing would be better than sitting here idle. If he 
 could only have a place in the line, he might at least 
 make an effort to repair the damage he had done. 
 
 Had Phillips only known it, his best move would 
 have been to put into play the substitute guard; for 
 Wendell would have fought desperately, fiercely, as 
 long as there was a breath left in his body. He was 
 wrought up to that pitch when men accomplish wonders 
 and astonish everybody by fairly outdoing themselves. 
 
 Unfortunately, however, the captain was as ignorant 
 of this fact as he was of that other, more vital one, 
 which had made the contest such a surprise to every 
 one; and, though two men were disabled during that 
 period and had to leave the field, he remembered Wen- 
 dell's poor showing of late, and did not call him out. 
 
 When the second quarter ended with neither side 
 having scored, the excitement began to run high. 
 Rarely before had there been such a game on the Farn- 
 ham Hall field. Usually the strength and standing 
 of a team can be pretty accurately estimated before- 
 hand. But, in this case, the showing of the Haddon 
 team was a complete surprise, even to their own sup- 
 porters.
 
 7O Retribution. 
 
 Clarence Fellows, standing among the substitutes, 
 had difficulty in suppressing a complacent smile. 
 Everything had worked out exactly as he had planned 
 it, his only fear now being that the game might result 
 in a tie. He had great hopes, however, of there being 
 something doing toward the end. 
 
 It was impossible that the Farnham Hall men could 
 keep up the pace without becoming exhausted. Charg- 
 ing as they did, time after time, against a defense 
 which was as solid as a stone wall, they must waste 
 strength and energy; and when their best efforts con- 
 tinued to be of no avail, it was certain they would be- 
 come discouraged and lose heart. Their opponents, on 
 the contrary, not only utilized effectually every ounce 
 of strength by never making a false or futile move, 
 but were buoyed up and encouraged by their surpris- 
 ing success. 
 
 With the beginning of the third quarter, Fellows' 
 judgment was vindicated. There was a perceptible 
 lack of snap and ginger in the home team's playing. 
 Shasta had tried every trick at his command, and not 
 one of them worked as it should. No matter what 
 move he made, or what strategy was employed, their 
 opponents were always ready for them. 
 
 It was small wonder that the majority became dis- 
 heartened when apparently nothing they could do was 
 going to bring success. Some there were, of course, 
 who never gave up hope, but kept on fighting as they 
 would have fought had the odds been ten times as 
 great. 
 
 Unfortunately, while a few men of that sort may 
 accomplish wonders by individual effort when condi-
 
 Retribution. 71 
 
 tions are favorable, it is almost impossible for them to 
 rally the drooping spirits of those who have made up 
 their minds that defeat is to be their portion. 
 
 It was at this point that Farnham Hall began to lose 
 ground. Phillips did his best to hearten up his men, 
 but in spite of that they fell back slowly, steadily. 
 
 Sick at heart and overcome with remorse, Bob Wen- 
 dell saw the end approaching. 
 
 "If I could only go in!" he said to himself, time and 
 time again. "If I could only have a chance, I'd do 
 something to make up !" 
 
 All sorts of plans passed swiftly through his brain 
 as to what he might do if that chance came, but ap- 
 .parently he was not to have it. Perhaps it was retri- 
 bution. It seemed only just that he should be con- 
 demned to watch, inactive, the result of his treachery; 
 to sit there with nerves quivering and not be able to 
 raise a finger to help the fellows he had betrayed. 
 
 He groaned aloud as the Farnham Hall line was 
 forced back, back until they were battling fiercely 
 almost on their very goal line. He yelled incoherently, 
 almost hysterically, when Phillips, desperate, downed 
 the runner by a splendid tackle, and so checked the 
 gains that the ball was lost for the moment to Farn- 
 ham Hall. 
 
 Two minutes later, time was called. 
 
 It was only a momentary respite. When the strug- 
 gle was renewed, three minutes later, the Haddonites 
 started out for blood. They were evidently deter- 
 mined to score, and they set about it with all the snap 
 and go and cleverness at the command of their brainy 
 captain.
 
 72 Retribution. 
 
 The moment they had possession of the ball they 
 started it down the field in a series of rushes, passes, 
 and round the end runs which were brilliantly planned 
 and executed, and against which Farnham Hall 
 seemed helpless. Again and again Phillips, Shasta, 
 and one or two others rallied their comrades to re- 
 newed effort, but all in vain. A good eight minutes 
 before the end of the game, following a fine forward 
 pass, Phelps made a touchdown and kicked the goal 
 straight and true. 
 
 The game was thus won for Haddon. Nothing else 
 \vas done during the remaining time of play; and when 
 the whistle blew for the last time and a frantic yell of 
 delight went up from the visitors' support, Wendell 
 dropped his head for a moment into his hands. 
 
 It was the bitterest, most self -abasing moment he 
 had ever known. 
 
 He saw himself as he was, cowardly, without princi- 
 ple, unfit to associate with the fellows he had wronged 
 so greatly. He would have chosen to be beaten with 
 lashes until the blood flowed, rather than to look into 
 the faces of his comrades as they came off the field 
 defeated, but trying bravely to bear themselves non- 
 chalantly. 
 
 Perhaps he had been punished enough by the lashing 
 of his own thoughts. It had been a lesson which he 
 would never forget all his life long, and without which 
 he might not have awakened to his most glaring fault 
 until it was too late. Perhaps, taking everything into 
 consideration, it was well that it happened thus ; for a 
 boy's character is of infinitely greater importance than 
 many football games.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE UNEXPECTED. 
 
 As he walked off the field, surrounded by yelling, re- 
 joicing supporters, Conant Phelps was far from feel- 
 ing that joy and triumph and infinite satisfaction which 
 fellows in his position usually feel. 
 
 He was not exactly proud of himself. He had won 
 the game, to be sure, but by what means ? During the 
 excitement of playing he had been able to forget; but 
 now, as if to make up for the respite, the realization 
 of what he had done came upon him with renewed 
 force and made him wince. 
 
 But there was no backing out. He had set his hand 
 to the plow and must follow the furrow to the very end. 
 It would be suicidal to allow any one a chance for even 
 the slightest suspicion. 
 
 So he pulled himself together and did his best to 
 carry out the role of the joyfully victorious captain. 
 He was doing it fairly well, when he suddenly came 
 face to face with Frank Merriwell, handsome, smiling, 
 and bearing not the slightest expression of regret. 
 
 "Well, Phelps," he said pleasantly, extending his 
 hand promptly, "I congratulate you on giving us a won- 
 derful exhibition of football. That defense of yours 
 was one of the best I've ever seen, and your attack isn't 
 far behind. Keep that up, and there won't be a ques- 
 tion of your future." 
 
 Phelps took the hand held out to him and pressed
 
 74 The Unexpected. 
 
 it; but for the life of him he could not look straight 
 into those honest, level eyes. He had never been so 
 heartily ashamed in all his life. 
 
 "You're very kind, sir," he managed to answer. 
 "We did our best, that's all." 
 
 "And a very good best it proved," Frank returned 
 heartily. "I wish you would take a little walk with 
 me. I'd like to talk over a small matter for a few 
 moments." 
 
 Amazed and not a little worried, Phelps acquiesced 
 instantly, and together they strolled slowly away over 
 the turf, followed by more than one wondering glance. 
 
 "I won't keep you long," Merry began, "for I know 
 you're in a hurry to get back to the boys. What I 
 want to say is this : I've heard indirectly of your great 
 anxiety to enter Yale, and something of the sacrifices 
 and efforts you have made to get a proper preparatory 
 school education. You know, I presume, that I'm a 
 Yale man myself. I've been out a good many years, 
 but I've never lost my interest. I have always made it 
 a point to do the best I can for boys like yourself who 
 will be a credit to my Alma Mater. I don't mean that 
 these boys must necessarily be good at athletics. That 
 is always a desirable thing, but they should first be 
 decent, straight, and high-minded, as I think you are. 
 To come to the point, I shall be very glad to give you 
 any help you may require to enter next fall." 
 
 Phelps could scarcely believe his ears. The thing 
 he had longed for with such apparent hopelessness was 
 within his grasp. He had only to say the word and 
 his future would be assured. His cheeks were flaming 
 with shame, the words Merriwell had just spoken
 
 The Unexpected. 75 
 
 stabbed him like so many knife blades, but he did not 
 stop to think of that in the wonder of this chance. He 
 said the word. 
 
 "Don't bother to thank me," Frank said, as the boy 
 stammered and stumbled over the words of gratitude 
 which came so hard. "Just come and have a talk be- 
 fore you go. Hustle back to the boys, now. They 
 want you." 
 
 Without waiting longer, he turned and walked 
 briskly up the slope to his house, leaving Phelps staring 
 after him, his face full of varied emotions. 
 
 What had he done? He was no more worthy of 
 Merriwell's aid than a convicted criminal. He had 
 spoken before he realized that what this man had of- 
 fered he could not possibly accept. Decent and 
 straight and high-minded! He laughed bitterly. He 
 had no single one of those qualities, and yet he had 
 allowed the assertion to go unchallenged. It was a 
 deliberate lie as great a falsehood as if he had com- 
 mitted it by spoken words instead of by remaining 
 silent 
 
 He hesitated for several minutes, apparently rooted 
 to the ground. 
 
 Behind him the fellows were calling his name impa- 
 tiently. Before him the tall, graceful form of Merri- 
 well was rapidly retreating. What should he do? If 
 he went back, no one need ever know. He might carry 
 out the deception to the very end. His dreams would 
 come true in a much more wonderful, complete man- 
 ner than he had ever dared to hope. But could he ever 
 be content with that? Could he ever forget that he 
 had won it all by false pretenses ? In after years would
 
 76 The Unexpected. 
 
 the fact that he was nothing but a living lie ever cease 
 to haunt him ? 
 
 "No!" 
 
 The word burst from his tightly compressed lips 
 almost ferociously, and in another moment he was 
 running as hard as he could after the broad-shouldered 
 figure of Merry, now passing through the trees which 
 fringed the field. 
 
 "Mr. Merriwell!" he called loudly. "Mr. Merri- 
 well!" 
 
 Frank heard him and turned around. His eyes were 
 puzzled as he watched the rapidly nearing boy, seeing 
 the expression on his rather white face. Accustomed 
 as he was to reading men's characters, he realized at 
 once that Phelps was suffering from some strong, vital 
 emotion. He felt, somehow, that an important mental 
 crisis had arisen in the few moments since they had 
 parted. But he gave no sign, and, when the boy 
 stopped panting before him and wiped the perspiration 
 from his forehead, he waited quietly for him to speak. 
 
 "I can't accept your offer, Mr. Merriwell," Phelps 
 stammered at last. 
 
 Merry was at no pains to conceal his surprise. 
 
 "What's the trouble?" he asked kindly. "You can 
 regard the money as a loan, of course, if you don't feel 
 like taking it outright." 
 
 The boy's face was flaming now. 
 
 "It isn't that," he said haltingly. "I'd look at it as 
 a loan, anyhow, but I can't accept even that." 
 
 Frank looked puzzled. 
 
 "Don't you want to go ?" he asked.
 
 The Unexpected. 77 
 
 "Yes oh, yes ! But I'm not worthy. I'm not 
 what you think me." 
 
 There was a moment's pause, during which the man's 
 eyes searched the other's face rather seriously. 
 
 "Just what do you mean by that?" he asked. 
 
 Phelps had been staring at the ground, but now he 
 threw back his head and gazed straight at Merriwell. 
 The latter was startled at the utter, intense misery in 
 the boy's fine eyes. 
 
 "You said I was decent, and straight, and high- 
 minded," Phelps burst out "I'm not. I'm not a sin- 
 gle one of those things. I've been a cur, and I can't 
 take your help. I'd give anything in the world if I 
 could only live the last week over again." 
 
 Frank's brows were knitted slightly. 
 
 "The last week?" he repeated questioningly. 
 
 "Yes. It's all happened since then. You think we 
 won that game to-day fairly, don't you ? It was noth- 
 ing of the sort. It was all a cheat. I knew your 
 signals, sir." 
 
 Merriwell's face was stern. 
 
 "You knew our signals ?" he repeated slowly. "And 
 may I ask how you got possession of them?" 
 
 Phelps dropped his eyes again and swallowed hard. 
 
 "One of your men on the scrub," he explained, in a 
 low tone, "was sore because he wasn't treated right. 
 He he wanted to get even, and so he sent the signal 
 code to a fellow he knew at Haddon. They were 
 brought to me, and at first I wasn't going to use them. 
 Then I thought I thought how much it would mean 
 if I won the game, and and Well, that's all.
 
 78 The Unexpected. 
 
 sir. I used them. The game really should have been 
 yours." 
 
 There wag silence for a moment. Merriwell leaned 
 lightly against a tree, his arms folded, and his eyes 
 fixed on the boy's face. They were cold and stern, but 
 somewhere in their depths was a tempering glimmer 
 of regret. 
 
 "What is the name of this boy who played the 
 traitor?" he asked, at last, in an odd tone. 
 
 "Why, it was " 
 
 Phelps broke off abruptly, and glanced appealingly 
 at Merriweil. 
 
 "I wish you wouldn't ask me that, sir," he went on. 
 "He's he's sorry beastly sorry that he did it. He 
 came to me to-day and begged me not to use them. 
 Of course, it was too late then. The boys all knew 
 them, and couldn't have helped themselves. I should 
 have told Phillips all about it, but I hadn't the courage. 
 But I'm sure the fellow realizes what he's done, and 
 would never do anything like it again. I think it's 
 been a a lesson to him, just as it's been to me." 
 
 Frank's face was rather grim. 
 
 "Very well," he commented. "If you feel that way, 
 I won't urge you." 
 
 He paused a moment, his eyes fixed curiously on the 
 boy's flushed face. 
 
 "Why did you tell me this, Phelps ?" he asked quietly. 
 "Didn't you realize that if you kept still no one would 
 have ever known ? You could have gone to Yale and 
 made a success there. I should never have been the 
 wiser." 
 
 Again the boy raised his eyes to Merry's.
 
 The Unexpected. 79 
 
 "I thought of that," he said simply. "I wanted to do 
 it awfully, but I couldn't." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "It would have been worse than using the signals. 
 I'd have been lying every minute of the time by taking 
 your money and letting you think I was something 
 which I wasn't. I'd never have had a moment's peace, 
 while now " 
 
 He hesitated, and Frank finished the sentence for 
 him: 
 
 "While now you feel as if you'd made reparation by 
 giving up something you want very much. Sort of a 
 salve to conscience, in other words." 
 
 "Perhaps so," Phelps answered slowly. He had not 
 analyzed his motives to this extent "I don't know 
 just why I did it, except that I simply couldn't go on 
 letting you think I was worthy of taking your help and 
 becoming a Yale man when I wasn't." 
 
 His voice faltered a little toward the end, and his 
 lids dropped swiftly over eyes which seemed abnor- 
 mally bright. 
 
 "I'm afraid you're right, Phelps," Merriwell said 
 regretfully. "No man who uses the signals of an- 
 other team in order that he may win a victory is worthy 
 to be a Yale man. He may win on the football field, 
 but he has lost something infinitely better, infinitely 
 greater his integrity and self-respect. I'm sorrier 
 than I can say that you have done this, but I'm glad 
 you were man enough to come and tell me about it 
 That does not repair the wrong, but it shows you to 
 have the right feeling." 
 
 Rather abruptly, without even so much as a good-
 
 8o The Unexpected. 
 
 by, Merry turned and walked slowly away through the 
 trees, leaving Phelps heartsick and full of unavailing 
 regrets. Too late, the boy wished desperately that he 
 had not done this thing, that he had kept to his first 
 impulse and not listened to insidious temptation for a 
 single moment. But, underneath everything, he was 
 glad he had done his best to make good by telling Mer- 
 riwell the truth. 
 
 A week later Conant Phelps came into his room and 
 dropped disconsolately into a chair. He was still glad 
 of the step he had taken, but at every hour of the day 
 he was assailed by bitter regret at the opportunity he 
 had lost. If only he had kept straight he would now 
 be looking forward confidently to the goal he had 
 longed for, for so many years. He knew it was futile, 
 but he could not help sighing over what was impos- 
 sible. 
 
 Presently his eyes fell upon a letter lying on the 
 table, and he took it up. It was postmarked Bloom- 
 field, and in wondering haste he slit it open and took 
 out the contents. 
 
 It was a letter from Frank Merriwell, and, as he 
 glanced swiftly through it, he flushed and paled. 
 
 "My DEAR PHELPS : During the past week you have 
 been in my mind to a considerable extent. Somehow 
 I have a notion that your first experience in the crooked 
 way is likely to be your last, and I have, therefore, se- 
 cured a scholarship at Yale for you, and will see that 
 you are looked after in other ways when you enter 
 next fall. 
 
 "I think I can trust you now to be straight and de-
 
 The Unexpected. 81 
 
 cent always, a man who will be a credit to Yale, and 
 to himself. Sincerely yours, 
 
 "FRANK MERRIWELL." 
 
 The letter dropped unheeded from the boy's hand 
 and fluttered to the floor. For a moment or two he sat 
 staring straight before him, his lips trembling slightly. 
 Suddenly he sat erect and brought one fist down on the 
 chair arm with a thump. 
 
 "By Heaven, he can!" he exclaimed fiercely. "I'll 
 never make him sorry he's done this thing. I'll never 
 do anything as long as I live which will make him 
 ashamed of having helped me." 
 
 Springing to his feet, he walked over to the window 
 and stood there with his face pressed against the pane. 
 There was a long, long pause ; but when he returned to 
 the table the darkness made his face indistinct. 
 
 "He's the best man that ever lived !" he murmured 
 softly. 
 
 Soon after this, however, a new boy arrived at the 
 school one who prided himself on his ancestry and 
 Frank Merriwell found himself with a second boy on 
 his hands who had to be given another chance.
 
 "CHAPTER xn. 
 
 UNKNOWN BENEFACTOR. 
 
 Before the new boy came to the school, a certain 
 incident occurred which had a most important bearing 
 on the conduct of the boy in question during the first 
 weeks of his enrollment at Merriwell's. 
 
 The front door slammed and through the hall came 
 the sound of rapid footsteps. John Huntingdon Blake 
 laid his pen aside and half turned in the desk chair, an 
 expression of thankfulness on his pleasant face. 
 
 "Well !" he exclaimed, as a tall, well-built man, some 
 years his senior, entered the room and dropped a doc- 
 tor's bag on the nearest chair. "It's about time you 
 showed up. I had an idea that you said you'd be back 
 at eleven and here it is" he took out a beautiful and 
 very costly gold watch "just twenty-three minutes 
 past one. It's up to you to give an account of those 
 two hours, Mac." 
 
 Angus Macdonald smiled a bit as he sank into an 
 easy-chair. He looked rather tired and not a little 
 discouraged. 
 
 "Doctors never have to give an account of them- 
 selves," he bantered. 
 
 "Don't wriggle out," Blake admonished. "Old, 
 established doctors haven't a minute to breathe, I'll 
 
 admit; but young, callow ones Why, ever since 
 
 I came you've had time to burn, Mac." 
 
 "You needn't rub it in, kid," Macdooald returned,
 
 The Unknown Benefactor. 83 
 
 with some asperity. "My patients may be few and 
 far between, but they're coming, boy they're 
 coming." 
 
 A slight shadow passed over the young fellow's 
 face. For a youth of not more than seventeen, he was 
 singularly self-possessed and had a noticeable swagger. 
 Had it been accompanied by a lesser degree of good 
 taste, it might have approached dangerously near that 
 unpleasant quality denoted by the vulgarly inclined as 
 "lugs." As it was, however, it did not seem out of 
 keeping with Blake's general atmosphere of refine- 
 ment. 
 
 Blake's friends had been known to express the wish 
 that he was a little less refined. It seemed to be almost 
 a mania with the chap, and was decidedly unusual 
 in one so young. His manners were polished to the 
 last degree, and, though his home was in California, 
 he had acquired the broad "a" and other peculiarities 
 of accent which mark the speech of English people 
 and many residents of New England. 
 
 His clothes and general appointments were miracles 
 of taste. He would almost as soon have thought of 
 appearing on the street in pajamas, as he would of 
 wearing socks and scarf which did not harmonize. 
 
 In spite of all this, however, he was, at the bottom, 
 as decent a chap as one could desire. He was clean- 
 minded, generous to a fault, and a thoroughly good 
 sort. He did not, however, relish any reminders of 
 his youth such as "kid" and "boy," even from men as 
 old as Doctor Macdonald. Hence that slight frown, 
 which passed swiftly, for he was too well bred to show 
 that such things were distasteful.
 
 84 The Unknown Benefactor. 
 
 "I'm glad they are coming," he smiled, "even if 
 their arrival is a little slow. Was it a new one who 
 delayed you to-day? Some millionaire, I hope, who 
 wanted a five-thousand-dollar operation performed." 
 
 "Nothing like it," sighed Macdonald. "This is at 
 quite the other end of the ladder." 
 
 He frowned a little at the recollection and proceeded 
 to fill and light his pipe. 
 
 "It's a mighty hard case, John," he resumed, lean- 
 ing back in his chair again. "I suppose I'm soft and 
 easy and will get a lot more callous before long, but 
 I can't help being impressed now and then by things 
 I see." 
 
 He stopped again, and Blake, who had been playing 
 absently with the slender gold watch chain draped 
 across his vest, glanced up at him. 
 
 "Well?" he questioned. "What's the matter? Aren't 
 you going to tell me about it?" 
 
 Macdonald looked slightly embarrassed. 
 
 "It seems so thundering like a touch," he explained 
 boyishly. "You've shelled out twice, John, since you 
 came here for cases of this sort I've run across, and 
 I'm afraid you'll go away with the impression that 
 I've been bleeding you just because you have more 
 money than you know what to do with." 
 
 Blake laughed. 
 
 "Don't let that worry you," he chuckled. "I'd 
 never think that, and you ought to know it. Go ahead 
 with your story." 
 
 "Well, since you insist, here goes: The man's 
 name is Brown "
 
 The Unknown Benefactor. 85 
 
 "Uncommon, isn't it?" Blake murmured mischie- 
 vously. 
 
 "No more so than his story," the doctor went on, 
 rather fiercely. "It's the old tale of injury when in the 
 employ of a wealthy corporation, and then being 
 dumped by his employers taking advantage of a quib- 
 ble of the law to evade responsibility. He was a 
 brakeman on the O. & I. road, and lost a leg here in 
 the Cleveland yards. Unfortunately they proved that 
 it was due to his own negligence, so he couldn't sue. 
 They were responsible for his doctor's bills, however, 
 which would have been all right had he kept on with 
 the physician who looked after him first. He didn't 
 like the man, however, and made a change. They paid 
 the first doctor, but refused to settle with the second." 
 
 Blake looked indignant. 
 
 "How could they do that?" he demanded. "I don't 
 see what difference it makes whether he went to half 
 a dozen doctors so long as he was hurt while working 
 for them." 
 
 "The law says that they must pay the first doctor's 
 bill, but if a change is made that lets them out." 
 
 "I never heard of anything so unfair," Blake ex- 
 claimed hotly. 
 
 "It's the law, just the same," Macdonald returned. 
 "Unfortunately, Brown knew nothing about it. He 
 went merrily on rolling up visits from the second doc- 
 tor to the tune of some two hundred dollars before he 
 got wise. Now he's up against it. He can't go back 
 to his old job, of course, and the railroad has nothing 
 for him but some light work around the yards at a 
 dollar and a half a day.
 
 86 The Unknown Benefactor. 
 
 "During his illness, all kinds of other bills have been 
 piling up. He's got a wife and four children to sup- 
 port, and he's just about discouraged. Two of the 
 boys can work, but the oldest, a chap of eighteen, has 
 always been eager for a good education. He's as nice 
 a fellow as I ever saw, pleasant-mannered and bright 
 as they make 'em. He was going to enter college next 
 fall and stood a good chance of working his way 
 through, for he's corking at math, and could easily 
 tutor. Of course that's all over with now. He got 
 a job in a canning factory, and is doing his best to keep 
 things going; but it's a darned shame, John, that a 
 fellow with his ability and inclinations should practi- 
 cally ruin his whole life." 
 
 Blake regarded the seal ring on the little finger 
 of his left hand thoughtfully. It was severely plain 
 and bore upon its surface a coat of arms the arms 
 of Admiral Blake, who lived and made quite a stir 
 in the world at the time of Charles I., of England. 
 
 "Ye-es," he assented, at length. "It does seem a 
 pity." 
 
 He examined his carefully manicured fingers and 
 then glanced up suddenly. 
 
 "How much did this Jones get before he was hurt, 
 Mac?" he asked quietly. 
 
 "I believe he averaged eighteen dollars a week," the 
 doctor returned. "Sometimes it was more when he 
 worked overtime. I imagine it was never less." 
 
 "Eighteen dollars a week!" Blake exclaimed incredu- 
 lously. "And do you mean to say a man can raise a 
 family of five on that?" 
 
 Macdonald smiled grimly.
 
 The Unknown Benefactor. 87 
 
 "It's done on less than that, thousands and thou- 
 sands of times, my dear fellow," he said. 
 
 "But how is it possible?" 
 
 "It has to be possible," the older man retorted. "It's 
 that or the poorhouse. You have a great deal to learn, 
 John. Eighteen dollars a week is really big money. 
 Of course, the two boys helped a little out of school 
 hours, but it wasn't much." 
 
 "I should think not," Blake said emphatically. "If 
 one of them put in much time getting an education." 
 
 He crossed his legs and linked his fingers loosely 
 over one knee. 
 
 "Great Scott, Mac!" he went on. "It ought not to 
 be a hard thing for a man to get a job paying three 
 dollars a day." 
 
 "You're forgetting he has only one leg." 
 
 "Still," persisted the youngster, "there must be lots 
 of things a one-legged man can do." 
 
 Macdonald's eyes twinkled. 
 
 "For instance?" he queried. 
 
 "Oh, well er er a watchman, for one thing. 
 They just sit in a chair, or hobble around a building at 
 night. All I've ever seen have been old as the hills, 
 or else crippled." 
 
 "He might do that, but who's going to get him such 
 a position ?" the doctor inquired pertinently. "He has 
 no influence, and neither have I." 
 
 "I know Colonel Snowden, president of the Cleve- 
 land & Chicago Railroad," Blake suggested. "Don't 
 you suppose he could give Brown something to do ?" 
 
 "He could if he would."
 
 88 The Unknown Benefactor. 
 
 "I guess he will, all right. Dad and he are great 
 friends. We'll stop in and see him after lunch." 
 
 Blake heaved a sigh, as if thankful to get the matter 
 over with. 
 
 "There, that's settled," he exclaimed. "Now I'll 
 draw a check for the doctor's bill, and we can leave 
 this rather dismal subject. How much did you say 
 it was ?" 
 
 "Two hundred and twenty," Macdonald returned. 
 "But look here, John, there's no sense in your settling 
 the whole of it. If he has this position " 
 
 "He'll want every cent he makes to scrape along 
 on," broke in the young chap, reaching for his check 
 book. "I'm still a bit leary about three dollars a day 
 putting a man in Rockefeller's class. I'll just make it 
 three hundred, and that'll cover some of those other 
 bills you spoke of." 
 
 He wrote rapidly for a moment, blotted the check, 
 tore it out, and handed it to his friend. 
 
 "By Jove ! This is corking of you, John," the latter 
 exclaimed. "Brown won't be able to believe his 
 eyes " 
 
 "Cut it out, Mac do !" interrupted Blake, standing 
 up and walking to the window. "You know I can't 
 spend my allowance, and it would be a great pity if this 
 mathematical genius should have to make cans, or 
 whatever he does, all his life. Come on and let's go 
 down to Blagdon's for lunch. It's my last day, and 
 I want to enjoy it before I'm landed at school." 
 
 Macdonald gave in at once and, sprucing himself 
 up a bit, joined Blake in the hall. 
 
 He was not a little fond of this young fellow, in
 
 The Unknown Benefactor. 89 
 
 spite of certain faults and marked peculiarities. They 
 had met two years before in Pasadena and, notwith- 
 standing the difference in age, had become good 
 friends. 
 
 When Blake wrote that he had decided to enter the 
 American School of Athletic Development, and would 
 shortly be leaving California for that purpose, the doc- 
 tor at once invited him to visit at his home in Cleve- 
 land. That visit was now at an end, to their mutual 
 regret, the young chap having planned to leave by the 
 night train, which would get him to Bloomfield the 
 first thing in the morning. 
 
 They had lunch at Blagdon's, and afterward visited 
 the office of Colonel Snowden, who readily promised 
 Blake to do something for the crippled Brown. 
 
 That satisfactorily settled, they went to a vaudeville 
 show, had a pleasant supper together, and then drove 
 to the station. 
 
 The train was almost on the point of departing 
 when Blake, who was standing on the step saying a last 
 few things to his friend, suddenly remembered some- 
 thing. 
 
 "Now don't go telling my name to Brown," he ad- 
 monished. "I've been awfully glad to help him out, 
 but I don't want to be overwhelmed with thanks and 
 all that sort of thing." 
 
 "But he'll want to know who he's indebted to for 
 so much," Macdonald protested. 
 
 The train started slowly, and Blake leaned forward, 
 holding fast to the railing. 
 
 "I don't care," he retorted. "I won't be bothered. 
 Tell him it's an 'Unknown Benefactor,' or an 'Anony-
 
 90 The Unknown Benefactor. 
 
 mous Friend.' That's the way those things are put 
 in the newspapers." 
 
 Running along beside the train, Macdonald laughed 
 in spite of himself. 
 
 "All right," he called. "Have your own way. I 
 won't tell him. By-by! and don't forget to write." 
 
 "I won't Good-by." 
 
 The train was whirled out of sight, and the doctor 
 walked slowly back through the station. 
 
 "He's a dandy kid," he mused. "If only he could 
 get rid of But, pshaw! Nobody's perfect."
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 JOHN HUNTINGDON BLAKE ARRIVES. 
 
 The arrival of John Huntingdon Blake at Farnham 
 Hall created something of a stir. Any boy showing 
 up late is sure to receive more or less attention; but 
 when he is preceded by a number of gigantic crates 
 and boxes, to say nothing of several mammoth trunks 
 of the latest and most approved style, curiosity and 
 speculation concerning who and what he is become 
 rampant. 
 
 "His stuff is piled up in the room so's you can 
 hardly walk around it," announced one youth impor- 
 tantly. "I saw them putting the boxes in there." 
 
 "What's in 'em all?" inquired another. "Might 
 think he was going to furnish a whole house." 
 
 "Maybe he's agent for some sporting goods house," 
 suggested a third. 
 
 He was laughed to scorn; but no one else could 
 think of any plausible excuse for a student having 
 such an extraordinary number of belongings, so they 
 had to possess their souls in patience and await the 
 owner's arrival. 
 
 In the meantime, however, various contradictory 
 stories as to who he was were bruited about in the 
 greatest profusion. One opined that his father was a 
 great railroad magnate, with a winter home in Cali- 
 fornia. Another advanced the theory that the elder 
 Blake was the owner of immense orange groves in
 
 92 John Huntington Blake Arrives. 
 
 that State of fruit and flowers. Still a third, who had 
 heard the name associated with a famous brand of 
 pickles, was perfectly certain that the unknown student 
 was a scion of that family, and that the boxes con- 
 tained samples of the various delectable preserves for 
 free distribution about the school. His following was 
 decidedly the strongest. 
 
 Somehow the idea of unlimited pickles and jams 
 appealed strongly to many. 
 
 "Fattty" Benkard positively drooled at the mouth 
 whenever he thought of it, and longed for the speedy 
 arrival of this benefactor of the human stomach. 
 
 When at length John Huntingdon Blake actually 
 did arrive, the first impression was something of a dis- 
 appointment. The boys, dawdling curiously around 
 Frank Men-Swell's office, saw a slim, well set up youth 
 of sixteen or seventeen, dressed in a suit of inconspicu- 
 ous gray, a gray overcoat, gray gloves, and a glossy 
 black derby. There seemed nothing striking or un- 
 usual about him, nothing which savored of railroads 
 or oranges, or alas ! pickles. 
 
 But after he had disappeared behind the office door 
 and impressions began to sink in, they realized that 
 this newcomer was decidedly unusual, after all. Few 
 of them had ever seen a fellow of his age so well 
 groomed. There was a finished perfection about him, 
 a harmony of dress and appointment, a certain air, 
 which was most impressive. 
 
 "He's a swell, all right," commented Ralph Shear- 
 man, who came from New York and might be sup- 
 posed to know. 
 
 "Humph !" grunted George Peterson. "I don't see
 
 John Huntington Blake Arrives. 93 
 
 anything swell about him. Why, that tie he had on 
 wasn't a bit pretty." 
 
 "Maybe not according to your taste," jibed Shear- 
 man. "But I'll bet it cost three dollars if it cost a 
 cent." 
 
 Benkard's eyes widened. 
 
 "Oh, g'wan!" he protested. "Who ever heard of a 
 tie costing three dollars. Why, I could buy a pair of 
 shoes for that." 
 
 "Not a pair like Blake's," Shearman smiled. "Nor 
 for three times three. He's a swell, all right, whether 
 he's railroads, or pickles, or nothing at all." 
 
 The door opened suddenly, and Frank Merriwell 
 looked out into the hall. 
 
 "Ah, Shearman," he said, as his eyes fell upon the 
 New York boy. "Just step in here for a moment, will 
 you?" 
 
 Shearman did so, with alacrity, only too thankful to 
 see something further of the new boy. He found the 
 latter standing beside a chair, over the back of which 
 was thrown the gray overcoat, thus giving a glimpse 
 of its silk lining. 
 
 Blake acknowledged the introduction with perfect 
 self-possession, in which there was no trace of con- 
 descension ; and when Merry asked Shearman to show 
 the newcomer over the school a little, and lend him a 
 hand if necessary in opening his boxes, he was even 
 slightly apologetic for the trouble he was causing. 
 
 "I really don't need any help," he said. "If I can 
 have a hammer or something to open them with, I'll 
 get along all right alone."
 
 94 John Huntington Blake Arrives. 
 
 "It isn't a bit of trouble," Shearman protested 
 hastily. "I'd just as soon do it as not." 
 
 Which was perfectly true, though Ralph was not 
 specially noted for his eagerness to do things for 
 others. The present case, however, was an excep- 
 tion. Not for anything would he miss this chance 
 of getting ahead of the others and being the first to 
 find out just what the much-discussed cases and boxes 
 contained. 
 
 A moment later, the two boys emerged into the 
 hall. 
 
 Shearman led his companion swiftly toward the 
 stairs, regardless of the general forward movement 
 of the curious boys. His maneuver was successful. 
 He hurried Blake along, followed by envious glances 
 from the youths who had expected an introduction. 
 
 "Which do you want to do first look the place 
 over, or unpack?" he asked, stopping at the first cor- 
 ridor. 
 
 "Unpack," Blake declared unhesitatingly. "I can't 
 settle down comfortably till my things are straight- 
 ened out. I can see the school any time." 
 
 This suited Shearman admirably. The role of 
 guide did not appeal to him, and, if he had judged cor- 
 rectly, by the time the newcomer's baggage was un- 
 packed and the boxes opened, the inspection of the 
 school would have to be put off to another time. 
 
 "That's fine," he returned. "I'll get a hammer and 
 chisel from Snoopy. He has 'em in his room. Where 
 are you booked for? What corridor, I mean." 
 
 Blake consulted a piece of paper Merriwell had 
 given him.
 
 John Huntington Blake Arrives. 95 
 
 "South corridor, second floor," he read. "The 
 room is sixteen." 
 
 Shearman sighed a bit enviously. 
 
 "You're in luck," he commented. "That's the best 
 corridor in the school." 
 
 "Best rooms, you mean?" 
 
 "N-o, not specially. All the rooms are pretty much 
 alike, with a few exceptions. But the best fellows 
 are in that corridor. Phillips and Shasta and the rest 
 of the football bunch. You play?" 
 
 "Now and then," returned Blake. "I suppose it's 
 too late to do anything at it now." 
 
 "Just about," Shearman agreed, turning the corner 
 into the south corridor. "Regular and scrub are both 
 made up, though if you're a wonder you'd stand a 
 chance of being put on." 
 
 "I'm not that at all," Blake laughed. "I've never 
 done very much at it. Tennis and horseback riding 
 appeal to me more as exercises." 
 
 Shearman, who had never been on a horse in his 
 life, was instantly in as perfect accord with his new 
 friend as if he owned a stableful. 
 
 "Finest sport going," he agreed. "I always do it 
 when I'm home. Well, here's sixteen. Got your 
 key?" 
 
 The room was fairly large, with two windows, and 
 an alctfve for the bed; but it was choked with the 
 boxes, crates, and trunks which filled it. 
 
 Blake looked around in dismay. 
 
 "Great Scott!" he murmured. "I had no idea I'd 
 sent so much. What in the world will I do with it 
 all?"
 
 96 John Huntington Blake Arrives? 
 
 Not knowing what "it" was, Ralph could offer no 
 suggestions; but he hastened off at once to borrow 
 hammer and chisel from the tutor, on the floor above. 
 When he returned, Blake had shed coat and vest, 
 thus exposing a silk shirt with an elaborate mono- 
 gram on the left cuff, and a more extended view of 
 the quite, but very costly, scarf. 
 
 Shearman wasted little time in their examination. 
 He was more interested in the boxes, which he at- 
 tacked with a vigor and enthusiasm that would have 
 surprised those who knew him well. 
 
 The contents of the first one to be revealed was 
 a picture. It was rather large, and looked decidedly 
 old. On standing it carefully against the wall, it was 
 seen to be a portrait in oils of an imposing-looking old 
 man in some sort of uniform, bearing a row of medals 
 and orders on his breast. 
 
 "Admiral Blake," the new boy explained casually. 
 "One of my ancestors who lived back in sixteen hun- 
 dred. The portrait's been handed down in our 
 family." 
 
 Shearman looked blank, and made no comment as 
 he attacked the next box. It, likewise, proved to be 
 a portrait Lady Constance Blake, daughter of the 
 Earl of Talbot, who, it appeared, was a daughter-in- 
 law of the admiral. 
 
 Perspiring freely, and growing more and more dis- 
 appointed, Shearman successively brought to light Sir 
 Guy Blake, governor of Bermuda; General John 
 Blake, one of Washington's staff during the Revolu- 
 tion; and John Huntingdon Blake, secretary of state 
 under one of the early presidents.
 
 John Huntington Blake Arrives. 97 
 
 The owner of all these ancestors explained them 
 in a casually indifferent manner, as if such things 
 were a matter of course, a tone which was distinctly 
 trying to a youth who had never assayed to climb 
 farther into the family tree than the sturdy branch 
 represented by his paternal grandfather, a sagacious 
 farmer, who had bought land in Brooklyn during the 
 fifties and sold it forty years later at an increase of 
 some three thousand per cent. 
 
 Besides the ancestors, there were several other 
 smaller pictures, quantities of photographs, all sorts 
 of small furnishings which add attractiveness to a 
 boy's room, and a great many books. 
 
 In the trunks, which Blake was busily emptying, 
 were clothes, more clothes, and then some. 
 
 To Shearman's dazed senses it seemed as if there 
 must have been twenty suits, and at least that many 
 pair of shoes, while shirts, neckties, and the like were 
 to be counted by dozens instead of singly. 
 
 One thing was evident: Whether Blake was rail- 
 roads or orange groves or pickles, he certainly had 
 money to burn; and Ralph made up his mind on the 
 spot that if there was any cremations of that descrip- 
 tion going on he would do his best to help along the 
 conflagration. 
 
 When everything was unpacked and unboxed, the 
 room leoked as if a cyclone had struck it. 
 
 "You'll have a time getting things straightened 
 out," Shearman ventured. 
 
 "It won't be so bad, once all these boxes and things 
 are cleared up," Blake returned cheerfully. "I sup- 
 pose there's a man around the place who'll do it?"
 
 98 John Huntington Blake Arrives. 
 
 Shearman looked doubtful. There were several 
 men who looked after furnaces and did other chores 
 around the school, but they were not supposed to be 
 at the beck and call of every boy who wanted his 
 room cleared up. 
 
 "Well, I don't know," he returned. "They don't 
 usually " 
 
 "Pshaw!" laughed Blake carelessly. "They'll do 
 anything for a couple of dollars. If you're going 
 down, would you mind asking some one to step up 
 right away?" 
 
 Stifling an impulse to offer to undertake the job 
 himself for that munificent reward, Shearman acqui- 
 esced and left the room with some reluctance. 
 
 He disliked, on principle, letting go the slight hold 
 he held on the new boy by virtue of the help he 
 had rendered him; and he was anxious to make plans 
 for their further acquaintance. Blake, however, while 
 thanking him cordially for what he had done, dex- 
 terously evaded anything in the nature of an entangle- 
 ment; and Ralph was obliged to depart in a some- 
 what disgruntled frame of mind. 
 
 Turning the corner into the central corridor, he 
 ran into his cronies grouped around the stairs, and 
 was instantly stopped. 
 
 "Well?" inquired Peterson curiously. 
 
 "Did you find out what's in 'em?" put in another 
 eagerly. 
 
 "Are they pickles?" demanded Fatty Benkard, his 
 eyes distended and mouth fairly watering at the 
 thought. 
 
 Shearman's lips curled.
 
 John Huntington Blake Arrives. 95 
 
 "Pickles!" he snapped. "I should say not! They're 
 mostly ancestors." 
 
 There was an impressive pause. 
 
 "Aunt's sisters?" gasped Benkard, his jaw drop- 
 ping. 
 
 "No, you fathead!" retorted Shearman. "Ances- 
 tors. Pictures of his great grandfathers, and all that. 
 He's got bunches of 'em." 
 
 There was another pause, fraught with consider- 
 able emotion. 
 
 "Is his father the orange king?" finally ventured 
 one disappointedly. 
 
 "He didn't say," Ralph returned. "But I'll tell you 
 this much, fellows: He's got the coin, all right 
 wads and wads of it. You ought to see his clothes. 
 Trunks full of suits and shoes and everything. The 
 closet's stuffed so's you couldn't squeeze another thing 
 in if you tried. What's more, he's going to give Sour 
 Ball two dollars for taking the rubbish and empty 
 trunks downstairs." 
 
 Instantly there was an indignant stir. "Sour Ball" 
 was the euphonious cognomen which had been be- 
 stowed upon one Higgins, head janitor, and the 
 thought of all that money being wasted on the hated 
 being was heart-rending. 
 
 "Two dollars!" gasped Peterson. "Why the mis- 
 chief didn't you offer to do it yourself, Ralph?" 
 
 "Sure!" echoed Benkard excitedly. "We we'll 
 help you." 
 
 Shearman scowled. 
 
 "You're welcome to make the offer yourselves," he 
 retorted. "I know I won't. He's got a er well,
 
 loo John Huntington Blake Arrives. 
 
 a way about him that didn't encourage a chap. I'd 
 be willing to bet he'd thank you, and then not shell 
 out" 
 
 "A tightwad?" demanded Peterson, with a frown. 
 
 "N-o. I don't think he's that. I've got an idea he 
 might think he was insulting you by offering money." 
 
 "Too bad," murmured Peterson, his face falling. 
 "Well, we won't risk it, then. I'd fall dead if I had 
 to tote that stuff downstairs for nothing. Better run 
 along after Sour Ball, Ralph. We'll have to dope 
 out some other scheme for separating that swell from 
 the dough."
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 A MATTER OF ANCESTORS. 
 
 The separation of John Huntingdon Blake from his 
 surplus cash did not prove to be such an easy matter. 
 From the first, Shearman had doubts on the subject. 
 During his brief acquaintance with the new boy he 
 had seized him up as a chap who would be anything 
 but an easy mark; and that impression was strength- 
 ened with the passing of time. 
 
 Blake was anything but niggardly. He did not fling 
 his money about in a reckless, haphazard manner, but 
 he was always ready to treat his friends at the gen- 
 eral store, to help them out with loans when they were 
 hard up, or share with them in any way whatever 
 the advantage his extremely large allowance gave 
 him. 
 
 Unfortunately for Shearman and Peterson and 
 most of their crowd, they were not included in the new 
 boy's circle of intimates. Quietly, but with firmness 
 of purpose rather unusual in one of his age, Blake 
 preceded to make friends with only the fellows who 
 pleased his fastidious taste, eliminating all others in 
 a manner which was positively masterful. 
 
 He was never rude, but he had a way which was 
 unmistakable of showing a boy that he did not meas- 
 ure up to the required standard. That standard was 
 family, though a good many fellows did not realize 
 it for some time.
 
 IO2 A Matter of Ancestors. 
 
 It was a fact, nevertheless. Unless a boy was of 
 good birth and had ancestors behind him, he was 
 forced to remain on the outskirts without even having 
 the consolation of knowing just why he had failed to 
 make good. 
 
 It would have been difficult indeed for most fel- 
 lows thus to pick and choose, and Blake would never 
 have succeeded had he been possessed of breeding and 
 money alone. 
 
 Boys, as a rule, care nothing about family trees. 
 Their standard is usually accomplishment. They 
 judge by what a chap has done, or what he is. 
 
 They might have been a little impressed by the show 
 made by John Huntingdon Blake. They would possibly 
 have felt some slight degree of envy at the sight of a 
 fellow possessed of no less than eight different suits 
 of clothes and a dozen pairs of shoes, with the re- 
 mainder of his wardrobe in proportion. It was quite 
 likely that many sighed at the thought of what it mast 
 be like to have an unlimited supply of money and be 
 accountable to no one in the expenditure thereof. But 
 these things alone could never in the world insure their 
 liking. 
 
 Happily for Blake, he possessed a charm of man- 
 ner which was almost irresistible. When he chose to 
 exert himself, he proved so pleasant and agreeable 
 that he was voted instantly to be a good sort, though 
 he did have rather finicky ideas about ancestors, and 
 was enormously, disgustingly wealthy. 
 
 It thus happened that he progressed rapidly along 
 the lines he had laid out, and before long had become
 
 A Matter of Ancestors. 103 
 
 on intimate terms with all the fellows he considered 
 worth having as friends. 
 
 His location in South Corridor was a great ad- 
 vantage, for here roomed many of the nicest chaps in 
 school. He speedily became almost chummy with 
 Gavin Minturn, who had the tower room, and had 
 furnished it with a taste quite equal to Blake's. Then 
 there was Jim Phillips, captain of the eleven, who was 
 from his own home State, though the two had never 
 happened to hear of each other before. Big, quiet 
 Garrett Strawbridge, from Boston, was another. And 
 though Strawbridge had never paid but slight atten- 
 tion to his family tree before, Blake's interest in the 
 matter induced him to write a letter of inquiry which 
 caused no little surprise and amusement among the 
 home circle. In their reply, however, they were able 
 to assure him that he numbered among his forbears 
 several Revolutionary generals, a colonial governor, 
 and one of the Mayflower passengers. 
 
 "Though why this sudden interest, we are unable 
 to fathom," his mother wrote. "People of our sort 
 usually take those things for granted, don't they?" 
 
 In addition to the good qualities already mentioned, 
 Blake proved himself to be accomplished in rather un- 
 usual ways. He played an almost invincible game 
 of tennis. Early in his stay, he inquired of Frank 
 Merriwell about the hiring of a riding horse, and, dis- 
 covering that the boy was a splendid horseman, Merry 
 allowed him the run of the stable. The privilege was 
 never abused, for Blake knew all about horses, and 
 was able to handle with ease the most spirited mount. 
 
 He had a good voice, and could play both the man-
 
 104 A Matter of Ancestors. 
 
 dolin and the guitar well. His fund of amusing 
 stories seemed inexhaustible, and, taken all in all, he 
 was voted a distinct addition to the school. His room 
 became a sort of center where fellows dropped in at 
 all hours, sure that there would be something doing. 
 
 It thus happened that, on a certain rainy after- 
 noon, when even football practice was out of the ques- 
 tion, quite a crowd had assembled there. They were 
 mostly of the elite, though one or two outsiders had 
 blundered in, and were being subjected to the delicate, 
 but extremely effective, freezing-out process which 
 Blake did not hesitate to practice on those of whom he 
 did not approve. 
 
 Chief among them to-day was a certain "Red" 
 Moran, big, robust, with the temper which usually ac- 
 companies a florid complexion. That temper was, in 
 fact, what had barred him from the football team; 
 for it was hot, and quite without control, and was 
 accompanied by other unpleasant qualities, such as 
 brag and bluster, and some said the tendencies of 
 a bully. 
 
 Just why he should have shown up here to-day was 
 a problem. He was sore on most of the crowd be- 
 cause of his rejection by Phillips, captain of the team, 
 and he was not at all the sort of fellow to be attracted 
 by John Blake. Very likely it was sheer perversity 
 of spirit, the sort ot thing which makes a man butt in 
 where he knows well enough he is not wanted. And, 
 having once come unasked and unwelcoined, he at 
 once proceeded to make himself as disagreeable as 
 possible. 
 
 Having inspected everything in the room in that
 
 A Matter of Ancestors. 105 
 
 contemptuous, half -tolerant manner which is irritat- 
 ing, he paused before the portrait of Admiral Blake, 
 and stood contemplating it, both hands in his pockets, 
 swaying gently back and forth on his heels. 
 
 "Who's this old geezer, Blake?" he inquired pres- 
 ently, in a sneering tone. 
 
 Blake glanced over from where he was sitting on 
 the window seat, strumming a guitar. 
 
 "That happens to be one of my ancestors," he re- 
 turned quietly. 
 
 He had explained the relationship not long before 
 to one of the other boys, and he knew Moran had 
 heard him then. Nevertheless, his face showed noth- 
 ing of the annoyance he felt at the fellow's manner. 
 
 Moran shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "Homely-looking guy," he commented. 
 
 "That's a matter of opinion," Blake answered, strik- 
 ing a chord or two on his mandolin. "Perhaps your 
 own are tetter looking." 
 
 Moran's face flushed. The only ancestor he knew 
 anything about was a father in the contracting busi- 
 ness in Chicago, who could neither read nor write, 
 though he had succeeded in amassing considerable 
 money by his native shrewdness. 
 
 "Maybe they are," Red retorted. "But I don't have 
 any use for 'em." 
 
 Blake stifled a smile with poor success. 
 
 "In-deed!" he commented blandly. 
 
 He could convey a vast deal of expression and 
 meaning in a few words, and Moran's flush deepened 
 at the other's tone.
 
 io6 K Matter ol Ancestors. 
 
 "I don't know anything about 'em, and I don't want 
 to know," he snapped. 
 
 Blake raised his eyebrows. 
 
 "Really?" he queried. "I hope there's nothing 
 wrong about them?" 
 
 There was a covert sarcasm in his voice which 
 made the hot-tempered chap turn swiftly on him, 
 with a fierce scowl. 
 
 'The fact that you've got a lot of chromos like that 
 hanging around don't make you a scrap better than 
 I am," he exclaimed angrily. 
 
 "Did I say I was?" Blake inquired calmly. 
 
 It was an absurdly trivial thing to lose his temper 
 about, but Moran's control was very slight, and he 
 lost it altogether on the least provocation. Blake's 
 manner was also unquestionably irritating. It was 
 not so much what he said as the way in which he said 
 it that made every word sting. 
 
 "Maybe you didn't say so, but it's what you think?" 
 Moran rasped. 
 
 "Ye-es? Getting to be quite a mind reader, aren't 
 you?" 
 
 Moran took a step or two forward, his eyes blazing. 
 
 "Mind reader or not, it's true!" he snapped. 
 "Every minute I've been in this room you've been act- 
 ing as if I wasn't good enough to wipe your feet on. 
 If that's " 
 
 "Just a minute," Blake interrupted calmly. "Did 
 I ask you to come into this room?" 
 
 "Maybe you didn't!" retorted the angry chap. "I 
 didn't know you was such a great piece of work that 
 a fellow had to get written permission to come in here.
 
 A Matter of Ancestors. 107 
 
 Now that I know, you won't catch me here again, I 
 can tell you." 
 
 "Charmed, I'm sure," murmured Blake, in a tone 
 which made Don Shasta, quarter back on the team, 
 grin suddenly. 
 
 That grin was in the nature of a last straw. Like 
 most dictatorial persons, Moran hated, above every- 
 thing else, to be laughed at. He knew himself to be 
 in the wrong; but that was lost sight of in the wrath 
 that assailed him at this fresh insult. 
 
 "I'll show you who's the best man," he frothed, 
 springing forward and doubling his fists. "Just stand 
 up here for five minutes and I'll larrup the hide off 
 you." 
 
 Blake did not stir a muscle. With one hand, he 
 continued to pick out a soft air on the mandolin. His 
 eyes were fixed fearlessly on the heavy, square, in- 
 flamed countenance of the contractor's son. The other 
 fellows, all agog with interest, watched him admir- 
 ingly. 
 
 "You want to fight?" he asked coolly. 
 
 "What in time do you think I was after?" de- 
 manded the other fiercely. 
 
 "I wasn't quite sure," Blake murmured. "You act 
 as if you were just a little off your head." 
 
 Moran choked apoplectically. 
 
 "Will you put up your fists?" he roared; "or do 
 you want me to make you?" 
 
 Blake's face underwent a curious change. The eyes 
 narrowed ominously, and the muscles of his jaw 
 seemed to harden. 
 
 "Neither !" he retorted crisply, rising to his feet so
 
 io8 A Matter of Ancestors. 
 
 suddenly that Moran stepped back instinctively. 
 ""Kindly leave the room." 
 
 "You won't fight?" Moran gasped incredulously. 
 
 "I will not here." 
 
 "You coward! You you " 
 
 "That will do for you," Blake interrupted, in an 
 icy voice. "If you're so set on it, I'll meet you in the 
 gym any time to-morrow you like. In the meantime, 
 be good enough to leave this room." 
 
 "You " 
 
 "Leave the room!" 
 
 Moran hesitated, glaring at this extraordinary youth 
 in helpless rage. Then, moved by he knew not what 
 impulse, he whirled around and strode to the door. 
 
 "I'll be in the gym at five to-morrow," he rasped. 
 "If you're not there " 
 
 "Oh, I'll be there," interrupted Blake wearily. "I 
 do wish you would go away and leave us in peace." 
 
 Without another word, Moran jerked open the door, 
 dashed out, and slammed it behind him. 
 
 Blake stepped forward and replaced a photograph 
 which had been dislodged from the bookshelf. As he 
 turned back to the group around the window, his face 
 expressed nothing but polite regret. 
 
 "I'm beastly sorry this happened," he said. "But 
 with a person like that, what can you do?"
 
 'CHAPTER XV. 
 
 AN UNINTENDED SLUR. 
 
 No one spoke for a moment or two, but several 
 pairs of eyes were fixed curiously on the new boy. 
 Was he really as nonchalant as he seemed, or was 
 he throwing a magnificent, colossal bluff ? 
 
 ''Don't mind us," Shasta hastened to assure him, 
 the next instant. "I'm only a bit sorry you've got 
 mixed up with Moran. For all his brag and bluster, 
 that tarrier is pretty smooth with his fists." 
 
 Blake smiled a little as he picked up the mandolin 
 and resumed his seat. If he were bluffing, he cer- 
 tainly had wonderful nerves. 
 
 "I should imagine he might be," he commented, al- 
 most indifferently. "He has the look of a boxer. I 
 don't suppose he's anything to be afraid of, though. 
 'A chap who loses his temper that easy doesn't usually 
 last long in a bout." 
 
 Phillips shook his head doubtfully. 
 
 "He's got a tremendous reach and the strength of a 
 bull," he commented. "Besides, there's nothing the 
 matter with his science, either." 
 
 Blake shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "Still, his temper is a big handicap," he objected. 
 
 "Maybe so; but unless you box you do box, don't 
 you ?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, more or less," returned Blake indiffer- 
 ently. "But let's change the subject I haven't any
 
 no An Unintended Slur. 
 
 use for a fellow like that, who's common as they make 
 them, and is all the time thrusting his way in where 
 he isn't wanted. I could never agree with the state- 
 ment in the Declaration of Independence which says 
 that all men are created equal. They're not they can't 
 be. Moran is a perfect example of the falsity of it. 
 He can't trace his family any farther back than his 
 grandfather, I'd be willing to bet. He's common and 
 ordinary, and the fact sticks out all over him and 
 shows up in everything he does. Why a fellow who 
 had " 
 
 He stopped abruptly, and a look of annoyance 
 flashed across his face. From the other side of the 
 room, where he had been sitting out of sight and for- 
 gotten behind a table laden with books and a shaded 
 reading lamp, arose the second uninvited member of 
 the party, a tall, thin, awkward youth of sixteen, 
 clothed in shabby, decidedly ill-fitting garments. 
 
 His face was flushed scarlet, and, as he came slowly 
 forward, he bit his lips. 
 
 "I think I'll be going now," he stammered, his 
 eyes fixed on John Huntingdon Blake. 
 
 The latter's cheeks were faintly pink, and there 
 was a look very like embarrassment on his face. 
 
 "I'd er forgotten you were here a Brown," he 
 returned, with an attempt at lightness. "You were so 
 quiet, you know, that I thought you'd slipped off be- 
 fore." 
 
 "No," said Brown, somewhat stiffly. "I've been 
 sitting right there." 
 
 He emphasized the last words slightly, and then,
 
 An Unintended Slur. Ill 
 
 without further delay, departed, closing the door care- 
 fully behind him. 
 
 There was a momentary silence, which was broken 
 by Blake. 
 
 "Hang it all!" he exclaimed, in a tone of vexation. 
 "I had no idea he was there. I thought he'd gone long 
 ago." 
 
 "So did I," Shasta agreed. "That lamp shade cov- 
 ered him up completely." 
 
 "Who is he, anyhow, John?" Phillips inquired. 
 "Friend of yours? I haven't seen him around be- 
 fore." 
 
 Blake smiled in whimsical annoyance. 
 
 "Nor I, until this morning," he said. "I have a 
 notion he's just come. He has the look. We sat 
 together in history this morning, and I spoke to him 
 because he seemed to look so sort of lonely and out of 
 place. If I'd had the least idea he would show up 
 here this afternoon I'd have kept my mouth shut." 
 
 "He doesn't seem such an awful bad sort," put in 
 Strawbridge. "Outgrown his clothes, and all that, but 
 he hasn't a bad face." 
 
 Blake laughed, and strummed a bit on the mandolin. 
 
 "Perhaps not," he agreed. "But neither is he thrill- 
 ingly interesting. Worst of all, his name is Brown." 
 
 "Not very distinctive, I'll admit," Phillips remarked, 
 rather" seriously. "There are some very nice Browns, 
 however." 
 
 "Of course. But I'm afraid he doesn't belong to 
 that branch of the family. Just the same, I'm blamed 
 sorry I didn't see him over there. I hate to hurt a 
 fellow's feelings deliberately, and I'm afraid he was
 
 112 An Unintended Slur. 
 
 hurt at what I was saying about Moran. The two 
 aren't in the same class at all, but this chap looks as 
 if he came from a middle-class family, and, from his 
 expression, I imagine he must have taken what I said 
 about Moran to be aimed at him, too." 
 
 Shasta yawned. 
 
 "Oh, well, what's the odds?" he said carelessly. 
 "Life's too short to waste time on people you don't 
 care a snap about, and never will, and I shouldn't say 
 Brown was your kind at all." 
 
 Blake smiled a little, and struck a chord or two on 
 the mandolin. His eyes were still serious, however. 
 
 "I don't imagine so, either," he agreed. "Still, Fin 
 sorry if his feelings are hurt." 
 
 "He'll get over it." Shasta shrugged. "What about 
 this fight with Red Moran? That's a heap more in- 
 teresting. Do you really think you can lick him, 
 John?" 
 
 Blake laughed. 
 
 "I'm sure I don't know," he returned lightly. "I've 
 never seen him with the gloves on." 
 
 "I wish we could be there," the quarter back said 
 regretfully. "Can't you put it off till after practice?" 
 
 "Surely," Blake smiled. "Anything to be agree- 
 able. I hereby tender all present an invitation to the 
 affair. Only you mustn't expect anything wonderful, 
 you know." 
 
 They accepted, with alacrity, and promised to hustle 
 over to the gym the minute practice was over, Phillips 
 even saying that he would finish a bit earlier, if he 
 could. There was a little more laughter and joshing,
 
 An Unintended Slur. 113 
 
 and then they trailed out of the room to wash up for 
 supper. 
 
 After they had gone, Blake lit the lamps, and, lean- 
 ing against the table, stared up at the painted visage 
 of Admiral Blake. For a long time he stood there, 
 his face as inscrutable and his eyes as unwavering as 
 those of his illustrious ancestor. 
 
 At last he gave a sigh, and turned away. Perhaps 
 he was thinking with indignation of the uncalled-for 
 manner in which the lowborn Moran had insulted the 
 dead-and-gone worthy of Charles the First's time. 
 Perhaps he was regretting his own unintentional hu- 
 miliation of the plebeian Brown. Whether either of 
 these things was in his mind, or something quite dif- 
 ferent, it was impossible to say. 
 
 At all events, he sighed.
 
 "CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 GEORGE BROWN. 
 
 George Brown hurried down the corridor from 
 Blake's room, his face flaming and his lips pressed 
 tightly together to keep back the torrent of indigna- 
 tion which was ready to burst forth. 
 
 "He's a cad!" he muttered between his clenched 
 teeth, as he rounded the corner and started up to his 
 own floor. "He said it on purpose. He knew all the 
 time that I was in the room. He's a beastly cad !" 
 
 The blow came all the harder because, in the class- 
 room, Blake had really been very nice to him. He had 
 been feeling homesick and lonely, for he was not a 
 boy who made friends quickly, and he had arrived only 
 that morning. 
 
 There had been the usual critical inspection of him 
 by various boys in the hallways and other places where 
 little knots gathered at odd times, but Blake was the 
 first one to speak pleasantly to him, and brace him up. 
 
 Until a little while ago, it had never occurred to 
 him that he was doing anything out of the way in 
 going to the room that afternoon. The day was rainy, 
 and it was impossible to do anything out of doors, so 
 he had fancied it perfectly natural that he should run 
 up to see the fellow who had been so decent and who 
 had seemed so friendly. 
 
 The appearance of the room awed him a little, for 
 be was quite unaccustomed to the elegancies of life.
 
 George Brown. 
 
 The fellows who were gathered there were also a bit 
 bewildering. Short as was the time since his arrival, 
 he had had the captain of the eleven pointed out as 
 one of the big men. He also knew the quarter back 
 by sight, and to meet them thus was a trifle flustering. 
 
 It- was not, however, until the blustering entrance 
 of Red Moran that Brown began to feel doubts as 
 to what he had done. He was no fool, and not one 
 of the veiled remarks uttered so lightly and uncon- 
 cernedly by his host escaped him. Moran himself, 
 against whom they were leveled, did not understand 
 half of them, but Brown was not so slow-witted. 
 
 Sitting behind the table, whither he had retired al- 
 most at once, he heard and fathomed the purpose be- 
 hind those words. He realized, also vaguely at first, 
 but with rapidly increasing clearness the point of 
 view of the chap he had liked in the classroom that 
 morning. Bit by bit he pieced together a complete 
 whole, and as he patched he grew more and more 
 bitter. 
 
 He did not quite approve of Moran's blustering, 
 chip-on-the-shoulder attitude. Intuitively he felt that 
 it was not good manners, nor even ordinarily decent, 
 to go into a fellow's room and criticize the furnish- 
 ings of it, to say nothing of the chap himself. And 
 yet, all the time he had sympathized with the intruder. 
 Blake's "freezing-out" policy had been so evident from 
 the very first that Brown felt that the red-haired youth 
 would have been more than human not to resent it. 
 
 "Blake showed, from the very minute Moran came 
 in, that he thought himself the better man," the hu- 
 miliated boy said aloud, after he had reached his
 
 Ii6 George Brown. 
 
 room. "I shouldn't blame any one for getting mad 
 and wanting to fight, especially any one with as little 
 self-control as Red. I'd like to fight him myself, for 
 he meant it all for me, too, though he tried to throw 
 the bluff that he'd forgotten I was in the room." 
 
 He took a stride or two across the room, his face still 
 flushed and indignant. 
 
 "He isn't a bit better tha/i either of us," he re- 
 sumed, a moment later. "What if he has got money 
 and family? What if he can hang up a lot of pic- 
 tures of his ancestors on the walls ? Like as not some 
 of them were thieves, or worse. A fellow ought to be 
 judged by what he is, not by the number of genera- 
 tions he can trace his family back, and I claim he isn't 
 as good as I am. He's a cad, for no gentleman would 
 deliberately sneer at a fellow and hurt his feelings, just 
 because he doesn't happen to have money or social po- 
 sition." 
 
 The boy paused in his rapid pacing of the room 
 before the photographs of his father and mother prom- 
 inently displayed on the bookshelf. There was noth- 
 ing ornamental about them. They were just plain 
 working people. 
 
 His father's hands were calloused and rough with 
 toil. His face was lined and weather-beaten from 
 exposure in all sorts of weather. He looked awk- 
 wardly conscious in the "Sunday suit." The mother's 
 hands were rough, too, for she had worked hard for 
 many years to raise four sons. 
 
 The boy's eyes were a little moist as he gazed upon 
 the pictured faces. He loved them dearly, and he 
 was not ashamed of what they were. He was proud
 
 George Brown. 117 
 
 of them, and intensely grateful for the sacrifices they 
 had made in order that their eldest son might have 
 the education he had always craved. 
 
 He knew how hurt and indignant they would be if 
 they had any idea of the humiliation that son had 
 suffered, for they had always held George the least bit 
 in awe. Already, at seventeen, he had more book 
 learning than they had ever- acquired, and they deemed 
 him the equal of any one in the whole wide world. 
 Privately, they cherished the belief that he could ac- 
 complish whatever he set his mind on, and George 
 would not have disabused them of this innocent belief 
 for anything. 
 
 He made up his mind never to hint to them of 
 the treatment he had received at the hands of John 
 Huntingdon Blake. He would even try to forget it 
 himself. 
 
 Unfortunately, he could not. Though he grew 
 calmer, the sting remained, and with it was a touch 
 of something like envy. He did not realize it him- 
 self, and had he been accused of such a thing he would 
 have indignantly denied it. 
 
 Nevertheless, it was true. He envied Blake his 
 suave, perfectly self-possessed manner. He envied 
 him the facility with which he made friends and 
 gathered around him some of the best fellows in the 
 school. ~ He even envied for Brown was very hu- 
 man the power unlimited wealth always seems to 
 bring; and, stranger, perhaps, than anything else, was 
 the fact that he began to think of his own ancestors, 
 and wish he knew a little more about them. 
 
 He remembered his grandfather, a Long Island
 
 Ii8 George Brown. 
 
 farmer, but vaguely. In the press of other more ur- 
 gent and vital things, the matter had received scant 
 attention in the Brown household. 
 
 When one is straining every effort to bring up a 
 family of four children with robust appetites, and the 
 common habit of outgrowing, or outwearing, their 
 clothes at an appalling rate, there is little time left 
 for the consideration of family or ancestors. The 
 pressing, vital present elbows the dead-and-gone past 
 into the background, from which it is likely never to 
 emerge until fortune smiles and leisure moments be- 
 come more frequent. 
 
 Nevertheless, Brown remembered having heard, 
 somewhere, that the farmers of Long Island are noted 
 for their pedigrees. At that point, however, he real- 
 ized the trend of his thoughts, and dropped the sub- 
 ject abruptly, with a frown of annoyance. 
 
 "I'm a fool!" he said aloud. "As if it made a bit 
 of difference. It's all tommyrot! I'll bet our friend 
 would never think any more of us if we had a family 
 tree a mile long." 
 
 His face softened a little as he let his mind dwell 
 on the one entrancing mystery of his life. It had all 
 been so wonderful, so unexpected, so like one of those 
 things which occur so often in fiction and so seldom 
 in real life, that to this day he would sometimes awake 
 in the middle of the night with an awful fear that it 
 had not happened at all that it was nothing but a 
 dream. 
 
 The memory would be always with him of that 
 dreadful day when his father was injured, and of 
 those other, scarcely less horrible, days and weeks and
 
 George Brown. 119 
 
 months which followed. He could never forget the 
 period of suspense, of waiting, which had added years 
 to the bowed shoulders of his mother, and lines of 
 care to her face. And when at last the news came 
 that his father would live, a cripple, it was but the 
 beginning of their troubles. 
 
 Long weeks of pinching and scraping followed, in 
 which the little hoard at the bank dwindled lower 
 and lower and finally was gone. 
 
 Eagerly, but with a sickening sense of despair and 
 failure, he had relinquished every hope, every ambi- 
 tion, in his desire to lighten the weight of care his 
 mother bore with such brave patience. 
 
 That period at the canning factory was like a 
 nightmare. He was out of place in such company, but 
 he never murmured. Yet, sometimes, as he thought 
 of those long years stretching out before him, monot- 
 onous, deadening, with nothing ever to look forward 
 to but grinding, manual labor, when his whole soul 
 cried out for higher, broader things, the mental pain 
 \vas almost unendurable. 
 
 These various phases of misfortune had all been 
 fraught with various emotions; but, one and all, they 
 faded into nothing when compared with the rapturous 
 thrill that came with his release. 
 
 In a breath, every trouble and worry had vanished 
 like a mist fading before the midsummer sun. 
 
 A job, paying more than he had obtained in his 
 palmiest days, had been found for the father. That 
 haunting millstone of a doctor's bill was wiped off 
 as swiftly and completely as chalk under a wet sponge, 
 besides leaving enough surplus to settle the most press-
 
 I2O George Brown. 
 
 ing of the other bills. George need no longer slave 
 away his life in the factory, but could proceed at 
 once with his education. 
 
 It was as if some magician had waved his wand 
 and transformed everything. Doctor Macdonald, who 
 had been the means of bringing all this happiness 
 about, told them that their benefactor was some one 
 who was interested in the family, but who preferred 
 keeping his identity to himself. 
 
 The Brown family never inquired further into the 
 particulars. To them the slightest wish of this won- 
 derful person was sacred. They did not even know 
 whether it was a man or a woman who had so trans- 
 formed their lives; but they guessed it to be the for- 
 mer, from a chance remark of the doctor's. 
 
 But if ever a human being was given the attributes 
 of a divinity, it was this unknown. 
 
 The Browns presently came to calling him "our 
 friend," but even among themselves their voices were 
 just a little awestruck and hushed when they talked 
 of him. There was not a day when the thankful 
 mother or the more taciturn, but equally grateful, fa- 
 ther, did not call down blessings upon his head. 
 
 It was George, however, more than any of the 
 others, who thought of him the most. He had a good 
 deal of imagination, and he was constantly evolving 
 in his mind little dramas in which some day he would 
 discover the identity of the man he almost reverenced 
 and be in a position where he could repay, to some 
 slight degree, the debt. 
 
 He credited the unknown with virtues which, though 
 he did not realize it, would have made any person
 
 George Brown. 121 
 
 possessing them an insufferable prig. He drew, in 
 fact, a mental picture of a morally perfect being, and 
 every night he prayed, sincerely, fervently, for the 
 happiness of the one who had transformed his life. 
 
 "Our friend would never think of family," he re- 
 peated. "He couldn't be such a cad as Blake if he 
 
 tried. He's too fine, too good, too Oh, too 
 
 much of a gentleman." 
 
 Presently he dropped into a chair, and let his mind, 
 as most people will, wander back to the unpleasant 
 topic. He told himself that he was a fool to be 
 bothered by such a fellow as Blake. There were 
 plenty of other boys he could make his friends. He 
 could go through the year without so much as speak- 
 ing to the man who had humiliated him. 
 
 Try as he would, however, the thing stuck in his 
 mind. It was like a tiny thorn which has penetrated 
 the skin, and presently, festering, grows more and 
 more painful. One ends by removing the thorn at 
 the cost of some extra sharp twinges, or else lets it 
 stay to hurt dully and constantly. 
 
 Brown let it stay. 
 
 Before the bell summoned the school to supper, 
 he was hating John Huntingdon Brown with an in- 
 tensity just a little out of proportion to the cause. 
 
 "He's a beastly cad," he said to himself, forgetting 
 with decided lack of originality. "No fellow who's 
 a gentleman would do what he's done." 
 
 Halfway down the hall he stopped abruptly. 
 
 "I just hope Moran licks him to a standstill," he 
 said viciously. "It'll serve the conceited fool good 
 and right, and I'd like to see it done."
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE FIGHT. 
 
 rumor of a fight usually circulates like wildfire, 
 particularly in a school; but the proposed encounter 
 between Red Moran and the new boy, Blake, proved to 
 be an exception to the general rule. 
 
 By mutual consent, the fellows who had been pres- 
 ent at the quarrel kept silent. Encounters of that 
 kind did not meet with the approval of Frank Mer- 
 riwell, and they were afraid that if knowledge of it 
 leaked out a stop would be put to it at once. 
 
 They were not anxious for that to happen. They 
 knew that if Moran was prevented from fighting, his 
 attitude would become insufferable. He would crow 
 over Blake at every opportunity, probably alleging 
 that he had brought about the thing on purpose to 
 avoid being licked. 
 
 There was a decided curiosity, also, to see what 
 Blake could really do with his fists. So far the new 
 boy had shown comparatively little athletic ability. 
 He played a corking game of tennis, to be sure, and 
 rode a horse with the skill of a cow-puncher; but these 
 things were not considered so important as some other 
 accomplishments. 
 
 Football and baseball ranked first, of course, and 
 Blake had done nothing at either sport. When ques- 
 tioned, he said he played them both a little, but, having 
 arrived too late to try for the eleven, there had been
 
 The Fight. 123 
 
 no opportunity for showing of what that little con- 
 sisted. His manner of speaking of what he had done 
 on the diamond and track, however, did not warrant 
 the belief that he was particularly accomplished in 
 either of these major sports. 
 
 Among the minor sports if it can be classed as 
 such the boys at Farnham Hall considered boxing of 
 the first importance. 
 
 Merriwell had a great faith in the efficacy of the 
 art, both as an exercise and as an accomplishment. 
 He argued, too, that the more skillful a gentleman 
 was with the gloves the less likely he would be to give 
 rein to a quarrelsome disposition. 
 
 The theory had been carried out to such an ex- 
 tent in the school that every boy received a thorough 
 grounding in the science, and regular boxing con- 
 tests were a prominent feature all through the winter. 
 
 Among those who had taken early to the sport with 
 the greatest enthusiasm was Red Moran. He had had 
 some good teachers before coming to Bloomfield, and 
 had shown himself the superior of almost every fellow; 
 in school. 
 
 If Blake showed himself the better man, his stand- 
 ing would be increased and his position assured; for 
 it is an undoubted fact that a fellow may be ever so 
 entertaining, accomplished, and pleasant, but he never 
 really "belongs" until he has made good in some field 
 of athletics. 
 
 It was this same fear of interruption, probably, 
 which caused Moran to inform only a few particular 
 friends of the forthcoming event, and swear them to 
 secrecy. There was no atom of a doubt in his mind
 
 H24 The Fight. 
 
 as to the result ; but he had so set his heart on pound- 
 ing the Californian to a pulp that he would not have 
 had the affair stopped for anything. 
 
 The result was that, just before dusk, when foot- 
 ball practice was dismissed and the fellows had made 
 a bee line for the house to get first in the showers, 
 four of them lingered behind and presently might 
 have been seen hastening toward the gym with equal 
 ppeed. 
 
 At the door they were joined by Blake himself, cool 
 and unconcerned as ever, together with Victor Rives 
 and Beverly Byrd, two boys who did not play foot- 
 ball, but who had been present the day before at the 
 quarrel. 
 
 Hurrying in, they discovered Moran and his friends 
 \vaiting impatiently, while on the outskirts of the 
 group, leaning silently against the wall, stood George 
 Brown. 
 
 The time was short, so things were rushed along 
 with all possible speed. Moran had already picked 
 out his gloves, and Blake lost no time in finding a pair 
 for himself and stripping to his undershirt, as his op- 
 ponent had done. Both men wore rubber-soled tennis 
 shoes. 
 
 In less than five minutes after their entrance, the 
 combatants had fallen back a step, after the perfunc- 
 tory handshake, waiting for Jim Phillips to give the 
 signal. 
 
 In that brief instant more than one of the eager 
 circle of spectators noted, with varying feelings, the 
 contrast between the two fellows. 
 
 Moran was big and solidly put together, topping his
 
 The Fight. 12$ 
 
 antagonist by a good six inches. His girth of chest 
 was at least that much greater, and the muscles of 
 chest, arms, and back were almost too well-developed. 
 'He made Blake look, as one chap whispered to his 
 neighbor, "like thirty cents," and there was scarcely a 
 doubt among at least half of the onlookers as to who 
 was going to prove the best man. 
 
 Phillips, however, and one or two others who were 
 better judges of the human animal, were not so sure. 
 They noted the rippling flexibility of the smaller chap's 
 muscles, the lithe pose, betokening great activity, the 
 unconscious ease with which he fell into a correct 
 position. His face was calm and undisturbed, a faint 
 smile curving the corners of his shapely mouth, and 
 it presented a marked contrast to the angry, morose 
 look on Moran's visage. 
 
 "It's not going to be such a one-sided affair, after 
 all," thought Phillips, with pleasure. 
 
 A moment later he gave the signal, and the fight 
 was on. 
 
 The scant dozen boys who watched it in breathless 
 excitement will not soon forget the spectacle which 
 followed. It was not exactly a repetition of the old 
 David and Goliath contest, for no one could say that 
 Moran lacked skill and science, but it was something 
 very much akin. 
 
 Big and brawny and strong as he was, skillful to 
 a degree which had made him the superior of all but 
 half a dozen boys in the entire school, Moran never 
 stood a chance from the very start. 
 
 The whirlwind rushes with which he strove at the
 
 526 The Fight. 
 
 outset to annihilate his opponent, were checked or 
 avoided by Blake's amazing ability and speed. Grit- 
 ting his teeth, his eyes flashing, the big fellow would 
 renew the attack with a fury which it seemed impos- 
 sible to continue long, only to fail each time to touch 
 his adversary, as he had failed at first. 
 
 Wasting his strength in futile efforts, losing little 
 by little the slight grip he held upon his temper, wild 
 with the humiliation of his helplessness in the hands 
 of this boy he had boasted he would fight to a stand- 
 still in a couple of rounds, Moran was presently re- 
 duced to a condition of frantic, impotent fury without 
 his opponent having struck a single real blow. 
 
 It was the most astonishing exhibition of coolness 
 and finesse, of playing the waiting game, that those 
 who saw it had ever beheld. And when, a little later, 
 Blake commenced to attack, they were treated to a 
 sight such as very few of them had ever seen any- 
 where. 
 
 To those who knew little about boxing, the sight 
 resembled nothing so much as a small, active terrier 
 attacking a steer, or some animal of equal size. Blake 
 could dodge entirely around his slower opponent, 
 while Moran was turning a quarter of the circle, 
 and he utilized to the utmost the advantage his activity 
 gave him. 
 
 But, though it might seem as if he were taking a 
 good many extra steps and using up much strength 
 which might better have been husbanded, the reverse 
 was true. 
 
 The smaller chap was fighting with his head quite
 
 The Fight. 123 
 
 as much as with his fists. He never lost an oppor- 
 tunity to take advantage of an opening. He never 
 save when feinting attempted a blow which did 
 not land home. He utilized his strength with a mini- 
 mum of waste and a maximum of effect which was 
 positively masterly. 
 
 He had started out with a definite plan, from which 
 he did not diverge a hair's breadth. He knew Moran's 
 weakness, and played upon it, deliberately seeking to 
 let the big fellow tire himself out as much by the 
 wildness of his uncontrolled rage as by any physical 
 means. 
 
 And when at last he landed the final blow which 
 sent Moran sprawling, unable to arise until after time 
 was counted, his face was quite unmarred, save by 
 a bruise on one cheek where a. glancing blow had 
 struck. 
 
 At once the spectators, who had long ago lost all 
 control of themselves and had been giving vent to 
 their excitement quite freely, hastened to congratu- 
 late the victor. They did it, almost without excep- 
 tion, in a hearty, genuine manner which showed that 
 they appreciated to the full the extraordinary exhibi- 
 tion they had just witnessed. 
 
 From that moment John Huntingdon Blake became 
 somebody. That he was pleasant, entertaining, and 
 amusing had already been admitted. That he was able 
 to trace his family history back a few hundred years, 
 few of his companions cared a rap, considering it, in 
 fact, somewhat in the nature of an eccentricity. But 
 when Blake received the title of champion boxer o.i
 
 128 The Fight. 
 
 Farnham Hall, he was instantly advanced a dozen 
 pegs in the estimation of his fellow students. 
 
 He became at once so sought after and in demand 
 that every bit of his tact and finesse was called into 
 play to avoid entanglement with boys of whose ante- 
 cedents he did not approve.
 
 'CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 AN UNEXPECTED PROPOSITION. 
 
 George Brown had witnessed the encounter with 
 mixed feelings. He could not help acknowledging 
 the undoubted superiority of the fellow he hated over 
 Red Moran; but for all that his sympathies had never 
 failed to be with the chap who had provoked the fight. 
 
 At the beginning of the aft'air, he was on the out- 
 skirts of the ring; but swiftly, almost without realiz- 
 ing the fact, he was drawn in with the other spec- 
 tators by the thrilling excitement of it all; and from 
 that moment he ducked and dodged and circled about 
 with the rest, thinking of nothing but the struggle be- 
 fore him and the necessity of watching every blow. 
 
 He realized very soon that there could be but one 
 termination to the bout. He saw, too, what Blake's 
 policy was, and the discovery only fanned the flame 
 of his resentment against the chap from California. 
 
 Though he could not but admit that Blake was per- 
 fectly fair and square in his methods, it seemed to 
 Brown that he might have gone about his work of 
 beating Moran in a different, more merciful, way. 
 
 "It's a dirty trick, making a show of Red," he said 
 passionately to himself. "Why doesn't he end it 
 quickly and get the thing over with? He could do 
 it any time he wanted to, but yet he goes ahead and 
 drags it out as long as he can." 
 
 Like a good many other people, Brown did not 
 concede his enemy more justice than he was abso-
 
 1130 An Unexpected Proposition. 
 
 lutely forced to. He wanted to think the worst of 
 Blake, and was only too ready to credit him with mo- 
 tives which had probably never entered the fellow's 
 mind. He wanted to believe that Blake had under- 
 estimated his ability as a fighter on purpose to lure 
 Moran into an encounter, and, having brought that 
 about, he was deliberately prolonging the fight for the 
 sole and only purpose of humiliating his antagonist. 
 
 He did not remember, or did not chose to, that 
 Moran alone was responsible for the entire affair. He 
 did not realize that the red-headed chap was a fellow 
 who would have to be beaten to a frazzle before he 
 jvould acknowledge that he had been beaten at all. 
 
 He did not think of this side, because he did not 
 want to; and, though he would have indignantly de- 
 nied an accusation of unfairness, he really was unfair 
 and partisan to a degree. 
 
 After the fight, he was one of the few who did 
 not congratulate Blake and shake his hand. Con- 
 gratulations he did not think had been merited; and 
 as for shaking hands, he would not have touched 
 Blake's palm for the world. 
 
 So he turned and made his way quietly out of the 
 gymnasium, his face frowning and his spirit chafed 
 and angry at the whole matter. 
 
 He told himself that this was merely another in- 
 stance of Blake's caddish tendencies; and he worked 
 himself into such an irritated frame of mind that his 
 mood was reflected in the letter he presently sat down 
 to write to a friend who had lately moved from Cleve- 
 land to California and was at present employed in a 
 bookstore in Pasadena.
 
 An Unexpected Proposition. 
 
 The greater part of the epistle was, in fact, filled 
 up with a sarcastic, somewhat exaggerated, descrip- 
 tion of John Huntingdon Blake, his fads, his friends, 
 and his insufferable behavior. When he read it over, 
 Brown was a little ashamed of its tone and of the 
 amount of space he had devoted to a fellow who 
 could not be very interesting to his friend, though, to 
 be sure, Blake's home did happen to be in that very 
 town. 
 
 However, he had been owing the letter for some 
 time, and would have no chance of rewriting it that 
 night, so he let it go, and hastened to wash up for 
 supper. 
 
 An hour later, just as he was passing through the 
 hall toward the lounging room, he felt a light touch 
 on his shoulder, and, turning, was surprised to see 
 the chap he disliked so greatly standing beside him, 
 looking as fresh and cool as if he had not so recently 
 indulged in a strenuous encounter with one of the 
 champions of the school. 
 
 "Hello, Brown," Blake said, in that. easy, self-pos- 
 sessed manner which so grated on the other's sen- 
 sibilities. "Have you anything special to do for fif- 
 teen minutes?" 
 
 Puzzled, but very much on his dignity, Brown shook 
 his head. 
 
 "No, nothing special," he returned stiffly. 
 
 "Suppose we go into the lounging room, then?" 
 Blake smiled. "I want to make you a little proposi- 
 tion." 
 
 For a moment Brown hesitated, struggling between
 
 132 An Unexpected Proposition. 
 
 his dislike for the chap and his curiosity to know what 
 could be coming. 
 
 Curiosity finally won out, and, with a slight nod 
 and a mumbled acquiescence, he followed the other 
 down the corridor and into a room near the end which 
 had been furnished with comfortable chairs, couches, 
 and the like as a lounging room for the boys to use 
 whenever they had a little spare time, with nothing 
 more important on their minds than a perusal of the 
 latest magazine, or just an idle chat with some of 
 their companions. 
 
 As his eyes traveled swiftly over the broad-shoul- 
 dered, graceful, perfectly tailored back of the youth 
 in front of him, Brown frowned deeply. 
 
 What was there about this chap which should make 
 Brown stutter and stammer and flush up in this an- 
 noying way the instant he was addressed? He had 
 planned that his intercourse with Blake should be 
 coldly polite, with a touch of dignified disdain to 
 show the fellow of what small importance were his in- 
 sults. Yet the very first chance he had to put this 
 idea into practice, he was awkward and embarrassed 
 as the veriest country bumpkin. 
 
 It was humiliating, and did not in the least tend to 
 make Brown more amiable as he took a chair in one 
 corner of the lounging room and waited for Blake 
 to speak. 
 
 The latter seemed to be in some slight doubt as to 
 how to begin, but, after a brief pause, he said slowly: 
 
 "I presume you know, Brown, that, under certain 
 conditions, Mr. Merriwell allows a little private tutor- 
 ing here at school ?"
 
 An Unexpected Proposition. 133 
 
 The Cleveland chap shook his head. 
 
 "I have heard nothing about it," he returned 
 shortly. 
 
 Blake smiled a little at the other's tone, and linked 
 his fingers loosely about his crossed knees. 
 
 "It's a fact, nevertheless," he said pleasantly. "Pro- 
 vided the tutoring does not interfere with any of the 
 regular work, I believe it is rather encouraged, since 
 it gives a fellow a chance to make a little extra 
 money on the side. Three hours a week are all that 
 any boy is allowed to spend in either giving or receiv- 
 ing information." 
 
 Brown, still mystified, nodded stiffly, but made no 
 remark. 
 
 "My proposition is this," Blake continued, appar- 
 ently quite oblivious to the other's coolness. "I'm 
 simply rotten at math. I don't seem to have the least 
 bit of comprehension of the subject, and if I don't do 
 something mighty sudden I'll not be able to pass my 
 prelim next spring. Now, I've noticed that you're a 
 regular shark at both algebra and geometry, and the 
 idea struck me that, if you would, you'd probably be 
 able to coach me up in them so's I'd get the hang 
 better. What do you say to it? Provided, of course, 
 that you could spare the time." 
 
 The color flamed into Brown's face, and his heavy 
 brows contracted in a scowl. Here was a fresh in- 
 sult. Not content with showing him plainly that he 
 considered himself made of better clay than a work- 
 ingman's son, Blake was throwing his poverty into 
 his face by suggesting that he become a tutor. It 
 was intolerable, and, without further hesitation,
 
 134 An Unexpected Proposition. 
 
 Brown declined the proposition with an emphatic, un- 
 qualified abruptness. 
 
 "I couldn't think of it," he said, almost snappishly. 
 
 Blake looked slightly surprised. 
 
 "It would only be three hours a week, and you'd 
 help me out a lot," he protested, purposely ignoring 
 the help which his money would be to a fellow as 
 palpably poor as the one before him. 
 
 Brown arose, his face still frowning. 
 
 "I couldn't think of it," he repeated, in a tone of 
 finality. 
 
 Blake shrugged his shoulders resignedly. 
 
 "Of course, if you take that stand, there's nothing 
 more to be said," he murmured. "I'm sorry. I 
 thought we'd hit it off rather well together, if you 
 could put up with my stupidity." 
 
 Brown would have given anything for a sarcastic 
 retort which would convey the dislike and contempt 
 he felt for his companion, and at the same time be 
 properly dignified. None occurred to him, however. 
 It would doubtless leap into his mind, matured, biting, 
 and very much to the point, about the time he was 
 dozing off that night. That was the way such things 
 usually happened with him. 
 
 Just now he flushed a little and bit his lip as he 
 shook his head again and turned away. 
 
 He had not taken three steps across the floor when 
 he stopped abruptly at the thought which had come 
 into his mind. For an instant he had forgotten his 
 position here. He was very far from being free and 
 independent. He was indebted to that unknown 
 friend of his to a degree which a lifetime of effort
 
 An Unexpected Proposition. 135 
 
 could not repay. Was it not his duty to take every 
 opportunity of helping himself? Had he the right 
 to decline anything that would bring in a few dollars 
 money which would be of infinite service to those 
 at home, who still, in spite of their new-found pros- 
 perity, made many sacrifices on his account? Was he 
 not wrong in letting his pride prevent his becoming 
 an undoubted material help to them ? 
 
 His face flushed and his hands clenched and un- 
 clenched themselves as he fought it out in those brief 
 moments, standing undecided, with the eyes of John 
 Huntingdon Blake regarding him in curious specula- 
 tion. 
 
 At last his common sense conquered, and, with an 
 effort, he turned and walked slowly back to the sitting 
 youth. 
 
 "I've changed my mind," he stammered. "If you 
 want me to, I'll take your offer." 
 'Blake smiled pleasantly. 
 
 "I'm awfully glad," he said frankly. "I don't know 
 who I should go to if you threw me down. Will er 
 two dollars an hour be satisfactory?" 
 
 Brown restrained his emotion with difficulty. 
 
 "Perfectly," he said curtly, his eyes fixed on the 
 floor and his cheeks still bright. "When do you want 
 to start in?" 
 
 "May as well begin to-morrow," Blake returned. 
 "Suppose you come around to my room right after 
 dinner. Then we'll get it over with before there's 
 anything doing on the field. Is that agreeable?" 
 
 Brown nodded.
 
 136 An Unexpected Proposition. 
 
 "Yes, and thank you," he said grudgingly, as he 
 turned away. 
 
 If there was in John Huntingdon Blake's mind the 
 most remote idea that, by thus giving Brown some 
 paying work, he would, in a measure, atone for the 
 thoughtless words which he had uttered a couple of 
 days before, and which he had since regretted not a 
 little, he was vastly mistaken. 
 
 The shabbily dressed lad left the room, his dislike 
 increased to positive hatred by what he considered 
 a fresh insult. 
 
 He would accept the work Blake had to give, but 
 he made instant mental decision that their relation- 
 ship should be strictly a business one. He might, in- 
 deed, receive money from the snobbish youth, but it 
 would be money well earned. He would give good 
 value, and it need not effect his private opinion in 
 the slightest. 
 
 One might have supposed John Huntingdon Blake 
 wise enough to realize that the conferring of a benefit 
 is often more productive of hatred and malice than 
 the doing of an injury,.
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 ADDING INSULT TO INJURY. 
 
 "Oh, yes," said John Huntingdon Blake carelessly, 
 "dad's on the other side. Went over to see the coro- 
 nation, you know, and now he's visiting friends there. 
 He stayed with Lord Hereford while he was in Lon- 
 don, and now I believe he's shooting at Granley 
 Towers, the Duke of Granley's estate, in Norfolk." 
 
 "Does he spend much of his time over there?" in- 
 quired Victor Rives, evidently considerably impressed. 
 
 "Yes, quite a little. He likes the life there, and 
 the people. Of course, he'd never care about living 
 there altogether he's too good an American for that; 
 but he often says that this country is no place for men 
 of leisure." 
 
 "He's never been in business, then?" Rives asked. 
 
 "Oh, dear, no!" Blake smiled. "His money came 
 from land royal grants to the Sir Guy Blake who 
 was governor of Bermuda and who afterward settled 
 here. They increased enormously in value until now 
 dad has more money than he could possibly spend. 
 Of course, he is busy, to a certain extent, looking after 
 his investments and all that, but I don't suppose you'd 
 call "that real work." 
 
 Rives laughed. 
 
 "No, I don't think I should," he agreed. "Cutting 
 coupons may be a little tiring on the fingers, but there 
 are compensations. Well, I must go. Don't forget
 
 138 Adding Insult to Injury. 
 
 to show up on the courts at three, and we'll have a 
 couple of sets." 
 
 He departed, and Blake returned to his desk, where 
 he had been writing a note on the heavy, cream-tinted 
 paper bearing the Blake crest which filled the massive 
 silver rack in such profusion. 
 
 From where he sat at another table, correcting 
 some problems in geometry, George Brown glanced 
 over at him and frowned. He had been on his job 
 for some little time, and this was the sort of thing 
 which went on constantly. Fellows were eternally 
 dropping in for a minute to make appointments, bor- 
 row something, or just to laugh and chat with the 
 popular Blake, and the shabbily dressed lad had come 
 to hate it intensely. 
 
 It was not so much the interruption to their work 
 which got on his nerves, as the fact of Blake's popu- 
 larity being forced upon him so constantly. It was 
 in such striking contrast to his own lot, for though 
 Brown had made a number of friends, he was not 
 the sort who attracts people to him by the power of 
 personal magnetism, and he was by no means gen- 
 erally popular. 
 
 Consequently, he could not help envying the fellow 
 who succeeded, apparently without effort, where he 
 had failed; and each time he came for that hour of 
 tutoring, he found the effort harder, the hour longer, 
 and himself growing more and more bitter against the 
 fate which had given this chap not only money and 
 birth, but a personality which attracted friends as 
 honey does bees. 
 
 The very atmosphere of the room irritated him
 
 Adding Insult to Injury. 139 
 
 with its air of quiet, expensive simplicity. Everything 
 in it suggested opulence, from the rows and rows of 
 books, which Blake scarcely ever opened, to the heavy, 
 crested silver desk appointments. 
 
 Brown came presently to hate the very sight of the 
 amiable countenance of Admiral Blake, and wished 
 more than once that he might wipe that slightly sim- 
 pering smile from the face of Lady Constance, daugh- 
 ter of the Earl of Talbot. One and all, these painted 
 likenessess of dead-and-gone Blakes seemed to be con- 
 stantly regarding him with that same maddeningly 
 gracious condescension that was a marked feature of 
 their descendant's attitude toward those who were 
 beneath him in birth and breeding. 
 
 Another extremely trying thing was the manner 
 in which John Huntingdon Blake had come to chat 
 occasionally after the hour of mathematics was over. 
 His manner was pleasant enough, but there was a 
 subtle something in it which was quite lacking when 
 he laughed and joked with any of his real friends. 
 There was none of that touch of easy intimacy; and, 
 though, had he been asked, Brown would have dis- 
 claimed any desire to be on good terms with his em- 
 ployer, he resented very much being treated as one on 
 a different plane. 
 
 It was infinitely more galling than a business rela- 
 tion, pure and simple, and Brown felt that if it con- 
 tinued Very much longer, things would come to a head, 
 and he would be forced to give up the work which, 
 hate it though he did, he had come to look upon with 
 thankfulness as a means for helping his people. 
 
 "You've got all these right but one," he said pres-
 
 140 'Adding Insult to Injury. 
 
 ently, as he gathered the sheets of paper together and 
 arose from the table. 
 
 Blake glanced up, smiling. 
 
 "That's good," he said pleasantly. "I'm certainly 
 coming on. At first I was lucky if they weren't all 
 wrong but one. You're a jewel of a tutor, Brown. 
 Just a second, and I'll finish this letter, and be with 
 you." 
 
 Brown turned away, with a frown, and glanced out 
 of the window. There it was again, that everlasting 
 rubbing in the fact that he was a tutor. Not that he 
 was ashamed of it in the least, but he hated the manner 
 in which Blake seemed to be constantly reminding him 
 that he was not like the other fellows who came in. 
 
 "What's he think, anyhow ?" he said angrily, under 
 his breath. "Is he afraid I'll take advantage of being 
 here this way to try and worm my way into his friend- 
 ship? I wouldn't do it if I could. I don't want to 
 be his friend. I hate him!" 
 
 He chafed and fussed, while Blake finished his let- 
 ter and directed the envelope. And when he started 
 to explain the problem which had gone wrong, his 
 manner was short and distant to a degree. 
 
 Perhaps John Huntingdon Blake had grown just a 
 little weary of this stand-offish attitude when he had 
 done his best to be pleasant. Perhaps his mind was on 
 the proposed tennis match with Rives, rather than the 
 matter at hand. 
 
 At all events, whatever the reason might have been, 
 he managed to put an extra amount of condescension 
 into his manner, with the result that Brown had all 
 he could do to hold himself in and refrain from ai>
 
 Adding Insult to Injury. 141 
 
 angry outburst which would probably have ended in 
 a complete severing of their relationship. 
 
 He managed to control himself; but, when he had 
 closed the door behind him and was hurrying through 
 the hall, his face became a veritable thundercloud. 
 
 "He's the limit!" he muttered angrily. "By Jove! 
 I'd give anything if I could only get even with him 
 somehow."
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE TURN OF FORTUNE'S WHEEE. 
 
 George Brown was not especially keen about ath- 
 letics. He had never had time nor opportunity for 
 them; and, consequently, he knew little about them 
 from a player's point of view. He had developed, 
 however, a liking for watching the football practice, 
 and he had planned to spend this afternoon in that way 
 on the field. 
 
 Going to his room, he flung down the hated book of 
 geometry, which was the outward and visible sign of 
 servitude, picked up cap and sweater, and hastened 
 downstairs. On his way out, he passed the small 
 room where the mail was sorted and delivered, and 
 stepped in to see if there might be a letter from home. 
 
 There was a letter, but it happened to be post- 
 marked Pasadena, California, instead of Cleveland. 
 
 "From Jim," he commented, as he slit open the en- 
 velope and took out the rather bulky inclosure. "Must 
 be in answer to the one I wrote him last week." 
 
 There were several closely written pages, and Brown 
 spread them out, with no little curiosity as to what his 
 friend could have found to fill so much space. Ap- 
 parently it was nothing special. The opening was 
 made up of various minor happenings and common- 
 place bits of news, but about the middle of the second 
 sheet George came to something which made him give 
 an exclamation of surprise, and pause in his slow walk
 
 The Turn of Fortune's Wheel. 143 
 
 across the grass, his expression one of the most intense 
 interest, tempered with pleasure. 
 
 "I laughed to myself," ran the epistle, "at what you 
 said about Jack Blake and the lugs he is putting on 
 at Farnham Hall. For a minute I could hardly be- 
 lieve he could possibly be the fellow who lives here, 
 but when I made a few inquiries I saw there couldn't 
 be the slightest doubt. 
 
 "He always was smart, but I never would have be- 
 lieved that he could fool the whole bunch of you 
 the way he seems to have done. If you could see his 
 father, old Jim Blake, you'd understand, George, how 
 funny all that guff about family and ancestors and 
 the like really is. The old man is quite a character 
 about here. He started out years ago, I believe, as a 
 ragpicker, and, later, went around the country peddling 
 tinware. Somehow or other, he managed to save 
 enough to buy some land, which nobody thought was 
 worth anything, but later oil was discovered on it in 
 such quantities that he sold out for over a million. 
 
 "That's how he got his start. Being a shrewd old 
 codger, he's manipulated that million until it's sup- 
 posed now to be about ten. There's no fake about 
 that part of it. They've got the coin, all right bar- 
 rels of it. But when it comes to family, there's noth- 
 ing doing. Heaven knows where Jack picked up those 
 portraits of his ancestors, but, take it from me, they're 
 fakes. He's been abroad a lot, and very likely he 
 bought them over there to palm off on that crowd 
 of easy marks you train with. 
 
 "I do"h't believe he knows who his own grandfather 
 was, let alone tracing the line back a few hundred 
 years. The old man is a good sort, to be sure, but 
 the.'e isn't a frill on him that you can see with the 
 naked eye. He chases around town in a big French 
 car, that he drives in his shirt sleeves, with suspenders
 
 144 The Turn of Fortune's Wheel. 
 
 showing, and no collar. They've got a big house out- 
 side of town which is a corker, but they say old Blake 
 would a lot rather spend his time in a two-room affair 
 he built away out in the country than in all that 
 grandeur. 
 
 "The whole trouble is, he can't get used to refined 
 life. I guess his money came too late, and he can't 
 change the habits of his youth. 
 
 "Of course, the son is different. He stays here very 
 little, and they say the reason for that is because he's 
 ashamed of the way his father goes on. I've seen 
 Jack several times, and you'd certainly never think 
 he belonged to the old man. He's the swellest dresser 
 in Pasadena, all right, and I reckon the amount he 
 spends on clothes would support two or three families 
 in luxury. He's got swell manners, too, but they're a 
 little too high and mighty to suit me. 
 
 "There isn't a doubt that he and your John Hunt- 
 ingdon Blake are the same, though, for I learned that 
 Jack had gone to this same school at Bloomfield for a 
 year before entering college. I suppose he picked up 
 the 'Huntingdon' the same place he got his ancestors. 
 It's a heap sight more tony than plain John Blake, 
 isn't it? 
 
 "Do write and let me know what happens when his 
 little bubble bursts, for I'm very curious to know. I 
 don't suppose he had any idea that it would be found 
 out. Very likely he discovered that there was no one 
 from around Pasadena at the school before he decided 
 to go there. Ever yours, JAMES BOWERS." 
 
 As he finished the letter, Brown's face was a pic- 
 ture. Amazement and intense, almost vindictive, sat- 
 isfaction struggled for supremacy, the latter speedily 
 predominating. 
 
 "By Jove!" he exclaimed aloud. "What do you 
 think of that?" 

 
 The Turn of Fortunes Wheel. 145 
 
 It seemed entirely too good to be true. To think 
 that the lofty, superior Blake, whom he had come 
 to hate so intensely, was all a bluff, was something 
 which had never occurred to him. The boy had car- 
 ried out the deception in every detail so thoroughly 
 that, even now, with the evidence in his hand, Brown 
 could scarcely credit it. 
 
 He read the letter carefully again, and his spirits 
 went up at a bound. It must be true. There could 
 be no doubt whatever that the two Blakes were one. 
 and the same. Those hateful portraits, then, were 
 not Blake's at all. They had doubtless been picked 
 up in some antique shop, as Bowers had suggested. 
 They were fakes. The coat of arms which was en- 
 graved and emblazoned on anything and everything 
 was a fake. 
 
 The whole elaborate story of all those ancestors was 
 a lie from beginning to end. Blake had no ancestors, 
 not even a grandfather. His very name did not be- 
 long to him. 
 
 "Jack Blake is all he really is," Brown said aloud, in 
 a tone of malicious satisfaction. "What a come-down 
 that is from the elegant 'J onn Huntingdon Blake.' " 
 
 What an insufferable cad the fellow was! He was 
 ashamed of his own father the man who, by his 
 shrewd foresight, had piled up millions for his only 
 son to gnjoy. Brown was filled with righteous indig- 
 nation at the thought. The idea of a fellow prac- 
 tically disowning his father! It was disgusting be- 
 yond words. 
 
 Suddenly he laughed aloud. It was not a particu- 
 larly pleasant laugh, for he was thinking of what a
 
 146 
 
 stir the revelation would cause throughout the school. 
 It seemed the irony of fate that he, the fellow Blake 
 had humiliated and insulted, should be the means of 
 bringing the truth to light. 
 
 Of course, he meant to spread it about. He told 
 himself that it was his duty, deliberately ignoring the 
 fact that Blake had been the means of his receiving 
 six dollars a week for tutoring. He as deliberately 
 closed his eyes to the effect such a blow would have on 
 the principal actor in the little deception. Or, to be 
 more exact, he did not care how much the chap suf- 
 fered. He could not suffer more than he deserved. 
 
 Suddenly he thrust the letter into his pocket and 
 started swiftly across the field. There was no time 
 to lose. He would do it now. 
 
 Ten minutes later he was engaged in earnest con- 
 versation with Red Moran, the subject of which 
 seemed to be intensely interesting and satisfactory to 
 tiiem both.
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 THE BOMBSHELL. 
 
 The astounding news spread like wildfire through 
 the school, and created more comment than anything 
 which had happened in many a day. 
 
 The discovery that Blake's whole life was one great 
 deception was greeted with joyful glee by many of the 
 boys who had been more or less snubbed in that 
 quarter. 
 
 They laughed scornfully as they discussed the matter 
 in the corridors and rejoiced at the downfall of the 
 fellow who had almost worshiped family, but who, it 
 now developed, had none at all. 
 
 They jeered at the portraits they had once regarded 
 with awe, and sneered contemptuously at the "rag- 
 picker's son," forgetting that a few hours before they 
 would have crawled on their knees to secure his friend- 
 ship. 
 
 But they were in the minority. The opinion of the 
 majority and that included all of those who had been 
 admitted to terms of intimacy by Blake, as well as 
 many others who had admired him from a distance 
 since he had vanquished Red Moran was that the 
 whole affair was a misfortune. 
 
 "It's a darned shame!" Don Shasta said heartily, in 
 talking it over with Phillips. "Of course, I suppose 
 it wasn't right for John to fake up all these ancestors 
 and the rest of it. But, shucks! you might think be
 
 148 The Bombshell. 
 
 was a criminal from the way some of these fools go 
 on. It makes me sick to hear 'em!" 
 
 "I should say it did," Phillips agreed instantly. 
 "There isn't one who wouldn't have been tickled to 
 death to have Blake say a nice word to him before this 
 happened." 
 
 Shasta nodded emphatically. 
 
 "Sure they would ! I'd like to take that rotten 
 little Brown by the neck and choke him. He's to 
 blame for the whole thing, and now I s'pose he's sat- 
 isfied. He never did like John after that time when 
 he hid behind the lamp and we got to talking without 
 knowing he was there." 
 
 "He didn't hide," Phillips objected. "We just 
 didn't see him, that's all. I think, myself, it would 
 have been decenter for him to keep this to himself, 
 though. I'm afraid it'll mean our losing Blake." 
 
 "You really think he'll go?" 
 
 "I'm afraid so. It would be mighty hard to stay 
 here after this. I'm beastly sorry, too, for he's a 
 corking fellow, after you get to know him." 
 
 "That's right," Shasta agreed mournfully. "Of 
 course, he was hipped on this question of family, but 
 nobody paid much attention to that. Every fellow has 
 his weak points, and that was his. Do you think it 
 would do any good for us to tell him we're all with 
 him and don't give a hang about this ?" 
 
 Phillips considered for a moment, and then shook 
 his head slowly. 
 
 "No, I don't believe it would. He's a chap who 
 would decide for himself what he means to do with- 
 out any help. It's up to us, though, to behave ex-
 
 The Bombshell. 149 
 
 actly as we always have, and that ought to show him 
 how little we care, without any words. We don't 
 want to be too nice, or he'll think we're sorry for him. 
 Just act as if nothing had happened, and I think he'll 
 understand." 
 
 They carried out that program. But, from Blake's 
 manner, it was quite impossible to get any idea of 
 what went on beneath the surface. His manner was 
 absolutely unchanged. Perhaps he was a shade more 
 serious than usual, but not much. He laughed and 
 joked as he had always done, and continued to regard 
 the boys he did not care for with exactly the same 
 manner of tolerant condescension he had always shown 
 toward them. 
 
 One thing only was noticeable: He never, by a 
 single word, spoke of family or ancestors. The por- 
 traits and photographs stayed in their places, the fake 
 crest was flaunted as of yore, but Blake never men- 
 tioned them. 
 
 The boys voted him a thorough sport, and hoped the 
 matter would die away. Unfortunately, it did not 
 Not content with what he had done, George Brown 
 seemed to delight in continuing his work by constantly 
 bringing up the subject. 
 
 At the end of two days, boys, hanging around Frank 
 Merriwell's office, saw Blake disappear inside. He 
 was there for a long time nearly an hour, in fact, 
 and when he emerged he hastened away at once with- 
 out giving any one a chance to speak to him. 
 
 After that all sorts of rumors were rife. Some said 
 that Merriwell had summoned him to dismiss him 
 from Farnham Hall. Others contended that he was
 
 150 The BomEsfiell. 
 
 going of his own accord. There were a few who 
 hoped that he would not go at all, but were afraid 
 that he might be forced out by the persistent enmity 
 of Brown, Moran, and one or two others. 
 
 It was on that very afternoon that George Brown 
 received a sudden summons to Merry's office, which 
 he obeyed with outward calm, but with considerable 
 inward curiosity. He was not conscious of having 
 broken any of the rules; and as for his part in the 
 late excitement, he told himself that what he had done 
 could never be criticized. 
 
 To his astonishment, the first person he set eyes 
 on after entering the office was his old friend, Doctor 
 Angus Macdonald, of Cleveland. 
 
 "Why, doctor!" he exclaimed, hastening forward 
 with outstretched hand. "This is great! I had no 
 idea you expected to run down here. It's fine to see 
 you." 
 
 Doctor Macdonald nodded to him coolly, but made 
 no attempt to rise. His face was slightly flushed and 
 his eyes indignant He quite ignored the hand Brown 
 held out. 
 
 "I sometimes come down to see my friend, Mr. Mer- 
 riwell," he said shortly, and then went on in a tone 
 of the most intense displeasure : "Well, I hope you're 
 satisfied with what you've done?" 
 
 Brown gasped. He had been hurt and bewildered 
 at the coldness of the usually friendly doctor, but 
 this attack fairly took away his breath. 
 
 "Why, wh what do you mean ?" he stammered. 
 
 "You ought to know very well what I mean," re- 
 torted the older man severely. "I suppose you think
 
 The Bombshell. 151 
 
 it a neat trick deliberately to lay for a boy who has 
 never done you any harm, and expose him to the 
 scorn and ridicule of all his schoolmates." 
 
 Brown's face crimsoned, and he drew himself up 
 stiffly. 
 
 "I suppose you refer to Blake," he answered. "It 
 seems to me that he is to blame for what happened, 
 not I." 
 
 "Then you suppose wrong," the doctor retorted 
 vigorously. "You knew nothing whatever about the 
 facts of the case beyond what your precious Pasadena 
 friend retailed, and yet you are only too ready to ac- 
 cept them as gospel and put upon them the worst con- 
 struction possible." 
 
 "But when a fellow is ashamed of his own 
 father " began Brown. 
 
 "What's that got to do with it?" interrupted Doctor 
 Macdonald angrily. "What business is it of yours if 
 he was? It's a lie, of course. They're devoted to 
 each other, but they each live the way they prefer, and 
 so people gossip. I have never approved of this an- 
 cestor deception, but it's nothing like as bad as the 
 quality of ingratitude." 
 
 The flush deepened on Brown's face. 
 
 "I certainly gave full value for money received," he 
 protested, thinking of the lessons tutoring. "It was a 
 business relation, and nothing else." 
 
 The doctor sprang to his feet and took a step for- 
 ward. 
 
 "Oh, was it?" he demanded. "Young man, do you 
 know who John Blake is ?" 
 
 Brown gazed at him in bewilderment. For a mo-
 
 152 The Bombshell. 
 
 ment he wondered whether the doctor had taken leave 
 of his senses. He tried to think of something to say, 
 and then was spared the trouble when the impulsive 
 doctor went on swiftly: 
 
 "But for him you'd be in that canning factory this 
 yery minute, and your father would be Heaven knows 
 where. A nice spirit you show, I must say, to do your 
 best to hurt the boy who has done more for you and 
 your family, than any one else in the world 1"
 
 'CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE IRONY OF FATE. 
 
 For a moment Brown stared stupidly at the speaker, 
 as if unable to comprehend his meaning. 
 
 "I don't understand," he said, at last, in a queer 
 voice. 
 
 Doctor Macdonald sniffed impatiently. 
 
 "I spoke plainly enough," he retorted. "The boy 
 who paid your father's doctor's bills and got him a 
 good job a few weeks ago is none other than John 
 Blake." 
 
 Brown stood as if turned to stone. Every drop 
 of blood drained swiftly from his face, leaving it a 
 ghastly white; and in the eyes which were riveted 
 on the older man was a look of such utter, dreadful 
 horror that Macdonald, angry as he was, felt a quick 
 impulse of regret at the tone he had taken. 
 
 He had been too wrought up over the whole affair, 
 however, to relent easily, so he made no com- 
 ment, even deriving a slight satisfaction from the 
 very evident misery mirrored on Brown's expressive 
 face. 
 
 For a long time the boy stood there without moving 
 a muscle. Then he reached out blindly and caught 
 hold of the desk to steady himself. A moment later, 
 he turned slowly and looked questioningly at Frank 
 Merriwell, who had hitherto taken no part in the con- 
 versation, but who had paid close attention to every- 
 thing that went on.
 
 154 The Irony of Fate. 
 
 "Yes, it's quite true, George," the latter said quietly. 
 "Of course you didn't know it, for, as I understand 
 from Doctor Macdonald, young Blake did not wish his 
 name mentioned. Still, I think you might have con- 
 sidered what the effects were going to be before you 
 spread this story about the school. Don't think for 
 an instant that I am condoning Blake's deception. 
 That isn't what I mean at all. I simply want you to 
 ask yourself if you are showing the right spirit in 
 being so eager to bring about the humiliation of a 
 boy who has always behaved toward you in a straight, 
 decent manner." 
 
 Brown's lips twitched. His drawn, white face 
 showed the utter misery which filled his soul. 
 
 "No," he said, in a low, uncertain tone, "I'm the 
 greatest cur alive. If I had only known! Oh, Mr. 
 Merriwell, you can't think how awful it is! Why, 
 he he's " 
 
 With a sudden irrepressible choke, he turned his 
 back, and for a moment or two there was silence in 
 the room. 
 
 At length, when Brown had recovered his control, 
 Frank set to work and, by skillful questioning, sought 
 to get at the motive which had governed the boy's 
 conduct He knew there must have been a powerful 
 one of some sort Boys, as a rule, do not do what 
 he had done out of mere caprice and thoughtlessness. 
 Generally they can be trusted to show an even finer 
 sense of the fitness of things than their elders, and 
 their code of honor, while it may seem peculiar in 
 some respects, is, as a whole, a splendid one. 
 
 Little by little the whole story came out, and, as it
 
 The Irony of Fate. 155 
 
 was revealed in broken, fragmentary answers, Merry 
 saw that there was no need to show Brown where 
 he had gone wrong. In that single moment of gasping 
 surprise, it almost seemed as if he had learned more 
 about himself than he had ever known before. 
 
 "It wasn't his being ashamed of his father that 
 made me do it all, sir," he finished contritely. "It 
 wasn't even the way he treated me, or rather the way 
 I made myself believe he had treated me. I was just 
 envious. He had everything that I hadn't, and never 
 would have. He was so much pleasanter and more 
 popular than I, so much better in every way, that I 
 was jealous of all these things and disliked him. And 
 all the time it was he who had done everything for 
 me. I feel as if I ought to go on my knees to him and 
 tell him how sorry I am." 
 
 A shadowy smile flitted across Merriwell's face. 
 
 "I don't imagine he would like that in the least," he 
 said quietly. 
 
 Brown sighed deeply and disconsolately. 
 
 "No," he agreed, "I suppose it wouldn't do, but I 
 wish there was some way of showing him that I know 
 what a cur I've been." 
 
 "The simplest way is usually the best," Frank sug- 
 gested. "If it will be any consolation to you, I may 
 say "that the experience will do neither of you any 
 permanent harm. It has opened Blake's eyes to the 
 folly of which he has been guilty, and, if he can live 
 down the incident right here in the school, he will have 
 proved his force of character. As for yourself 
 well, I fancy you're wiser than you were an hour 
 ago."
 
 156 The Irony of Fate. 
 
 Kindly as the words were, they did not console the 
 boy to any great extent. 
 
 As he left the office, a little later, and walked slowly 
 through the hall, he had never been so utterly miser- 
 able in his life. 
 
 He had often dreamed of the time when he might 
 meet his benefactor face to face. In those dreams he 
 had always pictured himself as doing some slight 
 favor for the unknown which might, in a measure, 
 repay a little of the debt he owed. 
 
 The truth was so different so horribly different. 
 Instead of repaying the debt, he had made it vastly 
 greater. From the very beginning of their acquaint- 
 ance, he had worked against the fellow who had done 
 so much for him. Instead of worshiping him and try- 
 ing to please him, he had hated him with all the 
 strength he had, and had ended by bringing down 
 upon his head the ridicule of the whole school. 
 
 He was beneath contempt and not fit to associate 
 with decent people. It would have been better far 
 had he remained in the canning factory and never 
 been given this chance for working evil. 
 
 It was with such bitter thoughts as these exag- 
 gerated by the surprise and shock of everything which 
 had happened that he made his way slowly and ir- 
 resolutely to the south corridor, and paused before 
 the door of Blake's room. 
 
 He hated desperately to go in, not because he did 
 not wish to humble himself, but because he felt that 
 Blake could never forgive him. It must be done, 
 however. Otherwise he would never have a moment's 
 peace. And so he lifted his hand and knocked.
 
 The Irony of Fate. 157 
 
 "Come in!" called the familiar voice. 
 
 Brown obeyed and stood hesitating on the threshold. 
 The room was in almost as great a disorder as it had 
 been that first day. Crates and boxes were strewn 
 about; some of the pictures were on the floor, while 
 only one or two remained hanging on the walls. 
 
 Blake himself stood in the midst, his sleeves rolled 
 up and a hammer in one hand. As he recognized his 
 caller, he straightened up with a slight shadow on his 
 face. 
 
 For a moment neither of them spoke. Brown had 
 a queer choking sensation in his throat and his lips 
 were dry. He moistened them several times and 
 swallowed hard before he could utter a word. 
 
 "I've just found out," he stammered, at last. "I 
 I never knew before, Blake. I wish I could tell 
 you how how beastly sorry I am for everything. 
 I'd rather have cut off my right hand than have done 
 jwhat I did." 
 
 Blake shrugged his shoulders slightly. 
 
 "Oh, that's all right," he returned. "It's all over 
 and done with, so what's the use of our worrying 
 about it?" 
 
 Brown choked. This truly was the gentleman of 
 the .finer instinct. 
 
 "But I can't help worrying," he protested. "After 
 what you did for me, I'm a regular cur." 
 
 "You didn't know then," Blake commented. "I 
 dare say you had excuse enough. I fancy my manner 
 rubbed you the wrong way a good bit." 
 
 "It wasn't your manner," retorted Brown. "I 
 thought so, but it wasn't that at all. I was just envious
 
 158 The Irony of Fate, 
 
 and jealous because you had everything which I didn't 
 have. You see, you have no idea how dirty mean 
 I was." 
 
 Blake smiled faintly. 
 
 "Oh, well, let's drop it Let's shake hands and call 
 it quits." 
 
 He held out his hand, and Brown gripped it tightly. 
 As he did so, his eyes fell from his companion's face 
 to the boxes scattered about the room, and a fresh 
 pang of alarm shot through him. 
 
 "You're not going to leave, are you?" he asked 
 swiftly. 
 
 Blake shook his head. 
 
 "No," he said shortly. 
 
 Brown gave a sigh of relief." 
 
 "These boxes I thought ".he stammered. 
 
 "I'm just packing up a few things to send away," 
 his companion explained shortly. 
 
 Then, and only then, did Brown realize that it was 
 the "ancestors" which were being packed. And his 
 face flamed scarlet. Not for the world would he have 
 intentionally referred to something which would be 
 extremely distasteful to the fellow he had wronged 
 so greatly. 
 
 Blake saw his embarrassment and quickly divined 
 the cause. 
 
 "I did mean to cut it all and get out," he volunteered, 
 balancing the hammer on his palm. "But I had a 
 talk with Mr. Merriwell this morning which made me 
 change my mind. He showed me that the only 
 thing to do was to stick it out here and live down my 
 foolishness. That's what I'm going to do."
 
 The Irony of Fate. 159 
 
 The hammer slipped from his hand and crashed to 
 the floor. He bent to pick it up, and when he raised 
 his head his face was rather red. 
 
 "Seeing as you're here, Brown," he went on care- 
 lessly, "perhaps you'll give me a hand crating these 
 things. It's a bigger job than I thought." 
 
 Ancestors and all that sort of thing were soon for- 
 gotten by Merriwell's lads, however, by the introduc- 
 tion of a new sport at the school in the form of avia- 
 tion. A young aviator came to the front in a most 
 unexpected way, and for a time all the talk of the 
 whole school was about bird men and means of flying. 
 It began with the discord between Burton and Rudd.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 THE BEGINNING OF IT. 
 
 The discord between Otis Burton and Morgan Rudd 
 dated from the very day of 'their entrance to Farnham 
 Hall at the beginning of the spring term. 
 
 Just what caused it would be hard to determine. 
 Perhaps the fact of their arriving on the same train 
 had something to do with it. The journey was long 
 and somewhat tedious; and Burton was the kind of 
 fellow who is never so happy as when displaying the 
 brilliancy of his wit and the biting character of his 
 repartee, at the expense of some one else. 
 
 Under the circumstances it was not unnatural that he 
 should make Morgan Rudd the butt of his ridicule ; for, 
 of the five fellows who journeyed from New York to 
 Bloomfield together, Rudd was by far the most unusual 
 in manner and appearance. 
 
 He was, to begin with, rather lank and loose-jointed, 
 with a shambling sort of gait, and a habit of bumping 
 awkwardly into things. His hair was decidedly 
 too long, obscuring his collar in the back and pro- 
 truding in an untidy mass under his hat brim, so as 
 almost to cover the straight, black brows which nearly 
 met over the bridge of his nose, and gave an odd, 
 sinister expression to his thin, narrow face. 
 
 His eyes were gray, and, except at rare intervals, 
 they were almost expressionless. It was not the va- 
 cancy of stupidity, but rather the look of a person
 
 The Beginning of It. 161 
 
 whose mind is absorbed to an extraordinary degree by 
 some secret thought. That impression was, in fact, 
 borne out by everything about him; his prolonged fits 
 of absent-mindedness, the quick start he gave whenever 
 he was spoken to, the very way in which he slumped 
 down in his seat on the train and sat staring out of 
 the window for hours at a time without changing his 
 position a particle. 
 
 Such a character was almost sure to arouse Otis 
 Burton's ridicule, and he did not fail to take advan- 
 tage of this opportunity for relieving the tedium of 
 the journey, and at the same time establishing a repu- 
 tation for a wit. 
 
 The other three boys, all younger than either Burton 
 or Rudd, were thus pleasantly entertained, during the 
 greater part of the ride, by the sparkling witticisims di- 
 rected by Burton at the lone occupant of the opposite 
 seat. 
 
 He criticized the boy's clothes, which, though of 
 good cut and quality, had been carelessly put on and 
 showed signs of untidiness. He drew attention to the 
 frowsy hair in terms of such cutting banter that his 
 auditors were convulsed. He applied to the lanky 
 youth such names as "Fido," "Beanpole," "Spider," 
 "Legs," and others of a like nature, until the three un- 
 sophisticated ones fairly shrieked with mirth and de- 
 cided that he was the funniest fellow they had ever 
 seen. 
 
 All this was very gratifying to Burton, and for a 
 time satisfied that craving for applause which was 
 one of the salient features of his make-up. Presently, 
 however, the entertainment began to pall. In spite of
 
 1 62 The Beginning of It. 
 
 the fact that his remarks had all been uttered in a per- 
 fectly audible voice, the pitch of which had gradually 
 increased, Morgan Rudd paid no more heed to them 
 than if he had been stone-deaf. 
 
 At first Burton thought the lanky chap was sham- 
 ming; but at last he became convinced that there was 
 no fake about it. Rudd was manifestly so absorbed 
 in his own thoughts that he heard not a single one of 
 the remarks which so entranced the other boys. 
 
 Burton was provoked and decidedly aggrieved. One 
 might as well waste time and mental effort on a wooden 
 image as on this impassive youth who neither heard 
 nor saw anything which went on. 
 
 For a time, Burton redoubled his efforts and in- 
 creased the opprobrium of his epithets, but to no avail. 
 At last, stung by the cessation of applause from his 
 satellites, who had likewise perceived the situation, and 
 were becoming somewhat bored, he arose, and, with a 
 significant wink at his companions, crossed the aisle 
 and dropped down beside Rudd. 
 
 He waited a moment, or two, expectantly ; but Rudd 
 did not turn his head Annoyed, Burton began a 
 series of contortions which were supposed to be a 
 clever take-off on the lanky chap's attitude and ap- 
 pearance. He was in the midst of a peculiarly effective 
 grimace when Rudd, suddenly and quite without warn- 
 ing, turned and regarded him with a cool, calm, discon- 
 certing gaze which so surprised the witty youth that 
 he lost, for an instant, the use of his ready tongue. 
 
 After a swift scrutiny of Burton's face, the boy 
 with the scraggy hair glanced hastily around the car 
 as if looking- for some one.
 
 The Beginning of It. 163 
 
 "Find him?" inquired Burton, with a grin, when 
 the other had turned back. 
 
 "Why, no," Rudd answered mildly. "At least, I 
 don't see anybody who looks like one." 
 
 Burton frowned. 
 
 "One what?" he demanded. 
 
 Rudd smiled propitiatingly. 
 
 "A keeper," he explained. "You'll excuse me if I'm 
 wrong, but you looked so queer making those funny 
 faces that I thought perhaps you weren't just a 
 right in your " 
 
 He hesitated, and Burton heard a suppressed snicker 
 from the boys across the aisle, which brought the 
 color flaming into his face and made his eyes flash 
 angrily. There is a vast difference between being 
 laughed with and laughed at. 
 
 "What you need is a nurse to travel round with 
 you, or you'll land in the bughouse yourself," he 
 snapped, making the only retort he could think of at 
 the moment. 
 
 Rudd's eyes widened. 
 
 "Do you really think so?" he asked seriously. "I 
 don't suppose you'd consider taking the position, would 
 you?" 
 
 Burton laughed jeeringly. 
 
 "Not on your life!" he retorted. "I'm not look- 
 ing for that kind of a job." 
 
 "Too bad," murmured Rudd, with a side glance at 
 the three small boys on the opposite seat. "You seem 
 to have done so well with the kindergarten that I 
 thought perhaps you might " 
 
 It was not necessary to finish the sentence. Burton
 
 164 The Beginning of It. 
 
 made the mistake of losing his temper, and, after a 
 few scathing but rather silly remarks, to which the 
 lanky chap paid no heed whatever, he returned to his 
 seat in a rage. 
 
 From that moment he had it in for Morgan Rudd 
 and set about systematically to jeer and ridicule him. 
 
 He did not stop to think that he had brought down 
 on his own head the gentle little retorts which had 
 angered him so. He only remembered that he had 
 been made a fool of before a lot of kids. 
 
 He laughed at the boy's clothes and his generally 
 untidy appearance. He made fun of his spindly 
 shanks and generally poor development, which was so 
 apparent in the gymnasium work. He jeered at his 
 inability to play games, and called him "sissy" and 
 other names of a like nature. He tried his best, in 
 fact, to get the other boys down on him, even going 
 so far as to insinuate that he was a coward and did not 
 go in for baseball or any other game because he was 
 afraid of being hurt. 
 
 He succeeded passably well in molding the opinion 
 of a good many fellows; for Burton was the sort of 
 chap who throws a tremendous bluff and gets away 
 with it. 
 
 He had a pleasant and extremely adaptable manner, 
 being hail fellow well met with his equals, slightly 
 deferential and delicately flattering with those who 
 were important in the school, and graciously con- 
 descending to the small fry. 
 
 In this manner, coupled with a certain amount of 
 superficial cleverness, he succeeded in creating the im- 
 pression that Morgan Rudd was more or less of a fool.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 JHE GOAD OF CURIOSITY. 
 
 Perhaps Rudd himself was a good deal to blame for 
 the half -tolerant, half -contemptuous manner with 
 which he came at last to be generally regarded. 
 
 He was, to say the least, a bit "queer." He made 
 absolutely no effort to become on friendly terms with 
 any of the fellows. Indeed, on more than one occasion, 
 he was short and brusque, repulsing their well-meant 
 attempts to draw him out in a manner which did not 
 encourage further advances. 
 
 He did his work only passably well and spent the 
 minimum amount of time possible in the gymnasium. 
 
 During the periods of recreation, he had a way of 
 disappearing from sight, sometimes going for long, 
 solitary walks through the woods and surrounding 
 country, but usually seeking his room as soon as pos- 
 sible after dinner and not emerging until supper time. 
 
 What he did there no one knew ; and for a time his 
 movements were a matter of indifference. At last, 
 however, the curiosity of various boys who had noth- 
 ing particular to occupy their minds became aroused. 
 
 Egged on by Burton, who was always on the alert 
 to find something new in the lanky chap's behavior 
 which would be productive of ridicule, a number of 
 them would steal up to the corridor every now and 
 then and take turns peering through Rudd's keyhole, 
 and listening at the crack in his door.
 
 1 66 The Goad of Curiosity. 
 
 Their efforts were quite futile and resulted only 
 in increasing their ardor for information. The line 
 of vision through the keyhole was very limited, in- 
 cluding at best only the back of a chair and a stretch 
 of blank wall beyond. 
 
 More than half the time, not even that much was 
 visible, Rudd having a habit of leaving his closet door 
 open, thus obscuring everything to a tantalizing degree. 
 
 The sense of hearing was productive of little more 
 information. Occasionally the sounds of hammering 
 came from the room, varied by scraping and snipping 
 and other puzzling noises which made it appear that 
 Rudd was engaged in making something ; though what 
 that something was no one could conjecture. 
 
 The greater part of the time, however, the room was 
 silent as the grave. Had they not seen its occupant go 
 into it, they would never have supposed any one to 
 be there. 
 
 "It get's me," Burton said irritably, one day, after 
 they had spent an hour in futile endeavor and had 
 then retired discomfited, but with curiosity more keen 
 than ever. "The fool's bughouse, in my opinion." 
 
 Ralph Shearman scratched his head in a puzzled 
 manner. 
 
 "He don't seem as if he was off his nut," he ob- 
 jected. "I got talking to him the other day, and he's 
 sensible enough when he takes the trouble to be." 
 
 "Oh, they all have spells when they seem sane," 
 jeered Burton. "If he isn't nutty, what in thunder 
 makes him shut himself up in his room all the time 
 and do nothing?" 
 
 "How do we know he isn't doing anything?" put in
 
 The Goad of Curiosity. 167 
 
 Christy Brown. "We can't see a blessed thing through 
 that keyhole." 
 
 "No, nor hear a sound," retorted Burton. "Ever 
 since the hammering and filing stopped last week, he 
 might as well be dead for all the noise he makes. Now 
 if you can give any good reason why a fellow would 
 spend three or four hours every afternoon, and good- 
 ness knows how many at night, just locked in his room 
 doing nothing, I'll admit that he's sane, or anything 
 else you please." 
 
 "Maybe he's boning," Brown suggested hesitatingly. 
 
 Burton laughed scornfully. 
 
 "That's likely, isn't it?" he scoffed. "Why, he's 
 the thickest thing you ever saw in the classrooms. 
 Half the time he hasn't looked at a book." 
 
 "That's right," admitted Brown. "Well, I give up. 
 But I'd sure like to know what's going on in there. 
 Isn't there any way we can get into the room?" 
 
 "He locks the door whenever he goes out," Shear- 
 man spoke up. "I've tried it any number of times." 
 
 "How about the window?" suggested Brown. 
 "Couldn't we get a ladder and climb up there some 
 evening?" 
 
 "How are we going to manage that?" demanded 
 Burton. "All the ladders about the place are locked 
 up in the basement at night." 
 
 There was a prolonged pause, which was broken by 
 a sudden exclamation from Brown. 
 
 "By Jove !" he exclaimed. "There's nothing to pre- 
 vent our getting down from above on the end of a rope. 
 Why, your room's directly above his, Ralph. The 
 thing would be a cinch."
 
 1 68 The Goad of Curiosity. 
 
 "So it is," Shearman agreed slowly. He did not 
 particularly like the idea of dangling in mid-air. 
 
 Burton, however, was instantly enthusiastic. 
 
 "By George, Chris !" he exclaimed. "That's a pretty 
 good idea of yours. The three of us could manage it 
 nicely. Two would be plenty to lower the other down 
 and pull him up again after he has seen into the 
 room." 
 
 "But who's going to be the one to go down?" 
 Shearman inquired anxiously. 
 
 "Why, Brown's the lightest," Burton answered 
 readily. "He'd better do that part." 
 
 "Nothing doing," Brown put in hastily. "I don't 
 see why I should do it any more than either of you." 
 
 "You're the lightest," Burton explained propitia- 
 tingly. 
 
 "By about six pounds," retorted Brown. "We com- 
 pared weights in the gym last week." 
 
 "Ralph and I are stronger, though, and could pull 
 you up easy," Burton protested. 
 
 Brown doubled his right arm, distending the muscles. 
 
 "Are you, though ?" he said belligerently. "Feel of 
 that. Hard as iron. I reckon I can pull all you can. 
 No, we'll match for it, or I stay out." 
 
 Finding that no argument could move him, the 
 others gave in gracefully and proceeded with great 
 caution to match coins for the undesirable position. 
 When the "honor" fell to Burton he had difficulty in 
 restraining his annoyance. He was no more anxious 
 to make the descent than Brown, but he could not back 
 out very well at this stage of the game, so he sub- 
 mitted to the inevitable as gracefully as possible.
 
 The Goad of Curiosity. 169 
 
 "Oh, well, it doesn't make much difference which 
 I do," he said nonchalantly. "It's a heap less work 
 being let down and pulled up. Let's get started after 
 a rope. We want to pull this off to-night, if we can." 
 
 By considerable maneuvering they were able to sneak 
 a coil of stout rope out of the basement tool room, and 
 conveyed it at once to Shearman's room, where it was 
 hidden carefully in the closet. 
 
 Having discussed in detail the manner of procedure 
 for that evening, they departed for the football field, 
 very much pleased with themselves, and looking for- 
 ward with considerable satisfaction to the final solu- 
 tion of the mystery which had bothered them so long. 
 
 The moment the stroke of nine terminated the even- 
 ing study period, they made a bee line for Shearman's 
 room and, having carefully locked the door, began their 
 preparations. The rope was brought out and a loop 
 made at one end large enough for Burton to slip his 
 arms through. 
 
 "By gee!" Brown exclaimed suddenly, as he watched 
 his companion trying the effect. "You'll be sore as 
 blazes with that rope chafing. What we want is a 
 couple of small pillows to go under your arms and 
 relieve the strain." 
 
 "That's so," agreed Burton, somewhat chagrined 
 that he had not thought of it. "Let's have two small 
 sofa cushions, Ralph." 
 
 But it developed that Shearman had nothing of the 
 sort, not yet having equipped his couch. The bed 
 pillows being much too large, and nothing else strik- 
 ing them as a good substitute, Brown was forced to 
 steal forth to his own room for the necessary articles.
 
 170 The Goad of Curio: ity. 
 
 He returned safely without having encountered any 
 one on the way. And the preparations proceeded 
 swiftly. 
 
 Glancing out of the window, Burton could sec that 
 Rudd's room was still brightly lighted, and to his 
 curious ears came the faint sound of filing. 
 
 "He's working at it again, whatever it is," Burton 
 announced, in a joyful whisper. "We'd better start 
 right away. Take a couple of turns around the corner 
 of the bed, and then the rope won't slip." 
 
 They did so and tested it by pulling hard. Instantly 
 the bed began to move forward, and it was necessary to 
 shove the bureau over to hold it in place before they 
 could proceed. 
 
 At last, however, everything was in good shape, and 
 Burton slipped the rope under his arms, adjusted the 
 pillows carefully, and then walked to the window. 
 
 "Be sure you let down slow," he cautioned. "Lucky 
 his window isn't right underneath this one, because 
 I'll come down alongside of it, instead of directly 
 in front. When I get so's I can see in, I'll give a hiss 
 and you hold me there. When I want to come up, 
 I'll give two hisses. Remember now, let her go easy. 
 Not more than an inch or so at a time." 
 
 The others agreed in low tones, and Burton pro- 
 ceeded to slip carefully over the sill. He hesitated 
 some time before he finally let go his hold on the 
 solid wood. 
 
 The ground seemed very far below, and he was sud- 
 denly seized with a fear that the rope might not be 
 as strong as it looked. He pictured to himself the 
 parting of the strands, the sudden plunge and horrible
 
 The Goad of Curiosity. 171 
 
 landing on the ground below, crushed and mangled. 
 In that moment he berated himself for ever having 
 attempted such a thing. If there was only some way 
 of getting out of it even now " 
 
 "What's the matter?" demanded a voice impatiently, 
 from the room behind him. "Why don't you start?" 
 
 "I'm going to," he returned, in a whisper. 
 
 It was too late to back out. 
 
 With a shudder, he let go his hold on the sill and 
 began to move slowly downward. 
 
 Presently he breathed a sigh of relief. It was not as 
 bad as he had expected. The rope held, with scarcely 
 a creaking; and his downward progress was slow and 
 comparatively steady a bare'ly perceptible slipping, so 
 careful were the two boys above to do the thing right. 
 
 He was much more comfortable, too, than he had 
 expected to be, thanks to the pillows under his anus; 
 and, before long, he quite overcame his fear and began 
 to look forward with pleasure to the discovery which 
 would come very soon. 
 
 He had reached a point where his knees were about 
 on a level with the top of the window, when suddenly 
 the lowering motion ceased, and an instant later the 
 taut rope was jarred violently. 
 
 Burton's heart leaped into his mouth and he could 
 hardly suppress a cry of fear. What had happened? 
 Was the rope going to part and let him fall? 
 
 With wildly thudding heart for he was decidedly 
 lacking in nerve, for all his bluster he hung there 
 waiting. Presently the jarring stopped, but an odd, 
 disconcerting noise like scuffling came from the room 
 above, which continued for a moment, then ceased.
 
 172 The Goad o Curiosity. 
 
 Puzzled and not a little frightened, Burton waited a 
 moment or two before twisting himself around and 
 glancing upward. The window above was quite empty, 
 and the room he had just left was silent as a tomb. 
 
 "Ralph!" he called, in a stealthy whisper. "Chris! 
 What's the matter ?" 
 
 No answer. Not a sound of any sort came from the 
 window, and a cold chill began to run up and down 
 Burton's spine. 
 
 He could not understand what had happened. They 
 must be there. They would never go away and leave 
 him dangling helpless in mid-air. 
 
 He called again, this time a little louder, but he did 
 not dare raise his voice for fear of bringing Rudd 
 to his window and betraying everything. 
 
 Still there was no answer ; and a horrid fear began to 
 pervade the mind of Otis Burton that he had been 
 deserted..
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 THE FELLOW WHO DANGLED. 
 
 Kt first the helpless youth decided that "Peanut" 
 Hall, the young and zealous tutor who was in charge 
 of the corridor above, had, in some manner, discovered 
 what was going on. 
 
 Instantly, however, he rejected the idea as impos- 
 sible. Had that been the case, the man would have 
 been only too eager to see who was on the end of the 
 rope, that he might punish this infraction of discipline. 
 
 The next supposition was that Brown and Shearman 
 were playing a joke on him. The thought filled him 
 with rage, which increased with the growing conviction 
 that he was in no actual danger of being hurled to 
 the ground by the parting of the rope. 
 
 The rope, in fact, seemed only too strong. It bound 
 him tightly under the arms and, though he presently 
 conceived the idea of climbing back on it, hand over 
 hand, he soon found that he could not even reach 
 around and grasp it. 
 
 Furious by this time, he began to call again in sup- 
 pressed tones, threatening the two fellows with all 
 sorts of dire penalties if they did not instantly pull him 
 up, and upbraiding them in terms which were distinctly 
 more forcible than polite. 
 
 The effect was startling. Suddenly, from various 
 windows near by, a chorus of mocking remarks floated 
 out into the night.
 
 The Fellow Who Dangled. 
 
 "Listen to the mocking bird !" 
 
 "Oh, naughty, naughty!" 
 
 "Ain't he perfectly awful !" 
 
 "He's a real ba-ad man !" 
 
 "Where'd he learn all those lovely words ?'* 
 
 "Who is he, anyhow?" 
 
 "Yes! who is he?" 
 
 "What's he doing there ?" 
 
 "Can't you see, you chumps? He's practicing for 
 the rope-climbing contest." 
 
 "Then why don't he climb?" 
 
 "Maybe he's resting." 
 
 "Oh, no! He doesn't have to rest. Just look at 
 those arms. Why, he's got Sandow skinned a mile." 
 
 "Maybe he'll give us an exhibition. Won't you 
 climb for the lady, Willy ? Be nice and show us how 
 you do it ?" 
 
 "Too bad! I'm afraid he's shy/' 
 
 Fairly foaming at the mouth with fury, Burton 
 writhed and twisted and endeavored to get a hold on 
 the rope, quite forgetting his former fear of falling. 
 Unfortunately, the loop was a rather large one, and 
 the knot was at his back, some distance above his 
 head, so that his efforts were quite futile. 
 
 The jeering voices continued to sound from all sides ; 
 but, though he was aching to retort, he did not dare 
 say a word. Apparently they had not yet recognized 
 him, and, if he could only escape from his unfor- 
 tunate predicament, there was a bare chance that they 
 might never know who he was. 
 
 What had happened he could only guess. In some 
 manner, the boys had become wise to what he was at-
 
 Jhe Fellow Who Dangled. 175 
 
 tempting, and either they had induced Shearman and 
 Brown to join them, or else they had seized the two 
 fellows and tied them up so that they could not in- 
 terfere. 
 
 Remembering the scuffling noise, he inclined to the 
 latter supposition. But, whichever was the truth, he 
 was in a most humiliating position. 
 
 A prisoner here until his tormentors chose to re- 
 lease him, he had not the slightest hope that they 
 would fail to discover his identity. They would keep 
 him dangling at their own sweet pleasure, taunting him 
 the while with the sarcastic jibes and jeers vrhich were 
 even now driving him almost frantic ; and then, when 
 they were quite tired of their entertainment, they would 
 draw him up to Shearman's room, to find out just who 
 it was that had afforded them so much amusement. 
 
 Burton shivered at the thought. He would be the 
 laughingstock of the entire school, for such a chance 
 as this of making fun does not often occur. He, who 
 had enjoyed ridiculing others so much, would now 
 suffer in his turn; and, as he realized what was in 
 store for him, he felt that he would give anything he 
 possessed if he could only escape it 
 
 He even seriously considered cutting the rope and 
 taking_his chances in a drop to the ground. It was not 
 so very far, and almost anything would be better than 
 being found out. But when he glanced downward into 
 the shadowy darkness below he did not dare risk it. 
 
 So he hung there, struggling silently, now and then, 
 to grip that knot which the tips of his fingers could 
 barely touch, maddened by the mocking voices from all 
 about, with cold chills of apprehension coursing up and
 
 176 The Fellow Who Dangled. 
 
 down his spine, until, of a sudden, there came that 
 jarring vibration on the rope again. 
 
 His heart leaped into his throat as he glanced swiftly 
 upward. They were going to pull him up; in a mo- 
 ment more everything would be discovered. As he 
 looked, two heads were thrust cautiously over the sill, 
 and an instant later a faint whisper came down to him. 
 
 "Otis!" 
 
 It was Shearman's voice, and a thrill of hope shot 
 through Burton. Had they possibly managed to es- 
 cape? Was there yet a chance for him to get away 
 unrecognized ? 
 
 He hesitated a moment and then gave two sharp 
 hisses. He did not notice that the light in Rudd's room 
 had gone out an instant before. 
 
 To his joy, the response was instant. He began to 
 ascend at a speed which was far more rapid than his 
 descent had been. Evidently whoever was at the other 
 end of the rope realized the necessity for haste. 
 
 As he reached the window ledge, he gripped it with 
 both hands, and in another moment was in the room. 
 
 "We couldn't help " began Brown excitedly. 
 
 Burton cut him short. Not an instant must be lost 
 in getting out of the room and down to his own, on 
 the next floor. 
 
 "They don't know who I am," he gasped. "If either 
 of you tell, I'll kill you." 
 
 Without another word, he crossed the room on the 
 run, jerked open the door and darted into the hall. 
 In another second he reached the top of the narrow 
 stairway which led to his own corridor and disap- 
 peared into the darkness.
 
 The Fellow Who Dangled. 177 
 
 He was not an instant too soon. Scarcely had he 
 vanished when several doors were hastily opened and 
 shadowy forms made a concerted but noiseless rush 
 to the scene of the little drama. To their disappoint- 
 ment and chagrin, they found only the two boys whom 
 they had trussed up, but who had managed, somehow, 
 to untie their bonds. 
 
 "Where is he?" demanded Jack Ranleigh, who was 
 substitute quarter back, but who loved a joke even 
 better than football. 
 
 "Gone," returned Shearman laconically. 
 
 On the way to the window, some one stumbled over 
 the rope and announced that the fellow had told the 
 truth. When this fact had been made certain, Ranleigh 
 turned to the two boys who were regarding the in- 
 truders with malicious satisfaction. 
 
 "Who was it, Chris?" he asked ingratiatingly. 
 "Come on and tell us." 
 
 "Go to grass !" returned Brown. "Find out your- 
 self, if you're so keen to know." 
 
 And that was the last word from both of them. 
 Neither threats nor persuasion could induce them to 
 reveal the name of the fellow who had dangled for a 
 good half hour at the end of that rope; and the older 
 fellows were finally forced to give it up and return to 
 their rooms with the uncomfortable conviction that they 
 had bungled, and that the joke was not altogether on 
 the unknown.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 THE LAUGHINGSTOCK OF THE SCHOOL. 
 
 Next morning the story spread quickly over the en- 
 tire school, and the question in every boy's mouth was 
 the identity of the fellow who had been the butt of the 
 joke. 
 
 Burton was, of course, suspected, on account of in- 
 timacy with Shearman and Brown; but there were a 
 dozen other boys on equally friendly terms with the 
 two, so that the question was very far from being an- 
 swered. 
 
 Indeed, Burton threw such a successful bluff as to 
 having been one of those who sang out from his win- 
 dow, and professed so keen a curiosity as to who the 
 unknown might be, that suspicion was more or less 
 diverted. 
 
 Nevertheless, he was thankful when the day had 
 passed without any further evidence coming to light; 
 and, by the following morning, he came to the pleasing 
 conclusion that he was fairly safe. 
 
 With this reassuring thought came a return of the 
 desire to carry out the scheme which had resulted so 
 disastrously, and discover what Morgan Rudd was do- 
 ing in his room. Through some intricate process of 
 reasoning, Burton laid the blame of his humiliation at 
 Rudd's door, and this increased the grudge he held 
 against the fellow, making him the more anxious to 
 obtain additional ammunition for further assaults.
 
 The Laughingstock of the School. 179 
 
 Access to Rudd's room through the window being 
 now out of the question, the door was the only ingress 
 left. To be sure, this was always kept locked, whether 
 the taciturn chap was in his room or not, but the matter 
 of a key ought not to be insurmountable. The style 
 was an ordinary one, and, though all the locks through- 
 out the school were different, blank keys of the right 
 size were to be had at the village locksmiths; or it 
 might even be possible to secure one of the master 
 keys. 
 
 The last method was rejected as being too risky. 
 But early that afternoon, Christy Brown hastened to 
 the village and returned as speedily as he could with 
 a blank key. 
 
 They had expected to wait till the next morning for 
 the operation; but when Rudd was seen leaving the 
 building and striking off toward the woods, it was de- 
 cided to go ahead at once. The key was carefully 
 coated with wax from a candle and, when placed in 
 the lock and turned firmly, a fair impression appeared, 
 which was at once attacked with a file. 
 
 The process took some time. They filed in Burton's 
 room and every now and then had to sneak out to 
 see if it fitted. At last, to their joy, it turned stiffly, 
 and they hastened to slip into the room and close the 
 door behind them. 
 
 The eager curiosity with which they looked about 
 can be imagined. The place was almost as bare as a 
 barn. Not only had no attempt at "fixing up" been 
 made, but it was one of the un tidiest rooms any of the 
 boys had ever seen. Clothes lay about here and there 
 without order. Shoes and soiled linen were on the
 
 180 The Laughingstock of the School. 
 
 floor or banked against the closet door as if they had 
 been thrown there and then forgotten. 
 
 In amazing contrast to the general disorder was the 
 surpassing neatness of the table, which had been drawn 
 over to the one side of the window and was covered 
 with various tools, little stacks of well-seasoned wood, 
 pieces of linen, and a number of other things, the use 
 of which the boys could not even guess. 
 
 "Gee! This is a great outfit," exclaimed Brown, 
 picking up a small file which was as delicate as a 
 jeweler's implement. "But what in time does he use 
 it for?" 
 
 "I'm hanged if I know," Burton answered, pawing 
 here and there on the table. "I don't see a darned 
 thing " 
 
 "Look here, fellows quick!" cried Shearman ex- 
 citedly. 
 
 He had been attracted by something bulky on the 
 bed which was covered with a large sheet of paper. 
 He had not hesitated to remove the paper, for further 
 inspection. As the other two hastened to his side, 
 they both gave exclamations of astonishment. 
 
 The thing which rested on the white coverlet, and 
 which had unquestionably been the cause of Rudd's 
 many days and nights of toil, was a small model of an 
 aeroplane, the workmanship of which was so perfect 
 that both Shearman and Brown were moved to com- 
 ment upon it with considerable enthusiasm. 
 
 Burton's lips curled scornfully, however. He could 
 see nothing good emanating from the hands of the boy 
 he so disliked, and he at once proceeded to throw cold 
 water on his friends' involuntary praise.
 
 The Laughingstock of the School. 181 
 
 "Bah !" he sneered. "That shows he's crazy. Think 
 of any sane chap wasting all the time he has on a kid's 
 toy." 
 
 "It looks better than that to me," protested Brown, 
 bending over to examine it more closely. "Everything 
 about it's perfect, even the engine. Why, I never saw 
 anything like it in my life." 
 
 "You haven't seen much, then," growled Burton ill- 
 temperedly. "They sell things like that at all the toy 
 stores in New York." 
 
 "I'll bet they're not like this," put in Shearman. 
 "Why, it looks to me as if the thing could fly." 
 
 "For about two yards," sneered Burton. "Come on, 
 and let's get out. We don't want to be pinched here. 
 This proves I was right. The chump's as loony as they 
 make 'em. He's wasted days and days making some- 
 thing he could buy better for a couple of dollars." 
 
 Silenced, though not quite convinced, his compan- 
 ions followed him out of the room and downstairs. 
 It was later than they had thought, for the fellows 
 were beginning to come in from the football field, and 
 the main hall below was filled with laughing, joking 
 groups. 
 
 Hesitating on the last step, Burton's eyes lit up with 
 a keen, malicious joy as they fell upon the figure of 
 Morgan Rudd just entering the door. Here was a 
 chance which might not soon occur again to give his 
 enemy a dig before the whole crowd, and he hastened 
 forward to meet the boy in the very midst of the mob. 
 
 "Hello, Rudd !" he said loudly, and with a decidedly 
 contemptuous inflection. "Been doping out any more 
 flying machines lately ?"
 
 182 The Laughingstock of the School. 
 
 The lanky chap gave a slight start, and instantly 
 his expression became watchful. 
 
 "I don't think I understand what you're driving at," 
 he returned quietly. 
 
 "Ho! ho!" laughed Burton. "Modest, eh? Surely 
 you're not ashamed of the great work." 
 
 He turned, grinning, to the near-by fellows, who 
 were glancing curiously in his direction. 
 
 "Didn't know we had an inventor in our midst, 
 did you?" he chuckled. "Why, Rudd, here, has in- 
 vented an aeroplane which is going to revolutionize 
 the science. Before long you'll see him circling all 
 over the place as easy as the rest of us walk. When 
 are you going to start work on the real thing, Rudd?" 
 
 The frowsy-haired chap made no reply, but con- 
 tinued to regard his tormentor with a curiously fixed 
 scrutiny which seemed to irritate Burton considerably, 
 and made him drop his bantering tone. 
 
 "Are you really fool enough to think you'll do any- 
 thing with that machine of yours ?" the latter demanded 
 scornfully. 
 
 "I don't know that it's any of your business what I 
 think," Rudd retorted calmly. 
 
 Burton's lips curled. 
 
 "Humph !" he grunted. "I'll guarantee you'll never 
 get off the earth in it." 
 
 A shadowy smile passed over Rucld's thin face. 
 
 "At least I won't dangle in mid-air, and not be able 
 to get down," he commented, with a slightly significant 
 emphasis. 
 
 It was as if he had struck Burton a blow across the
 
 The Laughingstock of the School. 183 
 
 cheek. The color flamed into his face, and he clenched 
 his hands tightly. How much did the fellow know? 
 How had he found out ? Burton's first impulse was to 
 cut short the conversation instantly, and retreat with 
 what grace he could. But, almost as soon as the 
 thought came into his mind, he realized how impos- 
 sible it was. Already the fellows around were prick- 
 ing up their ears and crowding forward. The only way 
 of escape was by brazening it out. 
 
 "Ha! ha!" he laughed loudly. "No, you certainly 
 won't. If you ever get up in the air you'll have to 
 be held there by a pole, or something." 
 
 Rudd's eyes were still fixed steadily on his. They 
 seemed calm and placid, but in their depths there lurked 
 a glimmer of amusement which made Burton long to 
 strike him down then and there. 
 
 "Even that's better than hanging at the end of a 
 rope, isn't it ?" he asked quietly. 
 
 Burton's face grew redder, and he scowled fiercely. 
 
 "What d'you mean by that?" he demanded belliger- 
 ently. "If you think that I " 
 
 His voice was drowned in the concerted shriek of 
 joy which went up from all around. 
 
 "Oh, you dangler!" 
 
 "You rope climber !" 
 
 "Hi, Bill! Here's the moke that was doing the 
 Romeo stunt the other night on the rope." 
 
 "Is that straight ?" 
 
 "Sure ! Take a squint at his face." 
 
 "Whatcher blushing so for, Bertie ?" 
 
 "You bad thing!" 
 
 "Those naughty swear words !"
 
 184 The Laughingstock of the School. 
 
 "He ought to have his mouth washed out with 
 soap." 
 
 Burton glanced around at the circle of grinning faces 
 in helpless fury. Instantly he realized the utter futility 
 of denial. They would not believe him. 
 
 He wanted to lash out at them with bitter, taunting 
 words, but he managed, luckily for himself, to refrain. 
 They would only welcome such an outburst, and return 
 it tenfold. 
 
 For a moment or two he stood speechless, his face 
 taking on a purplish tinge. Then he whirled suddenly, 
 and, tearing through the crowd, raced back upstairs, 
 the jeers and laughter ringing in his ears and the 
 mocking words following him as he ran. 
 
 When he reached the safety of his own room and 
 turned the key, he stood for a moment panting slightly, 
 his whole face working with the fury which possessed 
 him. 
 
 Rudd had brought this thing about, and he should 
 suffer. He would be revenged if it took every min- 
 ute of his time for the remainder of the year. He 
 would make that lanky scarecrow sorry bitterly sorry 
 he had ever meddled with what did not concern him. 
 
 He did not stop to think that Rudd was only hitting 
 back in a perfectly fair manner. He did not consider 
 that the chap had kept his own counsel for three days, 
 and would doubtless have kept it forever, but for Bur- 
 ton himself. He only knew that he had been made 
 the laughingstock of the entire school, and he swore a 
 solemn oath that he would be amply revenged.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 THE RUINED MODEL* 
 
 Bart Hodge, Merry's chief assistant, dropped into a 
 chair in the office and folded his arms. 
 
 "There's something queer about this fellow Rudd, 
 Frank," he announced seriously. 
 
 Merriwell raised his eyebrows. 
 
 "In what way ?" he asked. 
 
 "In every way," Hodge returned emphatically. 
 "He's about the most perplexing character I've had to 
 do with in a long while. Have you paid much atten- 
 tion to him?" 
 
 Frank's eyes twinkled, but his face was serious. 
 He was used to Bart's manner of looking upon the 
 dark side in sizing up a boy. 
 
 "I've noticed that he keeps a good deal by him- 
 self," he answered quietly. "I haven't spoken to him 
 about it, because I was hoping he'd get over it of his 
 own accord. It's always better if they can overcome 
 this shyness without any interference." 
 
 Hodge frowned. 
 
 "It isn't shyness that's troubling him," he said darkly. 
 "It's something worse." 
 
 "Worse ?" queried Merry. "Just what do you mean, 
 Bart?" 
 
 "He's got something on his mind," Hodge said em- 
 phatically. "Most of the time he goes around in a 
 walking trance. His lessons are never more than half
 
 186 The Ruined Model. 
 
 prepared, and in the gym he never does a stroke of 
 work more than he actually has to, and does that in a 
 half-hearted manner. Since he's been here, he hasn't 
 even gone near the athletic field, let alone evinced the 
 faintest desire to play anything. And you know that 
 even the worst muffs toss a ball now and then, and al- 
 ways show up for the games, if they do nothing else. 
 Depend upon it, Frank, he's brooding over something." 
 
 Merriwell straightened up in his chair, now thor- 
 oughly interested. It was just possible that there 
 might be something in Bart's point of view. He him- 
 self had noticed some of these pecliarities in Morgan 
 Rudd, but he had so far been too busy to make a care- 
 ful study of this particular boy. 
 
 "Have you any notion of what's on his mind?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "Nothing exactly definite," Hodge answered. "But 
 from the way he behaves, I should think he might be 
 worrying over something he's done. It might even be 
 a theft, or something like that. What sort of a char- 
 acter did his people give him? Suppose you look up 
 the correspondence and see." 
 
 There was no need for Frank to look up the letters, 
 however. That marvelous memory of his seemed to 
 retain the facts concerning every boy in the school. 
 
 "I don't recall any question of his honesty," he re- 
 turned slowly. "His father said he was lazy and 
 shiftless, and couldn't be made to study or take any 
 exercise. He spent a great deal of time shut up in 
 his room, or else taking solitary walks, from which 
 he was quite as apt to return long after supper was
 
 The Ruined Model. 187 
 
 over. He seemed to have no idea of time, and no 
 sense of responsibility." 
 
 "Exactly as he does here," Hodge said triumphantly. 
 "He spends every afternoon in his room, or else off 
 in the woods. He's been late to supper any number of 
 times. Now, what does he do with himself? And 
 what's he got on his mind? That's what I want to 
 know." 
 
 "That's something we shall have to find out," Merry; 
 said, smiling. "I'm glad you brought this up, Bart. 
 I've been so busy with plans for the new building and 
 a lot of other things, that I've had no time to give to 
 the boys individually. I'll look up Rudd at once and 
 see if I can get at the bottom of the mystery." 
 
 It thus happened that the next afternoon, as the 
 lanky, dreamy-eyed fellow emerged from the dormi- 
 tory (Hrectly after dinner, he found the head of the 
 school just passing the door, apparently having come 
 from the gymnasium. 
 
 "How are you, Morgan?" Merry said pleasantly.; 
 "Going for a tramp?" 
 
 "Ye-es, sir," returned Rudd, much embarrassed by; 
 the encounter. "I was going down er by the lake." 1 
 
 "Good ! We may as well walk along together, then.- 
 I have to look at one of the shells which was broken! 
 yesterday." 
 
 Rudd acquiesced because there was nothing else to 
 do. He would much rather have gone his way alone, 
 however. The presence of the older man bothered 
 him, and disturbed his train of thought. 
 
 This fact was perfectly apparent to Frank; but he 
 paid no attention to it, chatting with Rudd in an.easy^
 
 tt88 The Ruined Model. 
 
 natural manner about various matters of school inter- 
 est, and exercising to the utmost his extraordinary fac- 
 ulty of putting a fellow at his ease. 
 
 Presently Rudd began to feel more comfortable, and 
 before long he found himself thawing to* a degree of 
 which even he was unaware. Merriwell realized it to 
 the full, however, and in that short walk he learned 
 more of the boy's inner nature than one would have 
 supposed possible. 
 
 By the time they reached the boathouse where the 
 shells were kept, he had come to the conclusion that 
 Hodge was wrong. Rudd was not brooding over any- 
 thing disgraceful. He was intensely absorbed in some- 
 thing; but just what that something was remained, for 
 he moment, a question. 
 
 Leaving his young companion standing on the edge 
 of the lake, Frank went into the boathouse, looked over 
 the damaged shell, and decided that it could be repaired 
 in the school carpenter shop. 
 
 He was gone nearly ten minutes, but when he 
 returned, Rudd stood just where he had left him, his 
 eyes staring out across the lake, where a brisk breeze 
 had stirred the water into choppy little wavelets from 
 Iwhich the sun glinted in dazzling, intermittent flashes. 
 
 He did not seem to notice Frank's approach, and 
 the latter stood quietly beside him for several moments, 
 wondering amusedly how long the boy would remain 
 in that trancelike condition. Suddenly, without so much 
 as turning his head, the lanky youth spoke : 
 
 "A mechanical stability device ought to make fly- 
 ing about as safe as automobiling."
 
 The Ruined Mode!. 189 
 
 Merry could scarcely believe that he had heard 
 aright. 
 
 "What did you say?" he exclaimed, in utter as- 
 tonishment. 
 
 Rudd gave a start, and turned round. 
 
 "Oh!" he gasped, the color rising in his face. "I 
 I forgot. I didn't mean to " 
 
 "Never mind that," Merriwell put in, more quietly* 
 "Just tell me what you meant." 
 
 The boy dropped his eyes, and fumbled with the 
 top button of his coat in an embarrassed manner. 
 
 "You'll laugh, of course," he faltered. "I wag! 
 thinking of aeroplanes. They'd be a lot safer if a 
 device was invented to to keep them from tipping 
 something which would work automatically." 
 
 Frank drew a long breath. Like a flash, he had 
 realized that this was an answer to the thing which 
 had been puzzling him. 
 
 "Captain Baldwin once told me," he said quietly* 
 "that when the perfect engine was invented, and a1 
 automatic stabilizing device, the conquest of the air 
 would be complete." 
 
 Rudd threw back his head and darted a swift, ques- 
 tioning glance at Merriwell. 
 
 "You know Captain Baldwin?" he asked excitedly* 
 "Thomas Scott Baldwin?" 
 
 Frank nodded. 
 
 "He and I are very good friends," he smiled. 
 
 "Cracky !" exclaimed the lad. "He's the most wofN 
 derful man in the world. I'd give anything to see 
 him some time. They call him the father of aviation^ 
 don't they?"
 
 &90 The Ruined Model. 
 
 "Yes. He's probably more liked and respected than 
 any other inventor in that line. His name isn't so 
 well known, perhaps, to the general public as some 
 others, for he never indulges in spectacular flights or 
 anything of that sort. He gives all his time to the 
 science of flying, working for the future more than 
 for any present fame. A number of years ago, before 
 he regularly took up the study of aeroplanes, he spent 
 some time here in Bloomfield working on dirigibles 
 for the government." 
 
 The boy sighed enviously. 
 
 "Gee ! I wish I'd been here then," he said. "Have 
 you seen him since, sir?" 
 
 "Oh, yes. I've visited him a number of times at 
 Mineola. In fact, we studied together, and all I know 
 about aeroplanes came from him." 
 
 "You've studied aeronautics?" Rudd burst out, his 
 eyes sparkling and his whole face alive with interest. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Driven an aeroplane?" 
 
 "Yes, several." 
 
 "Monoplane, or biplane?" 
 
 Some men would have resented the boy's curt, 
 brusque questions as lacking in the proper respect; 
 but Frank realized the situation perfectly. The boy's 
 mind was so full of the subject which occupied every 
 waking moment, that he had quite forgotten their 
 relative positions. He was talking as one man to 
 another, thinking only of the thing he wanted to 
 know, and without the slightest idea of being im- 
 pertinent. 
 
 "Both," Merry replied, with a slight smile.
 
 The Ruined Model. 
 "By Jove!" sighed Rudd. "I wish- 
 
 He stopped abruptly, and his jaw dropped. For & 
 moment he stood there looking at Merriwell, with 
 the color flaming into his face. Then his eyes sought 
 the ground. 
 
 "I beg your pardon, sir," he faltered. "I I for-! 
 got who I was talking to. I didn't mean to be 
 fresh." 
 
 Merriwell laughed lightly. 
 
 "I know you didn't, Morgan," he answered. "Whali 
 is it you wish?" 
 
 Encouraged by the man's tone, Rudd glanced up 
 hopefully. 
 
 "I've got a model of a monoplane in my room," he 
 explained. "I've been working on it for a long while. 
 I think I've got something which will keep the ma- 
 chine stable." 
 
 To Frank, it seemed a sheer impossibility that a 
 mere boy could have made a discovery of such tre- 
 mendous moment in the science of flying; but he let no 
 sign of this skepticism appear in his face or his 
 manner. 
 
 "If you have done that," he said gravely, "you've 
 succeeded in doing something which has so far baffled 
 every inventor." 
 
 "I know it sounds foolish, and all that," Rudd ad- 
 mitted. "But I've gone over it and over it, and I can't 
 see why it won't work. If you would just look it 
 over " 
 
 "Of course I will," Frank put in readily. "Suppose 
 we do it at once. I am most interested."
 
 The Ruined Model. 
 
 To tell the truth, he was more than skeptical as to 
 the real value of the invention. He had seen too 
 often the wild enthusiasm and perfect faith of an in- 
 ventor over something he had discovered, which later 
 turned out to be quite worthless. 
 
 But there was no question that he was interested 
 in Rudd himself. During the discussion of aeroplanes, 
 the boy's face had become transformed. The dreamy, 
 almost listless expression gave place to a look of keen 
 intelligence. His whole face lighted up with the en- 
 thusiasm which possessed him, and Merriwell felt in- 
 tuitively that the youth had a brain which was very 
 much out of the common. 
 
 The impression was strengthened as they walked 
 briskly back to the school. Rudd was no longer silent 
 and dull, but talked about his beloved hobby in a man- 
 ner which was more than precocious, and which 
 (Showed that his grasp of the subject was positively 
 (amazing. 
 
 Together they entered the room, and, as the lanky 
 chap hastened over to the bed and dropped down on 
 his knees beside it, Merry raised his eyebrows slightly 
 at the dreadful untidiness of the place. The next in- 
 stant, however, his attention was distracted by a gasp 
 from the boy, followed by a stifled exclamation of 
 horror. 
 
 He had drawn a large pasteboard box, without the 
 cover, from under the bed, and was staring into it 
 with a kind of paralyzed despair. As Frank stepped 
 quickly forward and glanced over the lad's shoulder, 
 he drew his breath swiftly. 
 
 The box was filled with a mass of broken wood and
 
 The Ruined Model. 193 
 
 torn fabric. Bits of iron and pieces of twisted wire 
 lay all about in confusion. If the thing had eve* 
 been a model, it was one no longer. It had been 
 smashed into bits so completely that scarcely a square 
 inch of the original remained to show what it might 
 have beettj
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 MERRIWELL'S OFFER. 
 
 For a moment there was utter silence, as the two 
 stood looking at the wreck. Then Rudd rose slowly 
 to his feet and glanced at Merry, his face white and 
 the muscles of his jaw rigid as stone. The pupils of 
 his eyes were scarcely larger than pin heads. 
 
 "You see," he said simply, but in a voice which 
 yv&s not quite steady. 
 
 Merriwell's brows were contracted. 
 
 "You left it all right?" he demanded. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "It's contemptible !" said Merry. "The idea of ma- 
 liciously destroying a thing which has taken weeks to 
 jput together! Have you any suspicion " 
 
 He stopped abruptly and bit his lips. For a mo- 
 ment or two there was silence, and, glancing at the boy 
 but of the corner of his eye, Frank saw in an instant 
 that Rudd had, at least, a notion as to who was re- 
 sponsible for the outrage. Wondering, he waited to 
 see what the lad was going to say. 
 
 "If you don't mind, sir," Rudd returned slowly, "I'd 
 rather not tell you. I'm not sure, and so you see it 
 wouldn't do to give, you the wrong idea." 
 
 Merriwell breathed a sigh of relief. 
 
 "I understand perfectly," he said. "I shall do my 
 best, however, to get at the bottom of it Meanwhile," 
 he glanced down at the box again and shrugged his
 
 Merriwell's Offer. 193 
 
 shoulders, "I'm afraid this is quite ruined. Perhaps 
 you can explain your device from the drawings you 
 must have made of it." 
 
 Rudd's face brightened a bit. 
 
 "Oh, yes, sir," he agreed. "I'm afraid it won't 
 be so easy to make it clear, though." 
 
 He led the way to his table, and Frank inwardly 
 commented on the contrast between the neatness here 
 and the general disorder of the room. The plans 
 which the boy presently produced were drawn with 
 exquisite skill and attention to detail, which showed 
 that, at the bottom, he had an orderly mind. 
 
 For nearly an hour they went over the device to- 
 gether, and, at the end of that time, Frank was some- 
 what impressed. The thing was on entirely novel 
 lines, and looked distinctly good. Other similar in- 
 ventions had seemed good, however, so he did not 
 allow himself to be too sanguine or to bank a great 
 deal on the success. There was no question in his 
 mind, though, about giving the ingenious youth every 
 faculty for continuing his work and constructing a 
 new model. 
 
 "There's a small room off the pattern shop," he 
 said, after the plans were put away and he had seated 
 himself, "which you may use for this work. We 
 wilt see that a good lock which can't be picked is 
 placed on the door, to guard against a repetition of this 
 affair. Regarding the model, I should say you had 
 better make it about twice as large, Morgan. It will 
 take longer, but you'll have something which will be 
 a great deal easier to try out. Suppose you make the 
 plane spread six feet, and the other parts in propor-
 
 196 Merriwell's Offer. 
 
 tion. The matter interests me tremendously, and you 
 may as well be working on something like this as 
 spending your time on more or less useless articles in 
 the manual-training course. There's just one condi- 
 tion I want to make, however," 
 
 He paused an instant, still studying the boy. 
 
 "You must not lose yourself in this work, Mor- 
 gan," he went on. "You must spend only a certain 
 number of hours a day on it, and make a determined 
 effort to put it entirely out of your mind the rest 
 of the time." 
 
 Rudd's face fell. 
 
 "I don't see how I can, sir," he protested. "My 
 mind's so full of it that I'm always thinking it over." 
 
 "Exactly," Frank agreed. "It must stop, however. 
 Otherwise you'll very soon become hipped on the sub- 
 ject. A man's mind isn't meant to be developed in 
 only one direction. It must be broadened and given 
 variety or it becomes abnormal. When you are work- 
 ing over your invention it is right and proper that 
 you should think of nothing else, but when you are 
 away from it you must forget it entirely. Mingle 
 more with the other boys, play baseball " 
 
 "Gracious!" Rudd exclaimed, aghast. "I never 
 played ball in my life." 
 
 "Then it's high time you learned," Merry smiled. 
 "I'm afraid that side of your education has been en- 
 tirely neglected. You simply must give your mind 
 variety. Even Edison, hard as he works over his in- 
 ventions, never spends all his time on one thing. When 
 he finds himself becoming fagged, he drops one thing 
 and takes up another of a totally different character.
 
 Merriwell's Offer. 197 
 
 Since you are not interested in any other problems, 
 you must do what is even better, attend to the de- 
 velopment of your body, and learn to like the games 
 and sports which every normal boy plays as a matter 
 of course. The mere physical exertion, and the fact 
 that you are pitting your brain against another's, will 
 do more toward broadening you than anything I can 
 think of. Doesn't that sound reasonable?" 
 
 Rudd nodded slowly. 
 
 "Yes, sir, I suppose it does," he agreed. "Only it's 
 going to be mighty hard to begin." 
 
 "Most habits are hard to break," Frank smiled. 
 "And this is nothing but a habit. Now, suppose we 
 lay out a rough sort of schedule for you to follow. 
 The manual-training course calls for two hours' work 
 a day. That, of course, you will devote to your 
 model; and I think perhaps another hour, taken the 
 first thing after dinner, can be added to it. Taken in 
 connection with your studies and gym work, that is 
 all the time you ought to spend indoors." 
 
 "Only three hours?" Rudd said, in a tone of dis- 
 appointment. 
 
 "Not a minute more," Merry returned emphatically. 
 "The rest of the afternoon you must be outdoors, 
 building up your body and giving your brain some- 
 thing else to think about. Go out to the field and 
 start in by having a catch with another boy. Watch 
 all the regular games, and you'll soon become enthusi- 
 astic. Get in with the fellows, and learn to take an 
 interest in everything which goes on at the school. 
 Learn tennis, and go in for track work. With your 
 build, you ought to be rather speedy."
 
 198 Merriwell's Offer. 
 
 Rudd sighed. The prospect did not appeal to him 
 in the least; but he was sensible enough to see that 
 there was a good deal of reason in it. 
 
 "When do you want me to start ?" he asked. 
 
 "You may as well go out this very afternoon," 
 Merry advised. "You mustn't get discouraged if 
 things don't go smoothly at first. Keep at it just as 
 you've kept at the stabilizing device, and you'll make 
 good. What's more, you'll find your brain fresher 
 by a good deal when you go back to your model, and 
 you'll be able to accomplish a lot more than you can 
 now in three hours." 
 
 "All right, sir," Rudd agreed, without enthusiasm. 
 *T11 do as you say."
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 THE AWAKENING OF MORGAN RUDD. 
 
 Probably the most difficult thing Morgan Rudd had 
 ever done in his life was to walk out onto the field 
 and find a boy who was willing to have a catch with 
 him. Certainly it was the most unpalatable. 
 
 Extraordinary as it may seem, he had never held a 
 baseball in his hand before, save once or twice when 
 he was forced to pick one up and return it to the 
 players, and then he had rolled it along the ground, 
 instead of throwing it. 
 
 He was one of those precocious youths who con- 
 sider such things a waste of valuable time, without 
 realizing that, in turning down everything in the na- 
 ture of a pastime, he was missing something which 
 he could never make up. 
 
 He started from the school at a rapid walk, with 
 the one idea of getting through with an unpleasant 
 duty as soon as possible. But as he neared the field, 
 and saw spread out before him from the slight rise 
 on which he stood the kaleidoscopic mass of color and 
 motion, he slowed down to a crawl, and finally stopped. 
 
 Practically the entire school was assembled there. 
 On the diamond the two nines were engaged in a brisk 
 practice game, which was watched by a crowd of spec- 
 tators who had nothing else to do. Their shouts and 
 joshing criticisms reached Judd's ears plainly, as did 
 the sterner, more biting admonitions of the captain. 
 Outside the diamond, all over the flat, grassy expanse,
 
 2OO The Awakening of Morgan Rudd. 
 
 boys, more boys, and then some, were scattered. 
 Dozens of baseballs rose and fell in beautiful curves. 
 Here and there an embryo hitter was trying his hand 
 with a bat. Beyond, the tennis courts were all occu- 
 pied, and several hot sets were in full swing. Boys 
 who had nothing else to do occupied themselves in 
 chasing each other about, or rolling one another aim- 
 lessly over the grass in sheer, joyous abandon. 
 
 With the shouts and yells and laughter ringing in 
 his ears, Rudd watched it all bewilderedly for a few 
 moments, before he resumed his slow approach. He 
 tried to tell himself that it was all foolish nonsense; 
 but somewhere within him a responsive note was 
 struck which made him feel a vague, regretful dis- 
 quiet because he was not participating in this sport and 
 frolic. 
 
 It took him a long time to find a boy with a ball 
 which was not in use ; but at last he spied one standing 
 to one side of the diamond. His request for a catch 
 was met with amused astonishment, and declined with- 
 out hesitation. 
 
 Undaunted, the determined chap continued his 
 search, and, after several rebuffs, he ran into little 
 Pewee Stubbs, his trowsers pocket bulging with the 
 coveted ball, a mammoth mitt dangling from one fin- 
 ger, evidently also in search for some one to pass with 
 him. 
 
 He listened to Rudd's request with suspicion, evi- 
 dently under the impression that some sort of a joke 
 was on foot. At last, however, he was convinced that 
 the lanky fellow was in earnest, and they withdrew a 
 little from the crowd, to begin.
 
 The Awakening of Morgan Rudd. 201 
 
 Morgan Rudd will never forget the humiliation ol 
 that afternoon. The catching and throwing of a ball 
 had seemed to him such a simple thing that he had 
 anticipated not the slightest difficulty in the perform- 
 ance. His chagrin may be imagined at the instant 
 discovery that there was a decided knack about it. 
 
 At first he grew furious at his unspeakable awk- 
 wardness, and at the joyous mirth of little Stubbs 
 over the diverting exhibition. This only made things 
 worse, and threatened to bring upon his companion an 
 attack of hysterics. 
 
 At that, he cooled again, and gritted his teeth. He 
 was still angry at himself, but it was the cold, calcu- 
 lating sort of anger which stimulates. He vowed that 
 he would get the knack or die. 
 
 He did not get it that afternoon, but he improved 
 so decidedly that Pewee assured him, patronizingly, 
 that "he might make a third-rate twirler if he kept it 
 up a few hundred years." 
 
 He was at it the next day and the day after. At 
 odd moments he slipped around back of the gym and 
 threw a ball, which he had bought, against the brick 
 wall. He went at the thing in much the same dogged 
 way that he would have tackled a difficulty in aero- 
 nautics, and in the end he succeeded. 
 
 In learning to throw and catch a ball, he learned 
 something which was infinitely more important, and 
 which had probably been in Frank Merriwell's mind 
 at the very beginning. He came to like being with the 
 fellows out on the field. He came to enjoy the com- 
 panionship of the other boys, and he no longer had 
 any desire to mope by himself.
 
 2O2 The Awakening of Morgan Rudd. 
 
 He liked to feel that he was a part of that minia- 
 ture world, even if it was only a very small, unim- 
 portant part He began to share with his companions 
 the awe and reverence which filled their souls at any 
 near approach or notice from those great men who 
 formed the school nine. He took an interest in the 
 games, and became a loyal "rooter," with a chronic 
 hoarseness. 
 
 He developed a sense of tidiness in his dress, be- 
 cause he wanted to be like the other boys. He even 
 fixed up his room for that same reason. He got so 
 that he could hold up his end in the joshing game of 
 give and take, and, possessing a quick wit, came at last 
 to have quite a reputation in that regard a reputation 
 which was viewed with disgustful rage by Otis 
 Burton. 
 
 Burton's enmity for Rudd had never ceased ; he had 
 lost no opportunity for sneering and backbiting. As 
 the weeks passed into months, however, his efforts be- 
 came less and less effective. Tolerated at first by the 
 great mass of boys, Rudd began to rise in their esti- 
 mation bit by bit as he developed. His life in the 
 open air soon began to show in an erect carriage, a 
 firm walk, and a vastly increased animation of manner. 
 
 His cheeks, once rather pallid, now glowed with 
 health, and his eyes no longer wore that dreamy, 
 trancelike expression. He took to tennis like a duck 
 to water, and gained the admiration of many by his 
 remarkable ability as a swimmer. 
 
 In proportion as Rudd blossomed out, Burton's 
 slurs and innuendoes failed of their effect, and in that 
 same degree the ill-natured chap's hatred gained
 
 The Awakening of Morgan Rudd. 203 
 
 strength and venom. He felt that Rudd suspected him 
 of having maliciously destroyed the model, and that 
 added to the flame of his anger until he became almost 
 "skewed" on the subject. 
 
 Rudd treated him with a calm indifference. His 
 ready tongue was always equal to a verbal battle with 
 Burton, and the latter was too much of a coward to 
 resort to an open quarrel. 
 
 All this took time a great deal of time. April 
 slipped away into May; and June appeared almost 
 before Rudd realized it. His model was progressing 
 slowly, but surely. He did not work rapidly, but with 
 infinite care, and he found that his interest never 
 flagged, as it had sometimes done in the days gone 
 by. With the other healthy diversions which took up 
 so much of his time, he never grew stale, and always 
 entered that little room off the pattern shop with an 
 elastic tread and sparkling, eager eyes. 
 
 Merriwell came often to watch the progress of the 
 miniature aeroplane, and always he marveled at the 
 boy's expertness and invention. He had brought all 
 the powers of his brilliant mind to bear upon the 
 stabilizing device, and could find no flaw in it. Ex- 
 traordinary as it appeared, he had at last to admit the 
 possibility of success, and, thinking of all that success 
 would mean, he grew almost impatient for the com- 
 pletion of the model. 
 
 As June neared the end, it was apparent that this 
 would not come about until after the dismissal of the 
 boys for the brief interval of two weeks which came 
 between the end of school proper and the beginning 
 of the summer camp.
 
 2O4 The Awakening of Morgan Rudd. 
 
 Frank was not especially sorry, for it would give 
 them an opportunity for trying out the model in per- 
 fect security from interruption. It thus came about 
 that, when the other boys departed with much joyful 
 clamor and horseplay, Morgan Rudd remained behind 
 without a single regret. His chance was coming 
 swiftly, and, whenever he thought of it, his heart 
 glowed with gratitude toward the man who had made 
 it possible.
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 THE FUTURE BRIGHTENS. 
 
 '"Finished!" 
 
 As he uttered the word, Merriwell advanced into 
 the room and stood beside the boy who had just put 
 the last touch to the exquisite model on the table be- 
 fore him. 
 
 It was a wonderful piece of work, but the perfection 
 and delicacy of workmanship paled into insignificance 
 before the surpassing importance of the device which 
 had emanated from the lad's brain. If it worked suc- 
 cessfully, a tremendous stride toward the conquest of 
 the air would have been made. 
 
 The tiny but perfect gasoline motor had been made 
 according to the specifications of the young inventor 
 and paid for by the master of the school. 
 
 Rudd's cheeks were flushed and his eyes bright with 
 excitement as he watched Merri well's close examina- 
 tion of the model. At last he could contain himself 
 no longer. 
 
 "Shall we try it out this afternoon, sir?" he asked 
 breathlessly. 
 
 Merry glanced out of the window. The day was 
 cloudy, and low, swiftly flying gusts of dingy gray 
 showed how high the wind had become. 
 
 "If she worked on a day like this, it would be the 
 best possible test," he said slowly. "But do we want 
 to risk ruining the work of all these weeks? The 
 smallest possible defect would do it, you know."
 
 2o6 The Future Brightens. 
 
 Rudd noddedjcomprehendingly. 
 
 "I understand, sir," he said quietly. "But I've been 
 mighty careful, and I don't think there are any 
 defects." 
 
 Frank suppressed a smile at this display of ingenu- 
 ous egotism. 
 
 "Well, since you're game, we'll do it now," he re- 
 turned. "The wind's not strong enough actually to 
 blow it away, but if this stabilizing device doesn't 
 work, I'm afraid it will be smashed on the ground." 
 
 "Still, if we don't try it on a windy day," put in 
 Rudd, "we won't have a complete proof of anything. 
 Besides, if it should be broken, I can make another 
 one." 
 
 "There speaks the true inventor." Merry laughed. 
 "You have perfect faith and indomitable persever- 
 ance. You take one side, and we'll carry it downstairs 
 now." 
 
 They did so, stopping only for gasoline to fill the 
 miniature tank, and went on out of the building to- 
 ward the athletic field. Here, pausing in the shelter 
 of a tree, they filled the tank and took a last look over 
 everything. 
 
 "I can't see a thing out of place," Rudd declared. 
 
 "Nor I," Frank agreed. "We may as well set 
 things going. I propose that we fasten the rudder 
 so that the monoplane will make a wide circle. It's 
 the only way, unless we fasten a long cord or wire to 
 it to keep it from flying off, and that wouldn't be so 
 satisfactory, anyhow. If your machine will ride 
 steady in this wind while constantly circling, there
 
 The Future Brightens. 207 
 
 isn't a single doubt in my mind that the device is 
 practicable." 
 
 Rudd agreed to the suggestion instantly, and they 
 set about making the steering apparatus fast. This 
 done, the engine was started and let run for a few 
 moments, the two companions watching it anxiously. 
 
 Though the boy was nervous and excited, while 
 Merry remained perfectly calm and self-contained, it 
 is a question which of them was really the more 
 anxious over the result. 
 
 More, perhaps, than the lad himself, Merry realized 
 the immense importance of the invention. Well versed 
 as he was in the science of aeronautics, the man had 
 long ago seen that one weak point of all aeroplanes 
 was their lack of stability. There were numerous 
 methods, to be sure, for keeping the equilibrium by 
 means of moving the wings, but all of them had to 
 be operated by the driver, and were more or less un- 
 certain. The perfect automatic device was the ideal 
 method; and, if this boy had discovered it, he had suc- 
 ceeded where every one else had failed. 
 
 "We'll have to set her going from a height," Merry 
 said, in a thoughtful tone. "The elevating rudder 
 should be left level, or she may soar away from us." 
 
 "How would the top of the stand do?" Rudd sug- 
 gested. 
 
 "Very well, I should think," Merry returned. 
 "There isn't a tree within a thousand feet, and we 
 could lift her high enough to escape hitting any of 
 the seats." 
 
 Stopping the engine, they carried the monoplane
 
 208 The Future Brightens. 
 
 carefully over to the field and up to the top tier of 
 uncovered seats. There was no more delay now. 
 Starting the engine again, Frank lifted the model as 
 high as he could, assisted to some extent by Rudd, 
 and a moment later it was launched into the air. 
 
 The next instant their hearts were in their throats 
 as a gust struck the frail craft and tilted it to a 
 dangerous degree. For a second it seemed as if noth- 
 ing could prevent the equilibrium from being de- 
 stroyed. Then, marvelously, just as a bird flies, they 
 beheld the other wing move to restore the balance. 
 
 A deep sigh of relief came from both man and boy, 
 but they did not speak. With nerves tingling, and with 
 alternately flushing and paling faces, they watched 
 the aeroplane sweep around the field in a wide circle. 
 
 To be strictly accurate, its path was more in the 
 nature of an ellipse, for the strong breeze could not 
 help but accelerate its progress in one direction and 
 retard it in another. Time and time again came that 
 dangerous tilting of one wing, only to be followed 
 as surely by the reflex action of the other. 
 
 Around and around the field the machine swept 
 like a great bird flying. Presently they hastened down 
 from the seats and stood ready to receive it when the 
 gasoline should have been used up. 
 
 The engine chugged away for some time longer, 
 but at last the explosions grew irregular, and presently 
 stopped. 
 
 Instantly it began to float downward ; but the wind, 
 catching it, carried it along the field, so that they had 
 to run at the top of their speed to prevent it from 
 landing too strenuously.
 
 The Future Brightens. 209 
 
 It was recovered not twenty feet from a tree, and, 
 after lowering it to the ground, Frank straightened 
 up, his face glowing with enthusiasm. 
 
 "Couldn't be better, Morgan!" he exclaimed, ex- 
 tending his hand. "I verily believe you've done it." 
 
 Thrilled with joy and excitement, the boy clasped 
 his hand. It seemed too wonderful to be true; and, 
 as he stood there looking into Merry's fine eyes, and 
 thinking what the future might bring forth, he could 
 not have spoken to save his life. 
 
 Seeing how moved he was, Frank bent to do some- 
 thing to the little model. When he glanced up again, 
 the boy had recovered his self-control. 
 
 "I'm so glad," he said, his eyes glowing. "I wanted 
 it to succeed so much. Do you suppose anybody would 
 take it up now and manufacture a real machine from 
 this model?" 
 
 Frank laughed. 
 
 "I know one who would," he chuckled. "This is 
 my plan, Morgan : I will at once order the parts for 
 a full-sized monoplane to be sent here. The parts 
 for the safety device can be obtained from several 
 different factories, so there won't be any danger of 
 its leaking out. Moreover, I'll apply at once for a 
 patent on it. When you return in the fall we'll put 
 the machine together here and try her out. If she 
 proves successful and I have no doubt she will * 
 then we'll invite Captain Baldwin to come down and 
 see her fly. You'd just as soon give him the first 
 chance of using the device, wouldn't you?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, sir," Rudd gasped. "But you're too good 
 altogether. You've done enough already."
 
 2IO The Future Brightens. 
 
 "Don't worry about that, Morgan," Frank said 
 lightly. "I shall be more than repaid by the knowl- 
 edge of having helped a little toward giving to the 
 world something which will mark another giant stride 
 in the science of aeronautics."
 
 CHAPTER XXX1> 
 
 THE TEST. 
 
 At Merriwell's advice, Morgan Rudd spent the sum- 
 mer entirely out of doors. He tried to eliminate all 
 thoughts of the aeroplane from his mind, and devoted 
 his attention entirely to swimming, canoeing, moun- 
 tain climbing, and all sorts of open-air sports and 
 pastimes. 
 
 The result was that he had a tremendous appetite, 
 slept like a log ten hours each night, and when Sep- 
 tember came he was hard as nails, brown as a berry, 
 and feeling better than he had ever felt in his life 
 before. 
 
 His appearance was so transformed that scarcely 
 one of the fellows who had not been with him in 
 the summer recognized, at first sight, in this tanned, 
 bright-eyed, smiling chap, the boy they had parted with 
 only three months before. 
 
 His manner was changed, too. Though his first 
 thought was for his monoplane, and the first thing 
 he did was to hurry over to the rough wooden shed 
 which had been erected at the edge of the woods be- 
 yond the football field for the assembling of the vari- 
 ous parts, he kept to his plan of mingling with the 
 fellows and giving his brain a chance for developing 
 broadly. 
 
 He did not go in for football, because he knew that 
 he would not be able to give the time necessary to
 
 212 The Test. 
 
 regular practice; but he went to every game, and 
 rooted as enthusiastically for his team as any one else. 
 He kept up his tennis, however, and frequently took 
 part in the brisk games of land hockey, which were 
 gotten up almost every day after the football teams 
 had vacated the field. 
 
 A considerable amount of spare time, however, was 
 spent in the wooden shed where, with Merry's assist- 
 ance, the monoplane was assembled, slowly but surely. 
 
 As this child of his brain grew steadily from a 
 mass of seemingly incongruous parts into a finished 
 whole, Rudd's delight and pleasure jncreased by leaps 
 and bounds. Mingled with his joy was a little awe. 
 Sometimes, especially toward the end, as he stood si- 
 lently surveying the wide-spread planes, the trim, ship- 
 shape framework, and the compactly arranged engine, 
 stabilizing device, and various other parts, he found 
 himself wondering whether it was really going to 
 prove successful. Could it be possible that he had 
 actually solved the problem which had been the despair 
 of so many vastly abler brains than his? 
 
 The successful flight of the little model had been 
 more than encouraging, to be sure, but models had 
 been known to work before this, and their larger rep- 
 licas fail. 
 
 This thought of failure frightened him. He felt as 
 if he could not bear it after the high hopes which 
 had been raised within him. He kept this dread to 
 himself; but, somehow, Merriwell sensed a little of 
 what was going on in the boy's mind. It was a very 
 natural reaction from the optimism which had come 
 after the trial of the model, coupled with an unavoid-
 
 The Test. 213 
 
 able anxiety lest something go wrong at the last mo- 
 ment. 
 
 He did his best to reassure the boy, but he him- 
 self was not feeling so certain of results as to be per- 
 fectly confident. Some slight, seemingly trivial, thing, 
 so small as to make no difference in the flight of the 
 model, was as likely to prove their undoing as if a 
 big, vital principle had been wrongly applied. 
 
 "All the same," he said cheerfully one day, "we 
 can't afford to waste energy in useless worry. We'll 
 use every possible care in constructing the machine, 
 and no human being can do more. After that, we 
 shall have to trust more or less in Providence. We 
 want to make up our minds that it's going to suc- 
 ceed, at the same time preparing ourselves as best 
 we can for failure, and then stop worrying." 
 
 Rudd, clad in greasy overalls and smudged from 
 head to foot with dirt and oil, tried to smile cheer- 
 fully. After that, he did his best to follow Frank's 
 advice; but, as the time drew near for their initial 
 attempts at flight, he could not help growing more and 
 more nervous and worried. 
 
 Naturally, the news that an aeroplane was being put 
 together in that mysterious shed beyond the foot- 
 ball field swiftly spread throughout the school and 
 excited a vast deal of intereft. Boys were constantly 
 hanging about, gazing in wonder at the rough, square 
 structure with the great doors in front; but that was 
 as far as they ever got. Frank had built the shed 
 with that idea in view, and the light all came from 
 skylights in the roof, thus making it impossible to 
 see anything from the outside.
 
 214 The Test. 
 
 Opinion was divided as to Rudd's part in the af- 
 fair. Many of the boys were frankly incredulous, 
 and refused to believe that he could have had any- 
 thing to do with the invention of the machine. They 
 decided that he might be handy with tools and at 
 machinery, and on that account had been selected by 
 Merriwell to help in the work. 
 
 This view was fostered on every possible occasion 
 by Otis Burton, who was furious at the attention the 
 fellow he hated was attracting. He lost no chance to 
 sneer at Rudd and at the aeroplane, assuring every 
 one who would listen to him that the thing would 
 never get a foot off the ground. 
 
 Others, and they were decidedly in the minority, 
 thought that there must be something in it, or Frank 
 Merriwell would never waste so much time in the 
 shed. Whether it was his invention or Rudd's, they 
 had no idea. 
 
 The latter was, of course, questioned at all times 
 and places, but he gave little satisfaction. He was al- 
 ways good-humored and smiling, and generally turned 
 the inquiries of his curious companions off with a 
 joke. He kept his own counsel, however, and the 
 fellows were always obliged to desist, without becom- 
 ing any the wiser. 
 
 The thrill which had accompanied the completion 
 of the model was as nothing compared to that which 
 followed the tightening of the last bolt on the fin- 
 ished machine. 
 
 To Rudd it seemed as if the great, winged creature 
 was something alive, whose behavior was fraught 
 with infinite possibilities; and, as he stood looking at
 
 The Test. 215 
 
 it, he felt a rush of that awe which had come to him 
 more than once before. 
 
 What was it going to do, once life, in the shape 
 of motive power, was given it? How was it going 
 to behave? Would it soar through the air, as they 
 had every right to expect, or would it crash to the 
 ground, sweeping away in a single moment the work 
 of many weeks? 
 
 He did not know. No one could predict with any 
 certainty. They could only trust to Providence, as 
 Merriwell had said they should, and take their lives 
 into their hands, as does every man who attempts to 
 conquer the air. 
 
 Frank had decided that the initial trip had better 
 take place at night. It would be utterly impossible 
 for them to attempt it in the daytime without an audi- 
 ence of the entire school, and that he was anxious 
 to avoid. In case anything went wrong, he wished 
 to run no needless risk of life, such as would follow 
 a sudden buckling of the machine and a plunging down 
 into a crowd. 
 
 Consequently, the fact that the aeroplane was fin- 
 ished was kept a profound secret from every one. 
 Even Inza, Merry's wife, knew nothing about it; and 
 when Frank left the house, after supper one night, he 
 did it quietly and casually, as if he were simply going 
 for one of his frequent evening strolls. 
 
 Rudd also took great care in slipping out of the 
 school. They met in front of the shed without hav- 
 ing aroused the suspicions of a soul as to what was 
 up, save only Toots, Merry's negro coachman, who 
 had been summoned to the scene as a matter of pre-
 
 216 The Test 
 
 caution in case of something happening which might 
 disable them both. 
 
 The night was clear and cold. Millions of stars 
 sprinkled the blue-black arch above them, and a fairly 
 strong westerly breeze was blowing. 
 
 Quietly, Frank unlocked the great double doors, 
 and threw them open. Within, like a mammoth, 
 ghostly bird, the white outlines of the aeroplane 
 gleamed vaguely through the darkness. Behind them, 
 Toots' teeth were chattering. 
 
 "For de Lawd, Marse Frank!" he gasped. "You- 
 all am' goin' fur to set dat fing loose?" 
 
 "Never you mind what we're going to do, Toots," 
 Merry answered. "You don't have to go up in it. 
 All you have to do is to stand here and watch." 
 
 He lighted a lantern and went carefully over every 
 part of the monoplane for the last time, without find- 
 ing a single thing out of place. Then he turned to 
 Rudd. 
 
 "I'd rather go up alone, Morgan, at first," he said. 
 "Do you mind?" 
 
 The boy hesitated an instant. He was no longer 
 nervous. That had passed, leaving him cool and fear- 
 less. 
 
 "Don't you think it will hold two?" he asked quietly. 
 
 "Ye-es, but " 
 
 "I'm not a bit afraid," Rudd assured him. "I'd 
 hate awfully to miss the first trip." 
 
 Frank did not answer for a second. He seemed to 
 be thinking it over. 
 
 "Very well," he agreed at last. "Get into some- 
 thing warm. You brought your sweater, didn't you ?"
 
 The Test. 217 
 
 The youth nodded, and they proceeded at once to 
 get into sweaters, leggings, and other garments which 
 had been stored in the shed a day or so before. 
 
 Toots stood watching them, his eyes staring and 
 an expression of intense horror and despair on his 
 face. When Merriwell turned on the gas and started 
 the engine, with the machine still "anchored," he 
 jumped as if shot, and gave vent to a moan. In a 
 moment, however, Merry shut off the spark, after 
 which he set the machine free from its moorings. 
 
 The engine was equipped with a self -star ting de- 
 vice. Frank took his place in the driver's seat, while 
 Rudd climbed into the one behind him. There was a 
 second of intense stillness, during which the boy 
 could feel his heart thudding loudly against his ribs. 
 The next instant Frank pressed the starting button, 
 and the monoplane shot smoothly past the horrified 
 negro, whose face had turned a sickly sort of gray, 
 out through the wide doors, and into the night. 
 
 Merry let her run for a few hundred feet, and then 
 gently moved the elevating lever. With a soaring 
 swoop, the machine left the earth and shot into the 
 air, quivering a little under the force of the wind, 
 but otherwise perfectly balanced. 
 
 At an elevation of some thirty feet, Frank restored 
 her to a horizontal position, swerved slightly to one 
 side, and shot out across the football field. 
 
 They were above the seats and goal posts, and the 
 starlight was bright enough to show up the dark bulk 
 of trees that linked one side of the open space, so that 
 there was no danger of running into obstacles. 
 
 Straight down the field they went, still keeping in
 
 2i8 The Test. 
 
 perfect balance, in spite of the strong wind which 
 was blowing. It looked very much as if the stabiliz- 
 ing device was working perfectly, and Rudd felt a 
 blissful calm descending upon him as he sat clutching 
 the framework, with the chill night air blowing un- 
 heeded on his face. 
 
 All his worry and anxiety had been for naught. He 
 had succeeded beyond his expectations. 
 
 Again the plane was elevated, and they curved up 
 above the treetops. A wide sweep headed them back 
 toward the shed, and a .moment later they passed 
 over it, barely able to discern the frightened face of 
 Toots, visible in the light of the lantern, as he stared 
 up at them. 
 
 Turning again, Merriwell increased the speed, and 
 they shot back over the field. Another turn, and Merry 
 shut off the engine, and, with plane depressed, swooped 
 easily and gracefully to earth, making a perfect land- 
 ing, and stopping not twenty feet from the moaning, 
 trembling negro. 
 
 "Praise de Lawd!" the latter ejaculated. "I never 
 done 'spec' ter see yo'-all ag'in. Ah's mos' sick with 
 t'ankfulness you come down safe." 
 
 "We're pretty glad ourselves, Toots," Merry 
 laughed, as he stepped out of the machine. 
 
 His face was radiant, and he turned swiftly to 
 Rudd. 
 
 "It's all right, boy," he exclaimed. "You've suc- 
 ceeded. I'll wire Captain Baldwin to-morrow." 
 
 He held out his hand, and Rudd gripped it tightly. 
 Something seemed to catch him by the throat, though, 
 and he could not utter a word.
 
 r 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 THE BOY WHO MEDDLED. 
 
 The great day had arrived, and the school was 
 thrilled with the excitement of it Directly after the 
 football game, which had been started early on that 
 account, a public flight of the mysterious aeroplane, 
 which had been puzzling every one to an almost in- 
 tolerable degree for two months, was to come off. 
 
 More interesting than that, even, were the rumors 
 that one of the most famous air men of the age would 
 be present, having come all the way from New York 
 for the purpose of inspecting an invention which was 
 said to be actually revolutionary. 
 
 There were whispers that this invention was the 
 work of Morgan Rudd, but these were not generally 
 credited. That Frank Merriwell had done something 
 wonderful in the line of invention seemed perfectly 
 natural, for there was scarcely a boy in the school 
 who did not have implicit faith in the man's ability to 
 accomplish almost anything. To believe that one of 
 their own number, a fellow of only seventeen, who 
 had always been regarded as more or less queer, should 
 be "the inventor, seemed absurd. 
 
 Nevertheless, Morgan Rudd was looked upon by 
 almost every one with a sort of respectful wonder. 
 Even if he was not responsible for the planning of the 
 aeroplane, he had been taken into Merriwell's confi- 
 dence, and knew all about it. It was even rumored
 
 220 The Boy Who Meddled. 
 
 that he knew how to operate the machine, and all the 
 morning he was surrounded by a crowd of eager, curi- 
 ous boys, athirst for information. 
 
 The sight maddened Otis Burton. He went about 
 sneering and jeering at Rudd and at the flying machine 
 in an almost incoherent manner, assuring every one 
 that the whole thing would be a fizzle, that the aero- 
 plane would never get a foot off the ground. 
 
 Considering the general feeling about the school, 
 his attitude was a mistaken one. He discovered this 
 very soon by the manner in which he was thrown 
 down good and hard, and told very plainly that he 
 was jealous of Rudd's reputation and popularity. 
 
 This, of course, only added fuel to the flame of his 
 resentment, which flared up hotter than ever. 
 
 "Darn fools !" he muttered furiously, after the last 
 and most trying rebuff. "They'll find out mighty 
 quick that I'm right. They make me sick, the whole 
 lot of 'em." 
 
 He was so irritated and disgusted that he resolved 
 to go off on his wheel, and cut both the game and 
 the exhibition, which was to follow it. In his inner- 
 most heart he had a hateful fear that, after all, there 
 might be something in the persistent rumors of a 
 wonderful discovery having been made by Merriwell 
 and Rudd ; and he had no desire to be a witness to 
 the latter's triumph. 
 
 He got out his bicycle and started slowly across the 
 flat, smooth, grassy expanse along the side of the 
 football field. It was a short cut to the village road, 
 and Burton presently got a glimpse, through a fringe 
 of trees, of the shed which housed the aeroplane.
 
 The Boy Who Meddled. 221? 
 
 Unconsciously he slowed down. The place was 
 shut up, but his keen eyes saw a figure hurrying to- 
 ward it, which must be Rudd. During the morning, 
 Merriwell had strictly forbidden any of the boys to 
 go near the spot. The aeroplane would have to be 
 taken out of the shed early in the afternoon, and he 
 was afraid that some of them, in examining it, might 
 do some damage. 
 
 Otis scowled fiercely; and then, pedaling hard 
 again, swerved into a path leading through the trees, 
 down a steep slope and into the road. At Bloomfield 
 he stopped at the store, and had two sodas in solitary 
 state. 
 
 Not one of the fellows was to be seen, for the game 
 must by this time have commenced. Burton was not 
 sorry. He did not want to see any one at the present 
 moment ; and, besides, at no time was he noted for an 
 eagerness to treat. 
 
 Having satisfied his appetite for sweets at a mini- 
 mum cost, he mounted the wheel again and rode out 
 of the village. 
 
 It was perhaps half past three when he returned, 
 hot, tired, and still angry. At the entrance to the 
 short cut, he dismounted and walked his machine up 
 the steep slope, mounted it again, and then, just as 
 he -had reached the point from which he could see 
 the shed through the trees, he suddenly leaped to the 
 ground and stood still. 
 
 During his absence the aeroplane had been brought 
 outside the building, and now stood in the open, a 
 little way from the door. As he saw for the first 
 time the gleaming white of the wide-spread planes,
 
 222 The Boy Who Meddled. 
 
 the intricate framework beneath, and all the vari- 
 ous parts over which Merriwell and Rudd had la- 
 bored so long and carefully, he was decidedly im- 
 pressed. 
 
 Somehow, he had not expected anything like this. 
 It was all so much bigger and looked so much more 
 shipshape than he had pictured it to himself, that his 
 heart sank in a sudden doubt as to whether he might 
 not, after all, be wrong. 
 
 "Rot!" he muttered, the next moment. "Just be- 
 cause it's big, it doesn't follow that it'll fly." 
 
 Trundling his bicycle, he walked a little nearer. 
 Presently he saw that there was no one near the 
 thing. It had been moved some twenty feet or more 
 to the right of the shed, apparently so that it could 
 be headed straight for the football field and the open 
 space beyond. 
 
 "Wonder where Rudd is?" he thought curiously. 
 "Perhaps he's gone back to the school for something, 
 or maybe he's in the shed." 
 
 A moment later, drawn by irrepressible curiosity, 
 he had left the trees and was advancing softly to- 
 ward the machine. He kept a keen eye on the shed, 
 but could see no one about it nor hear any sounds 
 which would indicate that the fellow he hated was 
 inside. 
 
 From the field came the crashing roars of concerted 
 cheering which told him that Farnham Hall had done 
 something good It was almost time for the game 
 to be finished, he thought, and then, in a flash, an idea 
 came into his mind.
 
 The Boy Who Meddled. 223 
 
 He stopped and listened. Not a sound came from 
 the shed. Perhaps Rudd had slipped over to see the 
 end of the game. An opportunity such as this would 
 never come again. If he could only do some little 
 thing to the aeroplane which would spoil the whole 
 exhibition and cover Rudd with shame, he would have 
 squared the score between them. 
 
 A moment later he had reached the side of the 
 machine and let his wheel slip to the ground. Circling 
 one of the great planes, he stepped close to the side 
 of the framework and looked about him curiously. 
 
 There were two seats, one behind the other, and 
 near the front one he saw several levers and other bits 
 of mechanism, none of which could be reached from 
 the ground. 
 
 A moment later he had climbed cautiously into the 
 seat and was looking swiftly about for some means 
 to accomplish his purpose. He pressed on one of the 
 levers gingerly, but it did not move. He examined 
 something which looked like the spark and throttle 
 device on an automobile, but was different in one or 
 two respects. 
 
 There were apparently no nuts which he could re- 
 move, nor any other small parts the loss of which 
 might injure the machine. Presently he bent over to 
 examine a boxlike arrangement, and a moment later 
 his finger pressed lightly on a button in the center. 
 
 Instantly there was a jarring vibration, and, to his 
 horror, the aeroplane began to move slowly forward. 
 With a cry of fear, he half arose to his feet, one 
 hand clutching unconsciously at the spark and throttle 
 levers, causing the machine, with a rattling volley oi
 
 224 The Boy Who Meddled. 
 
 explosions, to leap forward with a jerk that threw 
 him back into the seat, white and panic-stricken. 
 
 As he shot forward across the smooth grass, he gave 
 another loud cry, which was answered from behind. 
 
 "Stop ! Stop !" yelled Rudd's voice frantically. 
 
 He must have been in the shed all the time. Even 
 in the midst of his awful fear, Burton found himself 
 wishing desperately that the boy he hated had stepped 
 out a little sooner, and had prevented him from climb- 
 ing into this hateful, diabolical thing, which was run- 
 ning away with him. 
 
 Stop ? He would have given anything he possessed 
 to do it, but he could not. His fingers fluttered nerv- 
 ously among the bewildering mechanism, which was 
 as incomprehensible to him as Greek. He tried to 
 be calm and to reason. There must be some way 
 of stopping it. Where was the switch which would 
 shut off the current? Frantically he searched, but 
 could not find it. There must be some sort of a 
 brake. He had never heard of any moving machine 
 >vithout a break. Was it one of those other levers? 
 
 His heart was thudding loudly against his ribs. 
 (Perspiration burst forth upon his forehead, and he 
 turned actually sick with fright. He must stop it 
 fee must! 
 
 'At last, he barely touched the hateful throttle lever 
 again, and the aeroplane seemed to leap forward along 
 the ground with a jolt which took his breath away 
 and made him cry out once more. 
 
 After that he lost his head.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 THE HERO OF THE AIR. 
 
 "Suppose we stop here a minute or two and see 
 the finish of the game, captain," Merry said. "I told 
 Rudd we would show up at four, and, if you don't 
 mind, I'd rather not get there ahead of time. He's 
 preparing everything for a flight, and it would be too 
 bad to drop in on him before he's ready." 
 
 Captain Baldwin, the famous air man, acquiesced, 
 without hesitation. He was not a youth, but there 
 was something about his big frame and smooth-shaven 
 face, with those calm, level eyes, which attracted at- 
 tention wherever he went He had the look of a 
 man who has done things, and who possesses ability 
 far above the ordinary, without being in the least 
 conspicuous or peculiar. 
 
 "Of course," he agreed, with a pleasant smile which 
 lit up his whole face. "The young man deserves every 
 consideration, and we must not surprise him before he 
 is quite ready for us." 
 
 They moved forward to the side lines, the crowd 
 of boys parting instantly to make room for them, and 
 one and all regarding the captain with the same lively 
 interest which had followed him ever since he first 
 appeared at the school an hour before. 
 
 For a moment or two they watched the progress of 
 the game, which had already practically been won by 
 the home team, Frank with the keen interest a contest
 
 226 The Hero of the Air. 
 
 of that sort always aroused in him, and his com- 
 panion with a palpable effort to drag his thoughts 
 for a moment away from the thing which was ab- 
 sorbing him. 
 
 "You have a splendid lot of boys, Frank," he said 
 presently. "Fine, manly fellows, every one of them." 
 
 "They are that," Merry agreed instantly. "Appar- 
 ent exceptions crop up now and then ; but I have never 
 found a boy who was incorrigible. They all have 
 good qualities, if you can only get at them." 
 
 "That's it, if you can get at them! All men can't. 
 I venture to say that there is not one who does not 
 leave here a better chap than when he came to you." 
 
 Merriwell laughed a little. 
 
 "That's what I'm here for," he returned. "That's 
 the object of the school in a nutshell." 
 
 The captain did not answer. His eyes were fixed 
 on the field before him, where the Farnham Hall team 
 was rushing the ball toward their goal, opposed des- 
 perately but ineffectually by the rival team. Presently 
 a touchdown was made, and the wild bursts of cheer- 
 ing from the spectators made speech for a time im- 
 possible. 
 
 When the bedlam had somewhat died away, the 
 older man turned again to Merriwell. 
 
 "Do you know, Frank," he said, "the more I think 
 of this inventor of yours, the more incredible the 
 whole thing seems. With absolutely no reflection on 
 your judgment, I can scarcely believe that a mere boy 
 has succeeded where so many more mature, experi- 
 enced men have failed utterly.''^ 
 
 Merry smiled.
 
 The Hero of the Air. 227 
 
 "I don't blame you in the least, captain," he an- 
 swered. "I felt exactly that way myself. When Rudd 
 first told me of his stabilizing device, I was perfectly 
 sure there could be nothing in it. I thought he might 
 have conceived something ingenious which would ap- 
 pear to be what he supposed it; but that he had ac- 
 tually solved the great problem was incredible. Even 
 after the model worked successfully, I was not con- 
 vinced entirely." 
 
 "You are now?" queried the captain. 
 
 Frank nodded. 
 
 "Perfectly," he said emphatically. "After our first 
 flight, there has been no further doubt in my mind, 
 and there will not be in yours an hour from now." 
 
 Captain Baldwin drew a long breath. 
 
 "I remain open to conviction," he said good-hu- 
 moredly. "Isn't it almost four?" 
 
 "Ten minutes of," Merriwell smiled, consulting his 
 watch. "I think we may start over there." 
 
 The goal had been kicked, and, as they left the 
 crowd and started slowly across the turf, the teams 
 lined up for the scant two minutes which remained 
 of the last quarter. 
 
 "Am I to be allowed a seat during the first as- 
 
 The captain broke off abruptly, and stopped short, 
 his eyes fixed intently on the distant shed. The bark- 
 ing of a gas motor drifted to their ears. 
 
 "The monoplane is moving," he said, in a puzzled 
 tone. "I thought he was to wait until we came ?" 
 
 Merriwell's face was bewildered. 
 
 "That was the plan," he said tersely, not taking his
 
 228 The Hero of the Air. 
 
 eyes from the winged machine, which was advancing 
 rapidly toward them on its rubber-tired wheels. "I 
 don't understand this move. Rudd is not the sort for 
 making a spectacular exhibition." 
 
 A sudden cry came faintly to their ears and gal- 
 vanized both men into instant life. 
 
 "Something's wrong!" exclaimed the captain, as 
 they started to run forward. 
 
 Merriwell said nothing. His face was slightly pale, 
 and in his eyes was a great dread. He had seen the 
 figure of Rudd rush wildly out of the shed, stare for 
 an instant after the moving machine, and then run 
 forward and stoop for a moment over something on 
 the ground. The next second he was mounted on a 
 bicycle, and launched in swift pursuit of the aero- 
 plane. 
 
 "What is it?" asked the captain, as he caught a 
 glimpse of his companion's face. "What's happened? 
 It's not running away. I see the boy in the driver's 
 seat." 
 
 "So do I," Frank snapped back. "It's not the right 
 boy, though. Some one has meddled. Rudd is be- 
 hind on the bicycle." 
 
 "Great mercy!" gasped the older man, startled out 
 of his calm. "We must do something! We must 
 stop her!" 
 
 Frank made no answer, but almost at once he ceased 
 running and stood still. 
 
 The aeroplane was headed straight toward them, 
 running now at a more rapid speed than before, but 
 still on the ground. 
 
 Merry recognized the white, frightened face of
 
 The Hero of the Air. 229 
 
 Burton, and saw him frantically seeking with both 
 hands to find some way of stopping the thing. Be- 
 hind, Rudd, on the bicycle, was rapidly gaining. If 
 nothing happened, he would catch up with the ma- 
 chine before it reached the two waiting men. 
 
 "Burton!'' Merry shouted at the top of his voice. 
 "Sit still! Touch nothing!" 
 
 Either the strong, gusty wind carried his words 
 away, or the boy was too far gone with fright to 
 heed them. With his heart in his throat, Merry saw 
 those flitting hands move ceaselessly among the levers. 
 At any second he might touch one which would ele- 
 vate the plane and send him into the air. 
 
 Like a flash, Rudd rounded one tail plane and shot 
 inward. With a lithe spring he was off the wheel 
 and leaping toward the framework. 
 
 An instant later, Frank's sigh of relief changed to 
 a gasp of horror. Rudd's fingers had scarcely touched 
 the side of the aeroplane, close to the empty passen- 
 ger seat, when Burton yanked at something, and the 
 great machine left the earth in a long, swooping glide, 
 which took it just over the heads of the two men. 
 
 As they glanced swiftly upward, they caught a 
 single glimpse of the boy clinging to the framework, 
 his legs dangling without support. Then the mono- 
 plane shot onward and upward, and they gazed after 
 it with white, despairing faces.
 
 'CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF GENIUS , 
 
 For an instant they stood in helpless, petrified si- 
 lence. Then the captain groaned. 
 
 "They'll both be killed!" he exclaimed. "He'll never 
 make it. Look!" 
 
 A sudden gust striking the apparently overbalanced 
 machine, it tilted dangerously, one wing sweeping 
 down, down, until the whole thing looked as if it were 
 almost on edge. 
 
 "If it touches the ground, he's lost," muttered the 
 older man, little beads of perspiration breaking out on 
 his forehead. "It'll crumple like a sheet of paper." 
 
 Frank uttered no sound, but the look on his face 
 showed how much he was suffering. He was blind 
 and deaf to everything but the thing upon which his 
 every sense seemed focused. He did not even feel 
 the painful grip the captain had on his ami. 
 
 The moment seemed like an eternity. Then, slowly, 
 like a wounded bird putting forth every effort of its 
 strength, one great wing rose little by little, while 
 the other depresesd itself to bring the whole back 
 into balance. 
 
 The breath whistled through the captain's teeth, 
 and his hold on Frank's arm relaxed. Still neither 
 of them spoke. The monoplane was agitated again 
 and again, and they could see it veer from one side 
 to the other under the great and unusual strain.
 
 The Triumph of Genius. 231 
 
 Scarcely daring to breathe, they watched, hoping now 
 against hope, that the boy might, after all, be able to 
 master it. 
 
 As the winged creature swept over the football field 
 every voice was hushed, every sound quelled, until 
 it seemed as if that whole great crowd of boys had 
 been stricken breathless. 
 
 Suddenly a low moan went up, more eloquent by 
 far than the loudest clamor, as one wing tilted dan- 
 gerously again. But, as before, the device worked 
 automatically to restore equilibrium, and a cheer, 
 louder than any which had greeted the good work 
 of the eleven, arose from the watching boys, as they 
 saw that Rudd had managed to lift himself over the 
 framework and reach the vacant seat Then the aero- 
 plane was swept onward over the fringe of trees and 
 out of sight. 
 
 Then, and only then, did the tension relax. With 
 a deep sigh, Captain Baldwin took out a handkerchief 
 and passed it over his moistened forehead. 
 
 "Marvelous!" he ejaculated. "In my whole experi- 
 ence with aeroplanes I have never seen anything 
 like it." 
 
 With an effort, Frank turned from where he was 
 staring vainly after the vanished monoplane, and 
 looked at his companion. 
 
 "The test could not very well have been more se- 
 vere," he said quietly. "I think they are both safe." 
 
 Baldwin nodded emphatically. 
 
 "Absolutely," he agreed. "A boy who has the nerve 
 to do what he did will make small work of getting at 
 the control."
 
 232 The Triumph of Genius. 
 
 He hesitated an instant, his eyes gleaming with en- 
 thusiasm. 
 
 "The perfection of the device is proved beyond a 
 doubt," he went on quickly. "There can be no possi- 
 ble question of its being automatic!" 
 
 "None whatever. The boy in the driver's seat 
 knows nothing about operating. He could not possibly 
 have restored the equilibrium by anything he did." 
 
 "Certainly not. That is out of the question. I wish 
 they'd come back. I shan't feel comfortable until a 
 landing is made." 
 
 "Nor I," Merry agreed, "though I have faith in 
 Rudd's ability to manipulate the machine." 
 
 They started rapidly toward the field, and just as 
 they reached the first crowd of upward-staring boys, 
 a shout arose, and the aeroplane was seen above the 
 treetops, headed in their direction. 
 
 Swiftly it approached, buzzing like a monster hum- 
 ming bird, and swooping over the trees and down- 
 ward toward the field in a long, easy glide. As it 
 came on, the speed was cut down. 
 
 Perfectly steady, in spite of the gusty, treacherous 
 wind, it sailed over the field at an elevation of some 
 fifty feet. Rudd sat in the driver's seat, his face 
 calm and composed and glowing with a strange light. 
 Behind him cowered the meddling Burton, pallid as 
 a sheet of paper, trembling like a leaf, and clutching 
 the sides of the seat with a terror-stricken grip. 
 
 Amid a tense, awe-struck silence, the machine 
 passed, swooped swiftly down, and came to rest gently 
 on the open ground beyond, after running some dis-* 
 tance on the wheels.
 
 The Triumph of Genius. 233 
 
 Then, as Rucld stepped from his seat and turned 
 to help out his frightened passenger, a roar of delight 
 and relief went up such as had never been heard on 
 the field before, and, with one accord, the boys started 
 forward in a wild rush. 
 
 Pell-mell they passed Frank and his companion. In 
 an instant, they reached the young aviator, and, pay- 
 ing no heed to his protestations, hoisted him up to 
 their shoulders. 
 
 He protested laughingly, but they would not let 
 him down. Instead, they turned back, and bore him 
 toward the spot where the two men stood, the air re- 
 sounding with his name yelled from hundreds of 
 throats. 
 
 As they let him slip, at last, from their hold, he 
 stood for a moment with flushed face and slightly 
 trembling lips, his eyes, bright with emotion, staring 
 into those calm, level ones of Baldwin. 
 
 For a second they stood thus, the man who had 
 devoted his life to the conquest of the air, and had 
 made his name famous the world over, and this strip- 
 ling in his teens. Then Baldwin stepped forward ancj 
 held out his hand. 
 
 "My boy," he said, with his pleasant, transforming 
 smile, "I congratulate you. You have done some- 
 thing which many men have so far striven in vain to 
 accomplish, and which will make your name famous. 
 Better than mere fame, however, your genius has re- 
 sulted in something which will infinitely lessen the 
 risks of aviation, and will surely revolutionize the con- 
 struction of aeroplanes." 
 
 As Rudd gripped the hand in his, he had to catch
 
 234 The Triumph of Genius. 
 
 his lips between his teeth to keep them from trembling. 
 It was a moment of happiness and triumph such as 
 he had never dreamed of, but the excitement and ten- 
 sion he had just been through made him unstrung. 
 
 "Thank you, sir," he stammered, with difficulty. 
 "You are very good to say that." 
 
 The captain laughed a little. He saw the boy's 
 nervousness, and divined its cause perfectly. 
 
 "Not good only truthful," he returned pleasantly. 
 "Eh, Frank?" 
 
 He glanced around at Merry, who had been stand- 
 ing a little behind him, his face reflecting the boy's 
 joy and triumph. 
 
 "Exactly," Merriwell agreed, smiling. "Only truth- 
 ful. Suppose you show the captain your device, Mor- 
 gan. I think he's anxious to inspect it in detail." 
 
 Thankful for something which would take the uni- 
 versal attention away from him, Rudd hastened to 
 lead the v/ay toward the aeroplane. He was not to 
 escape so easily, however. The boys crowded around 
 him once more, and presently their voices were raised 
 in crashing bursts of sound: 
 
 "Rudd! Rudd! Rudd!" 
 
 There was a spontaneous enthusiasm in the sound 
 which brought the blood pouring back into the boy's 
 face and tingling in his finger tips. Such moments do 
 not come often, but they are well worth living for. 
 
 Slinking over the field toward the school, head down 
 and face still pallid, was another boy, to whom those 
 cheers were like so many knife thrusts. Strangely 
 enough, he felt no envy, only a bitter, intense regret,
 
 The Triumph of Genius. 235 
 
 for those few dreadful moments had taught him a les- 
 son which would never be forgotten. 
 
 Soon after this the general interest of Merriwell's 
 lads was again centered in football principally be- 
 cause of the amusing incidents connected with the 
 "breaking in" of Billy Cromwell on the gridiron. 

 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 BILLY CROMWELL'S ARRIVAL. 
 
 When Billy Cromwell arrived at Farnham Hall, late 
 in September, he never had seen a football. But, then, 
 there were a good many things about the school which 
 were new to Billy so new and strange, in fact, as to 
 arouse feelings of carefully concealed wonder in his 
 mind. 
 
 Billy had spent every one of his sixteen years on his 
 father's ranch in Arizona. The outfit was a large 
 one, and Billy was the only youngster about the place. 
 Consequently, those sixteen years had been one long 
 success||fi of joyous, happy days, uncurbed and unre- 
 strained' by disagreeable duties or trying parental in- 
 terference. 
 
 Billy did not remember his mother. She had died 
 when he was barely a year old, leaving him to the 
 care of his father, whose mind was already so taken 
 up with the business of making his ranch the largest 
 and best paying in the State, that there was little room 
 left for bestowing much care on his only son. 
 
 For three years a succession of Mexican women, 
 varied now and then by one of good old American 
 stock, performed the duties of nurse. Toward the end, 
 their arrival and departure was so nearly synonymous 
 as to cause the elder Cromwell no small vexation. 
 
 The climax was reached when Billy insinuated a 
 harmless, but extremely active, snake between the sheets
 
 Billy Cromwell's Arrival. 237 
 
 of his nurse's bed, throwing the woman into hysterics, 
 and causing her to shake the dust of the Cromwell 
 ranch house from her feet with great precipitation, 
 and to the accompaniment of some home truths which 
 were much to the point. 
 
 She was the last of a long line of harassed, distracted 
 females. A week followed during which John Crom- 
 well could not spare the time necessary for going to 
 town. Then, just as he was on the point of starting 
 with some reluctance, it must be said he happened 
 to encounter his troublesome offspring astride of a 
 small pony which one of the infatuated cow-punchers 
 had secretly broken and trained to docility. This he 
 had taught the child to ride. 
 
 That settled the nurse question for good and all. 
 A boy who could ride as fearlessly and well as this one 
 had no need of a woman to look after him. jdjjjp 
 
 With a sigh of relief, Cromwell turned hrs horse 
 and rode back to the distant round-up, and Billy's in- 
 dependence dated from that moment. 
 
 Absolutely fearless and with a very winning per- 
 sonality, he soon became the pet of the bunk house and 
 spent a great deal more time there than with his father. 
 The punchers taught him to shoot and ride and rope, 
 and by the time he was twelve he could manage any- 
 thing in the way of horseflesh on the ranch, was hard 
 as nails, and could lick his weight in wild cats in a 
 rough-and-tumble, unscientific manner. 
 
 He was often away from the ranch house for weeks 
 at a time, visiting the different line camps or going off 
 into the mountains by himself to hunt. 
 
 Several times, during the four years which followed,
 
 238 Billy Cromwell's Arrival. 
 
 his father insisted upon his attending the nearest 
 school, which was twenty miles away. There Billy 
 made the teacher's life so miserable that she was only 
 too glad to forgive his long and frequently repeated 
 absences. 
 
 The result was that he reached the age of sixteen 
 with only the most sketchy sort of an education, and 
 his ignorance of so many things which boys half his 
 age have at their tongue's end was positively ap- 
 palling. 
 
 Happily for him though he did not see it in that 
 light there arrived at the ranch about this time a 
 friend of his father's, from Chicago. This friend at 
 once sensed the situation and lost no time in showing 
 John Cromwell the error of his ways. 
 
 "It's perfectly appalling, John," he said, at the con- 
 clusion of a caustic little exposition of the facts. 
 "You've let the boy run wild, and he doesn't know as 
 much as the average child of ten. You should send 
 him away to school instantly." 
 
 The elder Cromwell flushed guiltily. 
 
 "I reckon you're right, Jim," he acknowledged. 
 "I've had so much on my mind that I've let things slide. 
 He's been to school over at Benson every winter for 
 three years, though. I sure don't see what he did with 
 his time there." 
 
 "Woman teacher, I suppose," remarked James Blan- 
 combe shortly. 
 
 Cromwell nodded. 
 
 "Sure," he returned. 
 
 "He probably spent about half the time cutting up 
 and the other half playing hooky," Blancombe said
 
 Billy Cromwell's Arrival. 239 
 
 shrewdly. "What he needs is a man's hand. Billy's 
 as nice a boy as I ever knew, John, but he's had his 
 own way so long that he's getting spoiled. What you 
 want to do is to put the curb on right away and send 
 him to a boy's school where he'll have a good, healthy 
 amount of discipline, and be thrown with a lot of boys 
 his own age. There's nothing like it to show a chap 
 that he isn't the only little pebble on the beach." 
 
 "That's so, Jim," Cromwell admitted. "I've been a 
 fool to let it go so long. Trouble is I don't know beans 
 about schools, and I might get him into a bad one that 
 would be a heap worse than none at all." 
 
 "You can't make a mistake if you send him to the 
 American School of Athletic Development," Blan- 
 combe returned. "It's run by a man named Merriwell, 
 who is the best all-round chap I ever met." 
 
 He proceeded to describe the school in detail, and 
 his friend heartily approved of the idea. An hour 
 later Billy was summoned, and, when he appeared, 
 quite unsuspecting of what was in store for him, he 
 received the ultimatum. 
 
 At first he protested strenuously, but with absolutely 
 no effect. When John Cromwell made up his mind it 
 took something like a cataclysm of nature to change 
 him. Finding his protests unavailing, Billy grew angry 
 and absolutely refused to go. He was speedily brought 
 to a realizing sense that his father was boss. 
 
 Then he sulked, but he might have spared himself 
 the trouble. When James Blancombe started for Chi- 
 cago, Billy, clad in the uncomfortable and unfamiliar 
 garb of civilization, as conceived by the proprietor of 
 the general store at Benton, accompanied him.
 
 240 Billy Cromwell's Arrival. 
 
 By this time he was resigned to the inevitable, for 
 he was too sensible to make himself uncomfortable by 
 clinging to a grouch when there was nothing to be 
 gained thereby. Nevertheless, he did not view the 
 prospect before him with the least enthusiasm. The 
 thought of being confined in a school, with a lot of 
 hateful teachers to order him around, was far from 
 being in pleasant contrast to the free, untrammeled life 
 he had always led. 
 
 "There'll be a lot of fool kids, too," he thought con- 
 temptuously, "who don't know how to do a darned 
 thing but study and play silly games. I sure don't see 
 how I'm going to stand it without seeing the boys for 
 so long, or having broncs to break, or anything that's 
 any fun." 
 
 His traveling companion, making a shrewd guess as 
 to what the boy's attitude would be, tried diplomati- 
 cally to prepare him a little for what he would have to 
 expect when he landed in the midst of four hundred 
 odd boys of all ages and temperaments. 
 
 It was impossible, however, to convey to a chap, 
 whose horizon was so limited, a conception of what he 
 would be up against. Blancombe, therefore, with the 
 best intentions in the world, only succeeded in strength- 
 ening Billy's belief that he, "a man of the world," who 
 had seen life in the rough and lived with real men, 
 was doomed to a long sojourn among a crowd of im- 
 mature boys. 
 
 He gathered one fact, however, which pleased him. 
 Evidently his waking time would not be devoted en- 
 tirely to study. There were, according to Blancombe, 
 frequent periods of relaxation, during which one might
 
 Billy Cromwell's Arrival. 241 
 
 accomplish many things. The prospect was not un- 
 attractive. 
 
 "I don't s'pose they ever saw a cow-puncher," he 
 thought. "I'll show 'em the real article. I'll make 
 'em sit up and take notice. I reckon there'll be some 
 fun in that." 
 
 The more he considered, the more the prospect ap- 
 pealed to him. 
 
 "I sure will," he murmured softly. "I'll have 'em 
 'feeding out of my hand inside a week." 
 
 But Billy still had many things to learn.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 FIRST IMPRESSIONS. 
 
 Through some mistake of James Blancombe's, they 
 arrived at Bloomfield a day late, and thus missed being 
 one of the crowd of boys returning from the summer 
 yacation, or entering school for the first time. 
 
 The train, instead of being crowded to its utmost 
 capacity by a joking, laughing, wriggling mob of 
 youthful humanity, was comparatively empty. So was 
 the station, with its hacks which had been in such de- 
 mand the day before; so was the winding ribbon of a 
 road circling picturesquely past well-kept farms inter- 
 spersed with stretches of pasture land and woods. 
 
 The boy was languidly interested in these evidences 
 of the rural nature of the neighborhood, but con- 
 temptuous, withal, at the cramped, restricted scope of 
 the farms. Compared with those in the West, they 
 were puny indeed. Still, he was glad to find the school 
 located where there was enough space in which to 
 breathe. 
 
 His condescension wore a bit thin, however, as the 
 horse emerged from a stretch of pine-bordered road, 
 turned in between two great posts of rough stone, and 
 took the wide, curving driveway at a walk. 
 
 There was something about the whole picture spread 
 out before him which made Billy straighten up involun- 
 tarily and sweep back the straggling lock of yellow hair 
 that trailed down over his gray eyes. 
 
 A great mass of buildings, built of mellowed red
 
 First Impressions. 243 
 
 brick, occupied the upper end of a wide plateau. Be- 
 hind them, forming a setting of dark green, was a 
 stretch of woods; while on the other side, extending 
 for a considerable distance, was a level, grassy expanse 
 at least half a mile long, beyond which a rather abrupt 
 slope led down to the edge of a fair-sized lake. 
 
 Though Billy did not realize it, the situation had 
 been chosen with great care, and was an ideal one for 
 its purpose. The open expanse of turf served, in 
 part, as an athletic field. In the middle was the dia- 
 mond and gridiron. On one side a number of perfect 
 tennis courts had been constructed. The lake was 
 handy for water sports in the summer, or skating and 
 ice hockey in the winter. 
 
 Though the boy from Arizona would have denied 
 the accusation indignantly, he felt an odd thrill which 
 he could not understand, as his eyes roamed over the 
 whole panorama and returned swiftly to the build- 
 ings, before which a number of figures were strolling 
 about, or sprawling upon the steps. 
 
 His ideas as to what Farnham Hall would be like 
 had been vague, but they were certainly nothing like 
 the reality. This was so much bigger than anything 
 he had ever imagined that he felt just a little awed, and 
 it suddenly came to him that other things about the 
 school might be different as welL 
 
 The instant he realized the trend of his thoughts, 
 however, he scowled fiercely and assumed an expres- 
 sion of bored indifference. Those boys, now glancing 
 curiously toward the approaching carriage, must never 
 be allowed to imagine that this was not an everyday 
 experience with him.
 
 244 First Impressions. 
 
 Nevertheless, as he stepped out a moment or two 
 later and reached for his wicker suit case, he was pain- 
 fully conscious of that battery of eyes directed upon 
 him, and when he turned and walked toward the steps, 
 it was extremely difficult to do it in the natural, indif- 
 ferent manner which he had planned. 
 
 He realized suddenly that his trousers were much 
 too tight and that his coat was riding up on his neck. 
 The vivid plaid, which he had thought rather fetch- 
 ing, became strident until it almost shrieked aloud. He 
 felt his ears begin to burn, and, before he had stum- 
 bled past the group, who did not utter a word, but 
 only looked, his face was flaming with embarrassment 
 and his ire rapidly was mounting to fever heat. 
 
 He was angry with himself for having been so easily 
 "fussed" by a lot of immature, inexperienced boys. 
 He was furious at Blancombe for having been the 
 means of his being here instead of on the ranch, where 
 he belonged and where he felt at home. He was also 
 more than provoked that the older man had done noth- 
 ing to help him preserve his attitude of indifference as 
 he ran that gantlet of curious eyes. If only his com- 
 panion had engaged him in conversation it would have 
 been vastly easier. 
 
 The result was that, by the time he landed in Frank 
 Merriwell's office, he was mad all over and ready to 
 let loose his temper at the slightest provocation. He 
 would show this principal, or whatever he was, that 
 there was one youth, at least, who was not going to 
 be so easy to handle as this crowd of immature East- 
 erners. He would make it plain from the first that he 
 was not in that class at all.
 
 First Impressions. 245 
 
 Just how he meant to go about it he did not know. 
 There was, in fact, no time at all in which to plan 
 anything, for Blancombe did not pause in the hall, 
 but made at once for a door on the right. The next 
 moment Billy, his face still somewhat flushed and his 
 expression more sullen than usual, found himself in a 
 large, square, well-lighted room, furnished plainly but 
 thoroughly, and occupied by a young and impressive 
 man. 
 
 The latter arose instantly and greeted Blancombe 
 warmly. As Billy watched him and listened to his 
 voice, the rebellious, angry mood began to wear thin. 
 The man was so totally different from anything he had 
 ever fancied, that the boy's interest was at once 
 aroused. A little later, when Merriwell shook hands 
 with him and began to ask a few questions, he found 
 himself talking about his life on the ranch with a free- 
 dom from either embarrassment or animosity. This 
 change astonished him as he thought about it later. 
 
 His heart warmed toward this man who knew ranch 
 life so well, and who, it appeared, actually owned a big 
 outfit in Wyoming. He felt, somehow, as if he had 
 met a kindred spirit who understood him and could 
 sympathize with his feelings at being brought from the 
 free, boundless life on the open range to the compara- 
 tively cramped, confining limits of civilization. 
 
 "It will be a little hard at first," Merriwell concluded, 
 "to get used to the change, but I think you soon will 
 come to see that there are advantages quite apart from 
 those of education. A school like this is really a little 
 world in itself, and you come up against most of the 
 difficulties and problems you encounter later in life.
 
 246 First Impressions. 
 
 You'll have to make your way by effort and ability 
 by doing things which will win the liking and respect 
 of those about you by standing on your own feet, in 
 other words. I don't think you will find the life here 
 uninteresting." 
 
 He paused an instant, but Cromwell made no com- 
 ment. 
 
 "You don't agree with me?" Merry went on, read- 
 ing the boy's face like an open book. 
 
 "Not exactly, sir," Billy stammered. "After the 
 ranch, this will be rather tame." 
 
 A shadowy smile -flickered across Frank's expressive 
 countenance. Other boys had come to Farnham Hall 
 with the same idea, and had speedily changed their 
 minds. 
 
 "Whatever else you may find it," he said quietly, "I 
 don't think it will be that. Do you play football?" 
 
 "No, sir. I've never seen a game." 
 
 Merriwell's eyes flitted over the lithe, muscular fig- 
 ure of the boy before him and came to rest on the 
 clean-cut, bronzed face. 
 
 "You'll learn," he said incisively. "You ought to 
 make good at it, too. You've just the build for end. 
 But that will all come later. Just now I'll have one 
 of the boys show you your room and introduce you to 
 some of the fellows. You can take to-day to get set- 
 tled down, and start in with the rest to-morrow." 
 
 "Very well, sir," Cromwell answered, with an ex- 
 cess of that bored, slightly indifferent manner which 
 had cropped out every now and then during the con- 
 yersation. 
 
 Merriwell's lips parted as if he meant to say some-
 
 First Impressions. 247 
 
 thing, but they closed again almost as quickly. His 
 first impulse had been to give Cromwell a bit of advice 
 regarding his attitude toward the boys he was about to 
 meet. He decided, however, that it would be quite 
 wasted. The youth from Arizona was one of those 
 who have to learn most things by experience, and this 
 was one of them. 
 
 The realization that life here was very different from 
 what the Western lad had imagined it; the discovery 
 that he was of vastly little less importance among 
 this crowd of boys than he supposed, might be more 
 or less painful and humiliating, but it would be good 
 discipline. 
 
 Therefore Merry kept his peace, but there was an 
 odd expression in his eyes as he bent over and pressed 
 a button on his desk. 
 
 When the attendant appeared, a moment or two 
 later, Merry hesitated for a few moments. 
 
 "Find Herman Coors, Robert," he said at length, 
 "and ask him to step in here for a moment." 
 
 Since the disillusioning process was necessary, it 
 might as well be done thoroughly and well.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 STARTING WRONG. 
 
 As the door opened a little later, Billy could not 
 help glancing curiously in that direction. He saw a 
 lithe, lean, tall chap, somewhere near his own age, 
 whose hair and eyes were of almost the same shade 
 of brown, and upon whose tanned face dwelt an ex- 
 pression of guileless innocence which made the fellow 
 from Arizona curl his lips slightly. 
 
 "You wished to speak to me, sir?" inquired the new- 
 comer, in a gentle, rather drawling voice. 
 
 Merry's face was quite serious, but an odd twinkle 
 lurked in his dark eyes. 
 
 "Yes, Coors," he returned briskly; "I want you to 
 know Cromwell, from Arizona, who has just arrived." 
 
 The brown-haired chap looked at Billy with widen- 
 ing eyes, and then came slowly forward. 
 
 "Glad to meet you," he drawled, extending a some- 
 what limp hand. 
 
 With a feeling of grim pleasure, Billy gripped the 
 unresisting fingers with a vigor which brought a half- 
 stifled exclamation from Coors' lips, and caused him to 
 snatch his hand away with the greatest precipitation, 
 a spasm of pain crossing his face at the same instant. 
 
 Merriwell, apparently not noticing the little incident, 
 went on at once : 
 
 "I wish you'd show Cromwell to his room, Coors. 
 It's number eight on your corridor. After that you
 
 Starting Wrong. 249 
 
 might take him down and introduce him to some of 
 the boys." 
 
 Coors ceased nursing his hand and dropped it to 
 his side. 
 
 "Very well, sir," he acquiesced, without any very 
 great enthusiasm. 
 
 Taking the key from Frank, he turned toward the 
 door, and then paused a moment while Billy picked 
 up his bag and followed him. A moment later they 
 were out in the hall, with the office door closed behind 
 them. 
 
 "Say!" exclaimed Coors, regarding his companion 
 with some displeasure. "Do you always shake hands 
 like that?" 
 
 "Like what?" Billy inquired innocently. 
 
 "The way you did with me." 
 
 "Why, what was the matter with it?" Cromwell 
 asked, elevating his eyebrows in surprise. 
 
 "Oh, nothing," Coors retorted, in a slightly injured 
 tone. "Only you came near breaking the bones in my 
 fingers." 
 
 Billy smiled wickedly. 
 
 "Didn't know you were so soft," he returned, in a 
 sarcastic tone. 
 
 "I'm not!" Coors rejoined indignantly. "Even if 
 you_do have a lot of muscle, it don't follow you've got 
 to use it all every time you shake hands." 
 
 "All!" exclaimed Cromwell. "If you think that's 
 all the muscle I've got, you're sure away off." 
 
 Somewhat mollified by the look of awe on his com- 
 panion's face, he went on in a slightly patronizing tone : 
 
 "Why, out in Arizona we don't think anything of
 
 250 Starting Wrong. 
 
 handling a steer on the peck without any help at all, 
 nd that sure takes some strength, I tell you." 
 
 Coors' eyes widened alarmingly. 
 
 "What's on the peck ?" he asked, in a puzzled tone. 
 
 "Mad crazy mad," Cromwell explained patroniz- 
 ingly. "They run amuck sometimes and try to gore 
 anybody or anything they see." 
 
 "Gee !" exclaimed Coors. "And you tackle them all 
 by yourself?" 
 
 "Sure. Throw 'em with a rope and tie 'em fast." 
 
 "Whew !" Coors whistled. "I wouldn't like that for 
 a cent. Don't they ever get loose and gore you ?" 
 
 Billy shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "Oh, sure," he answered airily. "You have to run 
 the risk, though. I once saw a man killed that way, 
 but, then, he wasn't much more than a tenderfoot." 
 
 By this time they had reached the room, and Coors 
 gave a slight shudder as he unlocked the door and 
 threw it open. He was evidently greatly impressed by 
 his companion's nonchalance, and the indifferent man- 
 ner in which he spoke of having witnessed the goring 
 to death of a human being. 
 
 "My gracious !" he exclaimed, as they stepped inside 
 the door. "I suppose you've seen lots of desperate 
 things done. Do you live on a ranch ?" 
 
 "Sure biggest one in Arizona two hundred thou- 
 sand head of steers on the range of over a million 
 acres." 
 
 Coors gasped. 
 
 "A million acres !" he repeated incredulously. "Are 
 you trying to string me?"
 
 Starting Wrong. 251 
 
 "Not a bit," assured Cromwell, pleased by the other's 
 astonishment. "It covers over half of a county." 
 
 Apparently almost stunned with amazement, Coors 
 dropped into a chair and cogitated for a moment in 
 silence. 
 
 "And horses?" he questioned dazedly. 
 
 "Thousands of 'em," was the nonchalant reply. 
 
 "You didn't ever break one of those er wild 
 bronchos, did you ?" queried the brown-haired chap. 
 
 Billy laughed. 
 
 "Hundreds of 'em," he retorted. "Why, that's my 
 specialty at the ranch, kiddo. The boys used to call 
 me Broncho Bill, you know." 
 
 "Gee!" came in awe-struck tones. "Think of thatl 
 Broncho Bill ! What a corking name !" 
 
 Billy was now thoroughly enjoying himself. The 
 wondering admiration of this fellow was as incense to 
 his nostrils, and was but a forerunner of the attitude 
 the whole school would probably adopt toward him. 
 He was not given to boasting, but he had not been 
 able to resist the gasping astonishment of this ex- 
 tremely verdant tenderfoot, and had even gone to the 
 length of embroidering a tasteful little pattern on the 
 solid ground of truth. 
 
 "Oh, that's nothing," he said, taking his seat on the 
 edge .of the table and swinging one foot carelessly. 
 "All the boys have names like that. Sometimes they 
 call me Billy, the Kid, after the famous outlaw who 
 shot up so many men, you know." 
 
 "Gracious !" burst from Coors, in a tone of excite- 
 ment. "You don't mean to say that there was any 
 that you ever "
 
 2252 Starting Wrong. 
 
 "Oh, of course I never did anything like that," the 
 boy from Arizona put in, his accent intimating as 
 plainly as could be that he was, nevertheless, still a 
 pretty bad nut. 
 
 Coors bent forward, both hands grasping the chair 
 arms, his eyes open to their widest extent. 
 
 "Billy," he almost whispered, "you didn't ever 
 shoot a man, did you?" 
 
 His tone was that of one hoping against hope, and 
 Billy could not resist it. He glanced out of the win- 
 dow, his face set in lines of sorrowful regret for the 
 misdeeds of which he had never been guilty. 
 
 "Twice," he murmured. "Of course," he went on, 
 spurred by a gurgle from Coors, "one of 'em was an 
 outlaw and would have killed me if I hadn't drawn 
 
 first. The other Well, it was my devilish temper. 
 
 I see red when I'm riled, you know, and this man got 
 tip against me at his own risk. Still, I don't like to 
 think of him as he lay there his face " 
 
 He broke off with a very realistic shudder and 
 glanced about the room as if in an attempt to get away 
 from the unpleasant memories aroused by this effective, 
 but wholly fictitious, child of his fertile brain. 
 
 "Not a bad room," he commented condescendingly. 
 "I reckon I'll be fairly comfortable here. Of course 
 I'm used to roughing it, though." 
 
 In reality the room was far better than any he had 
 ever had, but it would never do to allow that fact to 
 be suspected. 
 
 Coors was not interested in the matter, however. 
 He was impatient to get downstairs again and intro-
 
 Starting Wrong. 253 
 
 duce to his particular friends this unusual and thrill- 
 ing addition to the school. 
 
 "Don't stop now to unpack your bag," he urged. 
 "Come on down and meet the fellows. They'll be 
 crazy to see you and hear about some of the things 
 you've been through." 
 
 So Cromwell, after holding back a little for the sake 
 of effect, presently gave in and accompanied his nc\y 
 acquaintance downstairs. His spirits had increased 
 wonderfully, and he no longer regarded the school ex- 
 perience as an unmitigated bore. He would have the 
 time of his life stuffing these innocents full of all sorts 
 of stories. Already he saw himself the center of an 
 interested group, each member of which hanging on 
 his words and listening to his experiences with awed 
 amazement, evincing in their every gesture and ex- 
 pression the intense respect they held for this boy, 
 whose life had been crowded full of such varied and 
 blood-stirring perils. 
 
 He had no fear of his stock of stories failing him. 
 The cow-punchers on the ranch, in years gone by, 
 had stuffed him exactly as he purposed stuffing his new 
 and more innocent companions. He had only to re- 
 peat these interesting tales, with or without adornment, 
 and, when in doubt, he had a vivid imagination. 
 
 He .almost laughed aloud as he considered the allur- 
 ing prospect. Why, it was like taking candy from art 
 infant in arms ! He would own the school in less than 
 forty-eight hours. 
 
 As has been remarked, Billy had much to learn. His 
 first lesson was fast approaching, however.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 THE FIRST LESSON. 
 
 As the two boys emerged upon the stone terrace 
 which ran along the front of the building, Billy saw 
 that there were only eight or ten fellows left of the 
 much larger number which had been there when he 
 drove up a little while before. 
 
 ,Had he carried his observation farther, instead of 
 allowing his mind to dwell upon the impression he 
 was going to make, he might have noticed the air of 
 eager expectation pervading the group. This was ap- 
 parent in the swift turning of each head as the sound 
 of footsteps resounded on the flagging. 
 
 The eyes bent upon him were not filled altogether 
 with curiosity, either, though Billy saw only that. 
 There was a faint undercurrent of suppressed mirth, 
 stronger in some than in others, according to their 
 measure of self-control. 
 
 "Fellows," said Coors, breaking the silence, "we lit- 
 tle knew what was in store for us when that carriage 
 drove up this morning. This is William Cromwell, 
 alias Billy, the Kid, alias Broncho Bill, formally a 
 cow-puncher on his father's ranch in Arizona." 
 
 Billy was no fool, and, at this decidedly unexpected 
 manner of introduction, he turned swiftly and shot a 
 glance of suspicion at Coors. The latter's face, how- 
 ever, was so innocent and guileless, so evidently earnest 
 and sincere, that the Westerner decided he must have
 
 The First Lesson. 253 
 
 been wrong, and he fixed his gaze again upon the 
 group, having thus missed a sudden convulsion on the 
 part of one boy, which was as swiftly squelched by a 
 sharp, admonitory prod from the elbow of another. 
 
 Each face was now grave and serious, with a more 
 or less gratifying expression of awed amazement 
 
 "A cow-puncher?" exclaimed one. 
 
 "Gee! What do you know about that?" 
 
 "Billy, the Kid!" cried another. "Why, he was a 
 desperate outlaw. You don't mean to say, Herm, that 
 Cromwell " 
 
 "I say nothing," Coors broke in, with significant 
 emphasis. "I only know that's what they called him. 
 Cowboys have a way, I believe, of hitting the nail on 
 the head." 
 
 'A simultaneous gasp arose from the astonished 
 group. 
 
 "Whew!" exclaimed Don Shasta, thin, wiry, and 
 black-haired. "That's going some. Say, Bill, you 
 never really shot anybody, did you?" 
 
 Cromwell hesitated an instant, a curious feeling of 
 shame coming over him. For the first time he realized 
 that he was telling an out-and-out lie. Before, it had 
 seemed rather a good joke to stuff the innocent appear- 
 ing Coors full of nonsense, but to stand up before a 
 crowd and repeat it all, was rather different. Still, 
 having committed himself, he could not very well back 
 water without making himself a laughingstock, so he 
 resolved to brazen it out. 
 
 "I had to shoot an outlaw once," he replied shortly. 
 
 "But the other," Coors urged eagerly. "Tell 'em 
 about the time you saw red."
 
 The First Lesson. 
 
 Billy felt his face growing decidedly florid, and his 
 eyes sought the ground. 
 
 "I'd rather not talk about that," he began, "It 
 isn't " 
 
 He broke off abruptly and threw back his head in a 
 startled way. The pent-up emotions of Jack Ranleigh 
 had found vent in a shriek of hysterical laughter which 
 ;was like a spark of gunpowder. Instantly a roar of 
 delight arose from the group, mingled with a Catling 
 ifire of joshing exclamations: 
 
 "Oh, you Broncho Bill!" 
 
 "You Billy, the Kid!" 
 
 "He saw red and shot a man !" 
 
 "And now he don't like to talk about it I" 
 
 "Ain't he the bold, ba-ad boy !" 
 
 "Does he carry a gun?" 
 
 "Sure he does." 
 
 "Search him and see." 
 
 "I'm sca't to." 
 
 "What of?" 
 
 "He might see red and shoot me up." 
 
 With scarlet face and drooping jaw, Billy stared at 
 the joyous, grinning, transformed faces of the fellows 
 before him. For a second he did not understand, for 
 it had all come about so suddenly. Then, with the 
 blood tingling in his very finger tips, he realized that 
 they were making game of him. The whole thing had 
 been a put-up job from the very first. 
 
 He whirled furiously on Coors, only to be met with 
 an even broader grin than showed on any of the other 
 faces. The wide, generous mouth was parted over 
 two rows of perfect teeth, and the brown eyes were
 
 The First Lesson. 255* 
 
 almost invisible as the fellow fairly shook with the 
 intensity of his mirth. 
 
 As Coors met Cromwell's baleful glare he choked 
 convulsively. 
 
 "Look out how he shakes hands with you, fellows," 
 Coors gasped. "He's got a grip like iron that'll 
 break every bone in your hands. He goes out every 
 morning before breakfast and ties up a ramping, roar- 
 ing steer for exercise, all by his little self. His 
 specialty is the breaking of those wild, fiery, untamed 
 horses of the plains, known in the vernacular as 
 broncs. He's subdued thousands by the power of his 
 awful eye alone. When he fastens that orb upon them, 
 they crumple before him, their spirit is gone, they roll 
 over at his command and speak cutely when he so de- 
 sires. He's the only, original, red-eyed cowboy from 
 the great and woolly " j 
 
 Cromwell waited to hear no more. His first im- 
 pulse had been to fling himself upon the taunting 
 wretch and fight it out then and there. A swift sec- 
 ond thought, however, told him that he would neve* 
 stand a show against the whole bunch, who__would un* 
 doubtedly come to the rescue of one of their number. 
 He would have to wait until he got his tormentoi? 
 alone before he administered the well-deserved pun-t 
 ishment. | 
 
 Flight was the only other way whereby he could 
 escape the lash of that mocking, laughing voice; so he 
 turned, and, dashing past Coors, flung himseli against 
 the door and disappeared within. 
 
 For a second he halted inside to get his breath and
 
 2$S The First Lesson. 
 
 compose his features, and, as he stood there, he heard 
 one of the crowd outside gasp in a strangled voice : 
 
 "Ever run up against anything like that in Colo- 
 rado, Hermie?" 
 
 "Can't say I have," laughed Coors, "and we've had 
 a great line of punchers in the outfit, too." 
 
 Billy gave a start and hastened on through the hall. 
 Colorado ! Outfit ! Was it possible that 
 
 Suddenly he darted forward and caught a passing 
 boy by the arm. 
 
 "You know Herman Coors?" he demanded without 
 preamble. 
 
 The astonished youngster wriggled out of his grasp 
 and skipped off a few feet 
 
 "Sure," he retorted. "Say, what's biting you, any- 
 how ? You act like you were bughouse." 
 
 "Where's he come from?" Cromwell asked shortly. 
 "'Where's his home?" 
 
 : "On a ranch in Colorado," retorted the boy with 
 jequal brevity. "What's up?" 
 
 Billy made no answer, but strode away, his face 
 'frowning and the color slowly rising again. He had 
 been fooled and made game of. Coors had deliberately 
 led him on by pretending ignorance of anything West- 
 ern, whereas he was really a Western boy himself, 
 and very likely knew as much about ranch life as 
 Billy did. 
 
 "It's a dirty trick!" the latter burst out furiously 
 \vhen he had gained his room. "He did it all on pur- 
 pose, and if I don't pay up the low-down coyote good 
 and proper for it, I'm a liar! I'll show him it isn't 
 healthy to play tricks on Bill Cromwell."
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 THE PROGRESS OF BILLY, 
 
 Billy Cromwell lay in the shade of a tree to one side 
 of the football field and scowled. In the one short 
 week since his entrance to Farnham Hall his whole 
 scheme of life had been upset and turned topsy-turvy. 
 
 The feeling of patronizing superiority with which 
 he had at first looked down upon his inexperienced, im- 
 mature companions had lasted a scant twenty-four 
 hours. At the end of that time he had been forced 
 to the realization that, while they might be inexperi- 
 enced regarding a few details of ranch life, they were 
 yery wise about everything else under the sun. 
 
 Looking back upon that revolutionary week, he 
 found himself wondering at his belief that he could 
 string them with faked-up stories of his life in the 
 West. Never for an instant had one of them beefl 
 fooled. Instead, they had deftly turned the tables and 
 got the laugh on him a dozen times a day. 
 
 Not since that first humiliating experience had Billy 
 let fall a word of his Western experiences, either real 
 or fictional. The lesson had been a bitter one, but it 
 was effectual. His lips were forever sealed on that 
 subject, but there seemed to be innumerable other ways 
 in which his companions, adept as they were by long 
 practice, could work up schemes to fool him. 
 
 Time and time again, after he had bitten Jike a 
 sucker, he yowed that he would never believe a thing
 
 260 The Progress of Billy. 
 
 anybody told him. Sometimes not an hour would 
 elapse before he was taken in by an open, candid face 
 and an innocent, sincere manner. 
 
 During the first few days he had come to hate it all 
 intensely, and he would have given anything to be able 
 to leave the school at once. He would have done so 
 without waiting for permission from his father but for 
 the pride which kept him from acknowledging defeat. 
 He determined to stick it out in spite of everything, 
 and show these dubs that he could beat them at their 
 own game as soon as he learned the rules. 
 
 Latterly, another motive had come to bolster up the 
 first one. In spite of the joshing and teasing and con- 
 stant verbal clashes, he was conscious of a growing 
 liking for the school. Though he did not acknowledge 
 it in so many words, he was becoming fond of the place 
 jand interested in the life there. 
 
 With the constant clashing of wits, the necessity for 
 being always on the alert, the games, the sports, the 
 many varied interests, he realized that Frank Merri- 
 well was right when he said, that first day, that ex- 
 istence at Farnham Hall never would be tame. 
 
 Billy had come to like many of the fellows, too, even 
 though they did josh him all they could. He was sen- 
 sible enough to realize that he had, in a measure, 
 brought it on himself. He could not very well stand 
 out against everybody, and so he took his medicine in 
 a good-natured manner, hitting back whenever he 
 could and coming to enjoy the sport to a greater Q! 
 less extent. 
 
 His animosity seemed to have centered entirely on 
 Herman Coors, whom he considered responsible for
 
 The Progress of Billy. 261 
 
 that first humiliation. He hated the brown-haired chap 
 intensely, and much of his spare time was spent in 
 thinking out ways of getting even. 
 
 It proved to be a more difficult proposition than it 
 had seemed at first. There had been no opportunity 
 for starting a fight, for, though Coors was not back- 
 ward about joshing him, Billy felt that he would be 
 only making a fool of himself if he lost his temper 
 and treated the matter seriously. Moreover, having 
 watched his enemy boxing in the gym, he began to 
 have grave doubts as to his coming out ahead in an 
 encounter. 
 
 As yet he had not hit upon another way. If he could 
 only get Coors out on the ranch, it would be a simple 
 matter to triumph over him in shooting, roping, or 
 any other cow-puncher accomplishment. Unfortu- 
 nately that was impossible, and Billy was decidedly 
 deficient in the games and pastimes in vogue at the 
 school. 
 
 Tennis he watched in scornful bewilderment. It 
 seemed kiddish beyond words to spend so much effort 
 in sending a silly little ball into certain marked-off 
 spaces on either side of a net. He could not under- 
 stand how fellows could play it by the hour with every 
 evidence of interest, while others watched the foolish 
 batting back and forth with attention which verged 
 sometimes on actual excitement. 
 
 He cared little more for land hockey, a game often 
 indulged in on the gridiron after the football practice 
 was at an end, and in which half the school sometimes 
 took part. It was a shade better than tennis, perhaps, 
 but that was all.
 
 960 The Progress of Billy. 
 
 Football, however, was a different proposition. In 
 the beginning he had watched it, languidly uninter- 
 ested. The preliminary practice bored him. He could 
 not see anything entertaining in that constant reitera- 
 tion of the same move. It seemed so absurd for a 
 dozen fellows to just pass the ball from one to the 
 other for half hours at a time, or for others, gathered 
 in little groups of four or six, to wear themselves out 
 making short plunges forward, only to stop, return, 
 land do it all over again. 
 
 He did not, in short, understand the game at all, nor 
 feee that all this work was necessary before the team 
 jcould be even selected, much less play a real game. 
 
 Only the day before, however, two teams had been 
 picked out and a short game played, at the sight of 
 which Billy sat up and began to take notice. He 
 watched with intense interest the progress of the ball 
 down the field. His eyes sparkled as he beheld the 
 success of certain strategies. His face flushed, and 
 the blood tingled in his finger tips at the clash of man 
 meeting man, the thud of strenuous contact, the shrill 
 voice of the quarter back calling out signals the mean- 
 ing of which he could not grasp. 
 
 This was a man's game, he decided, after it was all 
 over and the tired fellows trooping back to the house 
 for a shower and rubdown. It was the sort of thing 
 he would like to play himself ; and that evening, during 
 the hourly study period after supper, he lost himself 
 in dreams of what he might accomplish if he could 
 only learn football and be given a chance on the field. 
 
 He was out early the next afternoon, but made no 
 attempt to approach the fellow who was acting as cap-
 
 The Progress o'f Billy. 263 
 
 tain, with a request that he be allowed a trial. He was 
 too wary for that Experience lately had taught him 
 not to plunge headlong into anything before he had 
 thought it out to the last detail. 
 
 He was absolutely inexperienced in the game, and 
 the chances were that he would be turned down and 
 laughed to scorn, especially since Ogden Marshall, act- 
 ing captain, had been one of the foremost in pestering 
 him. 
 
 He did not understand that the right sort of fellow 
 at the head of any branch of athletics never allows 
 personal feeling to interfere with his judgment. He 
 must be always on the alert for good material, and 
 should never turn down any boy, even though he may 
 know nothing of the game, who shows strength and 
 grit and a desire to make good. 
 
 So Billy took his place under a tree, determined to 
 watch through another afternoon's practice before he 
 made up his mind. To-day the work started off with a 
 brisk half hour of real playing, in the midst of which 
 Cromwell suddenly gave an exclamation of delight. 
 
 Herman Coors played on one of the teams, and Bill 
 had just seen him tackled with a precision and force 
 which brought him crashing to the ground in no gentle 
 manner. 
 
 The sight settled his mind once and for all. What 
 one fellow could do, he himself could likewise accom- 
 plish. Here, at last, was the thing he had been wish- 
 ing for. If he could only get into the game, he would 
 have countless chances for going for his enemy in a 
 perfectly legitimate manner. 
 
 When he learned how, he could tackle Coors, just
 
 The Progress of Billy. 
 
 as that boy had tackled him a moment before, only a 
 good bit harder. He could lay for him at every oppor- 
 tunity, break up his plays, and do his best to make his 
 life miserable. 
 
 The next moment he was on his feet making rapidly 
 for the center of the field.
 
 CHAPTER XU 
 
 ON THE SCRUB, 
 
 Waiting until the turmoil of the next down had sub- 
 sided, the chap from Arizona walked up to Marshall 
 and touched him on the arm. The captain turned 
 abruptly on him, breathing hard and wiping the perspi- 
 ration from his face. 
 
 "Well ?" he snapped, in no gentle tones. 
 
 "I want to know if you'll give me a chance to go 
 in," Cromwell said sturdily. 
 
 Marshall glared at him fiercely. 
 
 "Are you nutty ?" he demanded. "Do you think I'm 
 going to hold up the game to listen to such rot? Get 
 off the field and do it quick!" 
 
 Billy's face flamed, and he clenched both fists. Then 
 he realized in time that he had no right to be angry 
 at the fellow's tone. He should have known Tetter 
 than to butt in during the progress of the game. He 
 would never have done it had he not been spurred on 
 by the idea of getting even with Coors. 
 
 Without a word, he turned and walked toward the 
 side lines, and thus missed seeing Coors catch Marshall 
 by the sleeve and whisper a few words into his ear. 
 The next instant, however, he heard the captain's 
 voice bellowing after him: 
 
 "Hey, you, Broncho! I'll talk to you after the 
 game's over." 
 
 Billy stopped, whirled around, and then, with a sigh
 
 266 On the Scrub. 
 
 of relief, he resumed his progress toward the side line, 
 thankful for whatever had induced Marshall to change 
 his mind. 
 
 For the next half hour he waited patiently, specu- 
 lating the while as to what his chances would be. When 
 the game finally came to an end and the fellows scat- 
 tered over the field for individual practice, he made 
 no attempt to move until Marshall waved an arm and 
 shouted again the name for which he himself was re- 
 sponsible, but which he disliked so much, because it 
 reminded him constantly of that humiliating morning. 
 
 As he approached on the run, he was conscious of 
 Marshall's speculative scrutiny, and even after he came 
 to a stop before the captain, the latter continued to 
 look him over in silence. 
 
 "You want to try for the team, do you?" he asked 
 at length. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Humph!" commented Marshall. "Why didn't you 
 tome out with the others ?" 
 
 "I I didn't think about it then," Billy explained 
 slowly, 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "Well, I've never played before." , 
 
 The captain's eyebrows went up. 
 
 "Oh! Never played, eh?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 There was a momentary silence. 
 
 "What do you weigh?" was the next query, in a 
 rather impatient tone. 
 
 "About one hundred and fifty-five." 
 
 "Stripped?"
 
 On the Scrub. 267 
 
 Billy nodded, and Marshall looked more interested. 
 
 "Not so bad/' he commented. "You're pretty good 
 on your pins, aren't you?" 
 
 "I don't get winded easily." 
 
 The captain stepped forward and felt Billy's muscle. 
 
 "Hard as nails," he murmured. "Can you stand 
 a lot of knocking about?" 
 
 "Sure." 
 
 "Just as well, because that's about all you'll get," 
 Marshall grinned. "I may as well tell you right now 
 that there isn't much chance of your making the regu- 
 lar team. I've got enough fellows who have played 
 the game and know it from A to Z. I'm willing to try 
 you out on the scrub, though, and, of course, there's 
 always a bare chance that a chap will make good and 
 get a boost. That suit you ?" 
 
 "I'll be playing against the regular team, then, won't 
 I?" Cromwell asked. 
 
 "Part of the time yes." 
 
 "Then I'll do it," Billy returned decidedly. "When 
 <do you want me to come out?" 
 
 "To-morrow afternoon at three sharp. You haven't 
 any suit, I suppose?" 
 
 "No, but I can buy one, can't I?" 
 
 "Yes. Mr. Merriwell keeps a supply of athletic stuff 
 on hand. Go to him after practice and he'll fit you 
 out. Don't forget three to-morrow." 
 
 "I won't." 
 
 Billy left the field rather pleased with himself. He 
 would almost rather be on the scrub than the regular 
 team, for he would be constantly up against Herman 
 Coors, and it would be strange if he didn't manage
 
 268 On the Scrub. 
 
 to get in a few knocks now and then at the fellow he 
 hated. 
 
 Having fitted himself out, he dressed early, with 
 some assistance from one of the boys, and appeared on 
 the field in the full glory of his unaccustomed raiment, 
 which contrasted vividly with the torn, stained, bat- 
 tle-scared attire of most of his companions. 
 
 As these appeared, they greeted him with various 
 jests and -witticisms. 
 
 "Look at Broncho, fellows." 
 
 "Ain't he the spotless young lily." 
 
 "He won't be that long. Wait till we get after 
 him." 
 
 "Oh, you Billy, the Kid!" 
 
 "Look out for yourself, Hermie. I've got a hunch 
 he's after your place." 
 
 Coors smiled his wide smile and announced that any- 
 body was welcome to his job that could get it; and a 
 moment later the practice commenced. 
 
 Billy took no part in the line-up that day, nor the 
 next. He was turned over to Jim Phillips, one of the 
 best players on the team, to receive instructions in the 
 rudiments of the game, and in a very short time he 
 quite understood the purpose of that tiresome pre- 
 liminary work which he had looked upon with such 
 scorn. 
 
 Phillips, a little provoked at having been singled 
 out to instruct this greenhorn, did not spare him. In 
 showing him the proper way to tackle, he brought 
 Billy to the ground every time with almost unneces- 
 sary violence, and when Cromwell himself tried to get 
 that apparently simple, but really difficult, knack, he
 
 On the Scrub. 269 
 
 found himself dragged about and treated like a bag of 
 sawdust instead of flesh and bone. 
 
 Not only that, but whenever he failed as he did 
 every time for a seeming eternity his instructor be- 
 rated him with sharp, stinging sarcasm which hurt 
 almost more than the bruises and scratches which were 
 rapidly accumulating on his person. 
 
 But Billy was game and never complained once, nor 
 expressed a desire to stop. There was a bulldog tenac- 
 ity in his make-up, which made him stick at a thing 
 he had set out to accomplish as long as there was a 
 breath left in his body. Often he felt despairingly 
 that he would never learn. It seemed as if each effort 
 was worse than the last. But still he stuck at it until 
 his head was reeling and he could scarcely keep his 
 feet. 
 
 His dogged obstinacy at length impressed Phillips 
 and made him realize that he had been too hard on 
 the youngster. 
 
 "There," he said gruffly, as they both arose slowly 
 from the ground after a fairly good tackle, "that'll do 
 for a bit. We'll try a little passing." 
 
 Billy passed one sleeve across his dripping face, his 
 body swaying slightly. 
 
 "I don't want to stop," he gritted. "I want to keep 
 on till I've got the darned thing." 
 
 Phillips looked at him with a new interest. 
 
 "You don't expect to learn football in one day, do 
 you?" he asked, half jokingly. 
 
 Billy hesitated, struck by this aspect of the case. 
 
 "N-o," he returned slowly. "But I'd like to keep 
 on till I do a little better than I did at first"
 
 270 On the Scrub. 
 
 "And be laid up for a couple of days," supplemented 
 Phillips grimly. "No, we'll try passing for a bit. If 
 it's any satisfaction to you, why, you are better at 
 tackling than when you started. You've got the gen- 
 eral idea, and all you want is a lot of practice." 
 
 Somewhat comforted, Billy took his place at a lit- 
 tle distance and made ready to catch the elusive pig- 
 skin. At this branch of the art he surprised his in- 
 structor by showing unusual ability. At first he was 
 naturally awkward, but he caught on at once, and be- 
 fore they finished the afternoon's work, he had de- 
 veloped amazingly, both in catching the ball cleanly 
 and throwing it with surprising accuracy. 
 
 "Seems to do it instinctively," Phillips remarked 
 later to Marshall "He's better at it now than some ofi 
 the fellows will ever be." 
 
 "Humph!" grunted the captain reflectively. "He's 
 speedy, too. I wonder how he'll size up as end." 
 
 Phillips shook his head dubiously, though he ad- 
 mitted that the chap might do at a pinch on the scrub, 
 and the matter was dropped for a day or two, during 
 which Cromwell continued zealously at his work. 
 
 He improved in his tackling, and mastered the knack 
 of throwing himself on the ball, until he could pass 
 muster at them both. The fact remained, however, 
 that his strong points were an exceptional accuracy in 
 passing and receiving the ball, and speed. He could 
 get away at the beginning of a play with the quickness 
 of a cat, and, once started for the goal with a clear 
 field before him, it took a fellow of much more than 
 the usual ability as a runner to come anywhere near 
 him.
 
 On the Scrub. 271 
 
 His knowledge of the finer points of the game, how- 
 ever, was hazy, to say the least ; and when, a few days 
 later, one of the boys playing end on the scrub strained 
 an ankle, there was a good deal of amused surprise 
 among the rest when Marshall brusquely ordered 
 Cromwell to take the place. 
 
 Billy was overjoyed. At last the moment had come 
 for which he had been longing. It was rather an- 
 noying, to be sure, to find that Coors, playing at left 
 half, was nowhere near him In the opposite line, but 
 he consoled himself with the thought that his chance 
 .would come sooner or later. 
 
 Meanwhile, he would show these dubs the reason 
 for whose smiles had been perfectly apparent to him 
 that he was able to turn a trick himself now and then. 
 If he only got a chance, he'd show them that he could 
 do a little something at the game, if he was a green- 
 horn. 
 
 Unfortunately the opportunity did not materialize. 
 Evidently Jack Ranleigh, the scrub quarter, did not 
 share Billy's belief in his ability; for he consistently 
 neglected to give his new left end a chance to do more 
 than the ordinary routine of interference and assist- 
 ance. 
 
 Chafing under this restraint, when his whole being 
 was eager for the performance of some spectacular 
 feat, Billy disconsolately watched the sun sinking lower 
 and lower as the end of the day approached. It was 
 mean in Ranleigh not to give him one chance to show 
 what he could do. "Scrag" Horton probably would 
 be out again to-morrow and shove him out of the cov-
 
 272 On the Scrub. 
 
 eted place, to await the disabling of some other boy 
 before he could get back again. 
 
 "If I could only have a show," he thought rebel- 
 liously to himself, "I'd show 'em a thing or two." 
 
 Then the signal came and he saw the much-desired 
 pigskin coming his way. 
 
 For an instant he thought he must have misunder- 
 stood the signal, and that the ball was meant for him. 
 A second later he saw it plump into the waiting arms 
 of the tackle next to him, who plunged with it into 
 the line. 
 
 The momentary hesitation kept Billy somewhat on 
 the outskirts of the melee of bodies which piled up an 
 instant later, but he tripped over some one's feet and 
 crashed down with a force which made him a little 
 dizzy. 
 
 As he lay there, trying weakly to roll out and get 
 on his feet, he saw something which sent every other 
 idea from his mind and cleared his brain like light- 
 ning. 
 
 Not a dozen feet away, just coming to rest after the 
 impetus which had sent it out of that vortex of arms 
 and legs, was the ball ! 
 
 With a squirm and a wriggle, Billy released himself 
 and was on his feet. Another instant and he had 
 scooped up the pigskin and was streaking toward the 
 distant goal. 
 
 His chance had come at last, and he had seized it in- 
 stantly. As he flew along, he heard the thud of pur- 
 suing feet and risked a glance backward. It was Her- 
 man Coors, the fellow he hated. Gritting his teeth, he
 
 On the Scrub. 273 
 
 redoubled his efforts, resolved to outdistance his pur- 
 suer or perish in the attempt 
 
 His ears were deaf to the shouts and clamor back 
 of him. He thought only of the goal in front and of 
 the necessity for beating his enemy. The white lines 
 slipped under his feet one by one, and the goal posts 
 loomed nearer and nearer. 
 
 From behind the thud of feet continued, but did not 
 seem to gain. Panting from the effort, weary, but 
 triumphant, Billy flung himself forward the last few 
 feet and dropped joyfully on the ball. 
 
 As he did so a concerted roar of laughter rose 
 from the crowd behind, and brought Billy to his 
 feet like a shot. He stared at Coors, standing a little 
 way off, too overcome to speak. He glanced about 
 him, and then, of a sudden, realized the horrible 
 truth. 
 
 Mixed up in some manner by the suddenness of it, 
 and probably, also, by the crack on his head, he had 
 mistaken the goals and scored a safety for the regular 
 team.
 
 "CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 MISTAKEN JUDGMENT.- 
 
 What followed had better rest in oblivion. Shamed, 
 humiliated, his slight cockiness vanishing like a pricked 
 balloon, Billy stood before the captain with bowed 
 head and listened in meek silence to his roaring repri- 
 mand. 
 
 He learned that a football player must keep his head, 
 first, last, and always. That a man who amounted to 
 anything on the gridiron could be knocked senseless 
 and tell, on the moment of recovering consciousness, 
 not only where his own goal lay, but the exact status of 
 the game at the time he went under. Such a wild, 
 kiddish, utterly impossible trick of a fellow running 
 over his own goal line had never been even imagined at 
 Farnham Hall. 
 
 All this, and a great deal more, Billy heard in si- 
 lence and with a sinking heart. He felt that after 
 such a dumb exhibition, his chances for ever playing 
 on that field again were utterly ruined; and a little 
 later, as he limped slowly back to the school, he could 
 almost have shed tears at what he had done. 
 
 Nothing was said to him about coming out for prac- 
 tice next day, but at three o'clock he was on hand, 
 standing a little to one side and wistfully watching a 
 group consisting of most of the members of the regu- 
 lar team, who seemed to be discussing himself, if he 
 could judge by the occasional glances cast in his direc- 
 tion.
 
 Mistaken Judgment. 275 
 
 "Deciding whether I'll have another chance, I sup- 
 pose," he said to himself, as he shifted uneasily from 
 one foot to the other. "Gee! I sure hope they give it 
 to me. Horton's gone to the infirmary and may not 
 be out for a week. I'll never have another chance like 
 this never !" 
 
 Anxiously he watched the faces, trying to get some 
 idea of how things were going. Herman Coors seemed 
 to be doing most of the talking, and, as he realized this, 
 Billy's heart sank. 
 
 "Might as well give up hoping," he thought bit- 
 terly. "He'll do his best to keep me out." 
 
 He would have been more than amazed had he 
 been near enough to hear the discussion. 
 
 His surmise that the fellows were discussing the 
 advisability of giving him another trial was quite cor- 
 rect. When the news came that Horton's ankle was in 
 a more serious condition than had been supposed, Mar- 
 shall frowned angrily and bit his lips. 
 
 "Thunder!" he exclaimed. "That puts us in bad. 
 I can't think of any one to fill his place." 
 
 Coors, who was standing near by, ceased passing 
 a ball to Phillips and walked over. 
 
 "Why don't you let Broncho stay?" he inquired. 
 
 "What! After yesterday?" demanded the captain 
 incredulously. "Why, he'll never learn football in a 
 thousand years." 
 
 A chorus of agreement, mingled a bit with laughter 
 at the recollection of yesterday's doings, arose from 
 the players within earshot. 
 
 Coors smiled a little.
 
 276 Mistaken Judgment. 
 
 "Tha<? was pretty bad," he admitted. "All the same, 
 I wouldn't condemn the kid for that one slip-up." 
 
 "It's a slip-up which shows only too well how utterly 
 irresponsible he is," Marshall retorted forcibly. "A 
 fellow that'll do such a fool thing as that is apt to do 
 anything." 
 
 "Gee yes!" exclaimed Shasta. "What if he pulled 
 off a stunt like that in a game ?" 
 
 "Whew!" whistled Phillips. "He might pork the 
 whole thing." 
 
 "Yes," echoed another; "he could lose the game easy 
 as rolling off a log." 
 
 Coors was still smiling that wide, pleasant smile of 
 his. 
 
 "I didn't know we were discussing him as a candi- 
 date for the regular team," he commented quietly. 
 
 "Same principle," returned Marshall impatiently. 
 "There's no telling which one of the scrub may be 
 called on to substitute, and it's a waste of time training 
 a chap who can't possibly make good." 
 
 "I should say he'd done pretty well considering the 
 short time he's had to learn," Coors remarked. 
 
 "When has he?" demanded the captain. "He cer- 
 tainly didn't show up very brilliantly yesterday, quite 
 apart from that crazy exhibition at the end." 
 
 "So far as I could see, he had very little chance to 
 do anything," Coors replied, "I was thinking more of 
 the showing he made while Phillips was training him. 
 Besides, you'll all admit that he's mighty swift on his 
 pins." 
 
 "Oh, yes, he's that, all right," Marshall admitted. 
 "But mere speed don't make a player."
 
 Mistaken Judgment. 277 
 
 "It's a blamed good quality, though," Coors smiled. 
 "Besides, I understand he's clever at passing and re- 
 ceiving the ball. Isn't that so, Jim ?" 
 
 He turned questioningly to Phillips, who nodded 
 slowly. 
 
 "Yes, he's all right there," he admitted. 
 
 "Adding that to his quickness," Coors resumed, 
 glancing back at Marshall, "he ought to do mighty 
 well on the forward pass, and I really think he's got the 
 making of a good player in him. He's hard as nails 
 and full of grit, and I don't believe you'd ever see him 
 repeat yesterday's performance, or anything like it 
 again." 
 
 Marshall frowned a bit, and then his face suddenly 
 cleared. 
 
 "Say, Hermie," he bantered, "what the mischief are 
 you blowing his horn so for? He hates you like 
 poison." 
 
 Coors hesitated, a slight flush tingeing his brown 
 face. 
 
 "That may be," he retorted, "but I don't like to see 
 a chap lose his chance to make good whether he I 
 like him or not. Besides, if he turns out as I think 
 he will, we may be mighty glad to have him to fall 
 back on some day." 
 
 Marshall chuckled. 
 
 "Well, let it go at that," he said. "We've wasted 
 time enough on it now. I'll give him another chance 
 on your account, Herm; but if he falls down again it'll 
 be the end." 
 
 "Sure !" the brown-eyed chap agreed. "That's your
 
 278 Mistaken Judgment. 
 
 business. Only you needn't tell that to him. I don't 
 want him to think he owes anything to me." 
 
 "Trust me," laughed Marshall. 
 
 Turning, he waved an imperative summons to the 
 anxious boy, and bellowed: 
 
 "Stir your stumps, Broncho! What in time are you 
 waiting there for?" 
 
 With a smothered exclamation of joy and relief, 
 Billy raced out into the field. 
 
 "He's giving me another chance," he gasped de- 
 lightedly. "Gee, what luck! If I don't make good 
 this time, I'll deserve to be thrown out." 
 
 Nearing the group, his eyes happened to catch Coors' 
 glance, and a glow of triumph came over him. 
 
 "Couldn't work it to keep me out, could you?" he 
 exulted inwardly. "It's your last chance, old sport, for 
 I'll sure never give you another one." 
 
 Which shows how little we can sometimes judge the 
 motives and desires of others, and how easy it is to 
 color them with reflections from our own beliefs.
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 THE PRINCIPLE OF FOOTBALL. 
 
 Billy's progress as a member of the scrub presently 
 was cut short by the unexpected return of Horton from 
 the infirmary, and the Arizona boy was obliged to 
 drop out of the position in which he had planned to 
 do such great things, without having had a single 
 chance of getting up against Herman Coors. 
 
 At first he was so disappointed and discouraged that 
 he let things slide and grew careless. He was roused 
 from this attitude of indifference by Jim Phillips. 
 
 "Look here, Broncho," the latter said severely one 
 afternoon, "you've got to take a brace and do it quick, 
 or you may as well beat it off the field for good." 
 
 Billy flushed slightly at the other's tone. 
 
 "What's the use?" he grumbled. "I might keep on 
 with these practice stunts all season and never get 
 another chance to do a thing." 
 
 Phillips snorted disgustedly. 
 
 "You fool!" he exclaimed. "I thought you had 
 more sense. Don't you see that the only way you're 
 likely to get a chance is by working like the mischief 
 every minute of the time? Can't you understand that 
 the more practice you get the more likely Marshall will 
 be to put you on the scrub in place of some one who 
 isn't as good as you are? You make me good and 
 tired talking such rot as that." 
 
 Billy's face was a deep crimson by this time, and
 
 280 The Principle of Football. 
 
 there was an expression of almost incredulous inter- 
 est in the gray eyes which were fixed intently on his 
 companion. 
 
 "You don't mean that I've got a chance of getting 
 on the scrub unless somebody's hurt or sick, do you ?" 
 he gasped. 
 
 Phillips sighed wearily. 
 
 "You give me a pain," he retorted. "Did you think 
 that Strawbridge, and Minturn, and I have been coach- 
 ing you for the past week just because we wanted the 
 pleasure of your company?" 
 
 Billy grinned sheepishly. 
 
 "My head isn't that swelled," he expostulated. "But 
 I " 
 
 "Then for Heaven's sake, wake up!" admonished 
 Phillips severely. "Stir your stumps and do some- 
 thing. You've got the making of a good player in 
 you, but you'll never get there if you don't cut out all 
 this tommyrot about it not being worth while exert- 
 ing yourself just because you're not on the scrub." 
 
 He said a good deal more to the same purpose and 
 in language which made Cromwell wince a bit. There 
 was no trouble after that from any lack of enthusiasm 
 in his work, however. He went at it in a whole-souled 
 manner, which produced such good results that he was 
 put on the scrub less than a week later in a permanent 
 position, from which there was no danger of being 
 ousted so long as he kept up his present state of ex- 
 cellence. 
 
 This time he was at right end, and much nearer Her- 
 man Coors than he had been before. Inwardly he 
 exulted at this opportunity to get in a blow at his
 
 The Principle of Football. 281 
 
 enemy, and he at once proceeded to make ready for 
 the inevitable clash. 
 
 It did not come until well toward the end of the 
 afternoon, for Marshall was trying out some plays 
 in which the left half di-d not carry the ball. Just be- 
 fore dusk, however, the opportunity came that is, 
 Billy thought it had come. The ball was passed to 
 Coors, who started with it for a plunge through the 
 line. 
 
 As Billy saw the fellow he hated coming straight 
 toward him, his heart leaped exultingly, and with a 
 lunge he dove forward to meet him. So occupied 
 was he in the necessity for bringing Coors to earth 
 that he quite missed the fact that the play was a double 
 pass and that the half back had transferred the ball to 
 full back. 
 
 Breaking through the line, he made a fine tackle and 
 slammed Coors to the ground with gratifying violence. 
 Not content with that, he jolted down on the body of 
 the under man with a force which nearly knocked 
 Coors breathless, and, though the fellow with the ball 
 had already been downed, he continued to sit trium- 
 phantly astride his enemy with no room for any 
 thought in his brain save the delight of having at last 
 come out ahead; 
 
 So happy was he at what he had done that he did 
 not hear Marshall yelling at him impatiently to stop 
 his nonsense and line up again. A moment later, how- 
 ever, he was gripped by the collar and jerked to his 
 feet with no gentle hand, and spun around to face the 
 frowning, angry captain. 
 
 "What do you mean by that?" demanded Marshall.
 
 282 The Principle of Football. 
 
 Billy's jaw dropped at the other's scathing tone. 
 
 "Why, I I tackled him," he stammered. 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 "He he had the ball." 
 
 "Oh, did he?" sneered Marshall. "I don't see it." 
 
 Cromwell stared helplessly around. Most of the 
 team were standing at a little distance off, and a mo- 
 ment later he saw the ball plainly, lying on the ground 
 where Winslow had been downed. The color flamed 
 into his face, and he dropped his gaze. 
 
 "I thought " he stammered, and then was silent. 
 
 "You thought, did you?" thundered Marshall. 
 "That's the whole trouble with you, you don't think. 
 You don't use your head. It's almost as crazy an ex- 
 hibition as you gave us last week running over your 
 own goal line. If you hadn't been so crazy to sail into 
 Coors you'd have seen him pass the ball to Winslow. 
 There's one thing you've got to get wise to, and do it 
 quick, or you won't last a minute on the scrub. You're 
 here to play football and nothing else. This is not the 
 place for working off any private, personal grudges. 
 When you come out on the field you've got to forget 
 everything but the game. Nothing else matters. If 
 you're going to waste time thinking of how to get even 
 with some man on your own team, instead of keeping 
 your mind on the plays, the sooner I know it the bet- 
 ter, so I can fill your place with some one who has the 
 right idea. Do you get that? Understand just what 
 I mean?" 
 
 Head down and hands clenched tightly at his sides, 
 Billy listened to the cutting, biting words, his cheeks 
 flaming. He had never been so shamed and humiliated
 
 The Principle ol Football. 283 
 
 in his life. The incidents of that first day were as 
 nothing to this. But he was sensible enough to realize 
 that he had only himself to blame. He deserved every 
 word that Marshall had said to him, and more. 
 
 "Well?" snapped the captain impatiently. 
 
 "Yes, I understand," Billy faltered. 
 
 ""And you're going to cut out this kiddish nonsense ?" 
 
 "I'll try." 
 
 "Try!" exclaimed Marshall. "You've got to do 
 more than try. Understand, this is your last chance. 
 If you don't toe the mark and play the game as it 
 should be played, out you go. Get that?" 
 
 With an effort, Billy threw back his head and looked 
 the captain in the eyes. 
 
 "I'll do it," he said more firmly. "I won't give 
 you a chance to call me down again." 
 
 "Humph!" grunted Marshall. "See that you don't. 
 Line up, boys. We've wasted too much time as it is.'* 
 
 Billy hustled to his place in the line, his face still 
 crimson, but he had resolved that never again would 
 he give any one a chance to pitch into him like that. 
 
 Though it had seemed hard, it was only the lesson 
 which every boy must learn before he can succeed 
 at any game. The submergence of self must be abso- 
 lute. Every like and dislike, every personal hope or 
 fear, must be thrust aside. He must learn to plunge 
 into the line without a thought of personal injury or 
 unpleasantness. What happens to him is of slight im- 
 portance to any one but himself. His little strains and 
 bruises count for nothing compared with the general 
 progress of the game. 
 
 On the other hand, once he has conquered that in-
 
 284 The Principle of Football. 
 
 nate fear that impulse to hesitate before plunging 
 into the melee of stalwart, powerful forms he must 
 learn the danger of recklessness. He must understand 
 the necessity of keeping his head every minute of the 
 time, and come to see how impossible it is really to 
 play the game unless his brain is behind every move 
 he makes. 
 
 To an outsider, perhaps, football may have the ap- 
 pearance of being a game of brute force, but those who 
 play it realize how little force alone avails without the 
 backing of a keen and active mind. 
 
 Billy had had his first lesson in this regard, and 
 though, at the moment, he did not realize how impor- 
 tant and far-reaching was the principle involved, his 
 feet were set upon the right path.
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 TROUBLE ON THE TEAM. 
 
 Though Cromwell had too much sense to credit 
 Coors with the responsibility for his humiliation before 
 the entire football squad, the incident only made him 
 the more bitter toward the Colorado chap. 
 
 Instead of getting even and showing up well before 
 the others, he had plunged in even deeper, and one 
 more tally was added to the score which he was de- 
 termined some day to settle. 
 
 He made no more attempts to do anything during 
 the progress of practice. The lesson had been taken 
 to heart, and, besides, with every day, his interest and 
 enthusiasm in the game grew by leaps and bounds. 
 
 He was rapidly imbibing some of that impalpable, 
 but powerful, quality known as school spirit. Day by 
 day Farnham Hall and its inmates became more and 
 more dear to him, until he realized at last that one 
 of the worst things which could happen would be the 
 necessity of his leaving Bloomfield. 
 
 He did not understand the change at all. A few 
 short weeks before he had fought with all his might 
 against coming, and even after his arrival he had been 
 desperately anxious to get away. Now had come this 
 curious and seemingly inexplicable change in his feel- 
 ings toward everything. 
 
 He did not realize that it was simply the natural, 
 inevitable liking every boy has for his fellows. Never
 
 286 Trouble on the Team. 
 
 having been thrown with boys of his own age, he had 
 had no means of knowing anything about such com- 
 panionship. 
 
 Even now, not being in the least introspective, he 
 did not try to puzzle out the why and wherefore, but 
 took things as they came, enjoying the atmosphere of 
 good-natured rivalry, the joking give-and-take, and 
 all the other varied interests which were constantly 
 cropping up about him. 
 
 He made many friends and a few enemies. His 
 playing on the gridiron improved until he was looked 
 on as one of the most promising members of the scrub. 
 He kept track of the various rival teams with whom 
 they were scheduled to play, and joined in the fre- 
 quent serious discussions of their chances for a cham- 
 pionship that year. 
 
 In addition, he did fairly well in his studies, espe- 
 cially considering the decidedly poor grounding he had 
 had, and he also found time to enter into some of the 
 mischief and harmless pranks that constantly went on 
 about the school. 
 
 He was, in fact, just a normal, ordinary boy, whose 
 development along the usual lines had been delayed, 
 and which, therefore, progressed faster than it usually 
 does. 
 
 Then, about a week before the first real game, came 
 the unexpected elevation to the first eleven. It was 
 truly unexpected to him, though some of the others 
 had seen it coming for several days, and his delight 
 was proportionately great. At once he took on a new 
 gravity suitable to his position. He cut out the pranks 
 and horseplay as taking up too much time and being,
 
 Trouble on the Team. 287 
 
 moreover, much too frivolous for one of those eleven 
 men on whom the hopes of the entire school were cen- 
 tered, and he devoted his every effort toward making 
 himself even more proficient in the game. 
 
 To one thing he still clung, however. Not for a sin- 
 gle instant did he cease to regard Herman Coors as 
 his bitter enemv. The idea possessed him to such a 
 degree that he read into the brown-eyed chap's most 
 casual actions and utterances things which were never 
 intended to be there. 
 
 Seeing Coors in the midst of a group of laughing, 
 jesting boys, Billy instantly concluded that he him- 
 self was being discussed and made fun of. Or, when 
 the half back, growing weary of the persistent chilly 
 looks and ill-tempered manners of the Arizona boy, 
 proceeded calmly to ignore the fellow at all times and 
 places, Cromwell set him down as stuck-up and proud. 
 
 Only a few days after Billy had been advanced to 
 the first team there came an upheaval which quite 
 changed football conditions. To the surprise of all 
 but a very few, Ogden Marshall resigned from the 
 captaincy. Though no one was really sure, several 
 fellows, who were better posted or more observing than 
 the majority, made a shrewd guess that the resignation 
 had been requested by Frank Merriwell himself. 
 
 The latter rarely interfered in the management of 
 athletics, but Marshall had not made good to the ex- 
 tent he promised at first He was pleasant and geniai, 
 and rather popular, but, unfortunately, he did not ap- 
 ply to himself the very sensible homily he had delivered 
 that day on the field to Cromwell. 
 
 Instead of placing the good of the team ahead of
 
 288 Trouble on the Team. 
 
 everything, he allowed his personal likes and dislikes 
 to interfere with his judgment, and he endeavored to 
 keep Don Shasta, one of the best quarter backs Farn- 
 ham Hall had ever seen, from remaining on the team. 
 
 Whatever the reason, he resigned and Jim Phillips 
 was elected to take his place. 
 
 At first Billy was rather sorry. He and Marshall 
 had gotten along very well together ever since the 
 day of the latter's lecture, and Phillips, in the posi- 
 tion of captain, was more or less of an unknown quan- 
 tity- 
 
 Personally, he turned out to be more than competent, 
 but he was handicapped by difficulties which were not 
 of his own making. Marshall, though leaving office, 
 still remained on the team, and it was almost inevi- 
 table that he should stir up a certain degree of ill feel- 
 ing between his friends and the adherents of the new 
 captain. 
 
 It never reached the point of an open rupture. There 
 is no doubt that it would have been better all around 
 had it done so, for in that case things would have come 
 to a head. Unfortunately, however, it confined itself 
 to underground rumblings which never reached the 
 acute stage of an explosion, but which were infinitely 
 harder to combat. The fellows played a good enough 
 game, but they played it by themselves. There was 
 no getting together and helping one another as is so 
 often possible in football. 
 
 Marshall and two or three adherents looked askance 
 at Phillips and his chosen friends, and were in turn 
 gazed upon with a certain amount of envy and jealousy 
 whenever they did something particularly good.
 
 Trouble on the Team. 289 
 
 And then along came Billy Cromwell, who had de- 
 veloped into such a splendid end, and made matters 
 worse with his little grudge against Coors. It would 
 have been better had either of them held any other 
 position on the team, for more than half the time they 
 were the ones selected to execute the forward pass. 
 
 They were both unusually good at passing and re- 
 ceiving the ball, and for that reason they had been 
 drilled in this maneuver until they had become almost 
 perfect. But it was a more or less mechanical per- 
 fection, lacking that subtle something which is never 
 present unless both fellows are in perfect sympathy 
 and accord. 
 
 At the crisp, ripping out of the signal, Billy would 
 race out from the line without the loss of a second, 
 catch the ball easily, and start down the field with it. 
 But always there was in his mind a consciousness of 
 just who was sending it to him. Always he was on 
 the lookout for a little slip in Coors' accuracy, and, 
 though he might not even realize it himself, though he 
 probably would have denied the accusation indignantly, 
 it was a fact that he sometimes really hoped for a mis- 
 take from the half back, which would call down upon 
 the chap he disliked so greatly the wrath of the cap- 
 tain. 
 
 Such playing may be mechanically perfect, but that 
 is all.* It is like a machine without the spirit, the 
 breath of life. It lacks the thing which makes men 
 lead a forlorn hope, shoulder to shoulder, knee against 
 knee, fighting desperately, determinedly, and together. 
 
 Jim Phillips saw it, and he did his best to remedy 
 the failing. Unfortunately, however, such a failing
 
 290 Trouble on the Team. 
 
 is not an easy thing to set right, because of its very in- 
 definiteness. One cannot put a finger on any special 
 spot and say that just here lies the difficulty. It is 
 more general than specific, and nine times out of ten 
 it is unaffected by persuasion or argument, impervious 
 to pleading, and usually the realization of how fatal 
 it is to the progress and good work of the team comes 
 only after it is too late. 
 
 Phillips did his best and failed. Then, realizing 
 how important the matter was, he went to the head of 
 the school and outlined the situation. 
 
 Merriwell, who had long ago seen how things were 
 going, appeared at a meeting of the squad and ad- 
 dressed them in a simple, straightforward, convincing 
 manner which seemed, at the time, to bring them to 
 their senses. 
 
 The effect was only temporary, however. Within a 
 few days some occurrence, slight and trivial in itself, 
 ruffled the sensitive spirits of these youthful idiots, and 
 set them going again. 
 
 Game after game was won, but often by scanty mar- 
 gins. One, which had been looked forward to as a 
 cinch, was lost. And all the time the tussle of the 
 season, the contest with Fardale, loomed bigger and 
 bigger on the horizon.
 
 'CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 COORS IS THROWN DOWN. 
 
 "That's the situation," concluded Jim Phillips, in a 
 discouraged tone. "You've probably seen it as clearly 
 as I have, but it's a bit of a relief to talk it out this 
 way. If something doesn't happen between now and 
 Saturday to stir up the fellows and make them realize 
 the truth, we'll lose the game and with it the champion- 
 ship, as sure as I sit here." 
 
 To be strictly accurate he was not sitting at all, but 
 squatting cross-legged before the log fire in the loung- 
 ing room. His elbows rested on his knees, his chin 
 was cupped in his tanned, muscular hands, and on his 
 face was a look of real distress. 
 
 Herman Coors moved uneasily and glanced around 
 the room, which was deserted save for the two by the 
 fire. 
 
 "It's beastly, Jim," he acknowledged, his glance re- 
 turning to his friend, "but I don't see what more you 
 can do. You've talked yourself about black in the face 
 already, and Mr. Merriwell has had a whack at them 
 without making any real difference. Are you sure it's 
 as bad as you think? We've won every game we've 
 played this fall, except one." 
 
 Phillips frowned. 
 
 "Yes, and how have we won them?" he inquired 
 sarcastically. "Look at the miserable score we made 
 against Wellsburgh High. St. George scored against
 
 292 Coors is Thrown Down. 
 
 us, which hasn't happened in four years. Peabody, 
 Nelson Prep, Dean Military, Willston-Phillips every 
 one of them pushed us hard, and we were licked by 
 Haddon. Think of that, Hermie done by a one-horse 
 school that hasn't even scored on Farnham Hall in the 
 memory of man !" 
 
 "That was on account of Con Phelps," Coors ex- 
 postulated, though not very convincingly. "He's a 
 corking fellow and hammered out the best team they 
 ever had." 
 
 Phillips straightened up and dropped his hands to 
 his knees. 
 
 "Rot!" he retorted. "Is Phelps any better player 
 than I am?" 
 
 "Not so good." 
 
 "Is he any better manager?" 
 
 "N-o." 
 
 "Of course he isn't. That sounds as if I had a 
 swelled head, but you know I don't mean it that way 
 at all. Phelps won because his men got together, and 
 didn't have any private grudges, or else they put them 
 aside and forgot them, not because he was a genius at 
 organizing, or anything like it." 
 
 They were both wrong, though that made no differ- 
 ence in the principle of the thing. Conant Phelps had 
 won because he had learned the Farnham Hall signals 
 from a traitor who gave them away when he was 
 dropped to the scrub for incompetence. Merriwell 
 knew the details of the affair, but there were extenuat- 
 ing circumstances which made him keep that knowl- 
 edge to himself. 
 
 "I reckon you're right, Jim," Coors returned slowly.
 
 Coors is Thrown Down. 293 
 
 "But what can you do? What can anybody do? I 
 don't think it'll be any use to talk to them again." 
 
 "It's up to you to do the talking this time," the cap- 
 tain returned pointedly. 
 
 "Me?" gasped Coors. 
 
 Phillips fixed him intently with his eyes. 
 
 "Exactly," he said tersely. "You and Billy Crom- 
 well don't pull together for a cent, and it's up to 
 you to get busy and straighten out whatever's wrong 
 between you." 
 
 Coors' eyebrows went up in a whimsical way. 
 
 "Oh, I say, Jim," he protested, "how can I do that 
 when I haven't an idea what it is ?" 
 
 "You don't know?" 
 
 "No. I suppose it was the way we joshed him the 
 day he came, that started him going, but everybody 
 else was in that deal, and I don't see why he's picked 
 me out to be sour on." 
 
 Phillips shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "Find out," he said tersely. "Ask him." 
 
 "I can't do that, Jim," Coors protested, his face 
 flushing. "I can't go up to the little fire eater who's 
 given me the icy mitt from the beginning, and inquire 
 politely what there is I've done that I can go on my 
 knees and apologize for." 
 
 Phillips' black brows straightened into a single level 
 line above his dark eyes. 
 
 "It's for the honor of the school, Hermie," he re- 
 minded. "A fellow ought to be able to do anything 
 for that." 
 
 Coors tried to force a smile, but failed signally. 
 
 "Theoretically yes," he agreed; "but, Jim, how
 
 294 Coors is Thrown Down. 
 
 can I go to any chap and ask such a question? You 
 wouldn't like it yourself." 
 
 Phillips rose to his feet and thrust both hands deep 
 into his trousers pockets. His eyes were narrowed, 
 half closed, as he stared fixedly at his companion. 
 
 "Like it !" he exclaimed. "That's not the point. It's 
 not a question of liking or not. It's a question of 
 being wiped off the face of the earth by Fardale, or 
 putting up a good fight against them. Do you think 
 it's been amusing or pleasant for me to pretty near go 
 down on my knees to those other asses who can't get 
 rid of their little, petty grudges and jealousies? Do 
 you think it's been a joke to roar out the same lecture 
 day after day and call down the same fellows for the 
 same thing? Maybe you think I enjoy it and do it just 
 for the pleasure of hearing my tongue wag. Of course, 
 if you're so sensitive and delicate in your feelings that 
 you'd rather see the school beaten than do something 
 which is a little unpleasant " 
 
 "Thunder, Jim!" Coors interposed, his tanned face 
 aflame. "That's enough. I'll do what you want, but 
 Heaven only knows whether anything will come of it 
 or not." 
 
 "If it doesn't, it won't be your fault," the captain 
 returned, with a tired smile. "Get busy and hunt him 
 up right away. We haven't a lot of time to lose." 
 
 Without further words, Coors departed on the un- 
 pleasant errand. It was raining a veritable Novem- 
 ber storm which stripped the last few dead leaves from 
 the naked trees and sent them swirling in little eddies 
 until they were caught and held by the sodden heavi- 
 ness of the soaking ground. Practice was impossible,
 
 Coors is Thrown Down. 295 
 
 and the location of any member of the eleven was ex- 
 tremely problematical. 
 
 Cromwell might be in any one of a dozen rooms, 
 striving to while away the time which passed on such 
 leaden wings. That he should be alone in his own 
 quarters seemed the least likely of any supposition. 
 Nevertheless, it was here that Coors found him, after a 
 rapid but thorough search of hallways, library, and 
 gym. 
 
 As the Colorado boy entered in response to Crom- 
 well's perfunctory invitation, Billy shot a glance of in- 
 credulous surprise at him and stiffened slightly. 
 
 "Hello!" he said, with an attempt at nonchalance. 
 "Sit down and rest your face and hands." 
 
 Coors sat, also with an effort at casualness which 
 was not altogether a success. 
 
 "Rotten day," he essayed, to conceal his embarrass- 
 ment 
 
 "Beastly," agreed Billy, wondering what under the 
 sun had brought him there. 
 
 There was a pause, during which each refrained 
 with considerable effort from looking at the other. 
 Finally Coors straightened up in his chair and drew a 
 long breath. 
 
 "Look here, Cromwell," he began firmly. 
 
 Then he paused, drew another long breath, and, 
 spurred on by the expression of restrained curiosity 
 on his host's face, continued: 
 
 "You and I don't seem to have hit it off very well." 
 
 Cromwell shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "Not exactly," he agreed shortly. 
 
 "I suppose "
 
 296 Coors is Thrown Down. 
 
 Coors hesitated. It was extremely hard. He had, 
 in fact, never disliked anything so much in his life 
 before, but it had to be done, just the same. 
 
 "I suppose," he continued slowly, "it was on ac j 
 count of what happened the day you came." 
 
 Billy, puzzled, suspicious of some trap he knew not 
 what shrugged his shoulders again. 
 
 "I don't see why you say that," he retorted. 
 
 Coors looked surprised. 
 
 "Well, I thought," he explained choppily, "that you 
 
 that you Well, it seemed as if you didn't like 
 
 the way we er drew you out." 
 
 Cromwell laughed in an attempt at spontaneity. 
 
 "Oh, that!" he exclaimed carelessly. "I'd forgot- 
 ten all about it long ago." 
 
 Coors looked puzzled. 
 
 "Then what " he began, and trailed off into si- 
 lence. 
 
 "Well?" questioned Billy. 
 
 The Colorado youth drew a long breath. 
 
 "Then why have you er been so a stand- 
 offish?" 
 
 Cromwell's eyes gleamed. He never supposed that 
 such a chance as this would come to him. 
 
 "Have I, really?" he drawled. "I didn't know it. 
 I suppose, though, a fellow can't like everybody, you 
 know." 
 
 Coors' face hardened. 
 
 "The little fool!" he thought. "Does he think I'm 
 here because I want to be friends with him ? He needs 
 a good swift kick, and I'd like a lot to give it to him."
 
 Coors is Thrown Down. 297 
 
 Aloud he said, controlling his temper with an ef- 
 fort: 
 
 "Naturally. I was hoping, though, that since we 
 have to do so much teamwork on the field, that we 
 might do it better if we got together and let er by- 
 gones be bygones:" 
 
 Cromwell bristled. 
 
 "If you have any criticism of my playing to make," 
 he retorted, in an icy tone, "why don't you come out 
 with it plainly?" 
 
 The half back's face flamed crimson, and he stood 
 up abruptly. Flesh and blood could stand no more. 
 If Phillips expected him to crawl in the dirt for the 
 favor of this pig-headed kid, he had another guess 
 coming. 
 
 "I should never dream of that," he said sarcastically. 
 "Your playing is quite flawless. I wish I could say as 
 much for your manners." 
 
 Without waiting for a response, he departed from 
 the room, closing the door emphatically behind him. 
 
 "Got him going!" exclaimed Billy gleefully. "I 
 reckon he won't try any more softsoap game with me. 
 Wonder what he did it for, anyhow ?" 
 
 He continued to wonder, and, as he thought over 
 the interview, his triumphant expression wore a bit 
 thin.
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 ALL TO THE BAD. 
 
 The great day, which had been looked forward to 
 with such varied feelings, was at length arrived. To 
 some the arrival of the Fardale eleven was a cause for 
 jubilant rejoicing, for they had a perfect though 
 somewhat foolishly optimistic faith in their own team 
 which had been victorious in every game but one that 
 year. 
 
 Others, who were more thoughtfully inclined and 
 more observant, were far from being so confident. 
 Like Jim Phillips, they had noticed that lack of cohe- 
 sion in the team. They remembered, too, that some 
 of those victories had been barely snatched from de- 
 feat. To them the triumph of Haddon loomed up big 
 and significant. If a little one-horse school like that 
 could win against them, what possible chance had they 
 with this aggregation of brawn and sinew from their 
 greatest really their only rival? 
 
 Moreover, the sight of the visiting team was not re- 
 assuring. They were big, rangy fellows without ex- 
 ception, and must average a good five pounds heavier 
 than the Farnham Hall boys. As they descended from 
 the wagonette, they seemed to be on excellent terms 
 with each other. There was much laughter and jok- 
 ing, and arms frequently rested carelessly on other 
 shoulders. It might, of course, be simply the natural 
 drawing together which every crowd of boys shows in
 
 All to the Bad. 299 
 
 a strange place, but many took it as an evidence of 
 the important quality which their own team lacked. 
 
 Upon Jim Phillips the calmness of desperation 
 seemed to have descended. The night before he had 
 gathered his men together and given them a last 
 serious talk, into which he put every bit of persuasion 
 he possessed. He told them again, in simple, straight- 
 forward terms, which spared no one, what he had 
 spoken of so many times before, and what they must 
 do in order to escape defeat. Now, apparently, he 
 felt that he had done his best. The result rested with 
 Fate. 
 
 Just before the game, however, in the rough little 
 room beneath one of the stands, which served as a gen- 
 eral gathering place and retreat during intermission, 
 he spoke again, but briefly. 
 
 "You're up against a hard proposition to-day, fel- 
 lows," he said, in that pleasant, ringing voice of his ; 
 "but you're going to win out. You've got to ! You're 
 fighting for the school, and that's something much big- 
 ger and more worth while than anything you could 
 fight for. I'm not going to say another word but this : 
 Get together ! Fight shoulder to shoulder, and remem- 
 ber that you're going to win for Farnham Hall in spite 
 of everything. That's all, except that Mr. Merriwell 
 wants a word with each of you." 
 
 They stood up slowly, perhaps a little nervously, and 
 glanced toward the dpor, near which Merry leaned 
 against the wall. Above them came the tread of many 
 feet as the stands rapidly filled, mingled with the loud 
 buzz of excited voices. 
 
 Billy was conscious of a queer, choky feeling which
 
 300 All to the Bad. 
 
 had never come to him at any of the other games, and 
 for a second he wondered whether, by chance, Phil- 
 lips' continued harping on "get together" could pos- 
 sibly have any reference to him. 
 
 "Pshaw!" he muttered an instant later. "How can 
 it? I don't like Coors a little bit, but that doesn't in- 
 terfere with my playing. It's all nonsense! All the 
 fellows on the team can't very well be bosom friends." 
 
 Thrusting the matter deliberately from his mind, 
 he tightened his belt, carefully relaced one shoe, and 
 then straightened up to hear respectfully the few terse 
 words of professional advice and warning which Mer- 
 riwell, as coach, had to give him. 
 
 As they trotted out into the field a little later, a com- 
 pact, sturdy body of fellows, an enthusiastic cheer rang 
 out from the crowded stands which thrilled him and 
 made his blood tingle. 
 
 How could he help doing his best when all that crowd 
 iwas counting on him, as on the ten others? Of course 
 they were going to win they had to ! 
 
 They won the toss and chose the goal favored by a 
 heavy wind. The teams lined up, and Billy crouched, 
 ready for Fardale's kick-off. 
 
 The ball fell short, retarded by the gale, and was 
 caught neatly by Herman Coors, who started zigzag- 
 ging down the field. Billy raced after, conscious of a 
 feeling of envy. A moment later his enemy went 
 down under the impact of three Fardale men, and for 
 a time the boy from Arizona forgot everything but 
 the progress of the game. 
 
 The second play was a rush through the line be-
 
 All to the Bad. goi 
 
 tween end and tackle which gained for them a good 
 six yards and raised a cheer from the spectators. 
 
 The next was not so fortunate. The compact Far- 
 dale line held steady and threw Ogden Marshall back 
 without a gain. Then followed an attempt around the 
 left end by Phillips, but some one got through and 
 spoiled that play. 
 
 The signal for a forward pass sent Billy into posi- 
 tion like a flash. This time he would do something 
 and show those cocky visitors that there was one man 
 on the team who was on his job. The forward pass 
 at this stage of the game was to be sprung as a surprise 
 on Fardale. 
 
 Perhaps it was the fault of the wind, perhaps not. 
 r At all events the ball did not come as cleanly accurate 
 as usual, and Billy stumbled and nearly lost his balance 
 in his effort to get it. Nevertheless, he whirled and 
 started down the field, but that slight delay had been 
 enough to get the Fardale boys in the jump, and he 
 was brought to earth with a thud, after a gain of 
 barely three yards. 
 
 Billy was furious. It had been done on purpose to 
 put him in bad. It was just like Coors to do a thing 
 like that, and, as he lined up again, Cromwell was 
 wasting his time growling at the Colorado chap, in- 
 stead of being on the jump for the .next play. 
 
 It was a punt, of course, and he prepared for it 
 mechanically, still harboring his grievance. The wind 
 carried the ball far down the field too far, in fact, for 
 the ends to cover it. The Fardale back caught it neatly, 
 and came dodging through the interference as if 
 through a clear field. When at length he was brought
 
 302 All to the Bad. 
 
 to earth by Jim Phillips, he had made a vastly greater 
 gain than would ever have been possible had his op- 
 ponents been playing together. 
 
 The spectators were swift to see this, and from the 
 stands came a series of protesting shouts. 
 
 "Wake up, Farnham!" 
 
 "Get together!" 
 
 "Don't let 'em carry it the length of the field." 
 
 "Don't let 'em through like that!" 
 
 "Play close!" 
 
 Billy heard it with flushed cheeks, thinking of the 
 contrast between this and the enthusiastic cheering 
 which had greeted their appearance on the field. They 
 must do something to show the boys that they were 
 not as rotten as all that Breathlessly he crouched and 
 waited for the Fardale attack. 
 
 In an instant it came, a machinelike rush which car- 
 ried their opponents off their feet and swept them back 
 for a gain of ten yards. Again it came, solid and com- 
 pact. Again a big gain. 
 
 The spectators begged excitedly for their team to 
 "buck up and hold 'em." Phillips pleaded desperately 
 for them to close in and get together. But still the 
 enemy seemed to find holes in the line wherever they 
 tried, and still that advance continued. 
 
 On Farnham Hall's thirty-yard line there was a 
 fumble, and in a twinkling the ball went soaring down 
 the field impelled by the accurate boot of George 
 Winslow. 
 
 It was but a momentary respite, however. The 
 charging Fardale line came back with it, and, in spite 
 of every effort to stop them, had advanced into Farn-
 
 All to the Bad. 303 
 
 ham Hall's territory when the shrill whistle announced 
 the ending of the first quarter. 
 
 Billy welcomed it with a sigh of relief. He was not 
 so cocky as he had been a little while before. What 
 was the matter with the fellows, anyhow? Why 
 didn't they stand up and play the game as it should 
 be played? 
 
 It never occurred to him that he was to blame, as 
 well as the others. He listened to the few biting words 
 which Phillips uttered, and the calmer, but no less em- 
 phatic, voice of Merriwell saying practically the same 
 thing. Then, before he knew it, he was back in the 
 field again, bracing himself for another of those stren- 
 uous charges. 
 
 In the first five minutes, through another fumble, 
 Phillips secured the ball and went twisting down the 
 field, dodging, thrusting aside interference, helped a 
 little at first by the blocking of Coors, who alone 
 seemed to have sensed the situation, and made a touch- 
 down. 
 
 T A. frenzied roar went up from the side lines, which 
 continued long and loud until the goal was kicked. At 
 last luck seemed to have turned and fortune was begin- 
 ning to smile.
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 BILLY'S EYES ARE OPENED. 
 
 The optimism of the crowd was of short duration. 
 With the change of goal, Fardale was favored by the 
 wind, and began at once their systematic advance down 
 the field. 
 
 This time, however, it was vastly quicker than be- 
 fore. Down after down netted them six, eight, and ten 
 yards. They seemed to sweep aside the interference 
 as lightly and easily as if it had been chaff. The fel- 
 lows on the home team strove desperately to keep them 
 back. Each man gave the best that was in him, but 
 he played alone. Inerc was no effort to help one an- 
 other as there should have been, and the result was 
 such that, in a phenomenally brief time, the enemy 
 broke through the right end and swept over the re- 
 maining few yards for a touchdown. 
 
 They missed the goal, which was the only consoling 
 feature of the day, and three minutes later the time 
 for the second quarter was up. 
 
 His face white with anger and set in bitter, scornful 
 lines, Jim Phillips led his men into the room beneath 
 the grand stand and closed the door behind him. For 
 a moment he stood there silent, his eyes ranging over 
 the circle, a look in them which set lids to fluttering 
 and feet to shuffling nervously. 
 
 "I hope you are proud of yourselves," he said scath- 
 ingly at length. "I hope you're satisfied with the beau-
 
 Billy's Eyes Are Opened. 305 
 
 tiful exhibition you've made! By 'heavens! I never 
 saw such a bunch of cowards in my life. That's what 
 you are cowards quitters! There's not one of you 
 who proved himself a real man. You play a mile 
 apart, and there're holes as big as a house in the line. 
 If you keep this up there'll be a score piled up against 
 us such as was never known at Farnhatn before. A 
 bunch of yellow quitters you are, and nothing else !" 
 
 "Oh, say, Jim!" expostulated Marshall, his face 
 crimson. "It isn't as bad as that." 
 
 Phillips whirled on him, his eyes flashing. 
 
 "Isn't it, though?" he demanded. "It's up to you 
 to show me, then. It's up to you to go out there and 
 put up a decent fight, and prove to the school that 
 there's something in you. It's up to you to get together 
 and forget everything but the fact that you've got to 
 hold them off. You may not win the game, but for 
 Heaven's sake don't give it away! Fight to the last 
 ditch, shoulder to shoulder, and if they make another 
 touchdown, make 'em do it foot by foot, not ten yards 
 and more at a time." 
 
 Shamefaced, the team presently filed out of the 
 room again and to the field. Billy, resentful as he 
 had been at first at those bitter, stinging words, felt 
 growing within him a fierce determination never to- 
 give his captain a chance to say such things again. He 
 would forget everything but the necessity for keeping 
 together. He would play the game as he had never 
 played It before, and it would not be his fault if defeat 
 was their portion. 
 
 As they were lining up, he glanced backward and 
 caught the eyes of Herman Coors fixed upon him.
 
 306 Billy's Eyes Are Opened. 
 
 Swiftly he crouched, wondering if he could ever bring 
 himself to fight side by side with him. 
 
 That third quarter showed but little improvement on 
 the other two. Without the advantage of the wind, 
 Farnham Hall would surely have been defeated then 
 and there. The boys tried in a measure to brace up 
 and play close, but they had lost the knack of giving 
 one another a helping hand, and in each fellow's mind 
 was an embarrassed, awkward feeling at being the first 
 to give way. 
 
 Back and forth the battle waged. When Fardale 
 had the ball, she rushed it down the field with a united, 
 machinelike regularity which was beautiful to see, in 
 vivid contrast to the weaker, more or less futile, attack 
 of her rival. 
 
 Time and time again the Farnham Hall line was 
 driven almost to its very goal line, where, roused by 
 their danger, by the stinging words of Phillips or 
 Shasta, or the desperate entreaties of the spectators, 
 they stiffened momentarily and somehow managed to 
 fling back their opponents to a safer distance. 
 
 It was a losing game, however, and the spirits of the 
 watchers, who followed the line of scrimmage with 
 tense, drawn faces, sank lower and lower. Would 
 they never brace up and fight like men? Were they 
 going to let themselves be pushed over the line for an- 
 other goal, and perhaps another still? The cheers 
 grew half-hearted, perfunctory the cheering of a 
 crowd of fellows who have lost their faith and yell 
 only from a sense of duty. There is no sound more 
 evident or more discouraging. 
 
 Somehow Billy remembered the next interminable
 
 Billy's Eyes Are Opened. 307 
 
 quarter but vaguely. He was doing his best for the 
 school, fighting against hope, in the face of despair. 
 His brain was clear, and he never lost an opportunity 
 to get into a play. But it seemed to him as if every 
 attack was directed against his end. He wondered 
 why they kept hammering him, and whether it was 
 done by intention. His breath began to come in pant- 
 ing gasps, and his legs grew weary, but he never 
 thought of giving in. 
 
 Suddenly he heard a voice in his ear, and felt a hand 
 on his shoulder. 
 
 "Good boy, Billy ! That was a corker ! We'll get 
 into the next one together." 
 
 It was Coors, and Billy felt a curious thrill go 
 through him at the friendly touch of his enemy's hand. 
 A moment later they were plunging through the line, 
 shoulder to shoulder, for a good, substantial gain. 
 
 Something of the same thing must have happened 
 with the others, for, little by little, the line closed in, 
 and fellows who had disliked each other forgot their 
 differences and petty quarrels. Side by side they 
 fought, helping each other when they could, urging 
 one another to greater endeavor in friendly voices 
 which were, in themselves, a goad. 
 
 The effect was apparent in bigger gains, in better 
 teamword in everything. 
 
 Fighting like a demon, Billy was borne into the 
 midst of almost every scrimmage. Once everything 
 went black before him for a minute, and when he re- 
 covered his senses he found that it was Coors who had 
 dragged him out of the mass and was holding him on 
 his feet.
 
 308 Billy's Eyes Are Opened. 
 
 As he felt the friendly support of that muscular arm 
 and saw the expression on the face of the fellow he 
 had hated, something vanished from Billy's make-up 
 and never returned. 
 
 Fellows who had fought together as they had, mak- 
 ing a desperate struggle against overwhelming odds, 
 could never be enemies. 
 
 Two minutes later the shrill call of time told that 
 battered, exhausted line that they had won out. At 
 the eleventh hour they had cast aside all rancor and 
 ill feeling, to charge the enemy shoulder to shoulder, a 
 single unit instead of a disorganized mass. 
 
 Tired, sore in every muscle, but blissfully happy, 
 Billy Cromwell sat in the shadow of the stone-flagged 
 terrace and watched the sparks eddy upward from the 
 triumphal bonfire out in the open. 
 
 Beside him was Herman Coors, leaning against the 
 brick wall of the building, and their shoulders touched 
 as they had touched on the memorable field that after- 
 noon. 
 
 They had fought it all over again, dwelling little on 
 the "might-have beens," content with realities, and now 
 they were silent. 
 
 Billy was thinking what a fool he had been to hold 
 a grudge against this fellow who was such a bully 
 sort, and wondering why he could have been blind so 
 long. 
 
 All at once, out of the medley of talk and laughter 
 which rose from the crowd about him, he heard a 
 single sentence:
 
 Billy's Eyes Are Opened. 309 
 
 "Broncho certainly put up a corking game. It was 
 sure enough lucky Hermie spoke up for him that day 
 and got Marshall to keep him on the team." 
 
 Billy's heart leaped, and a rush of crimson stained 
 his face. For a moment he sat perfectly still. Then 
 he turned slowly to his companion. 
 
 "You heard that?" he asked, in a low, uneven 
 voice. 
 
 Coors nodded, his eyes fixed on the flaming fire 
 beyond. 
 
 "But why " stammered Billy. 
 
 Coors laughed a little. 
 
 "I had a hunch you'd make good," he returned 
 carelessly. 
 
 There was a long silence, which was presently broken 
 by the Arizona chap. 
 
 "I don't see why you did it when I was such a rot- 
 ten dub," he ventured. 
 
 Coors laughed again, and glanced quickly at his 
 companion. 
 
 "I reckon I must have taken sort of a shine to you, 
 kid," he chuckled. "Maybe it was because I was 
 just like that myself when I first came East." 
 
 THE END.
 
 "BEST OF ALL BOYS' BOOKS " 
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