driver.”
“Go ahead.”
Creak! open swung the door, and out into the night leaped a youth who seemed to be hotly pursued by four painted and bloodthirsty-appearing redskins.
The hack was standing exactly as Frank expected it would be, and he was on the box with the driver at two springs.
“It’s all right,” he asserted. “We’ve got the fellow up there, though he did kick up some. A part of our gang was rigged up like Indians, and they nipped him all right.”
“It’s the divil’s own set ye shtudints are!” muttered the driver. “Av ye hurry, Oi’ll sthay to take him away; but Oi’ll not remain here long, fer it’s th’ cops will be down on us roight away.”
“We’ll get away ahead of the cops, don’t fear that,” declared Frank. “They’re bringing him downstairs now. We had to take two or three others with him; but well not bother with them long.”
“Arrah! th’ poor freshman!” said the driver. “Oi’d not loike to be in his place this noight!”
He was completely fooled, thinking all the time that Frank was one of the party he had brought there to capture the freshman.
As they rushed out Frank had seen a fellow standing near the open door of the hack, and that fellow had promptly taken to flight at sight of the Indians, two of whom pursued him hotly.
Frank hoped they would be able to overtake the fugitive, for if one of the party escaped he would report to the sophs, who were bound to make a big hustle to rescue their captured comrades.
The disguised freshmen came downstairs, bearing their captives, who were swiftly thrust into the hack, which was a big, roomy, old-fashioned affair.
As many of the freshmen as could do so piled inside and upon the hack, and then Frank gave the signal, the driver whipped up his horse and away they went.
“East Rock,” said Frank.
“Eh?” exclaimed the driver. “Thot’s not pwhere ye wur goin’ in th’ firrust place.”
“We have changed the programme. East Rock is where we are bound for now.”
“All roight, me b’y.”
The triumphant freshmen felt like shouting and singing in jubilant mood. Indeed, Rattleton could not refrain from “letting off steam,” as he called it, and he gave one wild howl of triumph that made the streets echo:
“‘Umpty-eight! ‘Umpty-eight!”
“Break it off!” sharply commanded Frank. “Want to let the sophs know we’re up to something?”
“I don’t care.”
“They might raise a rescue party and follow us.”
“But they wouldn’t frop any chost–I mean chop any frost with us.”
“Pwhat’s thot?” came suspiciously from the driver. “An’ is it not softmores ye are yersilves?”
“Of course we are,” returned Harry, instantly.
“Thin pwhat fer do ye yell fer ‘Umpty-eight?”
“Oh, it’s a way we have. Don’t mind it, but keep on driving if you want to retain your scalp, paleface. We are mighty bad Injuns!”
The driver knew how to pick out the darkest and most deserted streets. By the time the outskirts of the city were reached the freshmen were bubbling over.
Frank Merriwell improvised a stanza of a song, and in a few moments the entire band caught the words and the tune. As the hack rolled along toward East Rock the freshmen sang:
“We belong to good old ‘Umpty-eight, For she’s a corker, sure as fate, sure as fate. We have met the sophomores,
And they’re feeling awful sore;
So hurrah for good old ‘Umpty-eight! ‘Umpty-eight!”
“Begobs! ye’re th’ quarest gang av softmores Oi iver saw!” cried the driver. “An’ it’s not wan av yez Oi remimber takin’ up to th’ freshman’s boording house.”
“We have changed,” explained Ned Stover.
“And it’s the first change I have seen for a week,” declared Harry Rattleton. “I’m waiting to hear from the governor.”
“Howld on,” said the driver. “Oi want to see the mon thot hired me.”
He threatened to pull up, but Frank caught the whip and cracked it over the horses.
“What do you want?” asked Merriwell.
“Oi want me pay.”
Now, Frank knew well enough that the driver had received his pay in advance, but he was beginning to suspect that the party that hired him had come to grief, and so he was for exacting an extra payment from the victors.
“Look here, driver,” said Frank, sternly, “I want your number.”
“Pwhat fer?”
“In case it may appear later on that you have received money at two separate and distinct times for doing the same piece of work.”
“Get oop!” yelled the driver. “It’s ownly foolin’ Oi wur.”
So the hack rolled on its way, with the happy freshmen smoking and singing, while the captive sophs ground their teeth and railed at the bitter luck.
Inside the hack Dismal Jones, most hideously bedaubed, was smoking a cigarette and brandishing a wooden tomahawk at the same time, while he sat astride of Bruce Browning, who was on the floor.
“This is a sad and solemn occasion, paleface,” croaked Dismal. “You have driven the noble red man from his ancestral halls, which were the dim aisles of the mighty forests; you have pushed him across the plains, and you have tried to crowd him off the earth into the Pacific Ocean. Ugh! You have pursued him with deadly firearms and still more deadly fire water. You have been relentless in your hatred and your greed. You have even been so unreasonable that whenever a poor red man has secured a few paleface scalps as trophies to hang in his wigwam you have taken your trusty rifles and gone forth with great fury and shot the poor Indian full of hard bullets. You have done heap many things that you would not have done if you had not done so. But now, poor, shivering dog of a paleface, the injured red man has arisen at last in his might. If we are to perish, we are to perish; but before we perish, we will enjoy the gentle pleasure of roasting a few white men at the stake. Ugh! We have held a council of war, we have excavated the hatchet, we have smashed the pipe of peace to flinders, or something of the sort, and have struck out upon the war trail.”
“You act as if you had struck out,” growled one of the captives.
“That’s because he has had a few balls,” gurgled Browning. “Talk about being burned at the stake! That’s not torture after being obliged to inhale his breath. My kingdom for some chloroform! Will somebody please hit me on the head with a trip hammer and put me out of my misery?”
“Whither art thou bearing us, great chief?” asked one of the captives.
“We will bare you out yonder,” answered Dismal. “At the stake you shall stand arrayed in the garments nature provided for you.”
“I don’t care for tea,” murmured Browning–“not even for repartee.”
“This is worse than being roasted at the stake!” muttered a soph in a corner. “It is severe punishment.”
“Help!” cried Dismal. “Somebody take me out! I can’t get ahead of these miserable palefaces.”
“You’ll get a head if I ever find a good chance to give it to you,” declared the voice of Puss Parker from the darkness.
Outside the painted savages were roaring:
“Farewell! farewell! farewell, my fairy fay! Oh, I’m off to Louisiana
For to see my Susy Anna,
Singing ‘Polly-wolly-woodle’ all the day.”
And thus the captured sophomores were borne in triumph out to East Rock, and as they were the ones who engaged the hack, they paid for their own conveyance.
Never before had anything like it happened at Yale. It was an event that was bound to go down in history as the most audacious and daring piece of work ever successfully carried through by freshmen in that college.
And Frank Merriwell was to receive the credit of being the originator of the scheme and the general who carried it out successfully.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE “ROAST” AT EAST ROCK.
A strange and remarkable scene was being enacted in the peaceable and civilized State of Connecticut–a scene which must have startled an accidental observer and caused him to fancy for a moment the hand of time had turned back two centuries.
Near a bright fire that was burning on the ground squatted a band of hideously-painted fellows who seemed to be redskins, while close at hand, bound and helpless, were a number of palefaces, plainly the captives of the savages.
That a council of war was taking place seemed apparent. And still the savages seemed waiting for something.
At length, out of the darkness advanced a tall, well-built warrior, the trailing plumes of whose war bonnet reached quite to the ground. If anything, this fellow was more hideously painted than any of the others, and there was an air of distinction about him that proclaimed him a great chief.
“Ugh!” he grunted. “I am here.”
The savages arose, and one of them said:
“Fellow warriors, the mighty chief Fale-in-his-Hoce–I mean Hole-in-his-Face–has arrived.”
Then a wild yell of greeting went up to the twinkling stars, and every savage brandished a tomahawk, scalping knife, or some other kind of weapon.
“Brothers,” said Hole-in-his-Face, “I see that I am welcome in your midst, as any up-to-date country newspaper reporter would say. You have received me with great _eclat_–excuse my French; I was educated abroad–in New Jersey.”
“Go back to Princeton!” cried one of the captives.
“Fellow warriors,” continued Hole-in-his-Face, without noticing the interruption, “I am heap much proud to be with you on this momentous occasion.”
“Yah! yah! yah!” yelled the savages.
“And now,” the chief went on, “if you will proceed to squat on your haunches I will orate a trifle.”
Once more the redskins sat down on the ground, and then the late arrival struck an attitude and began his oration:
“Warriors of my people, why are we assembled together to-night?”
“Because we couldn’t assemble apart,” murmured a voice.
“We are assembled to avenge our wrongs upon the hated paleface,” the chief declared. “It was long ago that the proud and haughty paleface got the bulge on the red man, and we have not been in the game to any great extent since then. Every time we have held two pairs he has come in with one pair of sixes or a Winchester and raked the pot. He has not given us any kind of a show for our white alley. Whenever we seemed to be getting along fairly well and doing a little something, he has wrung in a cold deck on us and then shot us full of air holes, purely for the purpose of ventilation in case we objected. Warriors, we have grown tired of being soaked in the neck.”
“That’s right,” nodded a savage, “unless we are soaked in the neck with fire water.”
“At last,” shouted the orator–“at last we have arisen in our wrath and our war paint and we are out for scalps. We have decided that the joy of the red man is fleeting. To-night a flush mantles your dark cheeks, but to-morrow it will be a bobtail flush. What have we to live for but vengeance on the white man and a little booze now and then? Nothing! Our squaws once were beautiful as the wild flowers of the prairie, but now the prize beauty of our tribe is Malt Extract Maria, whose nose is out of joint, whose eyes are skewed, whose teeth are covered with fine-cut tobacco, and who lost one of her ears last week by accidentally getting it into the mouth of her husband.
“My brothers, we are not built to weep. It is not the way of the noble red man. A few more summers and we will be no more. We will have kicked the stuffing out of the bucket and wended our way up the golden stair. But before we cough up the ghost it behooves us to strike one last blow at the hated paleface. When we get a chance at a paleface it is our duty to do him, and do him bad. Are you on?
“We have been successful in capturing a few of our hated foes, and they are bound and helpless near at hand. Shall they be fricasseed, broiled, fried, or made into a potpie? That is the question before the meeting, and I am ready to listen to others. Let us hear from Squint-eyed Sausageface.”
“It doesn’t make a dit of bifference–I mean a bit of difference to me how I have my paleface cooked,” said the one indicated as Squint-eyed Sausageface. “Perhaps it would be well enough to cook them at the stake.”
“I think that would be the proper mode,” gravely declared another warrior; “for I have heard that they boast they are hot stuff. They should not boast in vain.”
“Warriors,” said Hole-in-his-Face, “you have heard. What have you to say?”
“So mote it be,” came solemnly from one.
“Yah! yah! yah!” yelled the others.
“That settles it, as the sugar remarked to the egg dropped into the coffee. Prepare the torture stakes.”
There was a great bustle, and in a short time the stakes were prepared and driven into the ground, one of the savages hammering them down with a huge stick of wood.
Then the captives were bound to the stakes and a lot of brush was brought and piled about their feet.
Some of the sophs actually looked scared, but Browning kept up a continual fire of sarcastic remarks.
“Ugh!” grunted Hole-in-his-Face. “This paleface talks heap much. Remove his outer garments, so the fire may reach his flesh without delay.”
Then Browning was held and his clothes were stripped off till he stood in his under garments, barefooted, bareheaded, and still defiant.
“Oh, say!” he muttered, “won’t there be an awful hour of reckoning! Merriwell will regret the day he came to Yale!”
At this Hole-in-his-Face laughed heartily, and Browning cried:
“Oh, I know you, Merriwell! You can’t fool me, though you have got the best makeup of them all.”
When everything was ready, one of the savages actually touched a match to the various piles of brush about the feet of the unfortunate sophomores.
As the tiny flames leaped up the painted band joined in a wild war dance about the stakes, flourishing their weapons and whooping as if they were real Indians. Some of their postures and steps were exact imitations of the poses and steps taken by savages in a war dance.
“Say, confound you fool freshmen!” howled one of the captives. “This fire is getting hot! Do you really mean to roast us?”
“Yah! yah! yah! Hough! hough! hough!”
Round and round the stake circled the disguised freshmen, and the fire kept getting higher and higher.
Puss Parker fell to coughing violently, having sucked down a large quantity of smoke. Some of the others raved and some begged. But still the wild dance went on.
“Merciful cats!” gasped Tad Horner. “I believe they actually mean to roast us!”
“Sure as fate!” agreed another. “They won’t think to put out the fires till we are well cooked, if they do then!”
“This is awful!” gurgled Parker. “Browning, can’t you do something?”
“Well, I hardly think so,” confessed the king of the sophomores. “But I will do something if I ever get out of this alive! You hear me murmur!”
“Say!” cried Tad Horner. “I can’t stand this much longer. The fire is beginning to roast me.”
“It’s getting warm,” confessed Parker. “But it seems to keep burning around the outside edge.”
“Keep cool,” advised Browning.
“What’s that?” yelled Horner. “Who said ‘keep cool?’ Oh, say! That’s too much!”
“Just look at the wood,” directed the king of the sophomores. “You will notice that all the wood about our feet is water soaked, and there’s only a little dry wood out around the edges. That’s all that is burning.”
This they soon saw was true, and it gave them great relief, for it had begun to seem that the crazy freshmen actually meant to roast them.
At the very moment when the uproar was at its height there came a sudden loud cry, like a signal, and out of the darkness rushed at least twenty lads.
They were sophomores who had somehow followed them out there to East Rock, having been aroused and told of the capture of Browning and his mates by the soph who escaped.
One fellow on a bicycle had followed them till he felt sure of their destination, and then he had turned back and told the others, who hastily secured teams and flew to the rescue.
“‘Umpty-seven! ‘Umpty-seven! ‘Rah, ‘rah! ‘rah!” yelled the rescuers as they charged upon the freshmen.
“‘Umpty-eight! ‘Umpty-eight! ‘Rah! ‘rah! ‘rah!” howled the painted lads in return.
Then for a few moments there was a pitched battle.
The battle did not last long, for the freshmen saw they were outnumbered, and at a signal from their leader they broke away and took to their heels.
By rare good luck every man was able to get away, for, not knowing anything about the water-soaked wood piled about the feet of the captives, the rescuers nearly all stopped to scatter the burning brush.
“Oh, say!” grated Browning, as he was released. “But this means gore and bloodshed! We’ll never rest till we have squared for this roast, and we will square with interest! Merriwell’s life will be one long, lingering torture from this night onward!”
“What’s all this racket and cheering?” asked one of the rescuers. “Listen, fellows! By Jove! it seems to come from the place where we left our carriages!”
“That’s what it does, and it’s the freshman yell,” cried another. “Come on, fellows! If we don’t get a move on we may have to walk back.”
They started on a run, but when they arrived at the place where the teams had been left not a team was there.
The freshmen had captured the teams, drivers and all, together with the hack, and far along the road toward the city could be heard a cheering, singing crowd. As the disgusted and furious sophs stood and listened the singing and cheering grew fainter and fainter.
“Fellows,” said Chop Harding, “I am sorry to leave Yale, but I am certain to be hanged for murder. After this, whenever I see a freshman I shall kill him instantly.”
It was a doleful and weary crowd of sophs that came filing back into town and sneaked to their rooms that night.
Of course the sophs would have given a great deal could they have kept the story quiet, but on the following morning it seemed that every student in the college knew all about it.
The juniors laughed and chaffed the sophomores, who were sullen and sulky and who muttered much about getting even.
The freshmen were jubilant. They were on top for the time, and they all knew they might not have long to crow, so they did all the crowing they could in a short time.
And still nobody seemed to know just who was concerned in the affair, save that Merriwell and Browning must have been.
When Browning was questioned he was so blankly ignorant of everything that it seemed as if he had slept through the whole affair. He had a way of turning every question off with another question, and it was soon discovered that no information could be obtained from him.
Still it was passed from lip to lip that the great and nighty king had been found by the rescuers, stripped to his underclothes, and tied to a stake, while the smoke arose thickly around him and nearly choked him.
Some one suggested that Browning’s complexion seemed to have changed in a remarkable manner, and then the students fell to asking him if he really enjoyed a smoke.
Browning seemed subdued; but those who knew him best were telling everybody to hold on and see what would happen.
“This is just the beginning,” they said.
However, several days passed and still nothing occurred. It began to look as if the sophs had decided that they were outgeneraled and were willing to let the matter drop.
Frank Merriwell was not deceived. He knew the sophs were keeping still in order to deceive the freshmen into a belief that there was no danger, and he continued to warn all his friends to “watch out.”
In the meantime Diamond had recovered and was in evidence among the freshmen. It was said that he went down to Billy’s, a favorite freshman resort, and spent money liberally there almost every night.
The result of this soon became apparent. Diamond was surrounded by a crowd of hangers-on who seemed to regard him as a leader. He was working for popularity, and he was obtaining it in a certain way.
Now, Frank Merriwell was no less generous than Jack Diamond, but he would not drink liquor of any kind–he would not touch beer. It did not take him long to discover that this peculiarity caused many of the students to regard him with scorn. He was called the Good Templar and was often derisively addressed as Worthy Chief.
The very ones who were first to apply the name in derision afterward came to call him Worthy Chief in sincere admiration.
Frank went around to Billy’s occasionally, and although he would not drink, he treated frequently, paying for anything his companions wanted to take, from beer to champagne.
One evening Frank, Harry and Dismal Jones went into Billy’s and found Diamond and a large crowd there. Jack had been drinking something stronger than lemonade, and he was holding forth to a crowd of eager listeners.
One look at Diamond’s flushed face did Merriwell take, and then he knew the fellow was open for anything. The high color in the cheeks of the Virginian was a danger signal.
Merriwell and his two friends ordered drinks, Frank taking ginger ale. Harry and Jones lighted cigarettes.
Frank examined the pictures around the walls. There were ballet dancers who were standing on one toe, famous trotters, painted pictures of celebrated fighting cocks, hunters in red coats leaping five-barred fences, and so forth.
As he looked over the pictures he became aware that Diamond was saying something that was intended for his ears.
“Southerners never fight with their fists,” the Virginian declared. “They consider it brutal and beastly, and so they do not learn the so-called ‘art.’ They are able to fight with some other weapons, though. There is a man in this college who is trying to be a high cock of the walk, but he will never succeed till he shows his right by meeting me face to face with weapons of which I have knowledge. I have met him with his weapons, and if he is not a coward he will give me a show. But I think he is a coward and a sneak, and I–“
That was more than Frank could stand. He did not pause to think that Diamond had been drinking and was utterly reckless, but he whirled and advanced till he stood squarely in front of the Virginian.
“I presume, Mr. Diamond, that you are referring to me,” he said, coldly and steadily, although he could feel the hot blood leaping in his veins.
Diamond looked up insolently, inhaled a whiff of his cigarette, and then deliberately blew the smoke toward Frank.
“Yes, sir,” he said, “I presume I did refer to you. What are you going to do about it?”
“You called me a coward and a sneak.”
“Exactly, sir.”
“If I had not already left the marks of my knuckles on you I would slap your face. As it is, I will simply–pull your nose!”
And Frank did so, giving Diamond’s nose a sharp tweak.
Up to his feet leaped the Virginian, his face white with wrath. He picked up a glass of champagne as he arose, and then he dashed it into Frank’s face.
In a twinkling friends were between them, keeping them apart.
CHAPTER IX.
THE DUEL.
Merriwell smiled and wiped the champagne from his face with a white silk handkerchief. The proprietor bustled in and threatened. Diamond quivered with excitement.
“There will be no further trouble here,” calmly said Frank. “This matter must be settled between us–I could see that plainly enough. It wan just as well to bring it to a head at once.”
“Lunder and thightning–I mean thunder and lightning!” panted Rattleton. “He won’t fight you again with his fists.”
“I do not expect him to.”
“You’ll have to fight with rapiers, sure!” said another.
“Merriwell, you’re a fool!”
“Thank you.”
“You have fallen into his trap. He was making that talk to drive you to do just what you did.”
“Well, he may congratulate himself on his success.”
“Blamed if I understand you! You seem cool enough, and still you act as if you actually meant to meet him with deadly weapons.”
“I shall meet him with any kind of weapons he may name.”
Roll Ditson came forward.
“Of course you understand that I have no feeling, Merry, old man,” he said; “but Diamond has chosen me as his second once more, and so I can’t refuse to serve him. It is a most unfortunate affair, but he insists that you fight him with rapiers.”
“Very well; I agree to that. Arrange the time and place with my second, Mr. Rattleton.”
Frank sat down, picked up an illustrated paper, and seemed deeply interested in the pictures.
Ditson drew Rattleton aside.
“My principal,” said he, swelling with importance, “demands that this meeting take place at once.”
“Great Scott!” exploded Harry. “I object to this sort of business. It is outrageous! If one of them should be seriously wounded, what excuse can be made?”
“We’ll find some excuse that will go.”
“But what if one of them should be killed?”
“I hardly think anything as serious as that will occur.”
“But should it, there would be an investigation, and expulsion and disgrace, if nothing worse, would overtake us.”
“Oh, well, if you are afraid, just go back and tell Mr. Merriwell to apologize here and now, and I think Mr. Diamond will let him off.”
Harry looked at Merriwell and then shook his head.
“He’ll never do that,” he said, hoarsely. “We’ll have to arrange this duel. There is no other way for it.”
Between the ages of sixteen and twenty-three blood runs hot and swift in the veins of a youth. It is then that he will do many wild and reckless things–things which will cause him to stand appalled when he considers them in after years.
Frank believed that in order to retain his own self respect and the respect of his comrades he must meet Diamond and give him satisfaction in any manner he might designate.
But there was another reason why Frank was so willing to meet the Virginian. Merriwell was an expert fencer. At Fardale he had been the champion of the school, and he had taken some lessons while traveling. He had thoroughly studied the trick of disarming his adversary, a trick which is known to every French fencing master, but is thought little of by them.
He believed that he could repeatedly disarm Diamond.
His adventures in various parts of the world had made him somewhat less cautious than he naturally would have been and so he trusted everything to his ability to get the best of the Virginian.
Roland Ditson longed to force Merriwell to squeal. He did not fancy Frank knew anything of fencing, and he thought Merriwell would soon lose his nerve when he saw himself toyed with by Diamond.
And Diamond had promised not to seriously wound the fellow he hated.
The meeting was arranged as quietly as possible, and the freshmen who were to witness it slipped out of Billy’s by twos and threes and strode away.
Thirty minutes later, in a small, stuffy room, two lads, with their coats and vests off and their sleeves turned back, faced each other, rapiers in hand.
“Ready, gentlemen!” called Ditson.
They made ready.
“On guard!”
The position was assumed.
Then came the command that set them at it.
In less than twenty seconds the spectators, who kept back as well as possible, had seen something they never beheld before. They saw two beardless lads fighting with deadly weapons and using skill that was marvelous.
It took Jack Diamond far less than twenty seconds to discover that Frank Merriwell was a swordsman of astonishing skill. He had expected to toy with the Northerner, but he found himself engaged with one who met every stroke like a professional.
A great feeling of relief came over Harry Rattleton.
“Whee jiz!” he muttered. “Merry is a cooler at it! I believe he’s Diamond’s match!”
With Diamond astonishment gave way to fury. Was it possible that this fellow was to get the best of him at everything? He fought savagely, and Ditson turned white as a ghost when he saw the Virginian making mad thrusts at the breast of the lad he hated.
“He’s forgotten his promise–he’s forgotten!” huskily whispered Ditson. “What if he should run Merriwell through the body?”
Then came a cry of anger from Diamond and a cry of surprise and relief from the spectators.
Frank Merriwell, with that peculiar twisting movement of his wrist, had torn the rapier from the Virginian’s hand.
The blade fell clanging to the floor, and Merriwell stepped back, with the point of his rapier lowered.
Snarling savagely, Diamond made a catlike spring and snatched up the weapon he had lost.
“On guard!” he cried, madly. “The end is not yet! I’ll kill you or you’ll kill me!”
There was a clash of steel, and then the fight was on with more fury than before.
Diamond was utterly reckless. He left a dozen openings where Frank could have run him through. But Merriwell was working to repeat the trick of a few seconds before.
The frightened spectators were beginning to think of intervening, when once again Diamond was disarmed.
At the same moment there came a heavy knocking at the door.
One fellow, who had been on guard, ran in from a corridor and cried:
“It’s the faculty! Somebody has given them wind of this!”
“Here! here!” called a freshman. “Follow me!”
They did so, and he led them to a back window, out of which they clambered.
Diamond was the last to get out, and just as he touched the ground somebody came around the corner and grabbed him.
“I have one of them!” shouted a voice, which he recognized as belonging to one of the faculty.
He struggled to break away, but could not.
Then somebody dashed back to his side, caught hold of him, and with wonderful strength tore him from the grasp of the man.
“Run!” panted Frank Merriwell’s voice in his ear.
And they ran away together, and in a short while were safe in their rooms.
It turned out that it was not the faculty that had tried to get in where the duel was taking place, but some of the sophs. At the time he turned back to rescue Diamond, however, Frank had believed the Virginian was in the grasp of one of the professors.
Merriwell was regarded as more of a wonder than ever when it became generally known that he had twice disarmed the Virginian in a duel with rapiers–or a “fencing contest,” as the matter was openly spoken of by those who discussed it.
But Bruce Browning, king of sophomores, was awaiting an opportunity to get at Frank.
CHAPTER X.
AT MOREY’S.
“Say, fellows, this thing must stop!”
Puss Parker banged his fist down upon the table as he made this emphatic declaration, the blow causing the partly emptied glass of ale to dance and vibrate.
“Aw, say,” yawned Willis Paulding, “you want to be a little cawful or you will slop the good stuff, don’t yer know.”
Willis affected a drawl, had his clothes made in London, and considered himself “deucedly English,” although he sometimes forgot himself for a short time and dropped his mannerisms.
Tad Horner gave Paulding a look of scorn.
“Come off your perch, Paul!” he invited. “You give me severe pains! Get onto yourself! I don’t wonder Parker is excited over this matter.”
“Who wouldn’t be excited?” exclaimed Puss. “These confounded freshmen have overthrown all the established customs of the college. They have been running things with a high hand. Why, they have really been cocks of the walk ever since that little affair out at East Rock.”
“‘Sh!” cautioned Punch Swallows, a lad with fiery red hair. “Don’t speak of that, for the love of goodness! Just think of a gang of sophs being captured by freshmen disguised as Indians, taken out into the country, tied to stakes and nearly roasted, while the freshmen dance a gleeful _cancan_ around them! It’s awful! The mere thought of it gives me nervous prostration!”
It was two weeks after the duel, and the five sophomores had gathered in the little back room at Morey’s, They looked at each other and were silent, but their silence was very suggestive.
“By Jawve!” drawled Paulding, “it is awful! I wasn’t in the crowd. If I had been–“
“You’d been roasted like the rest of us,” cut in Parker.
“But I’d made it warm faw some of the blooming cads.”
“Haven’t we been doing our level best to make it warm for them?” cried Horner. “But no matter what we do, they see us and go us one better.”
“It all comes from Merriwell,” asserted Swallows. “He’s king of the freshmen, the same as Browning is king of the sophomores.”
“And he’s a terror,” nodded Horner. “He can put up more jokes than one.”
“And they say he can fight.”
“They say! Why, didn’t you see him do Diamond, the fresh from Virginia? Oh, no. I remember you were not with us that night. Yes, he can fight, and he doesn’t seem to be easily scared.”
“I think he is a blawsted upstart,” said Paulding, lazily puffing at his cigarette. “He needs to be called down, don’t yer know.”
“Some time when he is upstairs, call him down,” suggested Horner.
“Fists are not the only things that fellows can fight with,” said Parker. “The matter has been kept quiet, but it is said to be a fact that Diamond forced him into a duel with rapiers, and he disarmed the Southerner twice, having him completely at his mercy each time.”
“And Diamond prides himself on being an expert with that kind of weapon,” nodded Horner.
“Why doesn’t Browning do something?” asked Paulding. “It is outrageous faw a lot of freshies to run things this way.”
“Browning is in training,” said Parker.
“In training? What faw? Why, he is so lazy–“
“He’s training to get some of the flesh off him. It is my opinion that somebody must check Merriwell’s wild career, and he is getting in condition to do it. You know that Browning was one of the hardest men who ever entered Yale. He is a natural athlete, but he’s lazy, and he has allowed himself to become soft. Why, he knocked out Kid Lajoie, the professional, in a hard-glove contest of three rounds. Lajoie was easy fruit for him. I fancy he means to go up against this fresh duck Merriwell and do him. That’s the only thing that will pull Merriwell off his perch. He doesn’t mind being hazed.”
“Doesn’t mind it!” shouted Horner. “Confound him! He always manages to turn the tables in some way, and hazes the parties who try to haze him.”
Two youths came in from the front room.
“Hey, Browning! Hello, King! Come join us. You, too, Emery”–to the other fellow. “What’ll you have, Browning?”
Browning accepted a seat at the table, but waved his hand languidly as he declined to drink.
“I’m not taking anything now,” he said.
“Oh, but you must! Have some ale, old man.”
“Excuse me, gentlemen. I tell you squarely that I am not taking anything just now. By and by I will be with you again. Emery will go you one. That’s what he came in for.”
“That’s right,” declared Browning’s companion. “I was out stargazing last night. Looked at the Long-Handled Dipper a long time, and it gave me an awful thirst. I’ve had it with me all day. Yes, mine’s ale.”
So another round was ordered. Horner passed around the cigarettes, and Browning declined them. The others lighted up fresh ones.
“Say,” broke out Emery, suddenly, “do you know that fresh Ditson gives me that tired feeling?”
Tad Horner grinned.
“He’s no good,” said Tad. “He is crooked and he’s a toucher. Touched me for a V once, and I am looking for that fiver yet. That was two years ago, before I came here. I knew him then.”
“He tried to touch us for a drink as we came along,” said Browning. “I took him in here once, but I’ve been sorry ever since. He said he had his thirst with him just now. I told him to go sit on the fence and let the wind blow him off.”
“And he is a big bluff,” asserted Emery. “The other day he was telling how he once sat at the table with kings and queens. I told him that I had–and with jacks and ten spots. Here comes the amber. My! I won’t do a thing to it!”
The waiter placed the glasses of ale before them, and Emery eagerly grasped his.
“Here’s more to-morrow,” was his toast, and he seemed to toss it off at a single swallow.
“By Jawve!” drawled Paulding. “You must be thirsty!”
“I am. Have been all day, as I said before. It was hard stuff last night, and we went the rounds. My head needed hooping when I arose from my downy couch this morning.”
“Well, you shouldn’t have gotten intoxicated, in the first place,” said Parker.
“I didn’t. It was in the last place. If I’d gone home before we struck that joint I’d been all right.”
“Wow!” whooped Tad Horner. “You seem full of ’em!”
“Oh, I am. I’ve been eating nothing but red pepper lately, and I’m hot stuff. Let’s have another one all around.”
More ale was ordered.
“Your neck must be dry enough to squeak, old man,” said Parker, addressing Browning. “It doesn’t seem natural for you to go thirsty. Won’t you have just one?”
“Not one,” smiled Bruce, lazily. “I’ve got too much flesh on me now, and I’m trying to get some of it off.”
“Going to try for the football team–or what?”
“Nothing of that sort–but I have a reason.”
“We know.”
“You do?”
“Sure.”
“What is it?”
“You’re laying for Merriwell, and you mean to do him. I am right, am I not?”
The king of the sophomores smiled in a lazy way, but did not reply.
“That settles it,” laughed Parker. “I knew I was right. Well, somebody must curry that young colt down and it must be done right away.”
Browning showed sudden animation. He looked around at the faces of his companions and then said:
“This crowd is straight, and I am going to make a few remarks right here and now. I feel just like it.”
“Drive ahead.” “Go on.” “We are listening.”
“I am not inclined to talk this matter over publicly,” said Bruce, “but I will say that the time is ripe to get after these confounded freshmen, and we must do it. I want to tell you what I found this morning. Open wide your ears and listen to this.”
His companions were quite prepared to listen.
“You know I am getting up every morning and taking a stiff walk. I turn out at daybreak.”
“Good gracious!” gasped Tad Horner. “How do you do it?”
“Well, I’ve got one of those electric alarm clocks, and I put it just as far away from my bed as possible.”
“Why is that?”
“So I won’t get hold of it and smash thunder out of the thing when it gets to going. You know it won’t stop its racket till somebody stops it or it is run down, and it takes an hour for it to run down after it starts in to ring you up.”
“By Jawve!” drawled Paulding; “I hawdly think I’d like to have one of the blooming things in my room.”
“I don’t like to have one in my room, but it is absolutely necessary that I do. Hartwick, my roommate, admires it!”
The listeners laughed.
“I should think he might,” said Puss Parker. “He’s got a temper with an edge like a cold-chisel.”
“Oh, yes, he admires it! I’ve got so I believe I should sleep right through the racket, but he kicks me out of bed and howls for me to smother the thing. So you see I am bound to get up at the proper time. Once I am out of bed, I stay up. The first morning after I bought the clock the thing went off just as it was beginning to break day. I got up and stopped it and then went back to bed. Hartwick growled, but we both went to sleep. I had been snoozing about five minutes when the clock broke loose once more. Hartwick was mad, you bet! I opened my eyes just in time to see him sit up in bed with one of his shoes in his hand. Whiz! Before I could stop him he flung the shoe at the clock. I made a wild grab just as he did so, struck his arm, and disconcerted his aim. The shoe flew off sideways and smashed a mirror. Hartwick said several things. Then I got up and stopped the clock again. I dressed and went out for my walk, leaving Hartwick in bed, sleeping sweetly. When I came back I found him, about half dressed, jumping wildly up and down in the middle of the bed, upon which was heaped all the bedclothes, all of Hartwick’s clothes except those he had on, all of mine, except those I was wearing, and as I appeared he shrieked for me to tear down the window shades and pass them to him quick.
“‘What’s the matter?’ I gasped. ‘Are you mad?’
“‘Yes, I am mad!’ he howled, tearing his hair. ‘I am so blamed mad that I don’t know where I am at!’
“‘But what’s the matter?’
“‘Matter! Matter! Hear it! Hear the daddly thing! It has driven me to the verge of insanity! I tried to stop it, but I couldn’t find how it works. And now I am trying to stifle it! Hear it! Oh, bring me a club! Bring me something deadly! Bring me a gun, and I will shoot it full of holes!’
“Then I found that I could hear my clock merrily rattling away under that heap of clothes. It seemed to be defying Hartwick or laughing at him.
“I got him off the bed, pawed around till I found the clock between the mattresses, and then stopped it. Hartwick offered me three times what it was worth if I’d let him use his baseball bat on it. I told him it seemed to be a very willing and industrious alarm clock, and it was mine. I warned him to injure it at his peril. Since then I have learned how to stop it so it will stay stopped, but it barely commences to rattle at daybreak when I feel Hartwick’s feet strike me in the small of the back, and I land sprawling on the floor. That explains how I succeed in getting up at daybreak.”
“You started in to tell us what you found this morning,” said Punch Swallows, to Browning, lighting a fresh cigarette.
“So I did, and the alarm clock ran me off the trail. Well, I got up this morning as usual–when Hartwick kicked me out to stop the clock. I went out for my walk and crossed the campus. What do you think I found?”
“A diamond ring. We’ll all have ale.”
“Oh, no, Tad, it wasn’t a diamond ring. I noticed something stuck up on one of the trees. It was a big sheet of paper, and on it was skillfully lettered these words:
“‘Bruce Browning will wear a new set of false teeth to chapel to-morrow morning.'”
Browning stopped and looked around. He was very proud of his even, regular, white teeth. They were so perfect that they might be taken for “store teeth” at first glance, but a second look would show they were natural.
The sophs laughed, and Bruce looked indignant.
“That caused me to look still further,” he went on, “and I soon found another sheet upon another tree. This is what I read:
“‘Conundrum. Why is King Browning a great electrician? Because all his clothes are charged.’
“By that time I felt like murdering somebody. I did take a morning walk, but it was in search of more stuff of the same order. I found it everywhere in the vicinity of the college, and some of the stuff was simply awful. It made me shudder. I knew who was back of it all. Merriwell put up the job.”
“But you outwitted him by getting around in time to tear down everything he had put up. You matched him that time.”
“By accident. But I must more than match him. He must be suppressed.”
“That’s right! that’s right!” cried the boys in chorus.
“I know he put the advertisement for black and white cats and yellow dogs in the papers. My name was signed to it, and more than two hundred black and white cats and yellow dogs were brought me by parties anxious to sell them at any price. One time there were seven women with cats in my room, when two men came up leading dogs. The first woman had managed to get into the room, and while I was arguing with her, trying to convince her that I did not want her blamed old cat, the others found their way in. They opened on me altogether. Hartwick shut himself in the clothespress, and I could hear him laughing and gasping for breath. I was nearly crazy when the men sauntered in with the dogs in tow. Oh, say!”
Browning fell over limply in his chair, as if the memory of what followed was too much for him.
“You have had a real warm time of it,” grinned Swallows.
“Warm! Warm! My boy, it was warm! Two of the women were showing me their cats. The dogs saw the cats; the cats saw the dogs. One of the cats made a flying leap for a dog. The other fled, and the other dog pursued. The seven women shrieked all together, and the two men swore and tried to catch the dogs. The other cats escaped from the baskets in which they were confined. Warm! Say!”
The king of the sophomores mopped his face with his handkerchief. He seemed on the verge of utter collapse.
The listening lads could not entirely restrain their laughter. The picture Browning presented and the incident he was relating were altogether too ludicrous.
“Talk about rackets!” he wearily continued; “we had one then and there. The cats yowled and the dogs howled. The women fell over each other and screamed blue murder. The men chased the dogs and roared blue blazes. And the wind blew hard!
“One of the cats alighted on an old lady’s head. The cat’s mistress grabbed her and took her away. The cat had socked her claws into the old lady’s wig, and it came off, leaving her almost as bare as a billiard ball. Oh, marmer!
“Two of the cats fell to tearing the fur out of each other. Some of them walked on the ceiling, like flies, in their endeavors to get away from the dogs. One of them pounced on a dog’s back and rode him around the room, as if she were a circus performer. The other dog chased a cat under the bed, and they were having it there. Oh, they didn’t do a thing–not a thing!
“After a while one of the men captured one of the dogs and dragged him toward the door. The other man saw him and made a rush for him. ‘Drop that dawg!’ he yelled. ‘It’s my dawg!’ the other man yelled back. And then the other man howled, ‘You’re another. It’s my dawg!’
“Right away after that there was trouble between the owners of the dogs. They tried to hurt each other, and they succeeded very well. One of them had both eyes blacked, while the other lost two teeth, had his lips split and his nose knocked out of plumb. But they smashed the stuffing out of the furniture while they were doing it.
“I climbed up on something in one corner and did my best to cheer them on. I sincerely hoped both would be killed. The dogs seemed to feel it their duty to enter into the spirit of the occasion, and they chewed each other more or less.
“Then the police came in. I came near landing in the station house, along with the two men who were fighting, but they concluded not to pinch me. The women departed after having once more expressed their opinion all around concerning me.
“When they were gone Hartwick came out of the clothespress. We sat down amid the ruins and said over some words that will not bear repetition.
“That’s the whole of the cat-and-dog story. I’ve never been able to prove that Merriwell put the advertisement into the paper, but it is all settled in my mind. It was directly after this that I went into training.”
Some of the sophs laughed and some showed indignation.
“It was a very nawsty thing to do,” declared Paulding.
“I can’t help laughing over it.” chuckled Tad Horner. “But of course you ought to get back at Merriwell.”
“Well, I shall do my best.”
“I don’t think you need to train to do that trick,” said Punch Swallows. “A man who can knock out Kid Lajoie ought to polish off a freshman in a minute.”
“You haven’t seen Merriwell fight?”
“No.”
“I have.”
“He is clever?”
“He is a corker. Of course I believe I can do him, but I want to do him easy, and that is why I am training.”
Another party of sophomores came in.
“It is Harrison and his crowd,” said Parker, “and I’m blowed if they haven’t got Roll Ditson with them! That cad of a freshman has succeeded in getting in here again.”
“Ditson hates Merriwell, don’t yer know,” said Paulding. “He pretends to be friendly with Merry, but he’s ready to do him any time.”
CHAPTER XI
“LAMBDA CHI!”
Ditson had fawned around Browning a great deal since entering college, with the result that the king of the sophomores came to entertain a feeling of absolute disgust for the fellow. The very sight of Ditson made the “king” feel as if he would enjoy giving him a good “polishing off.”
But Bruce was no bully, although he was a leader of the sophomores. He had proved his ability to fight when it was necessary, but no one could say that he ever showed any inclination to do bodily harm to one who was weak and peaceable.
During his freshman year Browning had originated any number of wild projects for sport, and he had always succeeded in carrying them through successfully. Thus it came about that he was called the “king,” and his companions continued to call him that when he became a sophomore.
But now there was a man in college who had fairly outwitted Browning on several occasions, and so it came about that the king was aroused against Frank Merriwell.
Browning keenly felt the sting of being beaten at his own game, and he was obliged to confess to himself that Merriwell had accomplished the trick.
But our hero was not inclined to let Bruce alone. He did not wait for the king to become aggressive; he set about keeping Bruce in hot water, and he succeeded very well.
The other freshmen, stimulated by the example of one who was distinctly a leader among them, carried on such an energetic campaign against the sophomores that the latter found themselves almost continually on the defensive.
Such a thing had never before been known at Yale and the sophs were highly indignant. They informed the freshmen that they were altogether too fresh. They said the freshmen were breaking a time-honored custom, and it must be stopped.
But the triumphant freshmen kept right on, laughing in the faces of their angry foes.
It was expected that Browning would not delay about getting back at Merriwell and his friends, and the admirers of the king were surprised when he seemed to remain inactive.
Then it came out that Bruce was in training, and it was said that he was putting himself in condition to give Merriwell the worst licking of his life.
Frank heard about it, but he did not seem disturbed in the least. Whenever any one spoke to him about it he merely smiled.
Among the freshmen there were some who believed Merriwell able to hold his own against Browning. They were Harry Rattleton, Jack Diamond and one or two more.
Diamond and Merriwell were not friendly, but they had ceased to be open enemies. For the time being the hatchet was buried, and there was peace between them.
But the two did not become friends. Merriwell continued to assert that Diamond had sand, and Diamond was ready to back his judgment in saying that Merriwell was a match for any man in Yale.
Morey’s was a sophomore resort. Juniors and seniors patronized the place, but a freshman was not allowed there unless invited to accompany some of the regular frequenters of the place.
Ditson was ambitious. He was not satisfied to associate with those of his own class, but he wanted it thought he was such a fine fellow that the sophomores picked him up for his company.
Thus it happened that he had succeeded in getting into Morey’s several times, but he was killing his own chances of ever having any popularity, although he did not know it.
Browning was angry when he saw the fellow come in. He called one of the sophs over and said:
“Say, what are you bringing it in here again for, my boy? It’s been here too many times already.”
“Who–Ditson?”
“Sure.”
“We’re working him.”
“Working him? He’s working you–for the drinks.”
“That’s all right. He’s telling us what he knows about Merriwell. If there is anything in that fellow’s history that we can use as a sore spot, we may be able to suppress him.”
“All right,” scowled Browning. “Go ahead and pump the crooked sneak, but don’t swallow his lies. I don’t believe he knows anything at all about Merriwell.”
A few minutes later the soph returned and said:
“I don’t think he knows much about him, myself, but he says he’s down at Billy’s now–or was an hour ago. We might get a chance to Lambda Chi him a little.”
Browning seemed to arouse himself.
“That’s right,” he agreed. “We’ll go down to Billy’s.”
The party filed out of Morey’s and Browning took the lead. Ditson went along with them as if he was a sophomore. He seemed to feel himself highly honored, but Browning had hard work to choke back his absolute contempt for the fellow.
As they went along, it was arranged that Ditson should go into Billy’s and see if Merriwell was there. One of the sophomores should accompany him. If Merriwell was there and he should come out alone or in company with one or two others, he was to be captured. Browning had a plan that should be carried out if the capture was made.
Ditson seemed to think he was doing something very smart and cunning in betraying a fellow freshman into the hands of the sophomores. He fancied he was making himself solid with Browning’s crowd.
Billy’s was reached, and one of the sophs went in with Ditson, while the others kept out of sight nearby.
After a little the soph came out and reported that Merriwell and Rattleton were in there. He had treated the house, but Merriwell had absolutely declined to take anything.
“Oh, yes,” nodded Browning. “They say he never drinks. That’s how he keeps himself in such fine condition all the time. He will not smoke, either, and he takes his exercise regularly. He is really a remarkable freshie.”
Arrangements were then made that a cab should be brought to the corner near Billy’s, where the driver should remain, apparently waiting for somebody.
It was known to be quite useless to attempt to decoy Merriwell out, so dependence must be placed on chance. If he came out with no more than one or two companions his name was “mud,” according to the assembled sophs.
Arrangements were made to bind handkerchiefs over their faces to the eyes, so they would be partly disguised. Some of them turned their coats wrong side out, and some resorted to other means of disguising themselves.
Then they waited patiently.
It was not so very long before Ditson came out in a breathless hurry. He signaled, and they called him. As he hastened up he panted:
“Merriwell is coming right out, fellows! Be ready for him!”
The sophomores knew which way Frank was likely to go after leaving Billy’s, and they lay in wait at a convenient spot.
“Is he alone?” eagerly asked Puss Parker.
“No.”
“Who is with him?”
“Rattleton.”
“Any others?”
“Not likely.”
“Good! Take a tumble to yourself and skip.”
Ditson did so.
“Now, fellows,” hurriedly said Browning, “be ready for a struggle. Remember that Merriwell is a scrapper and he is likely to resist. We must take him completely by surprise. Get back and lay quiet till I give the signal.”
They did as directed, and as they were in a dark corner, there was not much danger that they would be seen till they were ready to light on their game.
Footsteps were heard.
“Here he comes!”
Browning peered out, and two figures were seen approaching.
“How many?” anxiously whispered Tad Horner, quivering with anxiety.
“Two. They are easy. Ready for the rush.”
The sophomores crouched like savage warriors in ambush.
Merriwell’s peculiar, pleasant laugh was heard as the two unsuspecting freshmen approached.
Rattleton was talking, and, as usual, he was twisting his expression in his haste to say the things which flashed through his head.
“It doesn’t make a dit of bifference if we haven’t proved anything against him, I say Ditson can’t be trusted. He’s got a mooked crug–I mean a crooked mug.”
“Oh, don’t be too hard on the fellow till you know something for sure,” advised Merriwell. “I will confess that I do not like him, but–“
There was a sudden rush of dark figures out of the shadows, and the two freshmen were clutched. Coats were flung over their heads and they were crashed to the ground.
Although taken by surprise, both lads struggled.
In the suddenness of the rush Browning had made a mistake and flung himself on Rattleton, while he had intended to grasp Merriwell. The coat being cast over the head of the lad prevented him from discovering his mistake.
Punch Swallows and Andy Emery were devoting themselves to Merriwell, and it was their first impression that they had tackled Rattleton.
For an instant it seemed that the trick had worked to perfection, and the freshmen had been made captives easily.
Then came a surprise.
Swallows and Emery were unable to hold their man down. He tore off the smothering coat and rose with them, despite all they could do. They cried out for help:
“Give us a hand, fellows! He’s like an eel! Quick!”
Some of the sophs had been unable to render much assistance, and they now did their best to aid Swallows and Emery. In their haste to do something they seemed to get in the way of each other.
“Well, I don’t know–I don’t know!” laughed a familiar voice, and the freshman gave Swallows a snap that lifted him off his feet and cast him into the stomach of another fellow, who received such a blow from Punch’s head that the wind was knocked out of him in a moment.
“We’ll have to see about this,” said the freshman as he cracked Emery on the jaw and broke his hold.
“Great smoke! It’s Merriwell!” gurgled Emery as he reeled back.
“Onto him, fellows!” urged a soph, and Frank suddenly found six or seven of the crowd were at him.
Just how he did it no one could tell, but he broke straight through the crowd and in another moment was rushing back toward Billy’s, shouting:
“Lambda Chi! Lambda Chi!”
It was useless to try to follow him, as all quickly saw.
In the meantime Rattleton had been cornered, and the disappointed sophs resolved to escape with him. They lifted him and made a rush for the cab. He was bundled in, and away went the cab.
Frank rushed into Billy’s and gave the alarm. He was out again in a very few seconds, with a crowd of excited freshmen at his heels; but when they came to look for the sophomores and Rattleton they found nothing.
“Confound it!” exclaimed Frank in dismay. “How could they get him away so quick? I can’t understand it.”
The freshmen searched, but they found nothing to reward them. Rattleton was in the toils of the enemy, and the would-be rescuers were given no opportunity to rescue him.
Then Merriwell blamed himself for leaving his roommate at all. But Billy’s had been so near and his chance with his many assailants had seemed so slim that he had done what seemed the right thing to do on the spur of the moment. He had not fancied that the sophomores would be able to get Harry away before he could arouse the freshmen and bring them to the rescue.
“Poor Harry! I wonder what they will do with him?” Frank speculated.
“Oh, they won’t do a thing with him!” gurgled Bandy Robinson.
“How did it happen, anyway?” asked Roland Ditson, who had joined the freshmen after the affair was over.
He tried to appear innocent and filled with wonder and curiosity, but his unpopularity was apparent from the fact that nobody paid enough attention to him to answer his question.
Frank, however, found it necessary to tell his companions all about the assault, and Ditson pretended to listen with interest, as if he had known nothing of the affair.
The freshmen went back to Billy’s and held a council. It was decided to divide into squads and make an attempt to find out where Harry had been taken.
This was done, but it proved without result, and not far from midnight all the freshmen who had been there at the time of the capture, and many others, were again gathered at Billy’s. They were quite excited over the affair, and it seemed that the beer they had absorbed had gone to the heads of some of them.
In the midst of an excited discussion the door burst open, and a most grotesque-looking figure staggered into the room. It was a person who was stripped to the waist and painted and adorned like a redskin, his face striped with red and white and yellow, his hair stuck full of feathers, and his body decorated with what seemed to be tattooing.
“Bive me a gear–I mean give me a beer!” gasped that fantastic individual. “I am nearly dead!”
“It’s Rattleton!” shouted the freshmen.
They crowded around him.
“Well, say, you are a bird!” cried Lucy Little, whose right name was Lewis Little.
“A regular bird of paradise,” chuckled Bandy Robinson.
“Where are those fellows?” demanded Frank Merriwell. “Where did they leave you? Tell me, old man.”
“At the door,” faintly replied Rattleton as he reached for a mug of beer which some one held toward him. “They took me right up to the door and made me come in here.”
“Out!” shouted Frank–“out and after them! Capture one of them if possible! We want to even this thing up.”
Out they rushed, but once more the crafty sophomores had vanished, and not one of them was to be found.
The freshmen went back and listened to Harry’s story. He told how he had been blindfolded and taken somewhere, he did not know where. There they had kept him while his friends were searching. When there was no danger that the freshmen would discover them, they set out to have fun with Rattleton.
“Say, Merry, old man,” said Harry, “I know Browning was the leader of this job, although he was disguised. They seemed to feel pretty bad because you got away. They got twisted–took me for you at first, and by the time they discovered their mistake you were knocking them around like tenpins. One chap insists you broke his jaw.”
“Well, I am glad I did that much. I didn’t mean to leave you, Harry. Billy’s was so near I thought I could get the boys out and rescue you before they could carry you off. I couldn’t rescue you alone, so I ran here to stir up the fellows.”
“That was right. I was glad you got away. They were laying for you. They told me so.”
“Well, come back, and we’ll wash this stuff off you.”
“I don’t know as you can do it.”
“Eh? Why not?”
“They said it was put on to stay a while. They told me we were so fond of playing the noble red man’s part that they would fix me so I could play it for a week or two. Some of them advised me to use sand to scrub myself with if I hoped to get the paint off.”
“Oh, that must be all a bluff. It will come off easy enough if a little cocoa butter is used on it. Here, somebody run out to a drug store and get some cocoa butter.”
After they had worked about fifteen minutes they looked at each other in dismay, for they had scarcely been able to start the paint, and it become plain that cocoa butter, soap and water would not take it off.
“Didn’t I tell you?” murmured Harry, sorrowfully. “I’m done for! I’ll never be able to get it off! I’ll have to go out West and live with the Sioux! If I do I’ll take along the scalps of a few sophomores!”
They continued to work on him for nearly an hour, but were unable to get off more than a certain portion of the paint. Harry was still grotesquely decorated when the boys arrived at the conclusion that further scrubbing with the materials at hand was useless.
Then Frank went out and rang up a druggist who had gone to bed, for it was after midnight. He told the man the sort of scrape his friend was in and offered the druggist inducements to give him something to remove the paint.
The druggist said it could not be paint, but must be some sort of staining, and he gave Frank a preparation.
Frank went back and tried the stuff on Harry. It removed a certain amount of the stain, but did not remove it all.
At last, being thoroughly worn out, Rattleton said:
“I’ll give it up for to-night, fellows. Perhaps I’ll be able to get the rest off in the morning. I’ll poultice my face and neck. But you’ll have to watch out, Frank. They say they will use you worse than this when they get hold of you.”
For the time the sophomores seemed to have the best of the game.
CHAPTER XII.
FRESHMAN AGAINST SOPHOMORE.
On the following morning a large piece of cardboard Swung from the door of Merriwell and Rattleton’s room in Mrs. Harrington’s boarding house. On the cardboard was this inscription:
“Good-morning!
Have you used
Soap?”
Harry was up at an early hour industriously scrubbing away. He succeeded fairly well, but despite his utmost efforts the coloring refused to come off entirely.
And it was absolutely necessary that he should attend chapel.
On their way to chapel Frank and Harry came face to face with Professor Such, who peered at them sharply and said:
“Good-morning, gentlemen.”
“Good-morning, professor,” returned the boys.
Harry tried to keep behind Frank, so that his face would not be noticed. The professor was nearsighted, but he immediately noted Rattleton’s queer actions, and he placed himself in front of the boys, adjusting his spectacles.
“Hang his curiosity!” muttered Harry in disgust.
“Eh?” said the professor, scratching his chin with one finger and peering keenly at Harry. “Did you speak, sir?”
“Yes, sir–I mean no, sir,” spluttered Harry, while Frank stepped aside and stood laughing silently to himself.
“I thought you did. Er–what’s the matter with your face, young man?”
“That’s the result of my last attack of chilblains,” said Harry, desperately. “They hent to my wed–I mean they went to my head.”
“Eh?”
The professor seemed to doubt if he had heard correctly, while Merriwell nearly exploded.
Rattleton looked frightened when he came to think what he had said. He felt like taking to his heels and running for his life.
“Chilblains, sir?” came severely from Professor Such. “Sir–sir, do not attempt to be facetious with me! You will regret it if you do!”
Cold sweat started out on Harry’s forehead, and he looked appealingly toward his companion; but Frank had turned away to conceal his merriment.
“I–I don’t think I–I understood your–your question,” stammered Harry. “I’m a little heard of haring–I mean hard of hearing.”
“I asked you what was the matter with your face, sir.”
“Oh, my face! Ha! ha! He! he! I thought you said something about my pace, because I was walking so slowly. That made me fancy you were interested to know what ails my feet. Excuse me! I beg your pardon, professor!”
“Hum!” coughed the professor, again scratching his chin with the tip of his finger, while he peered through his spectacles, plainly still somewhat suspicious. “It is rather remarkable that you should get things mixed in such a manner.”
“I am not feeling well, professor, not at all.”
And it was apparent to Frank that Harry told the truth.
“You are not looking well,” came somewhat sarcastically from Professor Such’s lips. “Your countenance has a strangely mottled hue.”
“It comes from Injun jestion,” explained Merriwell, coming to his roommate’s relief.
“Eh? From what, sir.”
“From indigestion,” said Frank, very soberly. “He is much troubled that way.”
“Much troubled! much troubled!” exclaimed the professor, whose ear had been offended and who immediately turned his attention on Frank. “I advise you to be somewhat more choice and careful of your language, young man. There is a right and a wrong use of words.”
Just then the chapel bell clanged, and the professor exclaimed:
“Bless me! we’ll be late if we’re not careful!”
Away he hurried.
Frank and Harry followed him, and as they went along Harry expressed his feelings forcibly and violently.
“How dare you howl before me?” laughed Frank.
“Excuse me,” said Rattleton. “I didn’t know you wanted to howl first.”
At chapel Harry felt that the eyes of everybody were upon him. He kept one hand up to his face as much as possible, but he saw the sophomores smiling covertly and winking among themselves. He longed to get even; that was his one burning ambition and desire.
When the service was over the freshmen stood and bowed to the faculty as they passed out. They were supposed to keep bowing to the seniors, juniors and sophomores, but that custom had long been a dead letter at Yale. The freshmen had become too independent for such a thing.
However, they stood and saw the upper classmen go past, and it seemed to poor Harry that every fellow stared at him and grinned. The sophs added to his misery and anger by winking at him, and Tad Horner ventured to go through a swift pantomime of taking a scalp.
“Oh, I am liable to have yours yet,” thought Harry.
On their way back to their rooms Harry and Frank were greeted by all sorts of calls and persiflage from the sophomores, who had gathered in knots to watch them pass.
This sort of chaffing gave Rattleton “that tired feeling,” as he expressed it, and by the time they reached their room he was in a desperate mood.
“I’ll get even!” he vowed, fiercely. “I’ll do it.”
“Go ahead–you can do it,” laughed Frank. “You can do anybody.”
Then Harry flung a book at him, which Frank skillfully caught and returned with the utmost politeness.
At breakfast Rattleton was chafed by the freshmen, and he boiled more than ever.
“Somebody has my coat, vest, hat, shirt and undershirt,” he said as he thought the affair over. “I had to go home in a linen duster which I got down to Billy’s last night. I don’t care so much for the clothes I lost, but I’d like to know who has ’em. I’d sue him!”
But after breakfast an expressman appeared with a bundle for Rattleton, and in the bundle were the missing articles.
The sophomores were jubilant, and they taunted the freshmen. They said the fate that had befallen Rattleton was simply a warning. It was nothing beside what might happen.
For the time the freshmen were forced to remain silent, but they felt that the sophomores had not evened up matters by any means. And the affair would not be dropped.
During the afternoon of that day it rained for at least two hours, and it did not clear up and let the sun out, so there was plenty of dirt and mud at nightfall.
Then it was that Rattleton some way found out that a number of sophomores who dined at a club on York Street were going to attend a party that evening. It was to be a swell affair on Temple Street, and the sophs were certain to wear their dress suits.
“They’ll din for dresser–I mean dress for dinner,” spluttered Harry as he was telling Frank. “It’s certain they’ll go directly from dinner to the party.”
“Well, what has worked its way into your head?”
“A scheme.”
“Give it to us.”
“We’ll be ready for ’em when they come from dinner, and we’ll give ’em a rush. They’re not likely to be in any condition to attend a party after we are through with them. What do you say, old man? What do you think of it?”
“We are likely to get enough of rushing in the annual rush, but I’m with you if you want to carry this job through.”
“All right, then, we’ll do it. We’ll give those sophs a warm time. I have been grouchy all day, but I begin to feel better now.”
So Frank and Harry communicated the plan to their friends, and a party gathered in their room immediately after supper.
Dismal Jones was out as a scout, and he had agreed to let them know when the sophomores left their club. They were inclined to take much more time in dining than the freshmen.
Pretty soon Jones came racing up the stairs and burst into the room.
“Come on, fellows!” he cried. “The sophs are leaving their club, and there’s lots of ’em wearing dress suits. We’ll have a picnic with ’em!”
Dismal seldom got excited, but now he was quite aroused.
The freshmen caught up their caps and hurried downstairs. They were soon on the street, and they hastened to meet their natural enemies.
The sophomores had formed by twos, with Browning and Emery in advance. It was true that many of them were in dress suits, and they were not a little disturbed when they saw the solid body of freshmen coming swiftly to meet them.
To pass on the right the sophomores were entitled to the inside of the sidewalk, and although they would have given much to avoid the encounter, they formed solidly and prepared to defend their rights.
The freshmen also formed in a compact mass, and came on with a rush, keeping hard up against the wall.
“Turn to the right! Turn to the right!”
The sophomores uttered the cry as they hugged the wall on the inside.
“Sweep ’em off! Sweep ’em off!”
That was the cry that came from the determined freshmen.
“Hold on! hold on!” ordered Browning. “There is a law for this!”
“Then you will have to produce officers to enforce it,” laughed Frank Merriwell.
“But there is a regular time for rushing.”
“This is not a regular rush, so we don’t mind.”
“But you fellows have no right to do it!”
“Is that so?” was the derisive retort. “Hear the sophs squeal fellows! Oh, my! but this is funny!”
“Stop a minute and we will argue this matter, freshies,” invited Browning, who was thoroughly disgusted over the prospect.
Then the whole crowd of freshmen roared with laughter.
“Hear the baby cry!” they shouted. “He is begging! Ha! ha! ha!”
Browning’s face was crimson with anger and confusion.
“You are an insolent lot of young ruffians!” he snapped, “and Merriwell is the biggest ruffian of you all!”
“Back it up! back it up!”
“I can!”
“Why don’t you?”
“I will when the right time comes.”
“What’s the matter with this for the right time?”
“No! no! Turn to the right and let us pass now. We will see you again.”
“We see you now, and we are going to raise you the limit.”
The sophomores held a hurried consultation, and then Browning said:
“If you fellows will wait till we go change our clothes we’ll come out and give you as warm a time as you want.”
“All right, we will wait.”
“Then let us pass.”
“We’ll do that, but you will have to pass on the outside.”
That was something the sophomores could not do without yielding to the freshmen, and they felt that they had rather die than yield unless compelled to do so.
The sophomores stormed and scolded, and the freshmen, who outnumbered them, laughed and flung back taunts.
Then the sophomores determined on a quick, sudden rush, but it happened that the freshmen had decided on a rush at the same moment, and the two bodies of lads plunged forward as if at one signal.
“‘Umpty-eight! ‘Umpty-eight!” yelled the freshmen.
“‘Umpty-seven! ‘Umpty-seven!” shouted the sophomores.
Crash! They met!
Then there occurred one of the liveliest struggles of the season up to that date. Each side did its best to force the other off the sidewalk, and for some moments they swayed and surged in one spot.
At last the superior weight of the freshmen began to tell, and the sophomores were slowly swept backward, contending every inch.
Feeling that they must be crowded to the outside, Browning gave the signal for them to break and make it a hand-to-hand affair. Then he grappled with Merriwell.
Frank was ready, and he willingly left the line as the freshmen forged onward. He was anxious for an opportunity of seeing just what sort of stuff the king of the sophomores was made of, and this was his chance.
Finding that they could not hold the freshmen back, the sophs had each singled out a man, and the contest became hand to hand.
In a few moments several parties were down, and some of them rolled from the sidewalk into the street.
Now that they had been forced to do battle, the sophs were desperate, and they sailed in like a lot of tigers.
Rattleton found himself pitted against Andy Emery, and Emery had the reputation of being as full of grit as a bulldog. He was on the ‘Varsity crew, and he had a back and shoulders which were the admiration of those who had seen him strip to the buff.
Emery had a quick temper and a strong arm. He grappled with Harry, lifted him off his feet and tried to throw him, but the freshman came down on his feet like a cat.
A second later Emery was astonished to feel his own feet flung into the air, and he could not help falling, but he clung to his antagonist and they went down together.
Over and over they rolled, each striving to get on top. They were soon off the sidewalk and into the street.
Emery was furious, for he felt that his dress suit was the same as ruined, and he uttered some very savage language.
“That’s right,” chuckled Harry. “Cuss a little–it may help you.”
It seemed to, for Emery finally succeeded in getting astride Rattleton and holding him down for a few moments. He was soon pulled off by another freshman, and the merry war went on.
Little Tad Horner was right in the hottest scrimmage, and he proved formidable for the freshmen, despite his size. He had a way of darting under them and tripping them up, then getting away before he could be grappled.
Dismal Jones was quoting Scripture and doing his best to make himself felt by the sophomores. Jones was a character. His parents were “shouting Methodists,” and they intended him for the ministry. He had a long, sad face, but he was full of deviltry, and it was very seldom that the freshmen entered into any affair against the sophomores that he was not on hand and interested.
“Lay on and spare not!” he cried, after the style of a camp-meeting revivalist. “If the wicked entice thee, consent thou not. Get behind me, Satan! Brothers, oh, my dear brothers! it makes my heart sad and weary to see so much wicked strife and contention.”
Punch Swallows, the red-headed soph, found himself pitted against Lucy Little. Despite his name, Little was not a “sissy,” and he was no mean antagonist, as Punch found out. It was nip and tuck between them, and neither seemed to have the best of it.
Some of the sophs were able to down their men, but they were so outnumbered by the freshmen that they could not hold an advantage very long.
The struggle between Browning and Merriwell waxed furious. The big sophomore exerted himself to his utmost, and he found that it was necessary that he should do so if he had any thought of holding his own with the freshman leader.
Frank knew all the time that he was pitted against a hard man, and so his muscles were strained and his nerves were taut.
“Now, fresh, we’ll see what we can do for you,” Browning said, as he made a mighty effort to land Frank on his back.
“You are very kind,” laughed Merriwell. “I will not forget your kindness.”
“You are not the only one,” panted Browning. “There are others.”