"My stars!" gasped Harry. "There's trouble, sure enough!"
"I should remark!" palpitated Robinson. "I'll bet a dollar one of the fellows is full of shot!"
"And somebody is in danger of being full of teeth directly. Come, this is our time to create a diversion."
Then Harry let himself out. He whooped like a wild Indian and pranced right up toward the house. Robinson followed the good example, but they did not seem very successful in attracting attention to themselves.
Two dark figures were seen scudding through the orchard, and then a man came out of the house, slamming the door and shouting:
"Sick 'em, Tige—sick the pesky rascals! Chaw 'em up! Don't let 'em git erway! Take 'em, dorg!"
The dog was doing his duty in the vicinity of one of the sheds, but his barking suddenly turned to howls of pain, and several blows were distinctly heard.
Despite the two yelling and dancing lads in the road, the old farmer made for the shed, and it was seen that he had a gun in his hands.
"He's going to shoot somebody!" cried Harry, wildly. "We must hake a tand—er—take a hand in this! Come on!"
With all the speed he could command Rattleton dashed after the farmer. The barking of the dog had suddenly ceased, and a third dark figure was seen scudding through the orchard.
"Stop, you pesky thief!" yelled the farmer. "If you don't stop I'll shoot! I'll fire ye full of lead!"
Then he halted and raised his gun to his shoulder. He was quite unaware that Harry was now quite close upon him.
When Rattleton saw the man raise the gun he swung back the hand that held the heavy stick. With all his strength he hurled the stick at the farmer.
Whiz! It sped through the air and struck the man fairly between the shoulders. At the same instant the gun spoke, but the farmer went down in a heap, and his aim was spoiled.
"Had to do it to save some one of the fellows from carrying off a load of buckshot," muttered Rattleton, who was desperate. "I don't want to see anybody shot to-night."
He did not stop running, but he dashed straight up to the man, snatched up the gun, and fled onward.
"Hey! hey!" cried the man, as he scrambled to his feet. "Consarn you! Drop that gun! Bring it back!"
"Come get it!" invited Harry, with a defiant laugh.
The farmer started after the boy, who led him a merry chase across the fields and over the fences. Harry kept just far enough ahead to lure the panting man on.
"If I ever git my hands on ye you'll go to jail!" declared the farmer. "I'll learn you pesky rascals a lesson!"
"Teach—not learn, uncle," Harry flung back. "You should be more careful about your grammar."
"I believe you are one of them consarned student fellers."
"You are a wonderful guesser."
"If I can't ketch ye I'll report ye."
When he had lead the man far enough so that he was sure the other fellows had plenty of start, Harry tossed aside the gun, which was an old muzzle-loading, single-barreled affair.
The panting farmer stopped and picked up the gun, then he stood and shook his fist at Rattleton, who was speeding away like a deer.
"Oh, I'll report ye—I will, by jee!" he vowed over and over.
In the meantime Merriwell had had a most exciting adventure. He had found the turkey roost and had selected the biggest old gobbler of them all. But the gobbler was a hard customer and he showed fight, whereupon there was a general squawking and squalling.
Clinging to his capture, Frank made a dash for the door. He tripped and fell, and it is certain that by falling he saved himself from carrying off a charge of shot, if not from death. He had tripped over a rope that connected with a spring gun, which was discharged, and some of the shot tore through his coat sleeve.
Then he heard the dog, and he knew he was in for a hot time. He gave the old gobbler's neck a fierce wring, then dropped the turkey just in time to meet the dog.
The creature sprang for Frank's throat, and the boy struck him with the club which he had brought along. The dog dropped to the ground, but immediately made another dash. Frank was fortunate in getting in a lick that stretched the animal quivering on the ground.
He could hear Rattleton and Robinson whooping wildly, but he knew no time was to be lost in getting away, so he caugh up the gobbler and ran.
Frank heard the farmer calling for him to stop, but, with Mr. Gobbler dangling on his back, he fled the faster.
The gun spoke, but he was not touched, and he did not stop to look around, so he did not know how Harry had saved him.
Three-quarters of an hour later the five fellows who had started out on the turkey chase met on the outskirts of New Haven. They came up one at a time, Rattleton being the last to appear. There was a general feeling of relief when it was found that all were there safe and sound.
It was decided that they should go into the city one at a time, taking different routes. Frank believed he could reach the house without being stopped, although it would be no very easy job.
He was remarkably successful until he was on York Street and close to Mrs. Harrington's. The street seemed clear, and he wondered where all the fellows could be, when of a sudden a tall form in dark clothes stepped right out before him. He gave a gasp, for at a glance he seemed to recognize one of the professors.
"Young man," sternly said a familiar voice, "what have you there?"
"It's Professor Grant!" thought Frank, aghast.
The professor blocked his way. What could he do?
Quick as a flash he swung the gobbler around and struck his challenger a smashing blow with it, knocking him sprawling.
Then he took to his heels, still holding fast to his capture.
In a moment he heard the sound of feet in pursuit, and he knew the outraged professor was after him.
Frank's heart was in his mouth, and he felt scared for the first time that night. He was certain it would mean expulsion to be caught.
For all of the running he had done that night, he fled like a frightened deer, occasionally glancing over his shoulder. He had never dreamed that Professor Grant was a sprinter, but the man was running at great speed—seemed to be gaining.
"Stop, sir!" cried the pursuer. "I tell you to stop!"
"Not much!" thought Frank. "I won't stop! If you catch me your wind is better than I think it is."
He did not dare go into his house, so he dashed past, cut into another street, turned corner after corner, and still he found himself pursued. It seemed marvelous that Professor Grant could keep up such a pace.
Finally the pursuer called:
"Merriwell, is that you?"
No answer.
"I know you," declared the pursuer, and now Frank perceived that that voice did not sound like Professor Grant. "You are a crackajack runner. I wanted to give you a try to see what you could do. I'll see you to-morrow. Good-night."
The pursuer gave up the chase.
"As I live, I believe it was Pierson, manager of the ball team!" muttered Frank when he was sure it was no trick and he was no longer followed. "He looks something like Professor Grant, and he is a great mimic. That's just who it was."
A short time later he was in his room, where a jovial party of freshmen was gathered.
Frank's appearance, with the turkey still in his possession, was hailed with shouts of delight.
"We didn't know as you would get in," said Jones. "I invited some more of the fellows up here, as you see, and we found out that some of the sophs seemed to know something unusual was going on."
"That's right," nodded Rattleton. "They were laying for us. Two of them stopped me when I reached York Street. They told me to give up what I had, but I didn't have anything to give up, so they let me go."
Then Frank told of his adventure with a person who looked like Professor Grant.
"That's it!" cried Little. "That was their game! They were after our turkey."
"But how did they know we were after turkey?" asked Robinson.
"They must have been told by somebody," said Street.
"And that means we have a tattler among us," declared Burnham Putnam—Old Put—looking keenly around.
The boys looked at each other suspiciously, wondering if there was one of the number who would carry to the sophs.
To Frank's surprise he saw that Walter Gordon was there. Jack Diamond was also present.
Frank found an opportunity to get close to Dismal and whisper in his ear:
"Great Caesar, old man! why did you invite Gordon here?"
"I did not."
"Then how does he happen to be here? He didn't come without an invitation, I am sure of that."
"He was in Billy's when I asked Put to come up. I knew you would like to have Put here."
"That's all right."
"Well, Put asked Gordon to come along before I could prevent it. Of course I didn't have the crust to make any objection after that."
"I should say not! It's all right, but you want to remember that the sophs found out something was going on. Did Gordon come right along with you?"
"No. He said he'd have to go to his room, but he showed up a few minutes after we arrived here."
"Lots of mischief can be done in a few minutes. Did he know just what was going on here?"
"Well, he knew somebody had gone out into the country to swipe something for a feast."
"And it is pretty plain that the sophs became aware of the same fact. Here is food for reflection, Dismal."
"You are right."
The foragers told of their adventures in capturing the turkey, and there was a great deal of laughter over it. Merriwell showed how near he came to getting shot, and it was universally agreed that he was remarkably lucky.
Harry told how he had bowled the old farmer over just as the man was about to shoot at Frank, and then he convulsed them with laughter by relating the capture of the gun and the chase he had led the hayseed.
Robinson said he thought Harry was crazy when he rushed after the farmer in the way he did.
"I couldn't understand what sort of a game he was up to," said Bandy, "and I didn't feel like following him into the jaws of the lion, so I held aloof. I saw him fling his club at the old duffer and saw it knock him down. Then, when I was sure Harry was all right, I legged it."
"Farmer Baldwin's dog will have a sore head in the morning," smiled Frank. "The last crack I gave him stretched him quivering on the ground. Hope it didn't kill the brute."
"Hope it didn't?" shouted Little. "I hope it did!"
"But I don't want to pay for his old dog."
"Pay for it! Are you dopy, daft, or what's the matter with you? Why, that man had a spring gun set, and it would have filled you full of shot if you hadn't tripped!"
"He had a right to set a spring gun in his own shed to protect his turkey roost from marauders."
The boys stared at Frank in amazement.
"Say, Merriwell," said Uncle Blossom, gravely, "you're an enigma. Great poker! The idea of calling us marauders!"
"What else were we?"
"Boys, it is our duty to take him out and hold him under under the hose!"
"Gentlemen," said Jack Diamond, who was present, "you will have a real lively time if you try to do it. I fully agree with Mr. Merriwell that the farmer had a right to protect his property."
"Whe-e-ew!" whistled several lads, and then they all cried together: "Goodness, how the wind blows!"
The boys had come to understand in a measure Diamond's chivalric nature and sentiments, and it did not seem strange that he should see something improper in stealing turkeys from a farmer; but it did appear rather remarkable that Merriwell should maintain such an idea after he had taken a hand in the game.
"It must be that you chaps intend to become parsons after you leave college," said Walter Gordon, rather derisively.
"And Merriwell would pay for the dog if he killed the beast!" exclaimed Uncle Blossom. "How about the turkey? I should have thought you'd paid for that."
"I did."
"What!"
That word was a roar, and it seemed to leap from the lips of every lad in the room, with the exception of Diamond and Merriwell. The boys were all on their feet, and they stared at Frank with bulging eyes, as if they beheld a great curiosity.
Merriwell simply smiled. He was quite cool and unruffled.
"You—you paid—for—the—turkey!" gasped Lucy Little, as if it cost him a mighty effort to get the words out.
"Exactly," bowed Frank.
"How? When? Where?"
"I pinned a five-dollar bill to the roost before I laid violent hands on the old gobbler. Baldwin will find it there in the morning."
"Water!" panted Robinson as he flopped down on a chair. "I think I am going to faint!"
"Oh, think of the beautiful beers that V would have paid for!" sighed Robinson, with a doleful shake of his head.
"This is a disgrace on the famous class of 'Umpty-eight!" shouted Lewis Little. "We can never wipe it out!"
"I fear not," said Easy Street. "It is really awful!"
"And to think Merriwell should have done it. It would have served him right if that spring gun had filled him with shot!"
"Excuse these few tears!" exclaimed Blossom, who had secretly opened a bottle of beer and saturated his handkerchief with the contents.
He now proceeded to wring the handkerchief in a highly dramatic manner.
"Go ahead," laughed Frank. "Have all the sport you like over it, but I feel easy in my mind."
Some one proposed not to eat the turkey at all, but there was a dissenting shout at that. Then the bird was taken down into the cellar by three of them and stripped of its feathers. A pan and necessary dishes had been borrowed of Mrs. Harrington, and there was a roaring hard-wood fire in the open grate.
Harry officiated as cook, and set about his duties in a manner that showed he was not a novice, while the other lads looked on with great interest, telling stories and cracking jokes.
Merriwell offered to bet Robinson that woman was created before man, but Bandy was shy, scenting a sell. However, Frank kept at him, finally offering to let Robinson himself decide. At length Robinson "bit," and a small wager was made.
"Now," cried Bandy, "go ahead and prove that woman was made before man. You can't do it."
"That's dead easy," smiled Frank. "I know you will readily acknowledge that Eve was the first maid."
"No, I'll be hanged if—"
Then Robinson stopped short, for he saw the point, and the others were laughing heartily and applauding.
"The first maid!" he muttered. "Oh, thunder! What a soft thing I am! You have won, Merriwell."
The turkey began to give out a most delicious odor, and the boys snuffed the air with the keenest delight. How hungry they were! How jolly everything seemed! There was not one of the party who did not feel very grateful to think he was living that night.
At last the turkey was done. Harry pronounced it done, and it was certainly browned and basted in beautiful style. It was a monster, but there would be none too much for that famished crowd.
Frank and Blossom assisted Harry in serving. There were not enough plates for all, but that did not matter. They managed to get along all right. Some were forced to drink their beer out of the bottle, but nobody murmured.
The turkey was white and tender, and it was certainly very well cooked. It had a most delicious flavor. And how good the beer was with it! How those fellows jollied Merriwell because he would not even taste the beer. And still they secretly admired him for it. He had the nerve to say no and stick to it, which they could not help admiring.
When the turkey was all gone cigars were passed, and nearly every one "fired up." Then Harry and Frank got out a banjo and mandolin and gave the party some lively music. It was long after two o'clock, but who cared for that? Nobody thought of the hour. If Mrs. Harrington complained in the morning, she must be pacified with a peace offering.
They sang "Old Man Moses," "Solomon Levi," "Bingo," and a dozen more. There were some fine voices among them. Finally a quartet was formed, consisting of Merriwell, Rattleton, Diamond and Blossom. It positively was a treat to hear them sing "Good-by, My Little Lady."
"The boats are pushing from the shore,Good-by, my little lady!With brawny arm and trusty oar,Each man is up and ready;I see our colors dancingWhere sunlit waves are glancing;A fond adieu I'll say to you,My lady true and fair."Good-by, good-by, my lady sweet!Good-by, my little lady!Good-by, good-by, again we'll meet,So here's farewell, my lady!"
Oh, those old college songs! How they linger in the memory! How the sound of them in after years stirs the blood and quickens the pulse! And never can other songs seem half so beautiful as those!
It was after two when the party broke up, but it was a night long to be remembered.
On the following morning Merriwell arose with a headache.
"The smoke was too much for me last night," he said. "It was thick enough to chop in this room."
"And you don't know how I wanted to have a whiff with the fellows," said Harry, dolefully. "It was awful to see them enjoying cigars and cigarettes and not touch one myself!"
"But you didn't," smiled Frank. "Good boy! Stick to that just as long as you wish to keep a place in athletics."
"I don't know which is the worst, smoking or midnight suppers."
"Midnight suppers are bad things, and you will observe that I seldom indulge in them. If I was on one of the regular teams I could not indulge at all. I'll not have any part in another affair like that of last night till after the race. From now till it is over I am going to live right."
"Well, I'll do my best to stick with you. If you see me up to anything improper, just call me down."
"Agreed."
There was no time for a cold bath before chapel, although Frank would have given something to indulge in one. As it was, he dipped his head in cold water, opened the window wide, and filled his lungs with fresh air, then hustled into his clothes and rushed away, with the chapel bell clanging and his temples still throbbing.
The whole forenoon was a drag, but he managed to get through the recitations fairly well. Over and over he promised himself that he would not indulge in another midnight feast until the time came when such dissipation was not likely to do him any particular harm physically.
At noon as he was crossing the campus he was astonished to see Paul Pierson, a junior and the manager of the regular ball team, stop and bow. Unless it was Pierson who had pursued him on the previous night, Frank had never spoken a word to the fellow in his life. And this public recognition of a freshman on the campus by a man like Pierson was almost unprecedented.
"Ah, Mr. Merriwell, I would like to speak with you," said Pierson in a manner that was not exactly unfriendly.
Frank remembered that the fellow who chased him the night before had promised to see him again, but he had thought at the time that the man did not mean it. Now he wondered what in the world Pierson could want.
"Yes, sir," said Merriwell, stopping and bowing respectfully.
"I understand that you are something of a sprinter," said Pierson as he surveyed the freshman critically. "A—ah—friend of mine told me so."
"Well, I don't know, but I believe I can run fairly well," replied Frank, with an air of modesty.
"My friend is a very good judge of runners, and he says you're all right. In doing so he settled a point in my mind. I have been watching your ball playing in practice this fall, and I have arrived at the conclusion that you have good stuff in you if you do not get the swelled head. Young man, the swelled head is one of the worst things with which a youth can be afflicted. When he gets it for fair it is likely to be his ruin."
Pierson addressed Frank as if he were a father speaking to a boy. Frank felt that the junior was patronizing to a certain extent, but the fellow's manner of stopping him on the campus was so remarkable that it more than overbalanced his air of superiority.
Wondering what Pierson could be driving at, Frank kept silent and listened.
"Now, I have a fancy," said the baseball magnate, "that you are rather level headed. Still, the best of them get it sometimes, and that is why I am warning you."
Pierson spoke deliberately, still looking hard at the freshman, who waited quietly.
"He'll come to the point if he is given time," thought Frank.
"I have seen you pitch," said Pierson, "and I have watched your delivery and your curves. You are very good. More than that, you bat properly and your judgment is excellent."
He paused again, as if to note what impression this praise made upon the other. Frank felt his cheeks grow warm, but his voice was perfectly steady as he said:
"Thank you, sir."
"I did not know just what you would do when it came to running till my friend saw you run," Pierson went on. "He says you are all right. Now, if you will look out for yourself and keep yourself in condition, it is quite possible that you may be given a trial on the regular ball team in the spring."
Frank felt his heart give a great jump. On the regular team! Why, he had not dreamed of getting there the very first season. Was Pierson giving him a jolly?
"Are you serious, sir?" he asked.
"Most certainly, Mr. Merriwell," answered the junior. "I can assure you that you stand an excellent chance of having a trial. What the result of the trial is will depend entirely upon yourself."
"What position, Mr. Pierson?"
"Well, there is but one position that is not well filled. We've got men to burn for every other place. If you are tried at all, it will be in the box. Heffiner is the only man we have, and he can't do all the work. There will come times when he will be out of condition."
To pitch on the regular ball team! To be given an opportunity when the great Heffiner proved out of condition! That was glory indeed. No wonder Frank Merriwell tingled with excitement in every part of his body; but it was a wonder that he appeared so cool and self contained.
Pierson was surprised by the freshman's manner, for he had expected Frank to show excitement and delight.
"What sort of a fellow is this?" he thought. "Does he really understand me, or is he a little thick?"
Then he saw by Frank's fine and highly sensitive face that he could not be thick, and he began to perceive that the freshman had nerve. That was one of the great requirements for a successful pitcher.
"I have spoken of this to you, Mr. Merriwell, so you may be keeping yourself in condition through the winter, as you will then stand all the better show of making a favorable impression when you are given a trial."
"Thank you, sir."
"If I were in your place I would not make any talk about it, for something may happen that you will not be given a trial, in which case it would be very humiliating if you had publicly stated that you were to have a show."
"You may be sure I will say nothing about it, Mr. Pierson."
"That is all. Good-day, sir."
"Good-day, sir."
Pierson passed on, quite aware that a number of students were regarding him with the utmost amazement, plainly wondering that he should have stopped to talk with a freshman on the campus.
Walter Gordon had seen the two speaking together, and he hastened to call the attention of some friends to it.
"Look there!" he cried. "As I live, Merriwell is talking with Pierson! What'll you bet the fellow's not making a try to get on the regular ball team? Ha! ha! ha! He's got crust enough for it."
"And I am not sure he hasn't the ability for it," said Easy Street.
"Oh, rats!" snapped Walter. "He'd go to pieces in the first inning. He'll never make a pitcher in his life."
"There are others," murmured Lucy Little.
Frank went to his room with his head in a whirl. He had dreamed of working hard to secure a place on the freshman team, but he had not dreamed there was a possibility that he would be given a trial in the regular Yale nine during his first year in college.
Merriwell knew well enough that Phillips men were given the preference in everything at Yale as a rule, for they had friends to pull them through, while the fellows who had been prepared by private tutors lacked such an advantage.
But Frank had likewise discovered that in most cases a man was judged fairly at Yale, and he could become whatever he chose to make himself, in case he had the ability.
The Phillips man might have the advantage at the start, but he could not hold the advantage unless he proved himself worthy. If the unknown student had nerve and determination he could win his way for all of the wire pulling of the friends of some rival who was not so capable.
Frank had heard the cry which had been raised at that time that the old spirit of democracy was dying out at Yale, and that great changes had taken place there. He had heard that Yale was getting to be more like another college, where the swell set are strongly in evidence and the senior likely to be very exclusive, having but a small circle of speaking acquaintances.
It was said that in the old days the Yale junior or senior knew everybody worth knowing. But this had changed. The blue-blooded aristocrat had appeared at Yale, and he had chosen his circle of acquaintances with great care. To all outward appearances, this man believed that outside his limited circle there was nobody at Yale worth knowing.
Professor Scotch, Frank's guardian, had read this in certain newspaper articles relating to Yale, and had expressed his regret that such should be the case.
After coming to Yale Frank kept his eyes open to see to what extent such a state of affairs obtained. At first it had seemed that the newspapers were right, but he came to see that his position as freshman did not give him the proper opportunity to judge.
In the course of time Frank came to believe that the old spirit was still powerful at Yale. There were a limited number of young gentlemen who plainly considered themselves superior beings, and who positively refused to make acquaintances outside a certain limit; but those men held no positions in athletics, were seldom of prominence in the societies, and were regarded as cads by the men most worth knowing. They were to be pitied, not envied.
At Yale the old democratic spirit still prevailed. The young men were drawn from different social conditions, and in their homes they kept to their own set; but they seemed to leave this aside, and they mingled and submerged their natural differences under that one broad generalization, "the Yale man."
And Merriwell was to find that this extended even to their social life, their dances, their secret societies, where all who showed themselves to have the proper dispositions and qualifications were admitted without distinction of previous condition or rank in their own homes.
Each class associated with itself, it is true, the members making no close friendships with members of other classes, with the possible exception of the juniors and seniors, where class feeling did not seem to run so high. A man might know men of other classes, but he never took them for chums.
The democratic spirit at Yale came mainly from athletics, as Frank soon discovered. Every class had half a dozen teams—tennis, baseball, football, the crew and so on. Everybody, even the "greasy" grinds, seemed interested in the something, and so one or more of these organization had some sort of a claim on everybody.
Besides this, there was the general work in the gymnasium, almost every member of every class appearing there at some time or other, taking exercise as a pastime or a necessity.
The 'Varsity athletic organization drew men from every class, not excepting the professional and graduate schools, and, counting the trials and everything, brought together hundreds of men.
In athletics strength and skill win, regardless of money or family; so it happened that the poorest man in the university stood a show of becoming the lion and idol of the whole body of young men.
Compulsory chapel every morning brought together the entire college, and had its effect in making everybody acquainted with everybody else.
A great fosterer of the democratic spirit was the old Yale fence, over the departure of which "old grads" are forever shedding bitter tears. The student who had not known the old fence was inclined to smile wearily over the expressions of regret at its loss, but still the "old grad" continued to insist that the fence was one of the crowning beauties of Yale, and that nothing can ever replace it.
On the old fence men read the newspapers, crammed for recitation, gossiped, told stories, talked athletics, sung songs, flirted with passing girls, and got acquainted. Oh, yes, it was a great fosterer of the democratic spirit.
In the promotion of this spirit the drinking places at Yale are important factors. At Harvard the men drink in their clubs, the most of which are very expensive places, and in the Boston cafés. The Yale men drink at Morey's, and Traeger's, and Billy's. Traeger's, where from a score to fifty students may be seen any afternoon or evening, is furnished in exact imitation of German students' drinking places. In the back room is heavy furniture, quaint paintings, and woodwork and carvings. It had a sort of subdued cathedral light, which fell softly on the mugs which decorated the shelves and mantel.
Frank had proven that it was not necessary for a man to drink at Yale in order to be esteemed as a good fellow. Frank was a total abstainer, and his friends had found that nothing would induce him to drink or smoke. At first they ridiculed him, but they came to secretly admire him, and it is certain that his example was productive of no small amount of good.
Frank's acquaintances declared he had a mighty nerve, for he was able to travel with a crowd that drank and smoked, and still refrained from doing either. That was something difficult for them to understand.
It was apparent to everybody that Merriwell's popularity did not depend on his ability to absorb beer or his generosity in opening fizz. It came from his sterling qualities, his ability as an athlete, his natural magnetism, and his genial, sunny nature. Although he was refined and gentlemanly, there was not the least suggestion of anything soft or effeminate about him.
It is not strange that Merriwell could scarcely believe it possible that Paul Pierson had been in earnest. Such a thing seemed altogether too good to be true.
"If it's a jolly, he'll not have the satisfaction of knowing that I spread it," Frank decided. "Mum is the word with me, and I'll keep right on working for a place with the freshmen. Oh, if we can win the race at Saltonstall!"
Frank knew that he stood well with Old Put, who was to manage the freshman team in the spring. If the freshman crew could defeat the sophs, Put would have more confidence than ever in Merriwell.
Frank was thinking these things over, when Harry came in with a rush, slamming the door and tripping over a rug in his haste.
"Say! say! say!" he spluttered, staring at Frank.
"Well, what is it?"
"Is it true?"
"Is what true?"
"I heard Paul Pierson was seen talking to you on the campus."
"Well, what of that?"
"Then it is true?"
"Yes."
"Gracious! Pierson was never known to thing a do—er—do a thing like that before!"
"Is that so?"
"Is it so! Why, you know it is so! Think of Pierson—the great and only Pierson—talking to a freshman on the campus in the middle of the day! Wow!"
"You are excited, Harry. Sit down and cool off."
"I'll sit down, but you must tell me what he was saying to you."
"Must I?"
"Must you? I should say yes! I am dying to know what he could be saying to a freshman!"
Frank was troubled, for he saw his roommate's curiosity was aroused to the highest notch, and he knew it would be no easy thing to satisfy Harry without telling the truth.
"Go ahead," urged Rattleton. "What did Pierson say to you?"
"Oh, he said a number of things," replied Frank, awkwardly.
Harry lifted his eyebrows.
"Haven't a doubt of it," he returned; "but what are they?"
Frank hesitated, and a cloud came to his friend's face.
"You see, it is a private matter," Merriwell explained.
"Oh!"
There was infinite sarcasm in that ejaculation.
"You know I would tell you if I could, Harry," said Frank, rising; "but this is a matter which I—"
"Oh, you needn't trouble yourself!" Rattleton cut in, sharply. "I'll live just as long and be just as happy."
"Now don't be angry, old man; that is foolish. You know I would tell you if I could do so without—"
"Oh, I don't know about that! You are getting so you have secrets lately, and you don't seem to trust me. Say, if you think I am a sneak and a tattler, say so, for I want to know it. I don't care to room with any fellow who doesn't trust me."
Harry was angry, and Frank felt very sorry.
"Old man," said Merriwell, meeting Rattleton's sullen glance with a frank, open look, "I do trust you, and you should know it. There is no fellow in college I would as soon room with. Still, you should know there are some things a man cannot honorably tell even his chum."
Harry was silent.
"Perhaps there are some things about yourself or some friend that you would not care to tell me," Frank went on. "I am not going to be offended at that. It is your right to tell what you like and keep what you like to yourself. A thing like that should not create feeling between us."
"But this seems different."
"Does it? Well, I will explain that I told Pierson I would say nothing of the matter to anybody. I do not believe in lying. Do you want me to break my word in this case?"
"No!" cried Harry. "You are all right again, Frank! You are always right! Don't you mind me when I get cranky. I'm a fundering thool—I mean a thundering fool! But I do hope Pierson is not working a jolly on you."
"He may have tried to work a jolly on me, but he is not succeeding," smiled Frank, whose face had cleared. "And the quieter I keep the smaller will be the chance of success, if that is his little game."
At the first opportunity Frank had a talk with Burnham Putnam, who had charge of the freshman crew. He told Put all that had been learned about the traitor, and Burn listened with interest and growing anger.
"Who do you think the traitor is?" he asked at last.
"Well, there is a doubt in my mind, and I do not want to accuse anybody."
"We have conducted our work with great secrecy."
"We have that."
"And I have repeatedly cautioned the men about talking."
"Yes."
"I have warned them that it might mean the ruin of our plans."
"You have."
"And still everything we have done seems to be known."
"That's right."
"The man who has spread this matter has the very best means for obtaining information, as he has made no mistake."
"Well, what do you think?"
"The traitor may be the last man we would suspect. He must have some cause for playing crooked, though."
"That is the way I regarded it."
Old Put thought the matter over for a few moments. He finally said:
"I don't want to do any man injustice, but the turn affairs have taken leads me to think it would be a good plan to drop our spare men entirely and put full dependence on a settled crew."
Frank was silent, and so Putnam asked:
"What do you think of that?"
"I think it is a very good plan, and I approve of it."
"Then it is settled. They shall be dropped at once, although it seems that the mischief is done now."
"There may be no mischief in it, for the sophs ridicule the innovations introduced, and they are surer than ever that they will have a soft thing of it.
"They have been fooled several times this fall. I am sorry we shall not be able to spring our innovations as a surprise, but we may give them a warm time just the same."
That day Putnam informed the spare men that he did not think they would be needed any more in training, but asked them to keep in condition till after the race, in case anything might happen that they were wanted.
Gordon was enraged immediately, for he had held on and worked through everything with the belief that he would finally be given a place on the crew.
"So I am dropped, am I?" he said, bitterly. "Well, I rather think I understand how it comes about."
Putnam did not like this, and a dark look came to his rugged face.
"What do you mean?" he demanded, sharply.
"Never mind," returned Walter, with a toss of his head. "It's no use to talk it over, but I know a few things."
He turned as if he would go away, but Put put out a hand and stopped him, whirling him sharply about.
"See here," said the sturdy manager of the freshman ball team and crew, "I want to know just what you mean, Gordon."
"Oh, you do?"
Walter flung to the winds all hope of getting on the crew. He sneered in Putnam's face.
"Yes, sir, I do! You talk as if you had not been treated right."
"Have I?"
"I think you have, sir."
"I know I have not!"
Putnam was angry, and his face betrayed it.
"You must prove that, Gordon!"
"I can."
"Do so."
"I may not prove it to your satisfaction, but I can prove it just as hard. You have told me that I am in fine form, and I know that you have said I have as fine back and shoulders as may be found in the whole college."
"I did say that," calmly acknowledged Old Put.
"Well, that counts for something."
"But it does not make you suitable for the crew. There is something more needed, as you should know. You must be able to row."
"Is there a man on the crew who pulls a prettier stroke than I? Just answer me that, Burn Putnam?"
"You do pull a pretty stroke, but I have been convinced that the men on the crew now will hold out, and it is not best to take you in place of any of them."
"Who convinced you? I know! It was Merriwell! He is holding Rattleton on the crew simply because they are chums, and you are letting him twist you around his finger! Ha! ha! ha!"
Gordon's laugh was sarcastic and cutting and it brought a hot flush to the face of Old Put.
"You are insolent, Gordon!" he said. "This is an open insult!"
"Is it? Well, I notice you do not deny that Merriwell has held Rattleton on the crew in my place."
"I deny that he has held any one on the crew that is not fully capable of remaining there on his own merit."
"That sounds first rate! Oh, well, I don't care, anyway! Your crew is bound to make a show of itself, and it will be beaten hands down by the sophs."
"So that is the opinion you hold, is it?"
"It is."
"And I suppose you have held it all along?"
"I have."
"Then I have made no mistake in dropping you from the crew. You have quite satisfied me on that point, Gordon. No man is suitable to hold a place on any kind of a crew or team if he holds it in contempt and has no confidence in it. He will not work, and his feeling of contempt will communicate itself to others, thus demoralizing the whole lot of them. Even if he kept his contempt to himself, he is not the man to work his heart out in the effort to win. He thinks it is no use to kill himself, and he will not make his best effort at any time. It is my policy to drop such a man, in case I find him out, and drop him hard. Yes, I am quite satisfied, Gordon."
Walter bit his tongue to keep back the fierce words which arose to his lips. He felt himself quivering with anger.
"All right! all right!" he said, his voice unsteady. "I am glad you are satisfied! But wait till the race is over. Rattleton's glory will be gone then. Don't think that he will pull his heart out. A man who smokes as much as he does can't pull."
"Smokes! Rattleton does not smoke at all. I observed him at the turkey roast. He absolutely refused to smoke."
"Because you were present; but I know for a fact that he smokes behind your back, and he smokes almost constantly."
"I cannot believe it. Merriwell would tell me."
"Would he? Ha! ha! ha! You don't know Frank Merriwell yet, but you will find him out. That fellow will go to any extreme to injure me, and so it is not likely he would tell anything on his chum that would cause you to give me his place."
"I am sure you do Merriwell an injustice. He is a man who does not smoke himself, and he would not allow his roommate to injure himself smoking. However, I will find out about this."
"Do so; but I have found out about it already. I have certain means of obtaining information."
"So have the sophs, and they have obtained a great deal," Putnam shot at Walter as he turned away.
Putnam collared Merriwell at the first opportunity and demanded to know the truth about Rattleton's smoking.
"I know you will tell me the truth, Merry," said Burnham, "and it is important that you should."
"Some one has been telling you he is smoking?"
"Yes."
"Well, he is not smoking now. I had a talk with him and he swore off. He is not touching tobacco in any form, and I give you my word on that."
"That's all I want," said Putnam, quite satisfied.
After this the freshman crew took to practicing nights, and it was said that they worked as no crew of freshies every worked before. One night they ran up against the regular 'Varsity crew, and gave it a hot pull, but finally seemed to be beaten.
The report of this brush spread abroad, and the men on the regular crew were rather complimentary toward the freshmen. They said the youngsters worked together in a most surprising way, and it was predicted that they would give their rivals a hard pull.
The sophs were inclined to regard this as a jolly, and they continued confident of winning over the freshmen with the greatest ease.