CHAPTER XXXVI.BUSTER BILL SURPRISED.
Frank was methodical in everything he did, and that was how he accomplished so much without being swamped. He gave just so much time to everything. When the work of the day was all done, he ventured to spend a little time in idleness, but not till then.
No man ever accomplishes great things and performs great labors unless he is methodical. The person who goes at any task by fits and starts does not make rapid progress. It is persistent hammering away at anything that counts in the end. In the fable the tortoise beat the hare; so the slow, plodding, determined man often beats the brilliant, flighty, erratic man of genius in the race of life.
Steady hammering at one kind of work becomes monotonous after a time, it is true, and a man may wear himself out before his time in such a manner. But give him variety, let him change at certain hours of the day from one thing to another, and the amount he can accomplish will amaze those who look on and never put their powers to the full test.
Frank Merriwell’s life was one of constant change and variety. The classroom, the gymnasium, the ball-field,the rowing-tank, or the shell led him from one thing to another at certain hours, and so he performed an amount of labor that astounded lazy students.
Each afternoon he reached the field at a certain hour. He entered into the work there with vim and vigor. When it was over, he had a way of starting off by himself to walk back to Vanderbilt. He preferred to make this little walk quite alone. His friends had found this out, and they permitted him to do so.
There may have been a secret reason why Frank chose to walk back unaccompanied from the field. Perhaps it would seem impolite to pry into some of his secrets. All day long he was thinking of studies, lectures, gymnastics, baseball, and rowing—all day except during this walk by himself in the dusk of early evening.
Of what was he thinking then? Why was it that he often smiled fondly to himself, as if looking into the face of some one very dear? Why was it that he seemed utterly oblivious to his surroundings as he swung along with that beautiful, easy stride? Why was it that sometimes his lips moved, and—listen! did he murmur a name? Was it—Inza?
But we’ll not pry into his secrets, although we understand now how it was that, with his mind far away, he walked straight into the trap that had been prepared for him. At another time he might not have been taken so by surprise, for, as a rule, he seemed constantly on the alert. Now, before he realized anything was wrong, a man had jumped out at him from thecorner and struck him a terrible blow on the side of the head.
That blow knocked Frank down!
Buster Bill had started in to earn his money, and it must be confessed that he had made a good beginning.
He had intended to jump on Merriwell instantly, but now he paused, astonished that even a college athlete could be popped over so easily. That pause was fatal to the ruffian’s plans.
Although the shock had been terrible, although his head was ringing and he was somewhat dazed, Merriwell quickly recovered and started to rise.
Then, with a snarl, the thug made another spring and a kick. He meant to earn his money by fracturing a rib with his heavy boot.
In a crouching position Frank Merriwell sprang aside with a froglike hop. Then he straightened up. The violence of that kick, which had reached nothing but empty air, had thrown Buster Bill down.
When Bill, astonished beyond measure, scrambled to his feet, he found Frank Merriwell, the Yale athlete, waiting for him.
Not a word passed Merry’s lips, but he sailed into that fellow in a manner that meant business. He swung at Bill’s head, and Bill did not entirely avoid the blow. He was hit pretty hard, but not hard enough to knock him off his pins.
Then a hot time followed. If Buster Bill had underrated his antagonist at the start, he soon experienceda change of opinion. The Yale man, for all of the blow he had received, became the aggressor in less than thirty seconds.
Bill, you are in trouble for fair. There you have it, fair and square on the nose, and it was a solid jolt, too. It started your nose to bleeding, but you don’t mind that, of course! only boys mind when they get a crack on the nose that starts the claret. But there is another in the eye. That will be likely to give you a very pretty eye to show your friends to-morrow. You’ll be proud of it, Bill, and you will enjoy exhibiting it to the gang.
Brace up, Buster Bill; it won’t do to let this smooth-faced, clear-eyed, handsome fellow get in many more like that one on the cheek. If he does, you’ll have a mug that will arouse doubts in regard to your veracity when you explain to-morrow that you fell down on the hard ground just by accident. People may listen to you, Bill; but inwardly they will be asking if you fell or were pushed.
What ails the fellow, anyhow? Why won’t he keep still and let you hit him back a few times, gentle William? It doesn’t seem hardly fair for him to do all the hitting, with the exception of that first blow; now, does it? If you had dreamed he was going to act this way, you would have hit him with a brick, wouldn’t you, Bill?
Great Scott! but that was an awful jab in the wind, Bill! It doubled you up beautifully. And then he was rude enough to give you another one on the ear.What are you doing down there, William? You’ll get your clothes dirty rolling round on the ground.
That’s right, sir; get right up, like a little man. He’ll accommodate you by knocking you down again. How long can you keep it up, Bill? Your head is pretty hard, but even a wooden head must get tired of being biffed round in such a manner.
Don’t froth, man! It’ll not do you a bit of good. Don’t gnash your teeth, for you’ll not frighten him that way. He doesn’t seem a bit afraid of you, and he keeps coming right after you all the time. At least, he might have the decency to give you a rest.
What’s that, you mighty thug, you slayer of men? Can it be that you realize you have met your master in this college chap at whom you sneered? Who are you shouting to? On my life, I believe you are calling to your friends for help!
Yes, it is true! And here they come through the dusk on the run, four of them in all! Well, well! you’ve surely got the college chap in a bad place now; but if you down him at last, Bill, you can’t brag that you did it alone, and I do not fancy that you’ll feel very proud of the job.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
HIS FOES “SCATTERED AROUND.”
Buster Bill had met the surprise of his life. He had not dreamed of anything like this. Why, he would have bet his life that he could whip any man in Yale with one hand tied behind his back! That was before the encounter. After the encounter he felt differently about it.
Never in all his life had he found a man so hard to hit as this fellow Merriwell. Never in all his career at the ringside had he seen a man who could do such lively foot-work. The manner in which Merriwell got in, punched, and got away was something very exasperating to Mr. Riley.
At first the ruffian had fancied he was doing the rushing, and he tried to follow his nimble antagonist about; but the time quickly came when he discovered that he was not doing nearly as much rushing as he had fancied.
The college man was a perfect tempest. He was here, there, everywhere. He went under Riley’s arm with a ducking leap, came up behind the fellow and smote him a staggerer on the back of the head.
When that happened Mr. Riley got down on his knees. It was a most unusual position for him, and he wondered to find himself there. With an expressionof dissatisfaction at the way things were occurring, he hoisted himself in time to get a lovely jolt on the jaw.
Riley tried to induce the other chap to stand still and be hit a few times, just to even things up a little; but Frank Merriwell proved to be a most unaccommodating fellow at this point. He declined to let Riley get in another blow.
Then it was that Buster Bill began to be sorry that he had not used a brick when he hit the fellow at the start. A brick would have settled it at once, and there would have been no taking chances.
But he had not fancied he was taking chances, anyhow. We have all to live and learn. To-morrow Mr. Riley and his friends were to make remarks about Frank Merriwell, and, even though those remarks would not do for printing in the program of a Sunday-school concert, they were to be highly complimentary.
Bill snarled and frothed, but all that amounted to nothing. He found it was no use; he could not hit Merriwell, and he was swiftly getting cut all to pieces. When his wind gave out, he began to feel unspeakable alarm.
I hate to confess it about such a brave scoundrel as Bill, but there was a moment when he actually thought of taking to his heels and running for it.
Then he remembered that this Merriwell had the reputation of being a sprinter. Whatever he had ever said about college men, he had never denied that they could run.
Besides that, there were the fellows back there behind the old building, waiting for him to do the job. They were peering wonderingly through the gloom, he knew, speculating over the astonishing encounter that was taking place. If he ran away his days of leadership would be over with “the gang.”
Then he thought of shouting to them, but it seemed almost equally as disgraceful to call for help, and his pride held his lips for a time.
Merriwell improved that time of silence by hitting the thug some jabs that made him somewhat weary. Not until he found himself groggy and going to pieces swiftly did Bill yell for his companions.
Up to that time Frank Merriwell had fancied his assailant was there quite by himself; but with that first cry Merriwell realized there might be other ruffians there.
Then Merry redoubled his efforts to finish Bill before the others appeared. He heard their footsteps, and from a corner of his eyes he saw dark forms coming swiftly toward him.
Then Merry did his level best to dispose of Bill before the others came up. He got in two terrible blows, and the second one stretched the thug senseless on the ground.
But he did not try to avoid the encounter with Buster Bill’s friends. He met them, actually springing forward to do so.
The one in advance received a surprise in the shape of a hard fist on the chin, and he lay down to thinkit over and wonder just what had happened. There were three left, and they went at Merriwell with intense ferocity.
Surely by this time Merriwell must be pretty well played out. It looks bad for him. These fellows are likely to find him an easy victim now.
But are they? Merry seemed just as fierce, just as lively, just as terrible as he had been when at his best in the little affair with Mr. Riley. He was not aware that he felt the least fatigue, and the way he met and smashed into those fellows was as much a surprise to them as his same style of conduct had been to Buster Bill.
Where was Bill? They called to him, but he did not answer. Could that be him on the ground? What was he doing down there? It must be that he had been knocked out with a slung-shot. No other explanation could be accepted.
The same kind of slung-shot was coming at them. Look out for it, you thugs of the long docks, or you’ll find yourselves imitating your leader!
Why was it they could not seem to get at him and crush him at once? Why was it that he seemed able to keep them in the way of one another, so that they were bothered to reach him? When one of them opened his arms to grasp Merriwell around the waist from behind he succeeded in clasping a friend and throwing him down. And while he was doing this Merriwell got in a crack at the third man that caused him to seek a reclining position beside Buster Bill andthe other “gent” that had hastened at the call for aid to bump into Frank.
Then they found there were but two of them left to down this Yale man who should be such an easy mark for any one of them. Perhaps two would be able to do a better job than more of them. Two would not get in each other’s way so often.
They were not given much time to think about this, for Merriwell followed up the fight and waded into them.
This put the ruffians on the defensive, which was something quite against their liking. He knocked one of them up against the other, and then tried to drop them both with a swinging right and left.
They separated and closed in on him from opposite sides. He struck one and kicked the other in the stomach. That kick had been most surprising, for the fellow was coming up behind Frank, and looked for nothing of the sort. It doubled him up gasping, and while he gasped, Merriwell went in to polish off the other chap. He found that fellow easy beside Buster Bill, and he took pains to swing accurately without chancing it. The blow was perfect, and the fourth thug went down and out.
This left but one man on his pins, and he was just recovering his breath, which had been knocked out of him by that terrible kick. He straightened up as Frank turned on him. Then he saw four dark forms on the ground, and his desire was to be a long distance away from that vicinity.
But he knew his wind would not let him run fast, and so he was compelled to stand up and take his medicine like the others. He put up his guard and ducked Merry’s first blow. In following the fellow up, Frank caught his toe over the prostrate body of one of the men on the ground, and went down to his knees.
Uttering a snarl of joy, the last thug sprang in. This was his chance. He would get the best of this remarkable college man now. He would upset him, jump on him with both feet, half-kill him! Then, when the others sat up and took notice of things, he would say: “Behold, I did it!” or words to that effect.
It was a real pleasant dream, but it proved to be nothing but a dream. He did not even hit Merriwell, who dodged, leaped up, closed in, and kicked him reeling.
It was amazing how the Yale man could follow up an advantage. As that fellow staggered, he went in on him, deliberately selected the knock-out spot, and let him have it.
That ended the fight, for the fifth one of the gang joined his weary friends on the ground.
Frank stood in the midst of his fallen assailants, looking about.
Two men came rushing up through the darkness. They were Starbright and Hodge, who had decided to walk in from the field, and happened to be coming along behind him. They had heard the sounds ofbattle as they approached, and fancying Frank might be in it, rushed forward to offer assistance.
“Merry,” cried Bart, “is that you?”
“Yes,” said Frank, in a calm, undisturbed tone, “I think it is.”
“You—you’ve been attacked?” palpitated the giant freshman, who accompanied Hodge.
“Something of the kind happened,” admitted Merry.
“Your assailants—where are they?” demanded Hodge.
“You’ll find them scattered around here,” answered Frank, as, with one hand in his pocket, he made a gentle, sweeping gesture with the other.