CHAPTER VIIIFRANK FINDS HIMSELF PURSUED.
Frank Merriwell had been detained in New York far longer than he intended when he left New Haven, and even now he felt a reluctance to go back, though it seemed that an unseen power was drawing him.
He had been able to rescue Inza from great peril, he had protected her father from probable arrest, had been in time to hold back Jack Diamond from a reckless plunge into dissipation caused by the coldness of Juliet Reynolds, and had saved young Collins, a stranger, from disgrace and suicide.
Now it seemed that his mission in New York must be completed. Now he could return to college for the final months he was to spend there. He thought of his old home that had been lost to him through the folly of his guardian, Professor Scotch, and he was seized by a desire to revisit it.
“If I had a little more time, I’d do so,” he decided. “But I can’t do it now. I wonder who owns the old place. My money is gone, and I could not buy it back now.”
Merriwell had not yet been able to communicate with his father.
“He could buy back the old place,” thought Merry, “and he would do so if I asked him. It would be a fine home for us, and we both feel the need of a home. I’ll suggest the idea to him.”
These thoughts of home brought strange fancies to him. He remembered that he had once dreamed of sitting at his own fireside, with another who was to be his companion for life. He had looked up from the paper he was reading, and in his vision, his dream, he had gazed at the sweet face of his wife, the face of———— Was it Elsie, or Inza?
But now those dreams were to be his no more! Inza had decided that Merry was not for her, and she had turned to the handsome, fair-haired freshman giant, Dick Starbright. Elsie, fully believing that Frank cared more for Inza than for her, had found in Bart Hodge a passionate admirer. But not even Bart’s words of love had drawn a confession from her lips, and she would only say that she had resolved never to marry.
But Frank remained true to his friendship for these girls. Inza, proud, beautiful, brave, was still very dear to him, and he was ready to do anything in his power for her. Elsie—she still held a corner in his heart, and her blue eyes haunted his dreams.
Elsie was far away in Florida, but Inza, with her father, was now in Brooklyn.
“I must see her once more before I return to college,” decided Merry.
And thus it happened that, late that afternoon, he took a Broadway car, getting off at City Hall Park, and crossed to the entrance to the Bridge.
Merry paused at the loop where the cars from Brooklyn swing in fast and thick during the rush-hours. He was looking for a certain car as he stood there near the many tracks. Gongs were clanging, newsboys shouting, people rushing hither and thither, and there was more or less confusion all about. Above, the bridge-cars rumbled and the Third Avenue elevated added to the uproar.
Of a sudden, as Frank stood there, somebody gave him a savage thrust.
Clang! clang! clang! sounded the gong of a car that was swinging round the loop.
There was a shriek from a woman who saw Frank hurled fairly in front of the car. The motorman tried to stop the car as quickly as possible, but he would have been too late had Merry fallen helpless in front of the trucks.
Frank had been flung forward headlong, with his right side toward the track. His hands went down, but they flung him back to his feet as if he had been made of wire springs. The car was right upon him, but like a flash he made a long leap that took him fairly beyond the track and out of the way.
“Somebody tried to do me!” he thought, as he darted round the rear end of the car, to discover who had pushed him.
“Where is the man?” he cried, as he dashed back to the spot where he had stood.
“There!” cried the woman who had uttered the shriek, pointing. “There he goes!”
A man was sprinting across the tracks, darting between the moving cars, flinging people aside when they blocked his path.
Merry sprang after the fellow, who vanished behind a car. A policeman clutched and held Frank, demanding:
“Pwhat are yez doin’, man? Be ye crazy? Shtand still, or, begorra, Oi’ll fan yez wid me shtick!”
It was useless to try to explain. By the time Merry had made the officer understand, the murderous wretch was safely out of the way.
Only a glimpse had Frank obtained of the fleeing figure of his would-be murderer, but he was satisfied that it must be the man who had assaulted him on Broadway.
“He must be a revengeful dog,” thought Merry. “He came near getting me under those wheels, too. I’ll have to be on my guard. If he is so determined, he’ll not be satisfied to let it drop now.”
Merry took a car for Brooklyn, but he might have spared himself the trouble, for, thinking he had already returned to New Haven, Inza and her father had departed without communicating with him.
The failure to see Inza proved a severe disappointment to Merry, and he resolved to walk off the feeling that had attacked him. Therefore, instead of taking a car, he walked to the Bridge.
It was beginning to get dark, and lights were gleaming from the thousands of windows in the tall buildings across the river when Merry sauntered out on to the promenade.
The wind was not strong enough to be disagreeable, but he felt the cold out there on the Bridge, and the crisp air gave him a sensation of pleasure and briskness which he desired.
All at once he remembered that the last time he had walked on this bridge Elsie was with him, and she had saved him from being flung over in front of a car by her bravery in fighting the men who had set upon him. Thoughts of this thrilled him through and through.
“Dear little Elsie!” he murmured, pausing and looking about. “I would you were with me now! You do not know it, but you are just as brave as the bravest. There are times when you shrink from danger, appalled by the thought of it, but always, at the supreme moment, your bravery overcomes your timidness and you are bold as a lioness at bay.”
This was true, and this Frank knew was the highest type of courage. The person who never feels fear is brave, but his bravery is not nearly as praiseworthy as that of the one who is frightened, but overcomes his fears by force of will. The first has mere physical courage, but the second is almost certain to possess both moral and physical courage.
Elsie was of the latter class. That she was timid at times cannot be denied, and that she shrank from danger must be confessed; but it is just as true that she could conquer her timidity and shrinking, and compel herself to face peril with steady nerves. There must be, however, some powerful cause to lead her to this point.
Frank paused near the spot where the encounter with the men had taken place. As he did so, he became convinced that a muffled figure was following him. This muffled figure had turned to the other side of the promenade.
All at once, quick as a flash, Merry whirled and darted across, his hand falling on the man’s shoulder.
“I beg your pardon,” he said, “but can you tell me———— Hello! I thought so!”
For he had obtained a fair look at the man’s face, and he saw it was that of his assailant on Broadway.
This person glared at Frank, hatred filling his eyes.
“So you are following me about!” said Merriwell resentfully. “Well, it’s becoming rather tiresome. Bought an overcoat since chasing me over to Brooklyn, I see. I suppose you fancied that would be disguise enough to fool me. Now, wait a minute; I have a question to ask you. What the dickens do you want of me?”
“I want—your life!” was the panting retort. “And I mean to have it!”
Then the pursuer grappled with Merry.
Once before Frank had fought for his life near that spot, but then he had been attacked by two men. Both of those men, however, had been scarcely less dangerous than this one, who fought with fury and possessed astonishing strength.
“Steady, fellow!” cried Frank, trying to hold the man off. “Are you a raving maniac? Why do you wish to kill me?”
“You know!”
“I do not know.”
“For her sake!”
“That’s where you’re daffy,” declared Merry, getting a hold that enabled him to baffle the efforts of the man for a time. “Why should you attack me for her sake?”
“Because you deserve death!”
Frank was not obtaining much light, and he grew disgusted and angry with the man.
“I believe you’re a raving maniac!” he exclaimed. “Who is this girl, anyhow?”
“You know.”
“I know her face, but I have forgotten her name.”
“Bah! It will do you no good to lie!”
The fellow did his best to hurl Merry against the iron rail and pin him there.
“Look here, man,” said Frank, exasperated, “I want you to tell me that girl’s name. If you do that, I shall be satisfied.”
“She may have given you a false name. If so, all the better for her. Your stories and your sneers about her may not do her so much harm.”
Now Merry was more than ever satisfied that he had a maniac to deal with, and he kept constantly on his guard for any sudden move.
“Man alive!” he said, “I’ve never told any stories about the girl. I’ve never even known her well enough to sneer about her!”
“It’ll do you no good to lie now!” panted the man. “You are one of them! She told me about them? She met them in Boston, and they all wanted to make love to her. Her father was an old fool to let her go to Boston, but she would have her way and go. To take music-lessons, she said; but I know she took other lessons there. You were one of her instructors, and you whispered lying words of love to her. For those words you shall pay!”
With a quick wrench he had Frank against the rail, but Merry recovered and held him off, even though the man’s muscles were magnificent. Fortunately, the fellow was baffled by the muffling folds of the great coat which he wore, and for that reason Frank was able to handle him easier.
“Where does she live?” asked Merry; but the question seemed to enrage his assailant more than ever.
Passing pedestrians had been attracted by the struggling men, but not one of them offered to interfere. Now, however, arose the cry:
“Here comes a Bridge cop!”
“Good!” said Merry, with satisfaction. “I’ll turn this gentleman over to him.”
Immediately ceasing his attack on Frank, the fellow made a twisting wrench and broke away. But when he turned to run toward the end of the Bridge he saw a uniformed officer coming toward him on the jump. Then he whirled back, but Frank Merriwell blocked his path.
In sudden desperation, determined not to be captured, the man leaped upon the parapet and prepared to spring down to the track along which the trolley-cars passed below.
Several who witnessed this desperate act also saw a car coming right at hand, and shouted for him not to jump, thinking he would fall directly before it.
Frank sprang forward, to clutch the man’s long coat, but, with a cry of defiance that sounded almost maniacal the fellow leaped. He struck fairly on the top of the passing car, which carried him away, crouching there and shaking his fist at Frank.
“A madman beyond a doubt!” Frank exclaimed.
The fellow had escaped, for the officer would not do anything until he had questioned Frank and learned the meaning of what had happened. By that time it was too late.
When Merry finally resumed his walk over the Bridge his mind was in a state of wonderment. He was much dissatisfied with himself for permitting the man to escape, but he had fancied the fellow fairly penned between himself and the officer, never anticipating the desperate expedient to which the stranger resorted.
Merriwell had again seen the face of the man fairly, and more than before was he certain he had not been acquainted with the fellow in the past. Of course, man and girl were connected somehow, and from the wild words of the desperate stranger Frank inferred that he was in love with her.
That the man also believed Merriwell had somehow done the girl an injury was also certain. He had spoken of Boston, and that set Merry to thinking of the girls he had known there, but try as he might, he could not remember that he had ever met this one there.
“This business is becoming altogether too perplexing,” he confessed to himself, as he swung along on his way over the great bridge. “If I had plenty of time, I might make an attempt to solve it, but I doubt if I’d feel repaid for my pains if I did so. I must go back to New Haven to-morrow. Inza has left, and there is no real reason why I should linger longer. Still, it is a nuisance to have to leave before I find out the name of that girl and just why the man is so anxious to kill me. If I had held him, the truth might have been forced from him.”
He was not molested again during the walk, and he felt that adventures enough for one day had befallen him.
Leaving the Bridge at the New York end, he crossed to Broadway, and was on the point of taking a car, crowded though it was, when a hansom cab without a fare came along. He hailed it, and a minute later he was seated inside, jolting northward.
North-bound cars were packed, and the sidewalks were lined with pedestrians hurrying homeward from their places of business. The cool air fanned Frank’s glowing face and filled his lungs in a grateful way.
This was New York, and to himself Merry confessed that it was the place of places. He had traveled much, had visited hundreds of cities in both hemispheres, had been pleased and fascinated by many other places, but there was something about this great city that attracted him more than any and all others combined. It was a city of rush and roar, of toil and tumult, of poverty and wealth, of squallor and extravagance; it was not a place of peace and gentle pleasures, such as old men enjoy; but in every way it was such a city as fascinated the strong and determined youth who was confident of his prowess and not afraid to meet a hundred rivals all striving for the very goal he sought and desired.
Frank knew this great city had swamped and overwhelmed thousands of ambitious lads who came rushing to it fresh from the country, spurred by ambition and lured by visions of triumphs and glories. He knew there was that in New York which must tempt the weak and wavering, and lead them to disappointment and failure. But he also knew that the steadfast and bold, who possessed ability above the average of their fellow men, could here find opportunities rarely met with elsewhere. If they grasped the opportunity at the right moment, held fast without faltering or doubting themselves for a moment, the reward they longed for must be theirs in the end.
Frank thought of the time soon coming when he would have to face the world and make his way in some business or profession, for, even though his father was a rich man, he was not the kind of youth to be content to live on inherited wealth and be a nobody in the great workaday world.
Thinking thus, the trip up Broadway seemed short indeed. Twenty-third Street was congested where Fifth Avenue and Broadway cross, but the hansom-driver plunged into the mass without hesitation. As a rule, hansom-drivers are most skilled in working their ways through such jams, and there might have been no trouble in this instance but that the horse of another cab, passing in the opposite direction, suddenly bolted, and there was a collision.
In a twinkling, the cab containing Merriwell was overturned, and Frank was thrown out. He struck so heavily that he was stunned, though he knew men picked him up and carried him to the sidewalk, where they put him down.
Then he heard a cry, felt his head lifted, and, as through a dreamy haze, he saw a beautiful face bending over him—the face of the mysterious girl.