"That's the talk, old man!" exclaimed Harvey Dare, with satisfaction. "Now you are beginning to appear natural."
The other boys were only too glad to get Frank into the game, and room was quickly made for him, while he was given a hand.
The moment he decided to play, he seemed to throw off the air of restraint that had been about him since he discovered the kind of company Bart Hodge had brought him into. He became his free-and-easy, jolly self, soon cracking a joke or two that set the boys laughing, and beginning by taking the very first pot on the table after entering the game.
"That's bad luck," he said, with a laugh. "The fellow who wins at the start usually loses at the finish, so I may as well consider my fortune yours. Some of you will become enormously wealthy in about fifteen minutes, for I won't last longer than that if my luck turns."
He soon betrayed that he was familiar with the game, and luck ran to him in a way that made the other boys look tired. He seemed able to draw anything he wanted.
"Say!" gasped Sam Winslow, in admiration; "I shouldn't think you'd want to play poker—oh, no! If I had your luck, I'd play poker as a profession. Why, if you drew to a spike, you'd get a railroad! I never saw anything like it."
Wat Snell had been losing right along, and he sneered:
"There's an old saying, 'A fool for luck,' you know."
"It applies in this case," laughed Frank. "If I wasn't a fool, I wouldn't be in this game."
"What's the matter with this game?" asked Harris. "Isn't the limit high enough to suit you?"
"That's the matter," said Dare, swiftly. "Let's raise the limit."
"Let's throw it off," urged Snell. "What's the use of limit, any how?"
Frank shook his head.
"I don't believe in a no-limit game," he said. "There are none of us millionaires."
"And for that very reason, none of us will play a heavy game," said Sam. "We have played a no-limit game before, and nobody ever bets more than a dollar or so. That doesn't happen once a game, either."
"Twenty-five cents is usually the limit of our bets," declared Harris.
"Then raise the limit to a quarter," said Frank. "I am willing to give you fellows a show to get back your money."
But they did not fancy having the limit a quarter, and quite a long argument ensued, which resulted in the game being resumed as a no-limit affair.
"There!" breathed Wat Snell, "this is something like it. Now I can do something. If a fellow wanted to bluff he couldn't do it on a ten-cent limit."
Hodge had said very little, but he seemed willing and ready to throw off the limit.
The change of limit did not seem to affect Merriwell's luck, for he continued to win.
"I believe you are a wizard!" exclaimed Sam Winslow. "You seem to read a fellow's cards."
Wat Snell growled continually, and the more he growled the more he lost.
"Oh, wait till I catch 'em by-and-by," he said, as he saw Frank rake in a good pot. "I won't do a thing to you, if I get a good chance!"
"If you have the cards, you will win," was the reply. "They are coming for me now, and I am simply playing 'em."
Hodge had lost something, but he said little, being more than satisfied as long as Frank was winning.
Thus the hours passed.
By one o'clock Frank was far ahead of the game, but he still played on, for he knew it would not seem right for him to propose stopping.
Dare, Harris and Winslow were nearly broken, but they still hung on, hoping for a turn in their direction. Snell had plenty of money, for all that he had been the heaviest loser.
Finally there came a good-sized jackpot, which Dare opened. Snell was the next man, and he promptly raised it fifty cents. Winslow dropped out, and Hodge raised Snell fifty cents. Then it came Frank's turn, and he simply staid in. Harris was dealing, and he dropped out, while Dare simply "made good."
This gave Snell his turn, and he "boosted" two dollars.
"Whew!" breathed Winslow. "That settles me. I'm out."
Hodge was game, and he "came up" on a pair of nines.
Snell was watching Merriwell, and the latter quietly pushed in two dollars, which finished the betting till cards were drawn, as Dare dropped out, after some deliberation.
"How many?" asked Harris, of Snell.
"Don't want any," was the calm reply.
Hodge took three, as also did Merriwell, which plainly indicated they had a pair each.
"Snell has this pot in a canter," said Harris.
Snell bet five dollars, doing it in a way that seemed to say he was not risking anything.
Hodge dropped his nines, which he had not bettered, and that left Merriwell and Snell to fight it out.
"This is why I object to a limit being taken off a game," said Frank. "It spoils the fun, and makes it a clean case of gambling."
"It's too late to make that kind of talk," sneered Snell. "You are in it now. Do you call?"
"No," replied Frank, "but I will see your five dollars, and put in another."
This created a stir, but Snell seemed delighted.
"I admire your blood," he said, "but the bluff won't go with me. Here's the five, and I will raise ten."
Now there was excitement.
Frank's cards lay face downward on the table, and every one was wondering what he could have found to go up against Snell's pat hand. He was wonderfully calm, as he turned to Bart, and asked:
"Will you loan me something?"
"Every cent I have," was the instant reply, as Hodge took out a roll of bills and threw it on the table. "Use what you want."
There were thirty-five dollars in the roll. Frank counted it over carefully, and then put it all into the pot, raising Snell twenty-five dollars!
When he saw this, Snell's nerve suddenly left him. His face paled and his hands shook.
"Whoever heard of such infernal luck as that fellow has!" he grated. "Held up a pair, and must have fours now!"
Frank said not a word. His face was quiet, and he seemed waiting for Snell to do something.
"If you haven't the money to call him——" began Harris.
"I have," declared Snell; "but what's the use. A man can't beat fool-luck! Here's my hand, and I'll allow I played it for all it is worth."
He threw the cards face upward on the table, and smothered exclamations of astonishment came from the boys.
His hand contained no more than a single pair of four-spots!
"Then you do not mean to call me?" asked Prank.
"Of course not! Think I'm a blooming idiot!"
"The pot is mine?"
"Yes."
"Well, I will allow I played this hand for all it is worth," said the winner, as he turned his cards over so all could see what they were.
Wat Snell nearly fainted.
Merriwell's hand was made up of a king, eight spot, five spot, and one pair of deuces!
It had been a game of bluff, and Frank Merriwell had won.
"Great Caesar!" gasped Harvey Dare. "Will you look at that! That is what I call nerve for you! That is playing, my boys!"
Wat Snell rose slowly to his feet, his face very white.
"It's robbery!" came hoarsely from his lips.
"Steady, Snell!" warned Harvey Dare. "You were beaten at your own game—that's all."
Snell knew this, but it simply served to make his rage and chagrin all the deeper.
"I am not a professional card player," he said, bitterly, "and I am no match for a professional."
He was more deeply cut by the manner in which he had been beaten than by the loss of his money.
"Nor am I a professional," came quietly from Frank Merriwell's lips, as he quickly sorted from the pot the money he had placed therein. "I simply sized you up as on the bluff, and I was right. I don't want your money, Snell; take it. I set into this game for amusement, and not with the idea of beating anybody to any such extent as this."
Snell hesitated, and then the hot blood mounted quickly to his face, which had been so pale a few moments before.
"No, I will not take the money!" he grated. "I take the offer as an insult, Merriwell."
"No insult is intended, I assure you."
Snell was shrewd enough to know he would stand little chance of getting into another game of poker with that company if he accepted the money, and so he made a desperate effort to control his rage and play the hypocrite.
"I don't suppose you did mean the offer as an insult, Merriwell; and I presume I was too hasty. I am rather quick at times, and, as Dare says, I was beaten at my own game, which made me hot. You had nerve, Merriwell; take the money—keep it."
The words almost choked him, but he pretended to be quite sincere, although his heart was full of bitterness and a longing to "get even."
It was some time before Frank could be persuaded to accept his winnings, and, when he did finally take it, he was resolved to return it quietly and secretly to Snell, at such a time that no one else could know anything of it.
This matter was scarcely settled when there came a peculiar rap on the door.
"Who's that?" asked Frank, in some alarm.
"It's our sentinel," assured Harris. "His time on post is up."
The door opened, and Leslie Gage entered the room. Gage had been Merriwell's bitter enemy at one time during the summer encampment, having made two dastardly attacks on Frank, who had been generous enough to rescue him from death after that, and had saved him from expulsion by refusing to give any testimony against him.
For all of this generosity on Merriwell's part, Gage still bore deep down in his heart a hatred for the plebe who had become so popular at the academy. This he tried to keep concealed, pretending that he had changed into a friend and admirer.
"Hello, Merriwell," he saluted. "Been having a little whirl with the boys?"
"I should say he has!" replied Snell. "He has whirled me wrong end up, and I feel as if I am still twisted."
Then the whole play was explained to Gage, who chuckled over it, and complimented Frank on his nerve.
For all of this apparent restoration of good feeling, Frank was discerning enough to detect the insincerity of both Snell and Gage.
Gage had done his duty as guard, and there was no one on the watch now. None of the boys felt like taking the place, so it was decided to call the "session" over for that night.
"You must come again, Merriwell," said Dare. "You have given us the sensation of the evening, and you must let Snell have a chance to get square."
"Yes," said Snell, "all I ask is a fair chance to get square. If I fail, I won't say a word, and I'll acknowledge you are the best fellow. Let's shake hands, Merriwell, and call it quits for the time being."
"That's the stuff!" came from Sam Winslow. "Now everything is quiet on the Potomac again."
Frank shook hands with Snell, and a few moments later the boys began to slip from the room and skurry along the corridors to their rooms, which all reached without being challenged by the sentries.
Bart was filled with satisfaction and delight, and before getting into bed he whispered to Frank, not daring to speak aloud in that room:
"That was the prettiest trick I ever saw! And I was delighted to see you rub that fellow. He hasn't done a thing to me but win every time I have held up a hand against him of late."
Frank said nothing, and had there been a light in the room, Bart would have seen that his face bore an expression that was anything but one of satisfaction.
Merriwell did not sleep well during the few hours before reveille. His slumber was filled with dreams, and he muttered and moaned very often, awaking Hodge once or twice.
"I guess he is still playing," thought Bart.
At reveille Frank was, as a rule, very prompt about springing out of bed and hurrying into his clothes and through his toilet. On the morning after the game, however, he continued to sleep till Hodge awakened him by a fierce shaking.
"Come, come, man!" said Bart; "turn out. Are you going to let a little thing like last night break you up?"
Frank got up wearily and stiffly.
"I didn't sleep well," he said.
He was quite unlike his usual spirited self.
"Get a brace on," urged Bart. "You want to be on hand at roll-call."
Finding it was necessary to "get a brace on," Frank did so, and was able to leave the room in time to go rushing down the stairway and spring into ranks at the last second.
After breakfast, as Bart was sprucing up the room, and Frank was vainly trying to prepare himself for the first recitation, but simply sat staring in a bewildered way at the book he held, the former said:
"You don't know what a slick trick you did last night, Merriwell! Why, I'd given almost anything if I had been the one to soak Snell in that fashion."
Frank put down the book, and rose to his feet, pacing twice the length of the room. All at once he stopped and faced Bart, and his voice was not steady, as he said:
"You didn't mean any harm, old man, but you did me a bad turn last night."
Bart stared, and asked:
"How?"
"By taking me where I could sit into a game like that. I am going to tell you something. I have one great failing—one terrible fault that quite overshadows all my other failings and faults. That is my passion for cards—or, to put it more strongly and properly, my passion for gambling."
Bart whistled.
"You don't mean to say that you have a failing or a fault that you cannot govern, do you?" he asked.
Frank put out one hand, and partly turned away. Instantly Bart sprang forward and caught the hand, saying swiftly:
"There, there, Merriwell—don't notice it! I didn't mean anything. You are sensitive to-day. Hang it all, man! do you think I want to hurt your feelings without cause! I shouldn't have said it, for I see you are not yourself."
"No, I am not," confessed Frank. "You know every fellow has a secret. I did not intend to tell mine. I believe I was born with an intense passion for gambling."
"And you cannot govern it?"
"Well, I have been able to do so during the past year."
"Oh, you are all right; you have a strong mind and——"
"Every strong mind has a weak spot. I began gaming by playing marbles, and the passion grew on me. When I had money, I gambled for cents and nickels. As I grew older, I learned to play cards, and I gambled for larger sums. If I knew that a game was going on I would leave everything to get into it. Once I 'appropriated' money from my mother's purse to gamble with."
Frank stopped. His face crimsoned as he uttered the words, and he showed his deep shame and humiliation. But he quickly added:
"That was my first and last theft. The shame and disgrace of exposure by my mother was nearly more than I could endure. But she did not know I played cards for money. Thank God! she never knew! She died when I was twelve years old.
"I never knew much about my father's business. He was much away from home, and I saw him but little. After mother's death, I went to live with my uncle. Still I played cards for money, and the passion grew upon me. A little more than a year ago I was rapidly developing into a young gambler. Then came news of my father's sudden death in California, and I swore I would never play cards again. Last night I broke my oath."
"What was the cause of your father's death?" asked Bart, by way of saying something.
"He was shot over a game of cards in a gambling-house," replied Frank, hoarsely.
Wat Snell and Leslie Gage were roommates, and they certainly made a delectable pair.
Gage was naturally the leader, being the worse of the two. He was a daring and reckless sort of fellow—one who would not stop at anything, and who would have recourse to almost any measure to gain his ends.
This revengeful fellow had never forgiven Merriwell for what he considered a great injury. Gage had been the pitcher on the regular ball team, but, by superior skill, Merriwell had supplanted him. That was enough to produce in Gage's heart a feeling of undying hatred for the successful plebe.
It made no difference that Frank had, in all probability, saved him from death after he had twice attempted to kill Merriwell. Gage had been shrewd enough to see that he must dissemble if he would remain in the academy, and so he pretended to be repentant and to think Frank one of the finest fellows in the world, while his hatred and longing for "revenge" still lay hidden, black and hideous, in a secret corner of his heart.
Snell was quite a different sort of bad boy. He regarded Gage as his superior, and he was ready to do almost anything for the fellow, but he could not imitate Leslie's daring, and he kept his own vileness so much concealed that many square, honest lads believed he was a really good fellow. Bart Hodge had begun to think Snell was a sneak and bad, but he had no proof of it, and so he kept still.
Wat was in anything but a pleasant mood the day after the game of cards. He flung things round the room in a way that caused Gage to regard him with wonder, as it was so much unlike the usual quiet, crafty roommate he knew.
"What's the matter with you, Wat?" he asked, in surprise. "You must be ill. Go directly and place those things where they belong, for we never know when one of those blooming inspectors will pop in. I am room orderly this week, and am going to have things kept straight, for I can't afford to take any more demerit. My record is bad enough as it stands."
So, with a little grumbling, Wat went about and restored to order the things he had disarranged, but he could not help thinking how often, when he was room orderly, he had been obliged to follow Gage about, and gather up things he had displaced.
"What's the matter?" repeated Leslie, who suspected the truth. "You don't seem to feel well, old boy."
"Oh, it's nothing," replied Wat. "I was thinking of last night."
"And raising all this row because you happened to drop a dollar. Why, that's the run of the cards."
"Oh, it wasn't what I lost that made me mad."
"Then what was it?"
"Why, I was thinking that that fellow Merriwell won."
"And I presume you were thinking how he won the last pot, eh?"
"Yes"—sullenly.
"You don't love Merriwell a great deal?"
"I should say not! I despise the fellow!"
"And you'd like to get square?"
"Wouldn't I!"
"I suppose you mean to do so?"
"If I ever get the chance—yes."
"I fancy you are aware that I am not dead stuck on Merriwell myself?"
"Yes, I know."
"I have an old score to settle with him, and I will settle it some way. I failed in one or two attempts to do him up, for——"
"You were altogether too bold, partner mine; and it's a wonder you were not expelled from the academy. You would have been if Merriwell had blowed on you."
"That's right, and he would have done so if he had known what was good for him. He is soft!"
"In some things he may be soft, but you must acknowledge he is hard enough in others. He has a way of coming on top in almost everything."
Gage could not deny this, and it made him angry to think of it.
"You are right," he said, fiercely. "I suppose I was foolish to fight him in the way I did. That big bully Bascomb got a hold on me, and he has been blackmailing me ever since. Hang that fellow! I'll choke the wind out of him yet!"
A crafty look came to Snell's face, and he said:
"There are ways to down a fellow without showing your hand."
"I suppose so; but it usually takes too long to suit me. I like to jump on an enemy at once, and do him up."
"Well, I hope you are satisfied that Merriwell is the kind of a fellow who will not be jumped on that way?"
"It seems so."
"Then it is possible you are ready to try some other method?"
Their eyes met, and Wat grinned significantly.
"How do you mean?" asked Leslie, eagerly. "You have some kind of a scheme?"
"That fellow won some money off me, and I refused to take it back. He must show up again, and give me a chance to square the score. He is bound in honor not to refuse to do so."
"That's right," nodded Gage.
"Well, you are rather handy with the cards, and I reckon you will not find it hard to fleece him."
"Oh, I can beat him out of his money, but that is poor satisfaction when you want to disgrace a fellow and drive him out of the school."
"We'll find a way for that, if we can get him to following the game."
"I don't know as I see how."
"His parents are dead."
"Well?"
"He is supported by a rich uncle, who sent him here to this school."
"What of that?"
"His uncle gives him a regular allowance. If Merriwell exceeds that allowance, there will be inquiries as to what he has done with his money."
"I begin to see."
"This uncle is a stern, crusty old fellow, and he would be furious if he should accidentally find out that his nephew is gambling. The chances are about ten to one that he would take him out of Fardale and turn him adrift to hustle for himself."
Gage's eyes began to glitter, and the smile about his mouth was most unpleasant to see.
"Snell," he said, "you have a head on your shoulders! You are a dandy schemer! But how will this uncle find out that Merriwell has been gambling?"
"There are several ways for him to find it out. If we can get hold of a few of Merriwell's IOU's, they might be sent to the uncle for collection."
"I see; but first we must run him out of ready cash."
"Of course. By the time he has lost all his money, he will be eager to play to win it back. We must lend him money, and take his IOU's."
"We'll do it!" Gage jumped up, struck Snell a blow on the back, and then grasped his hand, giving it a shake.
"We'll do it!" he repeated. "Merriwell's goose is beautifully cooked!"
Snell smiled in his crafty way.
"I am glad you take to the scheme, for with your aid, there ought not to be any trouble in carrying it out."
"Oh, we'll work it! But how did you find out so much about Merriwell? That's what sticks me. He has been sort of a mystery here, as none of the fellows knew exactly where he came from, or anything about his folks."
"Oh, I took a fancy to get posted concerning him. At first I didn't see how I was going to do so. That was during camp, and Hans Dunnerwust tented with him then. I cultivated the thick-headed Dutchman, and succeeded in getting into his good graces. So I often visited Hans in the tent when Merriwell and Mulloy, that Irish clown, who thinks Merriwell the finest fellow in the world, were away. I kept my eyes open, and one day I spotted a letter to Merriwell. I swiped it instanter, and it helped me out, for it was from his uncle."
"You're an artist in your line, Wat!" exclaimed Leslie, approvingly.
"That letter didn't give me all the information I desired," continued Snell, "but I found I had a friend living in a town adjoining the one Merriwell hails from, so I wrote and asked him to find out a few things for me. He rode over on his wheel, and found out what I have told you."
"Why, you are a regular detective, old man!"
"Merriwell's mother," continued Wat, "has been dead several years. No one seems to know much about his father, except that he was nearly always away from home, and he died suddenly in California a little more than a year ago. I haven't been able to find out that he left any property, so Merriwell is dependent on the generosity of a rather crabbed and crusty old uncle, whose head is filled with freaks and fancies. He seems to be just the kind of a man who would be easily turned against a nephew who had, as he would consider it, gone astray."
"That settles Merriwell! If we cannot get the old uncle down on him, we are pretty poor schemers."
They looked at each other and smiled again. A precious pair of youthful plotters they were!
"We must be slick about this business," warned Snell. "We mustn't let anybody but ourselves get the least wind of it."
"Certainly not."
"And we must do our prettiest to pull the wool over Merriwell's eyes, for you know he is rather discerning in some things, and he may be inclined to be wary. We must seem to think he is the finest fellow in the world."
"That will be pretty hard," said Leslie, with a wry face, "but I have been doing something in that line of late, and I will keep it up. That business doesn't come so easy for me as it does for you."
"You can do it, if you try. And I shall depend on you to skin him with the papers."
"That won't be hard, if he plays square."
"I don't think there is any doubt about that. He is one of the kind of fellows who doesn't know enough to play any other way."
"Then Frank Merriwell's name is mud—with a capital M."
The plot was laid, the snare was set, but the game seemed wary. For some time Frank Merriwell remained away from those midnight gatherings in the room of the student who had committed suicide.
"Hang the luck!" exclaimed Gage. "Is he going to keep away right along?"
"He must not be allowed to do so," said Leslie. "He must be shamed into coming."
"That may not be easy."
"It should not be difficult with a fellow like Merriwell. He must give me a chance to get even."
"Hodge doesn't try to get Merriwell out again."
"No. He says he will not influence him to attend the gatherings."
"What's the matter with Hodge?"
"I don't know. He is ready enough to come himself."
It was true that Bart had positively refused to use his influence to induce Merriwell to attend again one of the secret parties. He had been greatly moved by Frank's revelation, and he had resolved not to lead Frank into the path that was so fascinating and so dangerous for him. He did not know that the evil was already done—the fever was burning in Merriwell's veins.
Frank had been waiting an opportunity to speak with Snell in private, and it came one day when he met the fellow on the grounds outside the academy.
"Hello, Snell," he saluted. "I have been looking for you."
"And I have been looking for you," said Wat, meaningly. "Why haven't you ever come round since that night? Aren't you going to give a fellow a show to get square?"
"I am not going to play cards any more!"
"What?" cried Wat, in apparent astonishment. "That beats anything I ever heard! You have beaten me out of a good roll, and now——"
"I have been looking for you that I might return every cent you lost that night, so you cannot consider me mean if I do not give you a chance to get even over the table. If you will tell me just how much you dropped, I'll make it good now."
An eager look came to Wat's face, but it quickly vanished, for he realized that he would defeat himself if he accepted the money.
"What do you take me for!" he cried, with apparent indignation. "I am not that kind of a fellow!"
"You need never fear that I will say anything about it, for I pledge you my word of honor to say nothing. All I want is to make sure you do not feel that I have any money that belongs to you."
"I don't care whether you say anything about it or not, Merriwell. That does not keep me from accepting the money. I tell you I am not that kind of a fellow. You won it, and you will keep it, unless you have nerve enough to give me an opportunity to win it back."
This did not suit Frank at all, for the money had lain like a load on his conscience. He had sworn not to gamble again, and he had broken his oath. But, what was worse, so long as he kept that money, he felt that he really ought to give Snell a chance to get square. There seemed but one way to get out of playing again, and that was to make Snell take back the money.
But it was useless for him to urge Wat; not a dollar would the fellow accept.
"You can't give me back anything," declared Snell. "You won that money by having the most nerve—at that time. But you can't repeat the trick, old man," he added, jovially. "Come around to-night, and see if you can."
Frank shook his head.
"No," he declared, "I shall not come."
"Oh, what's the use, Merriwell! We want you to come, and all the fellows are saying it is not like you to win a few dollars and then stay away. I have told them over and over that I do not believe you are staying away because you are afraid I will win the money back. You're not that kind of a fellow."
At that moment Snell seemed very sincere, and Frank said:
"Thank you. I am glad to know you do not believe such a thing possible of me. Still, I shall not come."
"Oh, yes you will!" laughed Wat. "It can't be that you're afraid of being caught. If anybody says so, I'll swear I know better. You have nerve enough not to care for that. Come around to-night. We'll look for you."
Snell hurried away, knowing full well that he had said things which must worry Merriwell, if they did not drive him into coming to the midnight card parties.
Wat was right. Frank was worried not a little, for he could not bear to fancy that some of the boys thought him mean in staying away. Hodge saw Merriwell was troubled, but the dark-haired boy remained silent.
In the meantime, finding Hodge would do nothing to bring Merriwell round. Gage and Snell tried their best to make friends with Hans Dunnerwust and Barney Mulloy, as these boys were particular friends of Merriwell's, and might be induced to use some influence over him.
Barney, however, was wary. He did not fancy either Gage or Snell, and he repulsed their advances.
To Hans, the temptation of a midnight supper on cakes and pies was too much to resist, and he was added to the circle that gathered in the room of the suicide.
Hans could play poker, and the game being made small enough to suit him, he came in and won about two dollars, which made him swell up like a toad, and declared:
"Uf you poys know some games vot I can play petter as dot boker, shust you name him, und I vill do you at dot. Oh, I vose a dandy on trucks, ain'd it? Shust keep your eye on me, und I vill learn some tricks vot you don'd know alretty yet."
Snell did his best to make Hans believe he was a great favorite, and then he told him how Frank had won the only time he had appeared in the game, and had never come around since.
"Some of the fellows seem to think he is afraid I will win the money back," said Wat; "but I don't take any stock in that, for Merriwell's not that kind of a fellow. Still, I don't like to have such ideas concerning him get into circulation."
"Dot vos vere I vos righdt," nodded Hans. "He don't peen dot kindt uf a feller ad all, you pet me my shirt! Dot Vrankie Merrivell vos a taisy, undt he don'd peen afrait a show to gif anypody. You vait till I tell him vot dose fellers say. I pet me your life he vill gome aroundt bretty kuveek righdt avay."
"Oh, don't say anything about it!" exclaimed Snell, as if he really wished Hans to keep silent. "Merriwell knows his business. His friends will stand up for him, no matter what others may say."
"Vell, I vos going to toldt him dot shust der same. Uf he don'd peen aroundt here der next dime, I don'd know der kindt uv a feller vot he vos peen yet avile."
"Well, don't mention that I said anything. He might fancy I thought him afraid to come round."
"I don'd call your name at all, don'd you let me vorry apout dot."
Snell knew the Dutch boy would lose little time in communicating with Frank, and he was right. Hans did not see that Frank was little like his usual jovial self, and he did not know in what a turbulent state of mind the unfortunate plebe was left.
Bart was not a little worried over Frank, for he saw how the lad had changed in a short time, but he hoped that Merriwell would come round in time, and be his old jolly self.
That evening, a short while before taps, Frank asked:
"I suppose it is another card party to-night?"
"Yes," replied Bart, "a few of us are going to get together."
"Will Snell be there?"
"I presume so."
No more was said. Bart rose and slipped out of the room at the usual time, thinking Frank was asleep.
But Frank was not asleep, and Hodge was scarcely gone when he, too, arose and began to arrange a dummy in his bed.
The little party of card players was expectantly awaiting the appearance of Bartley Hodge.
There was to be no feast this night—nothing but cigarettes and draw poker.
Hodge appeared at last, and he brought a disappointment to at least two of the party, for Frank Merriwell was not with him.
Leslie Gage and Wat Snell exchanged glances that were full of meaning.
Sam Winslow was on guard outside, it being his turn to fill that unenviable position.
"Hello, Hodge," saluted Harvey Dare. "Now we are ready to proceed to business."
"Dot vas righdt," nodded Hans Dunnerwust, who was on hand. "I vos goin' to smoke cigarreds to-nighd dill I vos sick, und haf a pully dime."
"Why doesn't Merriwell ever show up again?" asked Leslie Gage.
"That's it," joined in Wat Snell, "why doesn't he come round and give a fellow a show to win back some of that money he won off us? Is he afraid?"
"You know well enough that Frank Merriwell is not afraid," said Bart, quickly.
"Well, it looks that way," declared Leslie.
"Yes, it looks that way," echoed Wat.
"Possibly he has too much sense to spend his nights here," said Hodge. "If I had known that much, I wouldn't have gone back a class. Merriwell is in the first section, and he is making right along."
"Well, he is a different fellow than I thought he was," asserted Snell. "Until lately, he has seemed quite a fellow for sport, but he is degenerating into a drone."
"Such drones are the fellows who get along well in school and in the world."
"Bah! Give me a fellow with blood in him!" came contemptuously from Gage.
Leslie had grown desperate, having come to the conclusion that Frank was not to be cajoled into playing poker any more. He now determined, of a sudden, that he would take another tack, and see if he could not anger Merriwell into coming.
Hodge remembered that Gage had tried to injure Frank in the past, and the dark-eyed plebe was ready to blaze forth in an instant. Although he did not know it, Gage was treading on the very thin crust that covered a smoldering volcano.
Leslie was not warned by the fire that gleamed in Bart's eyes, for he continued:
"If Merriwell persists in staying away—if he does not show up and give Snell a chance to get square, he is——"
A knock at the door!
It was the regular signal for admittance, and so, after the first start of alarm, George Harris said:
"Open up quickly. It must be Sam, and, if so, there's something wrong in the wind."
Wat Snell opened the door, and, to their amazement, into the room stepped Frank Merriwell!
It was with difficulty that the boys suppressed a shout of welcome.
Snell quickly closed the door, and then the boys rushed at Frank and shook his hand delightedly.
"You're a sight for sore eyes!" exclaimed Wat Snell, joyously.
"Dot vos so!" agreed Hans. "You vould peen a sighd for a plind man!"
"I will take back anything I said, and swallow what I was going to say," came from Leslie Gage. "I didn't think it could be possible you wouldn't come round again, old man."
"Now, we will have a jolly little racket," said George Harris. "And you want to look out for Merriwell. He is a great bluffer."
"But he doesn't bluff all the time," supplemented Harvey Dare. "I found out that he held cards occasionally, for I called him a few the last time he was around."
Frank laughed; it was his old, jolly laugh, suppressed somewhat. He seemed like himself once more, as Bart Hodge instantly noted. He had cast off the strain under which he had been for so long, and now Frank Merriwell, mischievous and full of fun, was on deck again.
But this did not quite please Hodge, who watched his roommate closely, his uneasiness growing as he saw how care-free Merriwell seemed. What had brought about such a change? Had Frank thrown his resolutions to the wind?
"I've got a supply of coffin-nails," said Snell, as he produced several packages of cigarettes. "Help yourselves, gentlemen. Pass them round."
Round they went, and when they reached Frank Merriwell he accepted one.
"I am going to be real dissipated to-night," he laughed, as he struck a match and "fired up." "You may have to carry me to my room on a shutter, for I actually am going to smoke!"
Leslie Gage and Wat Snell exchanged glances of satisfaction.
A black look came to Bart Hodge's face, and he half started up as Frank took the cigarette, acting as if he would utter a warning. Then he settled back in his seat, thinking:
"Let him smoke, if he wants to. One cigarette will do nobody harm."
But Hodge knew in his heart that it was not the smoking of one or a dozen cigarettes that was dangerous to Merriwell; it was the breaking of his resolutions—it was the feeling of abandon and recklessness that had seemed to seize upon him.
Not much time was lost in beginning the game, but now Bart insisted on a proper limit.
"What do you say, Merriwell?" asked George Harris. "What kind of a limit suits you?"
"Anything from five cents to the sky," was the laughing reply. "Fix it to suit yourselves."
Once more Gage and Snell exchanged glances.
Bart stuck for a moderate limit, but he finally agreed to make it a dollar, the ante being five cents.
"Vell, uf I had pad luck, I don'd last long at dot," said Hans. "I don'd haf more as four tollars und sefen cends."
"Merriwell won at the start the last time he was here, and he kept the luck straight through to the finish," observed Harvey Dare. "It isn't often such a thing occurs."
A few minutes later, as Harris beat Frank, the latter said:
"This game starts differently from the other, fellows. I have lost at the beginning, and to keep up the precedent I have established, I must lose all through it."
He said this smilingly, as if he really wished to lose.
As the cards were being dealt, Bart, who sat by his roommate's side, leaned toward Frank, and softly asked:
"What made you come, old man?"
"Couldn't keep away," was the reply.
"Well, be careful—keep watch of yourself."
"Not to-night, Bart. I am going to let loose on this occasion."
Frank played recklessly from the start, and fortune fluctuated with him, for he would forge ahead and then drop behind, but he was never much ahead, nor far behind. For all of his careless playing, he seemed to hang about even.
Leslie Gage was too shrewd to try to get at Frank on this occasion, for he wanted Merriwell to win again, so they would get a still firmer hold upon him.
Wat Snell lost steadily, soon beginning to growl, and keeping it up. Once, under cover of conversation the others were making, he leaned toward Gage and muttered:
"Merriwell is my hoodoo. I can't do a thing with him in the game."
"Keep cool," warned Leslie. "Never mind what happens this time. We'll get at him again."
Hans Dunnerwust managed to blunder along and keep in the game by sheer luck, for he did not play the cards for their face value at any time. Still he made enough to keep on his feet and not have to get out of the game.
"Vell!" Hans finally exclaimed, as he tried in vain to win, "uf I don'd do petter as dot, I vill suicide go und gommit bretty soon alretty."
"By the way, Hans," said Frank, "do you know that the fellow who used to have this room committed suicide here?"
"Shimminy Gristmas!" gurgled the Dutch boy. "You don'd say dot!"
"Yes, I do, and the room is said to be haunted by his spook, which cannot rest in its grave."
"Vell, dot vos nice! Oxcuse me while I haf a chill!"
At this moment a hollow groan seemed to come from beneath the chair on which Hans sat, and the Dutch lad gave a jump, getting on his feet quickly, and peering under the chair, his face growing pale, as he chattered:
"Vot vos dot, ain'd id?"
Some of the other boys were not a little alarmed, for all had heard it distinctly.
"It—it actually sounded like a groan!" said Wat Snell.
"That's what it did," agreed George Harris.
"But you know it couldn't have been anything of the sort," laughed Frank, "for you fellows do not believe in ghosts."
"Who—who—who said anything about ghosts?" stammered Snell.
At this moment another groan, louder and more dismal than the first, seemed to come from directly beneath the table.
There was a scrambling among the boys, as they hastened to get their legs from beneath that table.
"I don'd feel very vell aroundt der bit uf mein stomach," gasped Hans. "I pelief I vos going to be sick alretty yet."
One of the boys held the light, while they all looked under the table, but they did not find anything there.
"Now, that is singular," commented Harvey Dare. "If that wasn't a groan, I never heard one in my life."
"And a real ghostly groan at that!" said Leslie Gage.
"I never did take any stock in this rot about ghosts, but——"
"Beware, young man, how you mock at the spirits of the departed!"
The voice seemed to come from one of the alcove bedrooms, and it was of the sort to make the hair stand on the head of a superstitious person.
"Oh, dunder und blitzen!" panted Hans. "Dot vos a shook! Uf I don't ged avay oud uf here righd off, I peen gone grazy! I don'd vant any shook in mine!"
"It is some fellow playing a joke on us," said Harvey Dare, angrily. "Some one has concealed himself in there. Bring the light, fellows, and we will soon find out."
He started for the alcove, but no one seemed anxious to take the light and follow him. After a moment, however, Frank did so.
All through both alcoves Harvey searched, and his face was rather pale when he and Frank returned to the table.
"What did you find?" asked Wat Snell, thickly.
"Not a thing but dust," replied Harvey. "There hasn't been a living soul in either of those bedrooms since the room was closed after the suicide."
"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed the hollow voice. "You are right. They dare not come, but I am doomed to stay here till this building shall crumble and decay."
"Vell, you may sday till der cows come home!" gurgled Hans; "but I don'd peen caught in here any more bretty soon righd avay, you pet!" and he made a break for the door.
The others quickly extinguished the light, and followed him.
There would be no more gatherings in that room.