There was a rap on the door, which immediately popped open, and in bobbed a head, thatched with carroty hair, upon which was perched a crumpled cap. A freckled, jolly face was wrinkled into a cheerful grin, and a voice that was made up of bubbles and hollows cried:
"Hello, chaps! I just looked in to see if you were doing well, as the cook said to the lobster, when she lifted the sauce-pan lid."
"Come in, Stubbs," invited Frank, promptly—"come in and make yourself as big a nuisance as possible."
"No need to tell me to do that," piped the lad at the door, as he bounced into the room. "I always make myself a nuisance wherever I am. It is my policy."
He was a little short-legged fellow, with a roly-poly body and twinkling eyes. Good nature bubbled out all over him. At a glance you could see he was thesort of chap who would try to be merry under almost any circumstances.
This was Bink Stubbs, a lad with whom Frank and Harry had recently become acquainted. Frank had picked him up because of his merry ways and quaint sayings of the wise and humorous order.
"Have you fellers got any smokers?" asked Bink, as he deposited himself on a chair.
"No, we haven't got any smokers," answered Harry. "And the last time you were here, Bruce Browning said you swiped a whole package of cigarettes from him."
Stubbs tried to look horrified, and then cried:
"Well, I'll be hanged! as the picture said when it found the cord was tied to it."
"You know neither of us smoke," said Merriwell.
"I know you pretend you do not, but I don't know that you are not bluffing when you say so."
"What's that? Do you mean to insinuate that I am lying? Why, I'll step on you, Stubbsie!"
"In that case my days are numbered, as the calendar said to the blotter."
There was a sound of voices outside the door, andthen, with very little ceremony, three lads came filing into the room.
There were Browning, Diamond and Griswold.
"Get up, you little villain!" said Bruce, as he collared Stubbs and yanked him off the easy-chair. "Don't you know enough to let other folks have a chance to sit down, you lazy little rascal?"
And then, with a sigh of relief, Bruce deposited his corpulent form on the chair.
Stubbs bristled up, as if he meant to fight, then seemed to change his mind, and shook his head and remarked:
"Such things are bound to a cur, as the dog said when he looked at the tin can that was tied to his tail."
The boys were welcomed by Frank and Harry, and Merriwell said:
"I'm glad you fellows dropped in. I want to find out how many of you are going to take that bicycle trip across the continent during the summer vacation."
"Jeewhiskers!" grinned Danny Griswold. "Think of Bruce Browning, the champion lazy man at Yale,riding a bicycle across the continent. The exertion of riding across the campus would utterly prostrate him."
"Um!" grunted Bruce. "It's singular that small things annoy one worst."
"Oh, yes," returned Danny, promptly; "even a little mosquito bores me frightfully."
"Say, Griswold," piped Stubbs, "that's a bad habit to get into."
"What's a bad habit to get into?" demanded Danny, bristling up resentfully.
"That suit of clothes you have on," said Stubbs, whimsically. "It's a miserable fit."
"Well, you'll have a bad fit if I get after you!" exclaimed Griswold, hotly. "You're a base fraud and an impostor! You are trying to steal my thunder by reading the same comic papers that I do. If you keep this up you'll use up all of my original jokes."
"Oh, well," said Stubbs, "cough up a cigarette and I'll let you forgive me. I'm dying for a whiff."
Griswold hesitated, and then flung a package of cigarettes at Bink, who skillfully caught them, extracted one, closed the package, and tossed it back. A moment later the little chap had lighted the cigarette, and, ashe deposited himself at full length on a tiger-skin rug, he puffed out a great whiff of smoke, and murmured:
"Now I have something to blow about, as the cyclone said when it lifted a house and barn into the next State."
"Speaking about clothes," said Browning, languidly, "did you see Goldstein, the tailor, to-day, Rattleton?"
"Yes, I saw him," nodded Harry.
"And did you tell him I said I would settle that little bill?"
"Sure."
"That's kind of you. Did he seem convinced?"
"He said he was."
"Was what?"
"Convinced that you lied."
This provoked a laugh. When the laughing had ceased, Griswold sagely observed:
"It is remarkable that man is the only animal that can lie standing up."
"Say, you chaps," called Frank, "drop this sort of chatter, and answer my question. How many of youare in for spending the summer vacation in a bicycle trip across the continent?"
"You'll have to excuse me," said Griswold, as he followed Stubbs' example and lighted a cigarette. "I'm going down to Bar Harbor, and play tennis on my vacation."
"I can't endure tennis," drawled Browning.
"I should say not. Too much exertion for you."
"It is not that. I don't like to be around where others are playing it."
"Don't? Why not?"
"Because it is so noisy."
"Noisy? Christmas! How do you make that out?"
"Why, you can't play it without a racket," said Browning.
Griswold staggered and clutched at his heart.
"What papers have you been reading?" he gasped.
Diamond spoke up for the first time:
"I'll tell you what I'll do, Merriwell—I'll go on this bicycle trip across the continent, if I can secure my mother's consent?"
"Will you?" cried Frank, eagerly. "Then see her as soon as possible. I couldn't ask for a better fellowthan you. Harry thinks he can go, and that makes three of us. We'll do the trick, even if we can't get another fellow. Is it agreed?"
"It is agreed if I can get my mother to agree to it," assured Jack.
"Well, let's talk about another matter," said Bruce. "The tournament at Madison Square Garden is right upon us. Are you on for anything, Merriwell?"
"Yes," answered Frank, "I shall take part in several contests."
"How about the mile run?" questioned Diamond.
"I believe Yates is in for that," said Merriwell.
"That's something I want to speak to you about," drawled Bruce.
Frank was rather surprised, as Browning had taken very little interest in athletics of late. During his early days at Yale, Bruce had been a pusher in athletic matters, being at that time an athlete himself, as he kept himself in form and held back the threatening development of flesh by the severest sort of training.
But Bruce could not continue to resist the temptations of his appetite, and it became more and more difficult for him to keep in trim. As long as he wasa freshman he had done so, but when he became a sophomore he gradually abandoned the struggle.
Still he had remained active as a leader, and had been known at one time as "the King of the Sophomores." His final effort at training had been when he put himself in condition to meet Merriwell in a four-round hard-glove contest.
The bout had been pronounced a draw, but Browning afterward acknowledged that he must have been knocked out had it continued to a finish.
From that time Browning's interest in athletic matters waned.
He lost ambition in that line, and he soon became so overburdened with flesh that nothing save a question of life or death could have induced him to go into training.
It was not so very long before Bruce was known as the champion lazy man at Yale. All that he seemed to care about was to eat, drink, smoke and loaf. He seldom was known to "grind," and his attempts at "skinning" were pitiable failures.
Then he was dropped a class, and, as he still stuck to Yale, he found himself arrayed with Merriwell andthe fellows whom he at one time had regarded as enemies.
In that class Merriwell was regarded as a leader in athletic matters, and Bruce seldom mentioned anything of the kind. Now, however, to Merriwell's surprise, he displayed sudden interest in the great intercollegiate tournament to be held in Madison Square Garden, New York, directly at the close of the spring terms.
In the various contests Yale was to be represented by her best men. There had been some uncertainty concerning the one who would wear Yale's colors in the mile run, but the belief grew that Duncan Yates, a junior, would be the one finally settled on by the committee in charge of the matter.
"Why don't you go into that race, Browning, old sylph?" grinned Danny Griswold. "You would astonish the public."
"Some time I'll sit on you, runtie," growled Bruce.
Stubbs remarked:
"That will settle it, as the sugar observed when the egg dropped into the coffee."
Rattleton threw a slipper at Bink, who grunted as itstruck him in the ribs, but serenely continued to smoke, his mottled face wrinkled into a quaint grimace.
"What is it that you want to say about the mile race, Browning?" asked Frank, his curiosity aroused.
"I want to say that I do not believe Yates is the proper man to represent Old Eli."
"He is fast, and he has a record."
"It's no use to talk about his record."
"Why not?"
"Orton, of U. P., lays over him, and this will be a case of Yale against the field. Better men than Orton may show up."
"Yates may break his own record."
"That word 'may' is all right, but it can be applied both ways. He may not."
"There's Van Tassle," said Diamond. "He claims to be a record-breaker."
"A record-breaker!" sniffed Griswold. "Why, that fellow couldn't break an egg!"
"That's right," nodded Rattleton. "He breaks records with his mouth. Don't talk about him."
"Well, there are others," laughed Frank.
"Name a few of them," invited Browning, with more animation than he had displayed for some time.
"There's Hickson."
"He's stiff in the joints, as you know."
"Walter Gordan."
"He's no stayer. That fellow can run, but he has not the sand to make himself a winner."
"He thinks himself the biggest thing on ice," said Rattleton.
"By the way," broke in Griswold, "what is the biggest thing on ice?"
"The profit," promptly answered Stubbs, and then he made a scramble to get out of Griswold's way.
"It's no use, I can't shine when that chap is around!" exclaimed Danny, with attempted seriousness. "He has an answer for all my conundrums."
"That makes me think of one for you," piped Bink, who was now perched on the back of a high chair, like a monkey. "Why is a duel a quick affair?"
"Answer it yourself. I'll never tell."
"Well, a duel is a quick affair because it takes only two seconds to arrange it."
"There won't be a duel in this case," grunted Browning; "but there'll be a cold-blooded murder if you kids keep on. I'll assassinate you both!"
Frank laughed.
"Oh, let them go it, Bruce," he said. "It seems to amuse them, and it doesn't harm anybody else."
"I think Browning is right about Yates," declared Diamond. "He is not the proper man to represent Yale in that race."
"Whom would you suggest?" asked Frank.
"Frank Merriwell, by all means."
"Now that is folly!" said Merriwell, seriously.
"I fail to see why it is folly," cried Browning. "You are the man I have had in my mind all along."
"But I have no record."
"To the winds with your records! What we want is a man who can run. He'll make a record."
"Why do you think I can run?"
"I have seen you run, and I have heard the fellows tell about your speed. That is enough in your case."
Frank shook his head.
"It is not enough," he contradicted. "I know I have a record as a base runner in a ball game, but the best base runners are not always able to make good showings in races. Besides that, base running is dash work, and this is a case of running a mile. There is a vast difference."
"That's all right," spluttered Harry, quickly. "You can mun a rile—I mean run a mile with the best of 'em. I've seen you on a long run."
"When was that?"
"When we had that turkey chase. You led us all, and it didn't bother you a bit. Then, after you made the run out into the country and back, Pierson got after you before you could get to our rooms. You ran away from him, and held on to the turkey. That settled in Pierson's mind that you could hustle along all right, and it had something to do with his giving you a place for a trial on the ball team."
"That is true," Frank was forced to confess.
"Have you ever been in any races?" asked Diamond.
"Oh, I took part in some races when I was at Fardale Academy."
"What did you do in them?"
"I believe I won, but you must remember that I had no such rivals to go against as will be found at the tournament."
"And you were in no such condition as you are now. Is that right?"
Frank was forced to confess that it was. Then Browning tried to pin Frank down and make him answer the question whether he did not have confidence enough in himself to believe he could race Duncan Yates for a mile.
"Of course I could race him," smiled Frank, "but the matter of winning is another question."
"Well, I believe you are the man to run for Yale in that race," said Browning; "and I am going to use my influence to see that you, and not Yates, are entered. That is settled, and it is no use for you to make any objections."
Soon it became evident that Bruce Browning had not lost his old-time push entirely. When there was something to arouse him, he could bestir himself and get to work in a marvelous manner, as long as it was not necessary for him to again go into training.
Browning knew Paul Pierson, who was one of the committee of arrangements for the coming tournament, and he knew that Pierson was well aware of Frank Merriwell's general ability. Bruce had heard Pierson express a belief that Merriwell was one of the persons who, by sheer determination and sand, as well as ability, was bound to win in almost everything he attempted.
Bruce went to Pierson immediately after leaving Merriwell's room. Pierson was one of the sort who seldom said much, and Browning left him without knowing whether he had made an impression or not.
Late that afternoon, however, Pierson accidentally met Frank, who was crossing the campus.
"I say, Merriwell," said Paul, in his abrupt manner, "can you run?"
"Some," answered Frank, sententiously.
"Hum!" grunted Pierson.
Then he looked Frank all over, as if he had never seen him before and was taking his physical measure.
"You keep yourself in the very best condition all the time, I see," he finally observed.
"Well I seldom do anything to abuse myself."
"Are you in training for a race?"
"Not exactly."
"How long would it take for you to put yourself in condition?"
"Possibly a week."
"What are you good for—a short dash, or a long run?"
"I think I can do either fairly well."
"Fairly well does not go at Yale, as you know, Merriwell. You must do things exceptionally well. You are altogether too modest. If something had not brought you out, nobody could have known you coulddo anything at all. You have been pushed in various ways by others, but you fail to push yourself."
"Oh, I do not go about blowing my own horn," said Frank, smiling.
"You will find you'll have to blow your own horn when you go into business, or my brother is a liar. He keeps hammering at me that the man who does not blow his horn is the fellow who gets left. To a large extent, it is that way here at Yale. The fellow who keeps still and sits back gets left. That's my sermon. I'm not going to say any more now. Get into training for a long run. I'll come round at nine this evening and go you a sprint of a mile or two, just to see how you show up."
That was all. Pierson turned and sauntered away, without another word.
Frank whistled softly, and smiled.
"This is Browning's work," he muttered. "Pierson takes things for granted. How does he know I will take any part in a race? He does not ask if I will, but he tells me to go to work and get into shape. He is coming round to-night to see how I show up. All right."
At ten minutes of nine that evening, Paul Pierson rapped on the door of Merriwell's room, and was invited to walk in. He was in a rig for running, and he immediately said:
"Come, come! get out of those duds, Merriwell. You are to run with me to-night."
"How far?"
"From one to five miles, as I take a fancy."
"Oh, well, I won't change my clothes for a little thing like that," said Frank, carelessly.
"You'd better," declared Paul. "I'm going to give you a hustle, and you'll find you can keep up better if you are in a suitable rig."
"I'll take the chances of keeping just as I am."
Pierson's teeth came together with a click. He did not like that, although he tried not to show it.
"The fellow thinks he can outrun me on a long pull, as he happened to do so for a short distance once on a time," he thought. "I'll see if I can fool him."
Pierson considered himself an excellent long-distance runner, although he seldom took part in races, realizing that, good though he was, there were still better men.
Frank had on a loose thin shirt, and a light-weight suit of clothes. He caught up a cap, and announced that he was ready to go with Paul.
They went out, and soon were crossing the campus. Having arrived at a point quite outside the college grounds, Paul paused and said:
"We will start from here and make a run out into the country. I will set the pace going out, but when we turn to come back, it will be a case of the best man gets home first. The termination of the run will be your room."
"That is satisfactory," nodded Frank.
Far away a band of jolly students were singing "Stars of the Summer Night," their melodious voices making sweet music beneath the great elms. The soft breath of June came across the campus, seeming to gently bear the words of the beautiful song to their ears.
"Are you ready?" asked Pierson, sharply.
"All ready."
"Then here we go."
They were off, shoulder to shoulder.
Although Frank had not seemed to prepare for therun, he had put on his running shoes, feeling that he might absolutely need them.
Along the streets of New Haven they went, attracting but little attention, as it was not an uncommon sight at that season to see some of the college lads taking a night run in that manner.
They passed a group of fellows who were standing beneath a street light near a corner.
"Here!" softly exclaimed one of the group; "who are these chaps?"
The entire party turned to take a look at the runners.
"It's Pierson——"
"And Merriwell!"
"What did I tell you, Yates!" exclaimed Fred Flemming, a ring of satisfaction in his voice.
"Well, may I be kicked!" growled Duncan Yates, as he started after the two lads, who had passed and were scudding along the street at a steady trot.
"Flem seldom makes a mistake," murmured Tom Thornton.
"But Merriwell is not in his rig," said Andy Emery, the fourth one of the group.
"That doesn't make any difference," declared Flemming. "He is taking a run with Pierson, and that proves what I told Yates. You all know how that chap undermined me on the crew. I don't say that he can't row, mind you—I do not claim that I could have done any better than he did; but I do claim that he is full of such sneaking underhand tricks, and I knew he was trying for something when I saw him stop Pierson on the campus to-day."
Yates was silent, staring along the street, down which the two runners had disappeared.
"Come, old man!" cried Flemming, slapping Yates on the back, "let's go into Morey's and sit down, where we can have a drink and talk this matter over."
Duncan shook his head.
"I won't go in there," he said.
"Why not?"
"I am in training, you know, and somebody would see me drinking there. That would kick up some talk."
"Well, will you go anywhere?"
"Yes, I'll go somewhere that we can sit down in a quiet room, where there is no chance that fellows whoknow me will drop in. I feel just like having something."
"I know the very place," declared Flemming. "Come on."
Then the quartet moved away, Flemming leading.
In the meantime Merriwell and Pierson had continued on their way. As had been agreed, Pierson set the pace. At first he ran along at a gentle trot, but by the time the outskirts of New Haven were reached he had begun to increase his speed.
"Now," he thought, "I'll put Merriwell to the test, and I do not fancy he will be in condition to make a very hot run on the return."
Faster and faster went Paul, and still the lad at his side kept there with apparent ease. With their clinched hands held close to their breasts and their heads thrown back, they ran on and on.
There was a slice of a moon in the western sky, shedding a thin white light over the world. From far to the south came the shrill whistle of a locomotive, cutting through the air like a keen knife.
The road which Pierson had selected was one overwhich there was considerable travel, and it was in very fair condition.
Without appearing to do so, Paul slyly kept watch of Merriwell, wishing to see just how Frank stood the strain. He was forced to acknowledge that, for a time at least, Merriwell was standing it very well.
"Oh, he is endeavoring to show me how easy he can do it!" mentally exclaimed Paul. "Wait—wait a bit! I think I will give him a hot push for a bit."
Faster and faster ran Pierson, and soon he was rather gratified to hear Frank beginning to breathe heavily. Yes, although Paul had hoped that Merriwell would show up well, he did feel a momentary sense of satisfaction when it seemed that he was making the pace a hot one for his companion.
Then Frank began to lag. He did not fall far behind Paul, and still he seemed unable to keep his place at Pierson's side.
"I won't do a thing to him coming back!" decided Paul. "Browning was dead wrong. The fellow is capable of short dashes, but he is not the man for a long run. I am rather sorry."
At last, he decided that they had gone far enoughinto the country, and so he turned about, without stopping, calling to Frank:
"Now for the hustle into town, and let's see what you are made of, my boy. I am going to run away from you as if you were standing still."
"I wouldn't do that!" flung back Merriwell, as he wheeled about.
Somehow it seemed to Paul that there was a touch of sarcasm in the way Frank uttered the words. That aroused the committeeman still more, and he retorted:
"No, you wouldn't do it, because you couldn't; but I am going to."
"All right," laughed Frank. "I don't suppose there is any danger that somebody will steal me for my beauty if you leave me alone out here in the country. Go ahead and run away from me."
"Good-by."
"Good-by."
Then Pierson did run. He skimmed over the ground in a wonderful manner, but the sound of running feet clung close behind him, and, when he glanced over his shoulder, Merriwell was still there.
"Hanged if he doesn't hold on well!" mentally exclaimed Paul.
Then, as he glanced around, it began to seem that Merriwell was running with still greater ease than he had at any previous time. Somehow it appeared as if he was keeping close behind Pierson without any particular effort.
"You're doing well," Paul finally flung over his shoulder. "Can you keep it up?"
"I think so," was the half-laughing answer. "I am holding myself in so that I can make an attempt to follow you a short distance when you get ready to run away from me."
"Great smoke!" thought Paul. "Is he guying me? or does he fancy I have not been doing my best?"
After a little, he confessed:
"I am beginning to think that won't be an easy trick, Merriwell. You will not be far behind when we reach your room."
At this, Frank suddenly came up beside Paul.
"Judging by the way you talk, you are somewhat out of wind," he said.
"Not at all," declared Pierson.
"Then I presume you are in condition for a little dash?"
"Oh, of course! But you may beat yourself out if you crowd yourself too hard."
"Think so?"
"Sure. Better not."
"Oh, I think I'll chance it. Come on, old man, let's tear up some dust."
Then Frank spurted.
Pierson set his teeth and made a desperate effort to keep up, but, despite his determination not to fall behind, he found that Merriwell was steadily and surely drawing away.
"Come on," called Frank, in a rather tantalizing manner. "It can't be that you are going to let me run away from you?"
Paul did not answer.
"What's the matter?" called Frank again. "Are you ill?"
Still no answer.
"Well, you are not sociable at all," laughed the lad in advance, tauntingly. "I don't seem to like yourcompany, and so I think I will move along. Good-by."
With that, Pierson could see that the tantalizing fellow actually made an increase of speed.
"Confound him!" grated Paul. "I believe he was fooling me all along when he seemed to be having a hard time to keep up. All that panting and heavy breathing was put on."
It was decidedly humiliating to be "jollied" in such a manner; but Paul found he could not hold his own with Frank, and he finally gave up the struggle. Still he continued to run on, thinking that the lad ahead would use up his wind by such a burst of speed, and believing there was a possibility of overtaking Merriwell before South Middle was reached.
This did not happen, however, and when Paul burst into Frank's room, he found Rattleton there, listening to a funny story that Merriwell was telling.
And Merriwell? He had his feet resting comfortably on the top of a table, while he lay back in an easy-chair, looking remarkably cool, as if he had not lately made a run of several miles.
More than that, he had changed his clothes, as the suit he had on was not the same he had worn during the run!
Paul staggered in, and dropped limply on the couch, staring at Frank, as if he saw a ghost.
"Look—here—Merriwell," he panted, "what—are—you—made—of? Are—you—run—by—steam?"
"Oh, no!" laughed Frank. "I beg your pardon for leaving you in such a manner, but you know you had become so very unsociable that I had to do——"
Pierson made a weak gesture, and interrupted with:
"Don't apologize for that—it was the agreement that one should run away from the other, if possible, on the way back. You had a right to do it."
"What is all this about?" asked Rattleton, in a mystified manner. "What have you fellows been doing?"
"Don't you know?" cried Paul, amazed.
"No, I don't know," declared Rattleton. "Frank walked into the room a short time ago, went into his bedroom, took a sponge bath and changed his clothes, and we have been telling stories since then."
"Took a sponge bath?" shouted Pierson, poppingbolt upright. "Jerusalem. You talk as if he had been here half an hour! I will admit that this beats anything I ever experienced!"
Then he flopped down on the couch again, as if utterly overcome.
Paul Pierson had made a discovery that night, and, before he left, he told Frank Merriwell to put himself into condition to enter one of the races at the Madison Square Garden tournament in New York.
"You seem to be in pretty good condition now," he said, with a grim smile; "but you know whether you can improve your condition or not. If you can, do it, for you are liable to be pitted against men who will give you a decidedly hotter time than you have ever struck."
"All right," said Frank, quietly. "You'll find that I shall be in shape, and I'll do my best to be a credit to Old Yale."
"You have been a credit to Yale ever since the day you entered college," said Pierson, sincerely. "To-night has settled one thing in my mind. I believe you are a wonder in almost anything in the way of athletics."
"Oh, not a wonder!" said Frank. "But you can be sure that I am bound to do my level best in anything I attempt."
"I know it! I am not sure I'll be able to get you on, but I am going to try to run you into the one-mile race. We have some men for the shorter dashes, but do not seem to have but one man besides yourself who can be considered for the mile run. He has been in training for some time, and the committee had nearly decided on him. Now I am satisfied that you are the better man, but I'll have to satisfy the others."
"I want you to bear witness that I have not worked to fill the place of any other fellow."
"It might be better for Yale if you would work for such things," growled Pierson. "You will not find other fellows holding back. If any chap is capable of filling your place at anything, you may be sure he will fill it, and he'll never stop to consider your feelings about the matter."
"That is rust jite—I mean just right!" cried Rattleton, approvingly.
"Well, I am going to my rooms and take a rub down," said Paul. "Good-night, fellows."
"Good-night, Mr. Pierson."
When the door had closed behind Paul, Rattleton executed a grotesque dance on the carpet.
"Whoop!" he softly cried. "Didn't I knock him silly when I pretended not to know anything about the run this evening! Oh, wheejiz—er, jeewhiz! he nearly fainted when I told him you calmly walked into the room, took a sponge bath, put on another suit, and then we had been telling stories."
"You rascal!" cried Frank, laughing and giving Harry a shake. "That was all your own work. I didn't know you were thinking of running such a bluff on him."
"Never thought of it myself till he came in," chuckled Harry. "Between us we managed to get you out of your other clothes, give you a quick rub, and jump you into a fresh suit before Pierson showed up."
"It has been a very enjoyable evening," smiled Frank, as he again deposited himself on the easy-chair. "If I had planned to have sport with Pierson, I could not have worked it better. You should have heard me panting and puffing along behind him on our way out! You should have heard him bidding me good-bywhen we started to come back! And then you should have heard me asking him if he was ill when I got ready to leave him!"
Harry laughed in the heartiest manner, as his imagination supplied the picture.
"It is too good!" he cried. "And you will go into the mile run sure! Browning caused Pierson to tackle you."
"It seems that I have done pretty well in athletic matters this spring," said Frank, "and I was rather indifferent concerning the matter of taking any prominent part in the tournament at Madison Square. However, if I can do anything to uphold the standard of Old Eli, I want to do my best."
"Frank, if you run in that race, you will win," came soberly from Harry's lips. "I shall stake every dollar I can rake on you. If you do win, I'll have enough cash to take me through the summer vacation we have planned."
The door had been softly opened, and the most of Rattleton's speech was overheard by a third person, who now exclaimed:
"And I'm going to bank my cash on you, Merriwell! If you win, I'll—I'll—why, hang me! I'll make that trip across the continent with you!"
It was Bruce Browning, who advanced into the room.
"Are you in earnest about that, Bruce?" asked Frank.
"You bet I am in earnest!" was the assurance.
"You will try to pump a bicycle from New York to San Francisco?"
"Try it! Confound it! I tell you I'll do it if you win the mile run for Old Yale!"
"Then," said Frank, "I have a double object to work for, and I am going to win if it is in my body to do so!"
Rattleton was astonished to see Browning show so much animation.
"Why, you actually appear like your old self!" he exclaimed.
Bruce sat down.
"Tell me about it," he invited, speaking to Frank. "Some of the fellows said they saw you and Pierson chasing yourselves, and I caught what Rattleton was saying just as I came in."
Frank told Bruce all about the night run, and a lazy smile spread over the fat lad's round face as he listened.
"That's one on Pierson!" he exclaimed. "He thinks he is unequalled when it comes to a long-distance run, and I'll wager something that you have fixed him so he will fight to get you into that race. I can see him bidding you farewell! Ha! ha! ha! And then I can see him when you took your turn! Ha! ha! ha!"
Bruce laughed in a hearty manner, and, for some time they talked over the events of the evening.
"What sort of a fellow is Yates?" asked Frank. "I've never met him to have a talk with him."
"Oh, he isn't half bad," answered Bruce, in a somewhat noncommittal manner.
"I presume he will feel injured if I am chosen to run, instead of him?"
"What if he does? That's none of your business."
The final ball game of the series between Harvard and Yale was to take place at Springfield. The day of the game arrived, and there was an exodus from Yale.
There was a rush for the last train by which the college lads could reach Springfield in time to witness the whole of the game.
On their way to the station, Frank and Harry fell in with Jack Diamond and Danny Griswold.
"We've got to hurry," said Diamond, glancing at his watch. "There is no time to waste if we want to catch the train."
They soon overtook Flemming, Emery and Yates. These fellows were in the company of several other lads, among whom were two of the committee of arrangements for the tournament.
"You fellows seem to be in a great rush," one of the party called to Frank and his friends.
"You had better rush a little, if you want to catch the train," flung back Griswold.
"Ah!" said Andy Emery, with an undisguised sneer; "it's Merriwell and his trainers. They are putting him in condition to beat the field in that race he expects to enter."
"Go him to the station, Yates!" exclaimed one of the lads accompanying Duncan. "Just show him he doesn't know how to run."
"Yah!" flung back Griswold, quick as a flash. "Yates knows better than to try that. Where would he be when Merriwell reached the station?"
"Buying his ticket inside," sneered Emery, in return.
That aroused Jack Diamond, who flushed hotly and turned on Andy.
"I'll go you ten even that Merriwell beats Yates to the station platform," he flashed, producing a roll of bills. "This is business! Take me if you have the nerve!"
"Oh, I'll take you!" cried Emery; "and, when the business is over, I'll take your money, too."
He promptly produced a ten-dollar bill, and themoney was quickly thrust into the hands of a stakeholder, who was chosen by mutual agreement.
"It strikes me you men are pretty swift," said Yates, in a manner that showed his disapproval. "How do you know I will run?"
"'Sh!" warned Flemming. "You'll have to run now, or they'll say you were afraid to go against Merriwell."
It was plain that Yates did not feel at all pleased by the situation, but he said:
"If I must run, I will, and I'll beat the fellow, but I don't care about getting into a sweat just now."
"Never mind that," said Emery, in Yates' ear. "If you beat Merriwell to the station, it is pretty sure that you spoil his show for getting into the mile run. This is your chance to do that little job, so don't let it slip."
Frank had said very little. It was not easy to tell if he felt satisfied or displeased over the situation.
The party turned a corner, and came in view of the station.
"Here is a good starting point," said Emery. "Does it satisfy you, Diamond?"
"Perfectly," bowed Jack.
"Then that's all right. Are you going to run, fellows?"
"I leave that entirely to Mr. Yates," said Frank, quietly.
"Oh, I'll go you—and I'll do you!" exclaimed Yates, as he tore off both coat and vest and flung them at Flemming, who caught them.
That started Rattleton, who excitedly cried:
"I'll tet you ben dollars—I mean I'll bet you ten dollars you don't do it!"
Yates paid no attention to this, but Flemming said:
"I'll have to go you, Rattleton. Put up the tenner."
The money was quickly posted, and then the rivals stood side by side, with their coats and vests removed, ready for the word.
Merriwell seemed quiet and indifferent, as if it were an event of no particular moment; while on Yates' face there was a look that plainly showed he was determined to settle all dispute by winning the dash to the station.
One of the committee had been chosen to give the word, and he stepped out, sharply calling:
"Ready!"
The lads leaned forward over the scratch in the dirt, which had been drawn by somebody's heel.
"Go!"
Away shot the rivals like leaping fawns. They seemed like two foxes, and the crowd of lads who broke away in pursuit resembled a pack of hounds.
It was a hot dash, and, for some time, the boys were running side by side, neither seeming to have an advantage.
"Wait a bit," panted Emery, at Diamond's side; "you'll soon see Yates spurt and leave Merriwell."
"What do you think Merriwell will be doing while Yates is spurting?" asked Jack, sarcastically.
"He'll seem to be standing still."
"Will he? Wait and see!"
The rivals were drawing near the station, and still it seemed that they were keeping side by side.
"Now they are spurting!"
Yes, they were spurting for the finish, but, to the amazement of Yates' friends, a single bound had seemed to carry Frank Merriwell two yards in advance of the other runner, and this advantage Merriwell maintained.
In another moment the station would be reached, and the race must end. Seeing this, Andy Emery was bitterly grinding out an exclamation of rage and disgust.
Suddenly Yates seemed to trip and fall heavily. He tried to spring up, but seemed to be hurt, and he was struggling to rise when Flemming reached the spot and lifted him to his feet.
"Are you hurt?" asked several, as they gathered around Duncan.
"Not much," he answered, rather thickly; "but I lost the dash by that fall."
"Rats!" muttered Harry Rattleton. "He had lost it before he fell."
"I was ready to make the final spurt, which would have carried me ahead of Merriwell at the finish," declared Yates.
"Oh, it is a case of beastly luck!" growled Andy Emery. "It is the way everything turns in Merriwell's favor. He never wins except it is by cold luck."
"Oh, come off!" chirped Danny Griswold. "You're sore, that's all ails you!"
"Shut up, or I'll wring your neck!"
"You can't catch me, you know," taunted the little fellow, as he skipped out of reach.
On the station platform Merriwell was quietly waiting the arrival of the others, fanning himself with his handkerchief.
It happened that Bruce Browning was at the station, and he had seen the race between the rivals. In his ponderous manner, he hurried to congratulate Frank.
"Yates was a fool to try it!" declared Bruce, his round face seeming to expand into one broad grin. "He might have known what would happen. I see Crockett and Gibbs, two of the committee, with the fellows. They witnessed the whole business, and it must have settled matters in their minds."
"I wish Yates had not fallen," said Frank, with regret.
"He did not fall accidentally, and you can bet your greasy coin on that! It was plain enough."
"Then you think—just what?"
"That he saw he was beaten, and fell so that he might make a claim that you outran him by accident."
"I had the lead."
"Yes, and he could not have recovered and overtaken you in a week! But that makes no difference. Allee samee, I rather fancy Yates will not fool anybody very much."
The knot of fellows now approached the station, where there was a great throng of Yale lads who had seen the race.
Yates was very pale, but there was a burning light in his eyes. He advanced straight to Frank, and distinctly said:
"Mr. Merriwell, you beat me this time through an accident; but I will run you again, and I'll win."
Frank bowed with the utmost courtesy.
"Mr. Yates," he said, "you will find me willing and ready to run with you any time."
"Whoopee!" squealed Danny Griswold, turning a handspring. "That's business straight from headquarters!"
"Here comes the train!" was the cry.
Then there was a scramble for tickets and for seats on the train.
It happened that Merriwell and his friends entered the smoker. They found Bink Stubbs curled up in a corner, puffing away at a cigarette.
"You seem to be well fixed, Stubbs," said Frank.
And the little fellow cheerfully returned:
"Oh, I've got a snap, as the bear said when he stepped into the steel trap."
Then room was made for a jolly little party in the corner, and all the fellows who smoked lighted up cigarettes or cigars.
"I've got ten more to put on the game to-day," cried Rattleton, gleefully. "And I took it out of Flemming. That is what pleases me the most."
Jack Diamond smiled.
"It pleases me to say that I pulled a sawbuck out of Emery," he said. "He squirmed a little, but it was too late to squeal."
"We'll all come back with our clothes stuffed withmoney," declared Browning. "Yale is sure to win to-day, and that will put lots of fellows on their feet. Some of the boys have soaked everything they could rake together to get money to put on the game, for Heffiner's arm is in great form, and he says he will make monkeys of the Harvard Willies."
"Speaking about hocking things," said Bandy Robinson, "I let my unc. have a dozen white shirts, among other things. If Yale doesn't win, I won't have a shirt to my name."
"That's nothing," declared Ben Halliday, nonchalantly, as he blew out a big whiff of smoke. "I've soaked my entire wardrobe, save what I have on my back. But Willis Paulding did the slickest trick to raise the wind."
"Paulding?" cried Diamond. "I'd never dreamed he could do anything very smooth."
"He did, just the same. Last year, when Merry pitched the deciding game of the series, Paulding felt sure Harvard would win, and he stuck on 'em every last rag of money he could rake and scrape. Well, Yale won, and Willis was busted. He was forced to tell his old man the whole truth before he could getmoney enough to let him out of New Haven for the summer. More than that, the old man has taken precautions to prevent Willis from having any money to waste in betting this year. He has all of Willis' bills sent to him to settle, and keeps his son horribly short of filthy. Just as hard, Willis found out that the governor had told his tailor to make the boy all the clothes he wanted. That was enough. Willis ordered six suits at fifty dollars each, and he soaked every one of them at ten each as soon as he got them. So you see Paulding is provided with plenty of coin for this little racket, and he says he is going to put every red he has on Old Yale. Last year cured him of betting against his own colors."
"If Willis thought of that scheme himself, he has more brains in his head than I fancied," smiled Diamond.
"Tell you how I made a strike," chirped Danny Griswold. "You know I've been writing a few things and giving them away to the papers. Well, the governor heard of it, and he decided I was making a fool of myself, so he sat down and fired a shot at me. He called my attention to the fact that Johnson said theman who writes for anything but money is a fool. This is the way I answered: 'Dear Gov: I observe you say some chap by the name of Johnson says the man who writes for anything but money is a fool. I quite agree with Mr. Johnson. Please send me one hundred dollars.' That must have hit the old boy about right, for he sent me fifty."
Danny ended with a gleeful chuckle, and the listening lads laughed.
"That's pretty good—for you," nodded Bink Stubbs; "but speaking about clothes reminds me that I had a little lunch in a restaurant last evening, and I found a button in the salad. I called the waiter's attention to it, and he calmly said, 'That's all right, sir; it's part of the dressing.'"
"Now he has broken loose!" cried Danny Griswold. "There is no telling what sort of a rusty old gag he'll try to spring. If we only had a few stale eggs for him!"
Bink grinned, as he observed:
"There's nothing like poached eggs, as the nigger said when he robbed the hencoop."
Diamond proposed a song, and soon the boys wereat it. When they had finished one song, Browning soberly observed:
"It seems to me that there is one song which would be particularly appropriate for this season when all of us are soaking something in order to raise the wind."
"What is it?" shouted several voices.
"Solomon Levi."
In another moment the merry lads were shouting: