KING JIMMY THE FIRST.
“Mind yoah business, suh! The youngster climbed all over me, an’ I’m
goin’ to——”
“I wouldn’t hurt him, if I were you. He didn’t mean any harm.”
Frank spoke quietly, softly, smoothly, looking into the fierce eyes of
the ruffian.
“That settles it!” breathed the delighted boy. “Now I reckon you’ll let
me go! If you don’t, Frank Merriwell will do something to you!”
“Frank Merriwell?”
Cunningham repeated the name, his manner changing.
“Are you Frank Merriwell?”
“Yes.”
“An’ he can wallop the stuffing out of two of you, if you are big and do
chew tobacco!” instantly declared the boy. “If you don’t think he can,
just give him a chance. Hit me a good cuff side of the head, and I’ll
bet a hundred dollars he’ll throw you clean over the train!”
Frank could not resist his laughter at this declaration of the
freckle-faced fellow. Cunningham laughed, also.
“Haw! haw!” he roared. “’Pears to me the youngster is mightily stuck on
yo’, mister.”
“Stuck on him!” burst from Jimmy. “You can bet your life I am! He’s made
himself what he is, the boss athlete of the United States, and I’m going
to be just as much like him as I can. I know some other fellows that
feel the same way about it, too.”
“Why, yo’ don’t s’pose he could wallop me, do yo’, boy?”
“Don’t I! Say, he can do it with one hand tied behind him, for he’s
Frank Merriwell.”
“But he ain’t got any whiskers.”
“He don’t need ’em; he’s got muscle, and he knows just how to use it.”
“Haw! haw!” roared Cunningham again. “It sure makes me laff at the idea,
an’ feelin’ tickled so I can’t hit yo’, so I’ll let yo’ go.”
The boy seemed disappointed.
“I’d just like to see what Frank Merriwell would done to you if you had
basted me again,” he sighed. “Won’t you please hit me a good one?”
At this Cunningham roared once more, slapping his thigh.
“Why, yo’re a queer little staver!” he said, with a great show of good
nature. “Yo’ want to get me inter trouble, but I refuse to be caught.”
“Well, it’s a mighty good thing for you that you had sense enough to
refuse,” nodded Jimmy.
The crowd all about was laughing, and somebody cried:
“Those are the kind of admirers you have, Merriwell.”
Then Frank reached down, grasped the boy, and swung him lightly up to
his shoulder.
“And I am proud to have such admirers,” he gravely declared, a look of
earnestness on his face. “I had rather have the love and admiration of
the boys of this nation than all the wealth of the Klondike! This boy
says he wants to grow up and be like me and that there are others who
have the same desire. Those words will serve to make me still more
careful in regard to my actions, for more than ever I realize that the
example of every man affects others.”
The crowd was suddenly silent. From some other these words might have
made no impression, or might have sounded stilted and egotistical; from
the lips of this splendid specimen of perfect manhood they made a deep
and lasting impression on many who heard them.
“My boy,” said Merry, “what is your name?”
“James Lee, sir; usually called Jimmy for short.”
“Well, James Lee, I thank you for your great faith in my prowess, but
I’m glad you did not involve me in a fight, for I dislike fighting more
than anything else—unless it is lying and cheating, and things of that
sort. I prefer a fighter to a liar any day.”
“I don’t s’pose you ever told a lie in your life?”
Frank laughed again.
“I fear I have,” he confessed. “I am not a second George Washington in
that respect, but I hope I have never told a malicious or harmful lie,
and I hope I may never again tell a lie of any sort. I see you are
wearing our colors to-day. Do you live here?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you are for Yale?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why?”
“Because you are captain of the Yale team, and I know U. V. can’t beat
you!”
“Hooray for Jimmy Lee!” roared Bruce Browning, aroused by the words of
the boy.
Then from those Yale men rose a cheer, to the end of which was tacked
the name of Jimmy Lee.
And Jimmy—well, you should have seen him! He was the happiest youngster
in all Virginia. He tingled from his head to his heels. His eyes shone
and his freckled face gleamed. These Yale men, these handsome, athletic
fellows, these followers of Frank Merriwell, were cheering for him! Why
shouldn’t he be happy? Why shouldn’t he thrill with unspeakable delight?
And back at a distance stood Scrubby Watson and his followers, looking
on in unspeakable envy. Was this little Jimmy Lee, whom they had often
bullied? They had been astounded when he dared hit Watson, the king-pin
of their set, for that showed a great change had come over Jimmy. He had
been following in the footsteps of Frank Merriwell, and the result was a
shock to them. But now—well, now he would be a god among them for some
time to come! Watson was deposed; the mighty had fallen; the idol of the
past was dust. Up with the new king! All hail King Jimmy, the “man” who
had sat upon Frank Merriwell’s shoulder while the Yale team cheered for
him!
Jimmy looked about and saw them and smiled upon them. Forgotten was his
shabby clothes, his ragged jacket, and patched trousers. He was clothed
in robes of royal dignity now. Oh, never would he forget that day as
long as he lived. It would always remain the proudest day of his life.
He would tell his children and his grandchildren how, when he was a
little boy, he had sat upon the shoulder of the great Frank Merriwell
while the Yale ball-team had cheered for him! That was glory enough to
last a lifetime!
And certain it is that this little event of that day was to have an
influence on Jimmy’s entire life. It was to make him a more
self-respecting man; it was to give him new and greater ambitions; it
was to urge him onward and upward.
Yes, King Jimmy had risen, and it was not likely that he would be
deposed. He had been working for some time to develop himself and
emulate Frank Merriwell; he would work harder now. He would become a
leader among the smaller boys in athletic sports and games, for the man
who had sat upon Frank Merriwell’s shoulder must know how to tell them
the proper way to develop their muscles! And they would follow in his
lead, all of them taking new interest in the work of developing their
bodies—the work that is the greatest and happiest play for a boy.
Thus the little event there at the station-platform had wrought a vast
amount of good in that handsome Virginia town. Thus it was that the
influence of Frank Merriwell spread and broadened so that in after-years
it must astound Frank himself.
“Well, well, well!” cried Jack Cunningham. “I judge it ain’t often a kid
like you gets cheered in that way.”
Jack Ready, with apple cheeks aglow, pranced forward and posed before
Jimmy.
“Ah-ha!” cried the queer fellow, “I salute you, James the First of
Charlottesville. May your power never wane, and may your subjects be as
numerous as your freckles. James, you have a level head on your youthful
shoulders, and I will give you the great and exceeding honor of gently
touching my lily-white hand.”
Then he grasped Jimmy’s hand and shook it vigorously.
Other Yale men followed Jack’s example, so that Jimmy received a grand
greeting as he sat there upon the shoulder of the young American he
admired more than any other living human being. As they pressed forward
to shake Jimmy’s hand the Yale men made jolly remarks and the crowd in
the background began to cheer.
Why, these Yale chaps were all right! Nothing rowdyish about them! Were
they fair samples of what physical training made young men? Then great
was physical training. They had life and spirit; their eyes were bright
and their cheeks glowed. There could be no mistaking that clear eye and
healthy cheek; alcoholic drink had nothing whatever to do with that. The
color of the cheek was not the congested flesh of false stimulation; it
was the true tint of health which every youth should have.
“See Jimmy!” gasped the former followers of Watson.
“They’re shakin’ hands with him!”
“My goodness, fellers, don’t you wish you was him!”
“Settin’ up there on Frank Merriwell’s shoulder——”
“And shakin’ hands with the Yale ball-team!”
“O-o-o-oh!”
And “O-o-o-oh!” groaned Watson himself, fairly green with envy.
“I’d like to lick him!” thought Watson. Then he put his hand to his jaw
and mentally added: “But he can hit like thunder! I never s’posed he
could slug that way. Don’t know as I could lick him if I tried.”
You couldn’t, Watson; you’ve lost confidence in yourself, and your day
has passed, the sun of your glory has set to rise no more. You are
deposed, Watson, and all your feeble struggles will make no difference
now. King Jimmy the First is on the throne!
“Say, this is a right good lot of fun,” put in Jack Cunningham; “but if
you’re Frank Merriwell, you’re the very feller I’m lookin’ for.”
“Looking for me?” asked Frank.
“Yes.”
“All right; I’ll give you my attention in a minute. Jimmy, I want that
knot of blue ribbon. I believe it will be a mascot for me if I wear it
to-day, and I’ll give it back to you to-night.”
Off came the knot of ribbon and Jimmy handed it over to Frank.
“I don’t want it back,” he declared. “Keep it, won’t you, sir?”
Frank put him down.
“Yes,” he said, “I’ll keep it; but how can I pay you for it? If there is
anything——”
“I don’t want pay; but I’d like to have something to remember you
by—anything you’ll give me.”
Frank pinned Jimmy’s ribbon to his breast, while Jimmy looked on with
mist-dimmed eyes, feeling so proud that it did not seem that there was
room enough in his breast for his swelling heart.
Then Merry felt in his pockets for something. He paused and thought a
moment. All at once it came to him, and he quickly found a small ribbon
badge, having crossed batsticks at the top, a bit of blue with a white Y
upon it, and a silver baseball dangling at the bottom.
How Jimmy’s eyes danced when he saw that! He almost shouted for joy.
Then came the apprehension that Frank did not really and truly mean to
give it to him, and his heart stood still in anxious dread.
“Will that do?” Merry asked.
“Will it?” gasped Jimmy. “Will it do! Just ask me! Oh, say! I’ll keep it
just as long as I live!”
Then Frank stooped and pinned it over the heart of the happiest and
proudest boy south of Mason and Dixon’s line.