CHAPTER XXXIV.SNODGRASS SEEKS SATISFACTION.
Of course the unexpected withdrawal of Arnold and Snodgrass from their respective crews created comment. Both men manufactured excuses, but these excuses proved to be rather flimsy when investigated. They seemed to have suddenly lost their sand in the face of the rigid training, and decided to get out. This caused many to regard them with contempt, and Snodgrass ate his heart out with rage toward the one he regarded as the author of all his trouble. Never for a moment did he regard himself as in any way to blame.
Arnold was afraid of Merriwell; but, if possible, just then he was more afraid of Snodgrass, who was desperate enough for any move. The sophomore swore by various things he was supposed to regard as sacred that he would get even with Merriwell. He vowed that the freshmen should meet with defeat, but when he came to meditate on the matter some time it did not seem to him that the simple defeat of the freshmen would be revenge enough on Merriwell.
No; he longed for blood! He pictured himself as jumping on Frank and giving him a terrible drubbing. In this fanciful encounter he knocked Merriwell down again and again. Oh, how he quivered with satisfactionas he felt his fists beating Merriwell’s handsome face into a mass of cuts and bruises! How he laughed and gloated. And at last, when he had knocked down and out the fellow he hated, he stood and sneered at him, with arms folded and a heart full of triumph.
This was a glorious battle and a glorious victory; but, unfortunately for the feelings of the revengeful Snodgrass, he knew it could happen only in his mind. He knew that he was no match for Merriwell, and it made him grind his teeth with fury. He even thought of sand-bags, brass knuckles, clubs, and such things.
He didn’t wish to kill Merriwell; not at all. The desire to do so may have possessed him, but fear of the consequences was enough to make him cast such a thought aside at once. He wanted simply to have the satisfaction of maiming and hurting Frank. Oh, it would be great to do him up so he could not get out to the ball-ground! In that case, of course, he would be unable to coach the freshmen.
Arnold was frightened when Snodgrass imparted his desires. He feared that Ben might be foolish enough to set out to do the trick, taking him along as a witness. He expostulated with Snodgrass.
“Forget it!” he said. “Other fellows have tried to do Merriwell like that, and they’ve always got it in the neck themselves. You can’t get even with him that way.”
“I can and will!” grated the vindictive sophomore.
“You’ll get the worst thrashing you ever had.”
“Don’t you think it. I’ll not do the job myself. I can find a way.”
Then Snodgrass proceeded to the loafing-place of a certain gang of young thugs. Buster Bill, the leader of the gang, had “done time,” and, taken all together, the thugs were a disgrace to the college city.
Snodgrass put on his old clothes, and away he went to the vicinity of the wharves. Down there, near where he knew Buster Bill hung out, he collared a street urchin and questioned him.
At first the boy didn’t know anything that Snodgrass wanted to know. He would not answer questions. He bawled: “Leggo, you big slob! Watcher think ye’re doin’, anyhow?” But Snodgrass persevered.
“I want to see my friend Bill Riley,” he said. “I know he hangs out here. I’ll give you a quarter if you’ll find Bill for me.”
“G’wan! yer can’t fool me!” said the boy. “I dunno no Bill Riley, an’ I don’t believe you’d fork over a quarter, annyhow.”
Snodgrass took out the money, and held it up before the eyes of the dirty, squirming lad. The squirming ceased, and the boy eyed the piece of silver greedily.
“There it is,” said the college youth. “Now, show me Bill Riley, and it’s yours.”
The boy seemed to be contemplating making a grab for the money.
“I dunno Bill Riley,” he persisted. “What’s he do?”
“He’s a gent,” declared Snodgrass, with assumed loftiness. “He don’t do a thing. He lives on the interest of his money. I met him last summer in jail.”
“Hey?” said the boy. “Where was dat?”
“Blackwell’s Island. Ever heard of it?”
“Sure, Mike! I know a feller that’s been there, and the gang calls him Bill.”
“What’s his last name?”
“I dunno. Alwus heard him called der Buster.”
“That’s the man I want to find!” exclaimed Snodgrass. “He told me to hunt him up if I ever came this way.”
The boy looked incredulous.
“Why, youse ain’t like anny of his gang,” he declared. “Anny of ’em could eat youse.”
“Perhaps so; perhaps not. But I want to find Bill, and this quarter is yours if you take me to him.”
The urchin reflected. He was in mortal fear of Buster Bill and “der gang,” but he wanted that quarter. It was possible that this stranger told the truth. It might be he knew Bill, and Bill would be glad to see him. Did he dare to chance it for the quarter?
Snodgrass kept still, knowing it might be a mistake to seem too anxious.
“Annyhow,” said the boy, “Bill an’ his gang will knock the stuffin’s out of you if you’re a stranger. Dey don’t like to be bothered when dey’re havin’ a little settin’.”
So the boy knew where Buster Bill was to be found, and Snodgrass tightened his hold.
“I’ll make it fifty cents,” he declared. “Two good, new quarters. What do you say?”
“I tell ye you’ll git your face broke sure if Bill don’t know yer.”
“I’ll chance it.”
“Den I’ll take yer to ’em. Come on. Leggo my collar. Gimme der money first.”
“Not on your life! I’ll pay the minute I put my eyes on Bill—not before.”
The urchin led him amid the wharf buildings, where the smell of the water was strong. Through an old lumber-yard they went, coming out at last to a sagging building.
“Sh!” cautioned the boy, as he stole forward on his toes.
Snodgrass stepped lightly, but did not hesitate to follow.
The boy opened an old door, and they entered the lower part of the building. There they paused, and the mumbling sound of voices reached them from some place up above.
Still motioning for Snodgrass to be still, the boy led the way to a ladder that led up through a square scuttle-hole above. Up the ladder the lad softly skipped, and Snodgrass followed at his heels. The heart of the college man was thumping heavily in his bosom, for this was more of an adventure than he had counted on when he started out.
“Dey’re at it!” whispered the boy, pausing on the top of the ladder.
He looked to see if his companion showed signs of alarm, but Snodgrass appeared as eager as ever, and the boy slipped off the ladder to the floor of the loft.
Barely had Snodgrass followed when there arose a sudden commotion beyond a dark door that could scarcely be seen in that gloomy, cobwebby place. There was a volley of oaths, a blow, and a fall.
“That’s him!” hissed the boy. “He’s knocked somebody down! Oh, but he’s a holy terror, an’ he’ll be red-hot now! Don’t yer t’ink ye’d better turn round?”
“Not much!”
“Den gimme der fifty. I’ve kept my part of der bargain. He’s in dere, so jest walk in.”
Snodgrass gave the boy half a dollar, and, one second later, the youngster went down the ladder like a frightened cat, leaving Ben there alone.
The desperate sophomore shuddered a bit and shrugged his shoulders.
“He’s just the kind of a man I must have!” he thought. “I’d be a fool to back out now! Brace up, Ben, and walk right in. Your reception may not be cordial, but you must set yourself right. It’s to down Merriwell, and I’m ready to face the devil to do that!”
Then he advanced to the door and thrust it open.