THE TEMPTER AND THE TRAITOR.
Frank Merriwell’s energy and the amount of work he was able to
accomplish astonished every one. It seemed that he must have his hands
pretty full as captain of the ball-team, but he found time to coach the
freshmen, who relied on him far more than they did on any one else.
It had been predicted that Merriwell would remove Knight from the boat
and put a lighter man in his place, and there was no little surprise
when he failed to do so.
As far as possible, Frank’s work with the freshmen was carried on
privately. It seemed too early to get out on the harbor at night, but
the weather came on warm and delightful, which gave the four crews the
opportunity they desired.
The freshmen were the first to take advantage of a warm evening, and,
under cover of darkness, they put in an hour of hard work.
The next day Orson Arnold withdrew from the freshman crew, and Ben
Snodgrass took himself out of the sophomore eight. Frank Merriwell was
responsible for both resignations.
Merry was a great character-reader, and somehow he had suspected Arnold
the first time he talked with the fellow. Arnold was one who made a
great pretense of frankness and honesty, and he was forever calling
attention to these traits of character, which he wished people to
suppose he possessed. He had a way of telling how much he despised
deceit, and Frank soon decided that the fellow was a bluffer and needed
watching.
Then, without delay, he had set Jim Hooker to watching the suspect.
Ordinarily, Hooker would not have relished the job, for he remembered
how he had once been suspected and spied upon, but he was ready to do
anything for Merriwell.
Hooker proved a good detective. He soon brought Merriwell information
that made Frank look both grim and regretful.
“I thought it,” said Merry; “but I hoped I was wrong.”
“They meet in the old back room in Jackson’s,” said Hooker. “They do not
choose to be seen together, you know, for that would create comment.
Freshmen and sophomores do not become chums, especially if they belong
to rival class crews.”
“Jackson keeps a bad place,” said Frank. “He should not be permitted in
the city. I believe more crooked work has been planned in his joint than
in any other place in New Haven, and I’m sorry to say that Yale men have
been in many of the plots.”
“Jackson knows you?”
Frank flushed a little, but promptly said:
“Yes, he knows me. I used to wander in there sometimes. I have found it
necessary to go there in search of friends, and I’ve had one or two
little encounters there. I once threatened Jackson with police
investigation if he did not refuse to let certain men play cards for
money in that famous little back room of his. I had him on his knees
before I was done with him, and he’s been very respectful since. He
always lifts his hat to me on the street, even though I may not choose
to speak.”
“Then you have a grip on him?”
“Not now, I fancy.”
“Still, you might go there and have your way to a certain extent.”
“Perhaps so.”
“Then I’ll find out the time, and you may see what you can do.”
The night the freshmen took their men on the harbor, Orson Arnold and
Ben Snodgrass met in the little back room at Jackson’s. They sneaked
into the place by the side door, taking care not to be seen, for their
days on their respective crews would terminate if they were known to
frequent that resort.
Arnold was a fellow with a fine pair of shoulders, coal-black hair, and
eyes that seldom looked any one squarely in the face. That is, they
seldom looked higher than the chin of another. He had a way of looking
at the chin of any person with whom he was talking, but he looked higher
only for instants. He was not a bad-looking chap, and he considered
himself something of a lady’s man, and it was his ambition to cut a
figure at Yale. His ambition was altogether beyond his means, as his
grandmother was sending him to college, and she had limited him to an
allowance, having repeatedly warned him that overstepping that allowance
meant the termination of his college-course.
Snodgrass had muscular arms and a broad back, but his chest was not
properly developed. His shoulders seemed burdened by too much muscle,
and already they were beginning to roll inward somewhat. He was a
rowing-crank. Since the day he entered Yale he had done nothing but row,
row, row. It was his one engrossing ambition to finally make the
varsity. Thus far he had succeeded only in getting onto the sophomore
eight. In his first year he had not found a place in the freshman boat.
The fellow craved attention and admiration, and he was determined that
the sophomore crew should attract attention this year by defeating the
freshmen. Almost always the freshmen were the winners in the class races
at Lake Whitney, being given far greater attention than the sophomores;
but this year Snodgrass had sworn to himself that there should be a
change about of the usual order of things. If the sophs won, attention
would be drawn to their men, and that might mean that he, Snodgrass,
would be observed at last and rated for what he believed himself worth.
In such a case, he would go onto the varsity with a bound.
Now, it happened that Snodgrass had just what Arnold wanted—money. He
spent it freely on himself, but Arnold was the only man to whom he lent
it freely. A mutual attraction seemed to draw these fellows together,
and somehow they came to an understanding. Snodgrass found Arnold could
be bought, and then there were secret meetings between them.
This night, having slipped into that dingy back room, with the green
baize table in the middle of the narrow floor, they took care to bolt
the door behind them. Then they sat down at the table and Snodgrass
pushed the button. Pretty soon a panel in the door at the opposite side
of the room slid open, and the face of one of the barkeepers appeared.
“What’s yours, Ors, old boy?” asked Ben.
“A gin fizz,” said Arnold.
“Ginger ale for me,” said Snodgrass.
The slide went shut with a little bang.
“Well,” said Snodgrass eagerly, “you’ve got something to tell me?”
“Sure thing,” nodded Arnold. “That’s why I’m here.”
“Important?”
“Rather.”
“Out with it.”
“My throat’s too dry to talk. Wait till I get that fizz.”
“You hadn’t ought to drink it, you know. You’re in training.”
“Training be—jiggered! What am I training for?”
“The regatta at Whitney.”
“Come off! You know I’m training to help lose that race. Why shouldn’t I
take a fizz? I’m awful dry.”
“But you’d be fired off the crew if anybody found out you were drinking
fizzes in here.”
“So I’d be fired if anybody found out I was here talking with you. Might
as well go the whole hog, to use an elegant phrase. So I’m going to
drink, and I’m going to have a smoke.”
The slide went back and the barkeeper appeared with the drinks.
Snodgrass paid for them and placed them on the table. Then the slide
slammed again, and they were alone.
“I’m a little thirsty myself,” said Snodgrass, taking up the ginger ale.
“Let me get my face into that fizz!” exclaimed Arnold.
When he had drained the glass, he lighted a cigarette, and elevated his
feet to the top of the table.
“I’m tired,” he declared. “It tells on me, this infernally hard work
Merriwell is giving us. The fellow seems to think we’re made of
iron—like himself.”
“He must be made of iron to do all the things he does,” said Snodgrass;
“but I am not stuck on him much, for I know he kept me off the varsity
last year.”
“What? Why, you were a freshman.”
“I don’t care,” growled Ben, scowling. “I was a better man than some who
made the eight, but Merriwell ran in his particular friends, just as he
has run them onto the nine this year. He had a pull then.”
“Well, he’s got a bigger pull now. He seems to be the only pebble.”
“His advice is taken in everything,” complained the sophomore bitterly.
“He actually seems king of the sporting field here. They seem to regard
him as authority on the subjects of football, baseball, rowing, hockey,
and everything else. If he was like other fellows and simply made a
specialty of something! But he goes into everything and leads at
whatever he tries.”
Arnold took out a pair of gloves and put them on.
“What’s that for?” asked Snodgrass curiously.
“Precaution,” grinned Orson wisely.
“Precaution against what?”
“Cig tracks. You know how they stain a fellow’s fingers. Well, Merriwell
would be sure to see the yellow. He has the cursedest, sharpest eyes I
ever knew a man to have! Don’t seem to look at you so hard, but he sees
everything. Not a blamed thing escapes his notice. If he saw yellow on
my fingers—well, that would be my finish.”
“Then look out if you want to square that debt with me. It’s a great
chance for you, Arnold. You must help me out by doing what I say, or I
shall have to have the money.”
Arnold turned somewhat pale.
“Don’t threaten, Snodgrass!” he exclaimed. “You know I can’t pay the
money back now. I’ve told you so.”
“And I gave you a chance to square the whole business.”
“By throwing the race. I’m a square chap, Snodgrass, and it was gall and
wormwood for me to agree to your terms: but you had me foul, and what
could I do but agree?”
“Oh, nothing, of course!”
“Of course not! Why, my old chump of a grandmother would yank me out of
Yale in a hurry if she found I had run into debt over two hundred. It’s
the first time in my life I ever did anything dishonest, and the thought
of it has driven me to drink.”
Arnold tried to squeeze out a tear, but it was plain to his companion
that he was making a weak bluff.
“Well, if you stick to your agreement there will be no need to worry;
but you must look out to keep your place on the crew. If you are
dropped, the whole scheme goes to smash. That’s why I say be careful
about your smoking and drinking. Merriwell’s keen eyes will soon
discover it if you get a little out of condition and keep so.”
“Oh, blow Merriwell! I’d like to thump him. I wish we might catch him
alone, Snodgrass, and give him a good drubbing. Why can’t we do it? We
might lay for him some night and take him in a dark place.”
“If he recognized us, we’d be spotted as his enemies, and you know it
isn’t healthy to be the enemy of Merriwell. The Chickering set are his
enemies, and they are ostracized.”
“They would be anyhow.”
“Oh, I don’t know. They have rich parents; and money counts.”
“Money counts less at Yale than at any other college in the world.”
“I know it’s claimed so, but I believe it counts here just the same as
elsewhere. Still, I will admit that I do not care to become openly rated
as the enemy of Merriwell.”
Arnold inhaled the poisonous fumes of the cigarette with great relish,
taking it deep into his lungs and breathing it out in a thin blue cloud,
sometimes letting a little escape with each word.
“Well, you haven’t told me what you were going to tell, old man,” said
Snodgrass. “What has Merriwell been doing to-night?”
“Guess!”
“I can’t.”
“That’s true; you couldn’t guess!”
“Well, what is it? You have me anxious now.”
“You know he ordered us out for a pull to-night.”
“Yes.”
“Well, how do you suppose he did the coaching?”
“From another boat.”
“Chased us round?”
“Yes.”
“Not much!”
“How, then?”
“From the boat.”
“The boat?”
“Yes; he took Knight’s place and was coxswain!”
Snodgrass whistled.
“Well, I must say that’s a new idea!” he exclaimed. “What did Knight
do?”
“Waited on a wharf.”
“This is news!” nodded the sophomore. “I wonder if that is just the
proper thing? It strikes me as being rather queer, to say the least. I
don’t think he’d want it to be known.”
“Of course not! We are to say nothing about it.”
“By Cæsar!” exclaimed Snodgrass, smiting the table. “It will be a double
victory to defeat the freshmen! It will be defeating Merriwell! How that
will cut him! We must do it without fail! I depend on you, Ors.”
“And I am in such a predicament that I cannot refuse. If I could, you
may be sure, Snodgrass, I’d not be here with you to-night, telling you
all this stuff. My conscience will never cease pricking me. But what can
a man in my place do!”
“Oh, drop it! You make me tired with that holler!”
“I can’t help speaking of it. I have sold myself for a few paltry
dollars! No, no—not that! I sold myself to keep myself from disgrace!
There was no other way! I had to do it! It’s the first dishonest act of
my life.”
“You’ve told me that before, I think,” remarked the sophomore dryly.
“Perhaps so. But I’m broke again, old man. Let me have another tenner. I
must have it.”
“You’re getting too frequent. Ors, I can’t do it.”
“Can’t?” Arnold dropped his feet from the table and flung aside the
cigarette.
“No; I haven’t ten with me. I’ll let you have five.”
“But I need ten.”
“I tell you I haven’t got it! See here—that is all the money I have.”
Snodgrass displayed the contents of his pockets, and there was less than
six dollars in all. He had known well enough that Arnold would want
money and had come prepared.
“Well, then, I’ll have to make that five do for the time being,” said
the traitorous freshman regretfully, as he reached over and cooly took
from the money the five dollars Snodgrass had agreed to let him have.
“Now, let’s have some more drinks and get out of here.”
“You’ll have to pay for the drinks,” said Snodgrass. “You have all the
money now.”
“But you have just about enough left for one more round,” said the
freshman serenely. “Go ahead and push the button. I need this in my
business. Why don’t—you—do——”
Arnold stopped, staring suspiciously at the little slide in the door. He
fancied it had moved.
“Snodgrass,” he said, leaning forward and whispering the words, “I
believe somebody has been spying on us!”
The sophomore looked startled.
“What makes you think so?” he asked, glancing nervously round the room.
“I think I saw that slide in the door move. It was open on a crack, so
somebody on the other side could hear what we were saying.”
Snodgrass uttered an oath and sprang up.
“We’ll see about that!” he muttered. “If some fellow has been spying on
us, we’ll thump the stuffing out of him!”
He sprang toward the door, meaning to see if the slide would open at his
touch.
Instead of that, the door swung open and Frank Merriwell stepped into
the room!