There was a determined look on Paul's face, as he walked to one end of the long strip of turf that ran down one side of the gymnasium.
"He is built for jumping," said one of the spectators. "There is a fine pair of legs, if I ever saw a fine pair."
"That's right," agreed another; "and he is full of snap and ginger. He will give Merriwell a hard go."
"But Merriwell is no slow coach at anything," broke in a third. "I never saw a fellow who seemed able to make such a record at all sorts of sports. Who would have thought that he could face Bascomb? Look! Rains is going to start! See him crouch for the run! He is like a young panther! Now he's off!"
Down the line of turf darted Paul, reached the white line, rose gracefully into the air with a pretty spring, and sailed forward in a handsome jump that brought a round of applause from the spectators.
The measurers immediately ran the tape.
"Seventeen feet and four inches," was the announcement.
A shade of disappointment came to the faces of the spectators, for that was far below the Fardale record.
Rains, however, winked quietly to Bascomb, as if to say that the first jump was a teaser, just to see what Merriwell would do.
Frank now took his position, ran swiftly and lightly down the turf, and made the jump. He seemed to be doing his best, or nearly that, yet he did not reach but a little beyond Rains' mark.
"Seventeen feet, six inches and a quarter," announced one of the measurers.
"I wonder if that is anywhere near his limit?" thought Paul, as he slowly walked back to the starting point. "I think I will have to give him a stint this time."
As he faced the mark, he gathered his energies in every part of his body, felt his muscles strain, knew his nerves were at their highest tension.
"He's going to lay himself out this time," said one of the spectators to another. "Seventeen feet will not be mentioned again."
Down the strip shot Rains. He reached the mark, and went flying through the air like a bird, bringing a cry to the lips of those watching, for they saw he had gone far ahead of the first jump.
"That was a beauty!" exclaimed Bascomb, speaking to Wat Snell, who stood watching.
"It was a good jump," said Snell; "but Merriwell will beat it."
"What makes you think so?"
"Because that fellow always beats at everything. I had rather have his luck than a license to steal! I've quit trying to down him, for I found I was bound to get the worst of it if I kept it up."
"Oh, his time will come."
"Perhaps so; but it isn't coming in a hurry."
"Nineteen feet, three inches and a third," announced the measurer.
"Hooray!" shouted one of Paul's delighted admirers.
"That's the stuff! Merriwell will have to shake himself, if he means to beat that."
But Frank had friends who were confident that he would still hold the lead.
"Wait till the next measurement is taken," they said.
Frank's manner, as he took his place for the start, seemed to indicate that he believed the task before him a difficult one.
"He's doubtful," muttered one of Paul's friends.
"He's losing courage," said another.
Pressing his lips together, Frank made the run, and the watchers held their breath as he jumped.
"He's tied Rains!"
"Not much! He's behind!"
"Rains holds the lead!"
"Great Scott! is that Merriwell's best!"
Bascomb thumped Wat Snell on the back.
"What'd I tell you!" he laughed in Snell's ear. "This is right where Merriwell loses some of his glory. Rains has beaten him."
"This time, perhaps," admitted Snell; "but there is another jump to follow, and the best score made is the one that decides the contest. You will find Merriwell is not beaten yet."
"Why, you talk as if you wanted him to beat!"
"Not much! I would give almost anything to see him beaten at everything he attempts. Don't think for a minute that I am in love with that fellow!"
The tape had been run, and now the announcement was heard:
"Nineteen feet, one inch and one-third."
Rains had beaten Merriwell by two inches on the second jump.
But the contest was not yet over, and there was a chance that Frank would finally redeem himself.
Frank's friends were disappointed. Hodge showed deep chagrin in his face, as he drew Merriwell aside, saying swiftly and guardedly:
"You're making a mistake, old man, if you are holding off for the last jump. The second jump is the one to lay yourself out on always."
"Perhaps I did," smiled Frank.
"What!" gasped Hodge. "And he has beaten you!"
"It looks that way, doesn't it?"
"But—but—I—I won't believe it! You can do better—you must do better! Why, old man, you will lose your grip if you don't beat him!"
"You do not expect impossibilities, do you?"
"No, but——"
"Would you go back on me if I lost this match?"
"You know better, Frank! I would stick by you under any circumstances!"
"Then I shall not feel so bad about losing it."
Hodge gasped and clutched the arm of his roommate.
"For gracious sake, you don't mean to say he had set you a stint you cannot beat? You mustn't lose—you shan't lose! Do brace up, old man! Why, think how those fellows who are envious of you will rejoice if Rains comes out on top! You must win!"
"Well, I will do my best on the next. There goes Rains for the last jump."
With the ghost of a triumphant mile on his face, Paul again took his place at the starting point. The smile vanished, and a look of resolution took its place.
"He is going to try to beat your other jump!" said Bascomb.
"He can't do it," declared Snell.
"Wait and see."
Paul had really resolved to beat his last jump. As he ran, he gathered momentum, gauging the distance carefully, and reaching the mark exactly. The jump was a splendid one, and it was instantly seen that he had actually beaten his former record.
Quickly and carefully the tape was stretched.
"Nineteen feet, nine inches and three-fourths!"
Then there were exclamations of wonderment from all sides, and more than one declared Merriwell was badly beaten. There were not a few among Frank's friends who confessed that he had very little chance, and the faces of those who said nothing showed that they had lost heart to a great extent.
Hodge continued to talk excitedly to Merriwell, who shook his head, looking very grave.
Paul Rains was quietly triumphant, for he felt that he was safely the winner of this contest.
Merriwell and Hodge went up the strip together, the latter still talking and making an occasional gesture. Reaching the starting point, they paused and stood talking.
"By smoke!" laughed Bascomb; "Merriwell doesn't want to try it at all, and Hodge is having hard work to induce him to do so! Rains has this match in a walkover."
"That remains to be seen," said one of Frank's friends, doggedly. "You may be right, but don't you fancy for a moment that Merriwell is going to give up without jumping. He isn't that kind of a hairpin, my boy."
"Well, he might as well give up without another try, for he doesn't stand any show."
"Oh, wait and see—wait and see," was all that Frank's defender could say.
Hodge was now seen to leave Merriwell and come back down the runway, and it was noted that the look on his face was far from one of confidence and satisfaction.
"When Hodge loses confidence in Merriwell, the case is desperate," declared Bascomb.
"That's so," confessed Wat Snell. "I am beginning to hope."
"Merriwell is making ready—he's preparing for the run!"
All eyes were now fixed on Frank, who had taken his position at the starting point. He was seen to dig his toe into the ground to get a brace, and he leaned far forward, with one hand outstretched, then he darted toward the mark.
With the speed of a fawn, Frank came down the run, reached the mark, shot like a leopard into the air, sailed like a soaring bird, and landed safely far beyond Rains' best mark—so far, indeed, that the crowd was too astonished to make a sound, but stood staring as the tape was laid.
"Twenty-one feet and two inches!" came the electrifying announcement.
Then, for all of rules, for all of Professor Rhynas, Frank's friends made the air ring with their wild shouts of applause.
Paul Rains was struck with dismay and confusion, which threatened to turn to anger.
He saw the crowd gathering round Frank, and congratulating him. Paul was left quite alone. Not even Bascomb approached him, for the big plebe was too dismayed to say anything or do anything.
Wat Snell simply muttered:
"I knew it!"
His tone expressed his hopeless disgust.
Frank's hand was wrung till his arm ached, and he was told over and over that he would make a new record for Fardale Academy if he chose to enter the athletic contests in the spring.
"If he chooses!" shouted one enthusiastic fellow. "He'll have to enter, whether he chooses or not! You don't suppose we will let a fellow like him remain out of it, do you!"
"I knew you could do it, old man!" murmured Bart Hodge, his dark face flushed with pleasure. "You were bluffing all the while that you pretended to doubt."
"I wanted to see how much confidence you actually had in me," said Frank, with a smile.
"Well, you found out."
"Yes, and that gave me a great deal more of confidence in myself. I tell you it helps to know one has friends whose faith in him cannot be shaken, even when he seems to lose faith in himself."
"Where is Rains?"
"There he is. I wonder if he is satisfied?"
Paul was still quite alone, pretending to examine the spikes in the bottom of one of his shoes.
Frank moved toward his rival, and the others swarmed along.
Seeing them coming, Rains straightened up, and through his mind flashed the thought that he must not show his chagrin, no matter how deeply he felt it, and he must receive Merriwell in a manner that would not make him seem like a cad in the eyes of the fellows.
And so, when Frank came up, Paul said:
"That was a beautiful jump, Merriwell. You beat me fairly and squarely. I can't deny that."
"You are satisfied, then."
"Perfectly."
"Then we will try the high jump next."
"Not much!"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that I am satisfied for the present. If you can beat me nearly a foot and a half at the running broad jump, you ought to be able to beat me at the high jump. But I am going to try you another whirl by and by."
"You do not hold a grudge?"
"What do you take me for?"
"Shake hands?"
"Of course."
Their hands met, but Frank did not fail to note that Rains shook in a manner that was very cold and insincere.
"I reckon Merriwell has come pretty near showing what he is made of," said Hodge; "and those fellows who have been claiming that he has won his popularity by luck had better keep still in the future."
"That's so!" shouted the crowd, and several who did so had been saying the most disagreeable things about Frank a short time before.
There is nothing in the world so ephemeral as popularity. The individual who is to-day a hero may be an outcast to-morrow. There is nothing harder to hold than the esteem of a set of school-boys. He who is regarded as an idol in the fall may be supplanted by a rival in the spring, and may find himself unnoticed and neglected. Having once become a leader in a school, the fellow who has obtained the position must prove his superiority to all comers in order to hold it. Even then his success will produce jealous enemies, who will seek his overthrow by some means, no matter how unfair.
Frank had not sought popularity; it had come unbidden. Having found himself a leader, however, he had pride enough to hold the position just as long as he was capable of doing so fairly and honestly. But he had already discovered that he would be assailed openly and secretly, and his foes would try to drag him down by any means, fair or foul.
Had Rains been a little more cordial, had he shaken hands with Frank as if he really held no grudge, Merriwell would have been more than glad to hail him as a good fellow and a friend. But the touch of his fingers was enough to reveal the bitterness in his heart. Having disliked and envied Merriwell before, Rains would now dislike and envy him still more.
As soon as he could do so without attracting too much attention, Rains left the excited throng of boys, and hurried away to one of the dressing-rooms.
Hugh Bascomb quickly followed, being the only one among Rains' late friends to note his departure.
Bascomb found Rains rubbing down. Paul did not say a word as the big plebe entered.
"Well," said Bascomb, as he sat down on a stool, "what do you think of Merriwell?"
"I think he is a mighty hard fellow to beat at anything," growled Paul.
"But he can be beaten—eh?"
"How?"
"There are ways."
"What do you mean? Speak plainly."
"You ought to know what I mean," said Bascomb, doggedly, keeping his eyes on the floor. "It isn't always the best trotter that wins a race."
"It will not be easy to beat Merriwell fairly."
"That's right; but you are a fellow of nerve and brains, and you ought to be able to devise some scheme to get the best of him unfairly."
Rains stopped and stared at Bascomb, his face showing that he was angrier than ever.
"Now your meaning is pretty plain," he said, slowly. "I will confess that I dislike Merriwell—that I would give almost anything to get the best of him; but I want you to understand, Hugh Bascomb, that I am no sneak!"
Bascomb still kept his eyes on the floor.
"Oh, what's the use to get on your high horse, Rains!" he said, in his sullen way. "If you dislike Merriwell, as you pretend, and if you hope to down him at anything, you cannot be too much of a stickler for little things. Once get him to going down hill, and we can keep him going. I can help you start him."
Had Bascomb taken more than a fleeting glance at Rains' face, he must have seen that the latter was regarding him with contempt.
"I suppose you have a scheme of your own?" Paul finally observed, in a questioning way.
"Sure."
"What is it?"
"Well, to begin with, I have pretty good proof that Merriwell was the originator and perpetrator of that crawfish joke on Mulloy and Dunnerwust."
"What of that?"
"I think that Lieutenant Gordan would be able to fasten it on Merriwell, if he knew what I know."
"That would mean certain expulsion for Merriwell."
"Of course. All three of the professors were so tangled up in that affair that the fellow would surely be fired, if the blame could be fastened upon him."
"What do you want of me?"
Bascomb cleared his throat, twisted on, the stool, and hesitated. Finally, he said:
"You may be able to devise some other means to get the best of the fellow; but, if you can't, and you are ready to take hold of this, you may see him fired out of the academy, so he will no longer be in your way."
"What do you want of me?" repeated Rains, coldly and quietly.
"Well, you see—you understand—you know I came near getting into trouble once by trying to help Gage do Merriwell up. After that Gage was caught cheating at cards, and had to run away. Everybody knows I hate Merriwell, and they'd all think I blowed if anything came to Lieutenant Gordan's ears. That's why I don't dare make a move. With you it is different."
"What do you want of me?" demanded Rains, the third time.
"I will give you the proofs, and you can carry them to Lieutenant Gordan, who will follow it up, and see that Merriwell is expelled. In that way, I will not get entangled, and no one will suspect you."
With one wide stride, Rains reached Bascomb, caught him by the shoulders, and thrust him backward, thus forcing him to look up.
"You have insulted me!" came fiercely from Paul's lips. "I am no sneak and informer! Did you think I would do the dirty trick you are too much of a coward to try? Well, you made a big mistake! I dislike Merriwell, but I am not ready to make myself contemptible in my own eyes by blowing on him."
Bascomb put up his big hands and thrust Rains off.
"Whom are you calling a coward!" he snarled, as he got upon his feet.
"You!" shot back Paul. "You are a coward and a sneak!"
"Why, I'll thrash you well!"
"No, you won't!" cried Rains, flinging up one hand to stop the advance of the big plebe. "If you lay a hand on me, I will make known to the entire school the scheme you just proposed to me. The boys would tar and feather you."
Bascomb stopped and showed his yellow teeth, while he trembled slightly with anger.
"So that's your trick!" he said, growlingly.
"Yes, that's my trick; and if you blow on Merriwell, I will play the card. You made a big mistake in taking me for a sneak just because I didn't happen to like a fellow who is popular. Get out now, and don't come round me again! I don't belong to your class, and I don't want to have anything to do with you. Get!"
Bascomb hesitated, longing to strike Rains, but not daring to do so. Slowly he moved toward the door, where he paused to growl:
"This is all right! I will get square with you some time. If you blow on me, I will pound the life out of you!"
Then he went out
Rains had shown his manhood.
Professor Jenks and Professor Scotch were rivals. Each admired and sought to win the affections of a widow of uncertain years, who lived in Fardale village.
For some years Professor Gunn's two assistants had been very friendly, but Nancy Cobb, the widow spoken of, was the rock on which they split.
Their jealousy often caused them to completely forget their dignity, and they did things that made them utterly ridiculous in the eyes of all beholders.
As yet, neither had possessed nerve enough to propose to the widow, and so, wishing to make a sure catch, the elderly lady had clung to both, ready to jump at the first one who should offer himself.
The cause of the ill-will existing between the under professors was well known to the cadets at Fardale Academy, and had provided them with no small amount of sport.
Now it happened that Tad Jones, a village lad who was very well known to Frank Merriwell, was the nephew of the coquettish widow, and the widow made her home with Tad's father and mother.
Tad was a lively youngster, who liked fun, and, in more ways than one, he was "a thorn in the flesh" unto his aunt.
One day he succeeded in seeing Frank, whom he informed that he had put up another joke on his Aunt Nancy.
"I've been imertatin' her handwritin' lately," said Tad, "and I've got so I can scrawl jest like her. Old Scotch and Jenks ain't never run onto each other at our house, but I've fixed it."
Tad grinned gleefully, as he made this declaration.
"Fixed it, how?" asked Frank.
"Why, I writ 'em both a letter, askin' 'em to call to-night at eight o'clock, and I signed Nancy's name. I made the letters jest a little spooney, but not too much so. I'll bet they'll be tickled to death, and they'll come sure."
"And meet there?"
"Yep."
"There's liable to be trouble."
"That's what we're lookin' for," chuckled the fun-loving youngster. "Oh, if they'd jest fight!"
"I'd like to see the circus."
"Come on over."
"I don't know as I can get away. I will come if I can."
"All right. Bring along any of the fellers."
That night Frank found a way to get leave to go to the village, and Hans, whom he had told of the coming "racket," escaped from the building and joined him outside the grounds. Together they went over to the village, and called on Tad Jones.
Tad was waiting for them, and he straightway smuggled them into the house.
"Aunt Nancy's expectin' Professor Jenks to call," he gleefully whispered. "I told her that I saw him, and he said he'd be here to-night, so she's frizzled and primped to receive him."
"You'll get into a scrape," said Frank.
"I don't care for that, if I can see some fun. Come right into the parlor, and we'll all hide. Aunt's up in her room, layin' on the finishin' touches."
Into the parlor they slipped. A fire was burning in the old-fashioned open fireplace, and it was plain that Mrs. Cobb had "spruced things up" to receive company.
"Two of us can git behind the organ in the corner here," said Tad. "The other feller can hide under the sofa."
As the sofa was a long, old-fashioned affair, and any one hidden beneath it could command a view of the entire room, Frank decided to conceal himself there.
This was barely settled when there came a sharp rap on the door.
"Git under cover quick!" hissed Tad. "That must be one of 'em!"
Tad and Hans made haste to squeeze in behind the organ, and Frank crept under the sofa.
"Shimminy Gristmas!" muttered the Dutch lad, "uf id don'd peen britty tight blace here den I ton't know somedings."
"It is all right," returned Tad, who had obtained a position where he could peer out. "Keep cool, and let your hair curl."
Pretty soon Nancy fluttered downstairs, and then Frank heard the high-pitched voice of Professor Jenks in the hall. A moment later, the widow entered the parlor.
"Oh, dear!" she simpered. "What a surprise this is, dear Mr. Jenks! Set right down on this chair close to the fire. You must be cold. Let me take your hat and coat."
"I am rather cold," squeaked the professor, as he peeled off his coat, and allowed her to take it away with his hat. "It is a chilly night. You are cozy in here."
The widow was wonderfully and artistically gotten up in a back-number silk dress, beneath which was an expansive hoop-skirt, while all around her face were cork-screw curls, meant to be very fetching. As she was somewhat deaf, although she never acknowledged it, she misunderstood the professor's last remark.
"Oh, yes," she smiled, coming back and sitting quite close to Jenks, "no one can hear. We are quite alone."
"Is that so?" gasped the professor, nervously, looking as if he contemplated flight. "I received your letter."
"You believe I'm better! Why, my dear professor, I haven't bin sick. You must have been misinformed."
"I didn't say that, Mrs. Cobb. I said that I received——"
At this moment there came another sharp rap on the door, and Professor Jenks started as if he had been struck.
"Somebody is knocking," he said.
"Rocking?" smiled Nancy. "Then take the rocking-chair. I like to rock myself pritty well."
"Somebody is knocking—knocking at the door!" cried the professor, in his high falsetto.
"Oh, somebody knocking. I will see who it is. Mrs. Jones doesn't always hear 'em. I sometimes think she is ruther hard of hearing."
As she fluttered out of the room, the professor gasped:
"I'm in a perfect sweat already! I'd rather face a battery! I wonder if she will propose? It's leap year, and she may."
Then he suddenly started to his feet, with an exclamation of surprise and anger, for he heard Professor Scotch's hoarse voice in the hall.
"Confound it!" exclaimed Jenks. "What's brought him here to-night? I don't understand this."
In came Nancy, and Professor Scotch was close behind her.
"It's so good of you both to call!" gushed the widow, girlishly. "We'll have a real lovely little chat."
Professor Scotch started back as he caught sight of his rival, and the two glared at each other. Then Scotch growled:
"You here?"
"Yes, sir," squeaked Jenks, defiantly. "Who's got a better right, I'd like to know?"
"But I'd have you to understand I was invited."
"So was I."
"But I received an invitation from this particular lady."
"So did I."
"Set right down on the sofy, Professor Scotch," urged Nancy. "We'll pop some corn, and eat some apples, and be real sociabul."
"Madame," said the little man, with great dignity, "I think there is some mistake."
"You'd like some steak?" exclaimed Mrs. Cobb, in surprise. "I never heerd of people havin' steak to treat callers on. I don't b'lieve there's a bit in the house. I s'pose you do git awful sick of the food they have over to the 'cademy. Now, if you was a married man, and hed a wife to cook for ye——"
"I say I think there is a mistake in this matter."
"Beefsteak in a platter? Yes, that's a good way to serve it."
The little professor gave a gasp, and collapsed onto the sofa. And Frank promptly jabbed a hatpin up through the sofa, so that it penetrated the professor to a distance of about a quarter of an inch.
"Whoop!" roared the big voice of the little man, and Professor Scotch shot into the air like a jumping-jack out of a box. "Wow!" he howled, clutching convulsively at that part of his person which had felt the hatpin. "What did I sit down on?"
The widow looked frightened, and Professor Jenks looked astonished.
"What did I sit down on?" repeated Professor Scotch, his red hair bristling with anger.
"Why, you sat on the sofa, sir," squeaked Jenks.
"Then there must be a whole nest of wasps concealed in that sofa!" shouted Scotch. "I was stung, or I was stabbed—I don't know which."
"Why, I'm sure I cannot imagine what the matter with you can be," fluttered the widow, in distress.
"Well, I don't know what is the matter with your old sofa."
He spoke so loudly that she understood him, and she immediately turned up her nose.
"Old sofa, sir—old sofa! There is nothing the matter with that sofa. Your language is surprisingly offensive, sir."
"Te-he, he, he!" giggled Jenks. "Now you're getting it, Scotch! You've put your foot in it."
"Beg your pardon—beg your pardon," roared the little man. "I did not mean any offense, Mrs. Cobb, but I assure you there must be a dagger concealed in that sofa, for some pointed weapon entered my person in a most painful manner. If you will excuse me, I'll take this chair, for I really do not dare sit down there again."
The widow gave a sniff.
"Your courage is very limited," she said. "Now, I do love to admire a man with courage enough to——"
"Ex-cuse me," squealed Jenks, elevating his voice. "The sofa is good enough for me."
Down he sat upon it, smiling triumphantly.
Frank still had the hatpin—which he had found on the floor beneath the sofa—ready for use, but he held his hand a bit, knowing he could give Jenks a greater shock if he should be pricked after, he had sat there a while in apparent security.
"Oh, you're a daring blade—you are!" sneered Scotch, fiercely, as he glared at Jenks. "You'd walk right up to the mouth of a cannon—if you knew it wasn't loaded!"
"Well, I never yet got frightened by a hair-cloth sofa," squeaked Jenks.
The widow smiled seductively on the long and lanky professor.
"You don't find nothing the matter with the sofy, do you, professor?" she asked.
"Not a thing," piped Jenks. "It is ever the wicked man who feels the pricks of conscience. Now, my conscience is easy, and so I do not feel——We-e-e-ow! Murder! I'm stabbed! I'm killed! We-e-ow!"
Professor Jenks shot into the air with such suddenness and vigor that he thumped his head against the low ceiling, which seemed to fling him back upon the sofa, and Frank promptly gave him a second dose of hatpin.
"Wo-o-ouch!" squealed the tall professor, bounding up again, and dancing wildly round the room, with his hands concealed beneath the tails of his coat. "That sofa is filled with broadswords and bayonets! It is stuffed with deadly weapons!"
Professor Scotch literally roared with laughter.
"Oh, there's nothing the matter with the sofa!" he laughed. "Just go right back and sit down there. Ha! ha! ha! It is ever the wicked man who feels the pricks of conscience. Ha! ha! ha! Ho! ho! ho!"
"Shut up!" piped Jenks, coming close to Scotch, at whom he shook his fist threateningly. "Shut up, or I will thump you!"
"Don't you dare do it here. If you do, I'll——"
"What?"
"I'll see you later."
"Landy massy!" spluttered Nancy. "I do believe you've both been tooken crazy!"
Behind the organ were two boys who were holding their hands over their mouths to keep from roaring with laughter, while Frank, under the sofa, was finding it no easy task to be silent.
The widow was frightened, and both of the professors immediately sought to reassure her. They pranced up on either side, and Scotch began:
"Don't be alarmed, Mrs. Cobb; we'll not fight——"
"You're not tight? Well, you act as if you were, and that's a fact."
"Oh, go fall on yourself, Scotch!" advised Jenks, dropping into the slang he had overheard some boy use. "This is an unfortunate affair."
"What's the matter with my hair?" indignantly asked the widow, as she caressed her corkscrew curls. "You are getting very personal, sir."
"Ho! ho!" laughed Scotch, guardedly. "Now you are getting it, Jenks!"
"You make me tired!"
"Go have your voice filed, so you won't be an old woman."
"Who be you callin' an old woman?" cried Nancy, catching the words with wonderful quickness. "I must say your language is most surprisin' and offensive, sir."
"Excuse me," roared Scotch. "I was speaking to Mr. Jenks."
"But he isn't a woman," said Nancy, suspiciously. "I don't know why you should use such language to him."
"You've put your foot in it now," snickered the little man.
"And I don't know what he's grinnin' and laughin' about. You both act as if too much studyin' and tooterin' was beginnin' to affect your brains. Now, why, don't you both git married, and give up this awful wearin' life you are leadin'?"
"That's just what I called to see about," declared Professor Scotch, bracing up. "I called to pro——"
"Hold on!" squealed Jenks, excitedly. "I was here first, and I will have my first say. Mrs. Cobb, my heart has long yearned for domestic joys and comforts."
"Oh, I don't keer how much you've earned; it's what you've saved that counts."
"Oh, if I had that voice, I'd go break it!" sneered Scotch. "Try again, Hyson, and you'll get her so twisted that I'll stand a good show of winning her."
So Jenks braced up and tried again.
"I say my heart has yearned——"
"Sody-water or magneeshy is good for heartburn," smiled the widow.
"Ye gods!" gasped Jenks. "I didn't know she was so hard of hearing."
"Oh, sail in and win her!" chuckled the little professor. "You're doing first rate."
"Mrs. Cobb," continued Jenks, "I am not much given to the follies of life. I am a very grave man——"
"And I do so admire a brave man!" gushed Nancy.
While passing through the village on the way to Tad Jones' home, Frank had purchased an automatic mouse. Being wound up, the mouse would run swiftly across the room.
At this juncture, Frank pointed the mouse toward Nancy, and let it go, at the same time giving a squeak, which both professors distinctly heard.
Nancy saw the mouse coming, and she uttered a wild shriek of terror, clutching Professor Jenks around his slender neck.
"Save me! Save me from that terrible beast!" she squawked.
It happened that the professor was quite as scared of a mouse as Nancy could be, and he broke away and jumped up on a chair, squealing:
"Murder! We'll all be bitten!"
In a most remarkably skillful manner the widow sprang up to the top of the center-table, where she stood, in a stooping position, her head against the ceiling.
"Who's scared of a mouse!" sneered Professor Scotch, as he gave chase to the toy, which bumped against various pieces of furniture, and so kept dodging about.
Under the chair on which Jenks stood ran the mouse. Scotch knocked the chair over, and Jenks uttered a wild shriek as he came down astride the little professor's neck. Then both rolled against the center-table, which was upset.
Down came Nancy, like a balloon, nearly smothering the two professors, upon whom she alighted.
This was too much for Tad Jones, who burst into a shriek of laughter, jumped out, and extinguished the light, and shouted:
"Skip, fellows—skip!"
Frank and Hans lost no time in leaving their places of concealment and hustling out of the room, abandoning the two professors to their fate.
"I nefer seen der peat uf dot alretty yet," declared Hans, as he and Frank were hurrying back to the academy. "Uf dot don'd peen der piggest racket vot nefer vos, you dunno vot I vos talkin' apout."
"If it is found that we know anything about it, we will be sure to get into trouble," said Frank. "Should anybody question you, why you must be ignorant as a mule."
"You pet me your life I vos. I vill peen ignorand as a clam."
But it seemed that the professors did not suspect that any of the academy boys had been present, and so no inquiries were made in the school.
Tad Jones, however, was accused of having some of his village chums in the scrape, and, when he refused to tell their names, he was soundly strapped by his father, who had sincerely hoped one of the professors would propose to Nancy and take her away without delay.
Just how the rival professors had escaped was not known, but, if possible, the coldness between them was more pronounced than ever. The feud seemed of a deadly nature, and some of the boys declared that Jenks and Scotch were certain to fight a duel over Nancy sooner or later.
The following Saturday was fine, and that afternoon large numbers of the boys from the academy sought the village pond, where the skating was excellent.
By mid-afternoon there were between two and three hundred skaters on the long pond, while half as many spectators were gathered on the shore.
It was a lively and pleasant scene. Inza Burrage was there, with her chosen companion, May Blossom. Inza was a beautiful skater, and so was much sought as a companion by the boys. Three times did Frank approach her to ask her to skate with him, and each time he saw her carried off by some one else.
She was in a coquettish mood that day, and her merry laughter as she skated away each time proved rather tantalizing to Frank, who finally muttered:
"All right; two can play at that game."
It was almost, if not quite, May Blossom's first attempt at skating, and, although she was doing very well, her company was not in such demand as that of Inza.
Seeing May alone, Frank immediately skated to her side, and he was soon doing his best to instruct her in the correct handling of her feet. They seemed quite absorbed in each other's company, and not even Inza's ringing laugh, as she sped past with Paul Rains, caused either of them to glance up.
At first Inza had not minded Frank's attentions to May, but, as time slipped away, and they still clung together, laughing, chatting, and minding no one else, she began to grow uneasy.
"Oh, she can have him, if she wants him!" muttered Inza, her cheeks beginning to burn. "There are any amount of other fellows."
That was quite true, but, in her heart, she knew full well that there was no other fellow she cared so much for as she did for Frank Merriwell.
From this moment she ceased to enjoy herself, and she could not keep from watching Frank and May, although she tried to do so. She grew petulant, and those who were in her company found her surprisingly crisp and disagreeable.
Whenever she could, she skated past Frank and May, and she always laughed as she did so, but there was a false note in her laughter—it did not seem very sincere.
Paul Rains was a beautiful skater. He could cut fancy figures that took away the breath of the village boys, and all his movements were graceful and rhythmical. He could write his name with his skates, and every letter was perfect and clean cut as if done with a pen. It was not long before all eyes were centered on him, and Inza did not fail to note that he seemed to be the principal attraction on the pond.
So Inza skated a great deal with Paul, hoping to arouse Frank's jealousy; but, to her overwhelming dismay, after he began to skate with May, Frank seemed to forget there was any one else on the pond.
"I believe he really likes her better than he does me!" thought Inza. "And she, knowing all my secrets, knowing how much I think of Frank, is doing her best to cut me out! Oh, that is true friendship!"
She felt like crying with vexation, and, once or twice, tears did come to her eyes; but she forced them back, continuing to skate and laugh.
Arrangements were made for a skating contest to take place very soon. One of the gentlemen of the village offered a "badge of honor" to the swiftest skater on the pond—the one who could win the race.
Paul Rains entered, as also did Bartley Hodge and Sammy Smiles from the academy. Three village boys entered.
Then Hodge sought Frank, saying:
"Come, old man, we want you in this race."
"Oh, I am busy," laughed Frank, noticing that Inza was near, although he did not glance in her direction. "I am teaching Miss Blossom to skate, and she is getting on famously."
"Well, I think she will excuse you a few minutes. You may go on with your lessons after the race."
"Oh, say, can't you get along without me?"
"Can't anyway; you must come along."
"Well, if I must, I must," murmured Frank, with mock distress. "I will see you later, Miss Blossom, and we will do our best to induce that left foot to make the stroke properly."
So, bowing and smiling, he left her, and, in her heart, Inza cried:
"If he skates with her again this afternoon, I'll be outwitted—that's all!"
As Bart drew Frank aside, he hastily and guardedly said:
"You must go into this race to win, old man. Rains' friends have been saying you would not dare skate against him, and that he would have a walk-over if you did."
Frank's teeth came together with a click.
"Is that so!" he exclaimed. "Well, they may be right; but we'll see."
That was quite enough to put him on his mettle, and he lost no time in entering for the race.
A short time later the seven contestants were drawn up in line, waiting the signal.
One mile up the pond a rock reared its head from the ice, where, at low water, there was a tiny rocky island. Every contestant was to "turn the rock" and skate back to the starting point, making a race of two miles in two long, straight stretches.
The gentleman who had offered the badge of honor stood, pistol in hand, ready to give the signal. The contestants leaned forward for the start.
"Ready!"
Muscles were drawn taut, nerves were tingling.
"One! two! three!"—Bang!
Away darted the skaters, and the race had begun.
A cheer went up from the spectators.
Paul Rains took the lead at the very start, for he seemed to jump away at astonishing speed, while the others were gathering headway.
"Rains has a snap this time," declared one. "Merriwell may be able to take the honors at jumping, but he won't be in this kind of a contest."
"Jist wait a whoile an' see about thot, me b'y," said Barney Mulloy, who had overheard the remark. "Frankie is as full av surproises as a horrunet's nest is full av stings."