THE GREETING AT THE STATION.
Of course, the expected arrival of the Yale baseball-team brought out a
crowd to see the team come in. The fact that Frank Merriwell, the model
young American, and the pride of the youth of the whole country, was
captain of the Yale nine, had something to do with the gathering of a
throng of young men at the station-platform. The students from the
college had come down to greet the Yale men, and there was more or less
excitement as the train drew up at the station.
Nor were the colors of Virginia the only ones to be seen in the
gathering at the station. One freckle-faced, but athletic-appearing,
youngster, whose clothes were somewhat shabby, had somehow procured a
knot of dark-blue ribbon, which he wore conspicuously.
“Say, Jimmy,” called another boy, as a crowd of youngsters gathered
round the wearer of the blue, “what do you think you’re doing, anyhow?
What’s them colors ye’re wearin’?”
“Them’s Yale colors,” was the proud and defiant reply. “What have you
got to say about it, Scrubby Watson?”
“We want to know what you’re wearin’ them for! Ain’t you for the home
team?”
“Well, any other time I am, but not to-day.”
“Why not?”
“Because the Yale nine is run by Frank Merriwell, and I’m for him first,
last, and all the time. He’s the boss jim-dandy, and don’t you forget
it! Why, I’ll bet a thousand dollars that he just wipes up the earth
with U. V. to-day. There ain’t anybody can beat him, and don’t you
forget that, either!”
“Go on! He’s pretty good, but Paragon will show him some tricks to-day.
You’re a traitor, else you wouldn’t be wearin’ that ribbon.”
“You’re a big fibber, Scrub! I’ve always been for Frank Merriwell, and
I’d be a traitor to him if I went back on him to-day. His friends never
go back on him!”
“Well, I guess you’ve worn that long enough.”
Then the boy called Watson suddenly snatched the ribbon from the ragged
coat of the other lad. A moment later Watson got it good and hard on the
point of the jaw, and he went down with a thud.
“That’s one of Frank Merriwell’s settlers,” declared Jimmy, as he
snatched up the ribbon. “I read all about how he did it, an’ I’m willing
to give any of you other fellers some of the same. Come on, if you want
it.”
But by this time the train had come to a stop, and the Virginia students
gave a cheer on catching sight of the Yale men. Instantly every lad was
pushing and crowding in a mad endeavor to get nearer the car, the
trouble between Watson and Jimmy being forgotten.
The Yale men were a lusty-looking set of fellows as they descended from
the car. The crowd swayed and pushed and commented.
“There’s Browning—the big fellow!”
“Who’s that farmerish-looking fellow? Can he play ball?”
“Where is Merriwell?”
“That big fellow with the light hair must be Merriwell.”
“No, that’s Starbright, the freshman who made such a football record
last fall.”
“Where’s Merriwell?”
“Who’s that black-eyed chap? He looks as if he might sprint.”
“That’s Morgan. He’s a freshman, but he was on the eleven last fall.”
“Where’s Merriwell?”
“Here he comes! That’s Frank Merriwell! Hurrah for Merriwell!”
“Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!” roared the crowd.
A look of dismay came to the handsome face of the captain of the Yale
nine as the crowd broke into a great cheer when he appeared on the
platform of the car.
The little fellow with the freckled face and the knot of dark-blue
ribbon pinned on his jacket shinned to the shoulders of a man and
shrieked:
“There he is! There he is! There he is! That’s Frank Merriwell, the
greatest pitcher that ever lived! Hoop-ee! Yee! Hoo-ray!”
Frank saw this excited youthful admirer, whose freckled face fairly
gleamed with joyous admiration, and he was forced to laugh outright.
That laugh won to Merriwell many friends in the crowd. Indeed, there was
something so magnetic and winning about this handsome youth that his
mere appearance on the platform of the car was enough to make him
friends.
Many in the crowd had heard of Frank and conceived a prejudice against
him, fancying him a college youth with a swelled head, but even these
were struck by his handsome proportions, his graceful, muscular figure,
his fine head and that look of clean manliness which stamped him as a
fellow with lofty thoughts and ambitions.
No one could mistake any other for Frank now that Frank had appeared.
The word “leader” was written all over him. And yet, remarkable to say,
there was not about him the least suggestion of conceit. To be sure, he
regarded himself with a certain amount of self-esteem, and it is
requisite that any man should so look upon himself if he wishes to win
the esteem of others. But the fact that his appearance in any place
should create so much excitement and enthusiasm was something he could
not understand, and he never ceased wondering over it. It seemed quite
inexplicable, for he could not believe that he had ever done anything
extraordinary enough to make himself thus well known and admired.
As Frank descended the car-steps he was met by Phil Drake, the captain
of the U. V. nine, who grasped his hand, uttering some words of welcome.
But Merry looked round for the little freckled fellow who had uttered
such a joyous shriek on seeing him. He found the boy in the clutch of
the man upon whose shoulders he had perched, and the man was shaking him
roughly, growling:
“Climb me for a tree, will yo’? I’ll teach yo’ better manners, yo’
brat!”
With a sweep of his arm, Frank thrust aside all who stood between him
and the man. With a stride he was at the man’s side. Quick and firm was
his grasp on the man’s arm.
“Don’t hurt that boy! Stop it, sir!”
With a snarl, the man whirled and——
Jack Cunningham and Frank Merriwell were face to face!