CHAPTER XI.THE WINNER.
“Oh! it wouldn’t surprise you, eh?” sneered Chet. “Well, if he gets as many pins on his spare as I do on my strike, I’ll eat my hat!”
This confidence on Arlington’s part caused more than one to smile. Chester sent his first ball smashing into the pins, and five fell.
“Here’s where I get another spare!” he laughed, picking another ball from the return.
In truth, the standing pins were in such a position that a spare could be made without difficulty in case they were hit correctly. Arlington took pains to be very graceful in his movements as he sent the ball down the alley, and the mere fact that he thought of himself, without fixing his mind on the object he wished to accomplish, may have kept him from success. At any rate, he missed the pin he wished to hit and secured only two of the remaining five.
“Seventeen on his strike! Fifty-seven in all!” announced Gardner, as he jotted down Chet’s score in the fifth box.
With his last ball Chester obtained two more pins, making nine in the sixth frame, with a total of sixty-six.
“There, I guess that will hold you for a while,” he said, with a glance at Dick, as he sat down. “Let’s see you get seven pins with your first ball!”
Dick did his best, and hit the pins in what seemed to be a perfect manner, yet he secured but five of them, which gave him fifteen on his spare and fifty-four as a total in the fifth box. This left him three points behind Chester.
A moment later, however, a shout arose, for with his second ball Dick cleaned the alley.
He had made another spare.
“What do you think of that for luck?” cried Arlington.
“Luck!” burst from Buckhart. “Why, he earned it! It was good bowling.”
Rising and facing the score board, Chester saw at once that Merriwell needed only two pins on his spare to get sixty-six in the sixth box.
A grim look came to Chet’s face. At last he realized that the game was not going to be as easy as he had anticipated.
“It’s up to you to get a spare yourself, Chester,” said Mel Fraser.
“Dern my picter!” piped Obediah Tubbs. “I’ll bet he’ll need it.”
“Pretty poor bowling! Pretty poor bowling!” cried Smart, as he reset the pins.
Arlington stood quite still with his ball poised and his eyes fastened on the head pin.
Sp-rr-rr-rr—crash!
Then there was a shout, for Chester had made another strike. Instantly his look of anxiety disappeared, and he smiled again as he sat down.
“I can’t bother with spares now,” he said. “I will have to scoop a few strikes.”
“Gug-gug-gug-gug-great thutteration!” stuttered Jolliby. “This is gug-gug-gug-gug-getting almighty hot!”
Although Dick rolled with the greatest care, he made a bad break with his first ball and was able to secure only eight pins in the seventh box, making a total of seventy-four.
Arlington seemed on his mettle, for his first ball gave him eight pins, and he followed this up by cutting off the remaining two, thus making another spare, which gave him twenty in his seventh box and a total of eighty-six.
“That clinches it,” he nodded.
“Sure thing!” agreed Mel Fraser. “This is going to be a corking old string!”
Of all Dick’s friends Brad Buckhart was the only one who seemed entirely unshaken in confidence. The Texan remained firm in his belief that Dick would win.
With only three boxes to roll and Arlington twelve points ahead in the seventh box, the case looked desperate indeed. But Merriwell was one who never gave up as long as there was a shred of hope left, and now he delighted his friends by sending a graceful curve into the pins and sweeping them all down except one on the corner. This pin stood and tottered until a rolling deadwood struck it.
Then it fell!
“Whoop!” burst from the Texan, as he smote his thigh a crack. “There it is! There’s a strike for you!”
“He needs it,” said Fraser.
“Well, he has it,” retorted Buckhart. “This yere game isn’t finished yet, not by a long shot! You hear me chirp!”
Arlington was not disturbed by Dick’s success. With his nerves perfectly steady he prepared for the next effort. But he only got six pins, which gave him sixteen on his spare and a hundred and two, all told, in the eighth frame.
“Look at that! Look at that!” smiled Fraser. “There’s a score for you! One hundred and two on eight rolls! He will make a hundred and twenty!”
“I am afraid he is out of reach,” muttered Barron Black. “I am afraid Merriwell can’t touch him.”
“Hi dunno habout that,” said Billy Bradley. “There’s a chance left, don’t y’ ’now!”
“A mighty slim one!”
“Well, Dick his the boy to make hit hif hit can be done. ’Ere he goes!”
Seven pins fell with the first ball, and but one was left standing when Dick rolled the second. This gave him nineteen on his strike, with a total of ninety-three against Chester’s one hundred and two. At that point Arlington was nine points in the lead.
With the remaining ball Dick tried to secure the last pin standing, but barely brushed it, and it did not fall. At the end of the ninth the score stood one hundred and eleven to one hundred and two in Arlington’s favor.
Chester made ready for the final effort.
“He can’t beat me now,” Chet was exultantly thinking. “I have him at last!”
Then, althoughhandicappedhandicappedby a poor break, he succeededin securing ten pins in the final box, making in all a total of one hundred and twenty-one, which was indeed splendid bowling.
“It takesnineteennineteento tie and twenty to win,” said Fraser. “It is settled now beyond question.”
“Wait a minute and see,” nodded Buckhart.
Barely had the pins been reset when Dick sent his first ball into them and swept them down in a twinkling, leaving not even a deadwood on the alley.
Buckhart nearly had a fit.
“I knew it!” he cried. “I was dead certain of it.”
Although Chester was somewhat disturbed, he simply shrugged his shoulders and observed:
“It is necessary for him to make nine points with his next two balls in order to tie. If he makes ten he wins.”
“He will never do it,” asserted Fraser.
“Say, if we were anywhere else, I would bet my last dollar on that!” Buckhart exclaimed. “You wait and see if he doesn’t do it!”
“Isn’t it too bad!” Smart was heard saying to himself, as he reset the pins. “How sorry I am! I hate to see him win!”
Dick picked two balls from the runway. Holding a ball in each hand, he prepared to roll.
Now there was a hush. Arlington felt his nerves quivering a little. To himself he was asking if it could be possible that Merriwell’s usual luck would stand by him and enable him to win at the finish.
With a soft, whirring sound the ball sped down the alley. When it struck the pins they flew.
“Seven!” was the shout. “Two more ties!”
“He will get ’em, too!” declared Buckhart. “He will win!”
One of the deadwoods had fallen on the higher side of the alley, while there were two in the gutter. This pin in the gutter Smart instantly removed. As he did this, the deadwood started to roll toward the lower side of the alley.
Already Dick was on the point of bowling, and he delivered his ball while the deadwood was in motion.
Arlington was on his feet now, and he saw that Merriwell’s last ball was curving gracefully toward the pins.
“He has them! He has them!” breathed Chet, in unspeakable dismay, for he felt certain the ball would hit the pins perfectly.
A moment later a groan came from some of the witnesses, for the curving ball touched the deadwood, which had rolled into its path. The ball was deflected just enough to miss the two head pins and clip off the one at the corner.
In this unfortunate manner Merriwell had been prevented from securing at least two of the pins and probably three.
Arlington had won by a single pin.
Chester’s triumph was complete, and he made the most of it. Fraser hastened to shake his hand and congratulate him.
The disappointment of Dick’s friends seemed acute, but Dick accepted defeat with the same composure that was habitual with him in times of triumph.
“You hold the record on the alley, Arlington,” hesaid. “One hundred and nineteen was the record before.”
“Oh, that’s a poor string for me!” asserted Chester laughingly.
Brad Buckhart was furious, but he managed to suppress his anger.
Dick slipped on his coat and walked away.
“Of all the beastly luck I ever saw!” growled the Texan, joining him. “Why didn’t you challenge him to bowl again?”
“Because our agreement at the start was that we were to roll only one string. That settled it.”
“But you should have won! You would have won only for that rolling deadwood!”
“Forget it!” smiled Dick. “It is of no consequence.”
“What? No consequence? No consequence to have that fellow beat you? Why, pard, he is not in your class at anything!”
“He is a clever fellow, Brad; you can’t deny that.”
“All the same, he can’t beat you again once out of ten times.”
“I don’t know about that. In fact, I am inclined to think your statement altogether extravagant.”
Ten minutes later Dick had changed his clothes for a gymnasium suit and came forth to engage in a fencing bout with Darrell. Both boys were clever with the foils, and soon a number of cadets were watching them. Arlington and Fraser joined the spectators.
It was a beautiful spectacle to watch the graceful movements of the two lads, and the clever work ofboth was applauded. Dick was beyond question the superior of Darrell, who accepted the situation with good grace.
Arlington, however, did not hesitate to comment on Merriwell’s style and work. These comments were not wholly complimentary.
“Look at that lunge!” he exclaimed derisively. “Why, any one could parry that! His wrist is stiff. He loses half his opportunities to counter.”
“Still,” observed Fraser, “he is called the best fencer in the school.”
At this Chet laughed derisively.
“Wait,” he said. “If he dares I will try him a go. Come on, and I will get into a suit.”
Arlington hastened to the dressing room, returning as soon as possible in a gymnasium suit.
Dick was resting, and Chet walked straight up to him.
“I’d like to tackle you,” he declared. “What do you say?”
“All right,” nodded Dick.
Professor Broad, instructor in gymnastics, was near at hand, and was selected to act as referee.
Once more an eager and excited throng of boys assembled to witness a contest between Arlington and Merriwell.
In Dick’s eyes there was a slight gleam of fire as the two boys faced each other. Chester was smiling in that supremely confident manner of his.
“On guard!” called Professor Broad.
At this the two lads made the graceful movement of coming on guard.
“Engage!”
The foils met with a steely, hissing sound.
“Here’s where a rolling deadwood doesn’t spoil the match,” observed Buckhart.
Chester entered into the bout in earnest, forcing the attack from the start. His movements were quick, and he was catlike on his feet. Repeatedly he lunged and recovered in time to prevent a counter.
Dick watched Arlington’s style and movements closely, seeking to discover his capabilities.
“Why, Chester is playing with him!” declared Fraser. “He is keeping him busy, too.”
“Juj-juj-juj-just you wait a bit,” stuttered Jolliby. “Merriwell hasn’t bub-bub-bub-begun yet.”
A dozen times, in scarcely more than as many seconds, Chester sought to counter on his adversary, and a dozen times he was foiled by a simple movement of Dick’s wrist. At last, like a flash of lightning, Merriwell lunged, and the button of his foil counted in quarte.
Arlington’s backward spring was made too late to avoid this. He lighted on the balls of his feet and came forward in a twinkling, seeking to catch Dick off guard after that thrust.
Once more Chester’s effort was foiled by a graceful and easy movement on Merriwell’s part. And again Dick scored, this time in prime.
“Well! well! well!” cried Buckhart. “Didn’t I say so? Didn’t I know it?”
Chester flushed and showed symptoms of anger.
“Oh, this is just the beginning!” he declared.
“If this was the real thing it would be all over foryou now,” asserted the Texan. “You’d have a surgeon trying to patch you up by this time.”
“That will do,” said Professor Broad sharply. “The spectators will make no remarks.”
“Well, I opine I can think,” muttered Brad to himself.
Enraged by the success of Merriwell, Arlington continued the bout with redoubled energy. For some moments he succeeded in keeping Dick on the defensive, but all the while Merriwell was watching for another opening, which he found at last. His thrust was so swift that the eye could scarcely follow it, and he scored in second.
A savage exclamation escaped Chet’s lips.
“Play fair! Play fair!” he cried.
“I’ll call the fouls,” said the athletic instructor.
This seemed to excite and enrage Arlington more than ever, and he flung himself into the contest with great fury.
In warding off the fellow’s thrusts and avoiding his fierce attacks, Merriwell now displayed marvelous skill. He was supple as a panther and quick as a flash of light, and the look on his handsome face was that of one who conquered by mastering himself.
Chester’s breast was heaving and his lips parted. He was rapidly becoming winded through his own furious movements. When his attacks showed signs of weakening Dick began to push the engagement, and from that moment to the finish he played with Chet in a manner that revealed his superiority to every spectator. Again and again he scored without once being touched by the button on Arlington’s foil.
“I knew it!” muttered Brad Buckhart, in deep satisfaction.
At last, determined to make one count, at least, Chester risked all in a thrust which left him quite unguarded. The point of his weapon was caught by the point of Merriwell’s, and it slipped and passed through to one side until the guards of the foils touched. Then, with a single light, quick turn of the wrist, Dick snapped Chester’s foil from his hand and sent it spinning into the air. As it fell he caught it gracefully, gave it a turn in his hand, and held it hilt first toward his antagonist.
Arlington’s face grew purple with rage. With a quick movement, he seized the proffered foil, and an instant later the blade whistled through the air as he sought to strike Dick across the mask with it.
Down dropped Merriwell, his left foot sliding back and the fingers of his left hand lightly touching the floor. At the same instant he thrust, and the button of his foil struck against Chester’s padded jacket with such force that the blade was doubled into a half circle.
For all of this thrust Dick was up and away before Chet could recover.
“Try that again! Try that again!” grated Arlington.
Even as he uttered the words, while he was following Dick up, the latter once more dropped and thrust. To every one it seemed that Chester was beyond reach, yet that movement on the part of his antagonist gave Dick such a long lunge that he easily counted.
“There you have it!” whispered Buckhart, in great satisfaction.
Arlington was astounded.
“What do you think of that, professor?” he demanded. “Is it allowable?”
“Perfectly,” answered Broad.
“All right! all right!” snarled Chet, once more seeking to engage his antagonist.
By this time Arlington realized that he was in no way a match for Dick with the foils. Still he vowed to himself he would not stop until he had countered once on Merriwell.
At last Dick lowered the point of his foil in such a manner that Chester fancied the opening was such that he could not be checked.
Nevertheless, with a sidelong movement of his hand, the marvelous young fencer caught Chet’s blade and turned it so that again the foils slid past until the guards touched.
Once more there came that twisting snap of the wrist, and once more Arlington’s blade was sent spinning into the air.
Chet stood panting and baffled, making no attempt to pick the weapon up.
“I should say that was about enough,” declared Broad, who saw that Arlington was too angry to continue. “You had better try some one for whom you are more nearly a match.”
“Oh! I am a match for him,” panted Chet. “He will find it out yet!”
With that, overcome with chagrin and shame, Arlington turned and hastened to the dressing room.