FRANK IS HURT.
The indignation meeting did not take place. Directly after noon Frank
Merriwell was waited on by several members of the football committee,
who expressed regret at what had taken place, and invited and urged
him to come out for practise that afternoon, as usual.
Merry did not show exultation over this turn of affairs, but he agreed
to be on the field. Therefore, there was no little astonishment when
he went out to practise, as usual. His enemies started in by stating
he had nerve to show up, but they were silenced by the information
that he had been urged to do so by the committee. But, instead of
being used on the regulars, Frank was placed on the first scrub, which
was very significant.
He played with all his usual skill and enthusiasm. Two brief halves
were played, and he was captain of the scrub in the last half. While
the scrub did not score in this half, neither did the regulars, and
four times was the goal of the regulars in danger, while not once was
the fighting carried far into the territory of the scrub team. This
was in great contrast to the first half, when the regulars had scored
twenty-four points with ease.
“It’s all through the way Merriwell handled the team,” declared more
than one. “Give him command of the regulars, and he’d drive Harvard
into the earth.”
But there was no certainty that Merriwell would even play on the
regulars. His friends scented trickery. It is probable that Frank also
tumbled to the little game, but he said nothing.
Back at college after practise, when Merry had taken a bath, a rub,
and donned his clothes, a number of his friends came pouring into his
room, headed by Hodge.
“Welcome, fellows!” cried Frank.
“Look here, Merriwell,” said Bart, “we’ve come to see about it.”
“About what?”
“Well, if you’re not onto the dirty trick, it’s time you dug your eyes
open!” grated Bart, in language that was expressive, though not very
elegant.
“What trick?” asked Frank.
“Don’t you see that you have been fooled?”
“How?”
“Why, about this football business.”
“Sit down, Hodge, and explain.”
“I won’t sit down! I can’t sit down! I’m too mad to sit down!”
“Then stand up and explain it.”
“I hear,” said Bart, “that Lorrimer was seen coming here to-day.”
“Well?”
“Did he come to see you?”
“Yes.”
“About what?”
“He came to see if I’d object to the indignation meeting which he
informed me my friends were to hold this evening.”
“Well, that’s what I call pure, unadulterated gall!” snarled Bart.
“I considered it rather crusty,” smiled Frank.
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him some things I have longed to tell him for several days,
and I informed him that I should raise no objection to the indignation
meeting unless my friends sought to induce me to take part in it.”
“Good! good! good!” cried the others.
“That’s all right,” said Hodge; “but you were fooled later on.”
“In what way?”
“The committee came and invited you out to practise.”
“Yes.”
“You went.”
“Yes.”
“That’s where you were fooled, Merriwell――fooled bad.”
“How?”
“They did not agree to put you back onto the regular team?”
“I did not ask them.”
“You should. You should have informed them that you were ready for
practise any time they were ready to give you your old position.”
“That’s what you should have done,” nodded Diamond.
“Sure thing,” grunted Browning.
“This getting you out to practise was nothing but a trick. It was done
to prevent the meeting from taking place. Now we can’t hold it. You
have gone onto the field, and that ruins our plan. If you had stayed
away, we’d shown those chumps something to-night that would have
opened their eyes.”
“You let your knife――I mean, you bet your life!” exclaimed Rattleton.
“They would have been forced to take you back. Now they can do just as
they darn please, and they’ll use you dirty! You have been fooled,
Merriwell!”
“Well,” said Frank quietly, “it may be that you are right, Hodge; but
I do not like to think there is a personal feeling against me by the
men who are handling the team.”
“Oh, you don’t like to think anything bad against anybody!”
“I’d rather not.”
“Bah! Come out of it! You were not given a chance on the regulars
to-day, and that shows how you are to be treated right along. Quit it!
Don’t go near the field again. That’s the right thing to do.”
“On the contrary, it is the wrong thing to do. If I were to do that,
the blame of the whole affair might be thrown on me. It might be said
that I was used on the scrub just to give a substitute a fair trial on
the regulars. It might be said that they intended to take me back
immediately. If I were to stay away, and Yale should lose the game, I
might blame myself.”
“All right!” said Hodge. “I’ve said my say, now you may do as you
like. But you have been fooled!”
Then he went out, for he was too angry to stay there longer.
Frank appeared on the field the following afternoon, and again he was
placed on the first scrub, which confirmed the belief of his friends
that he was not to be given a fair show. Practise began. Merriwell had
charge of the scrub, and he seemed to fill the men with such ginger as
they had never before shown. Every man of the scrub seemed to feel
that Frank had not been treated square. It seemed that they fancied
the test which was to settle the question of his restoration to the
regulars was the manner in which the scrub showed up under his
command.
It is certain that deep down in his heart Frank was hurt, but he kept
it hidden. However, never before on the practise field had he done
such work. Within two minutes after play began the scrub scored a
touch-down through the masterly manner in which the men were handled,
and Frank touched a goal.
This was pretty rough on the regulars, for the report would appear in
the papers the next day, and it would be claimed that the work of the
scrub had plainly demonstrated the weakness of the regulars, so, when
the ball was put into play again, the regulars started to redeem
themselves. To their astonishment, the scrub was like a stone wall.
The play was fast and furious, but the scrub refused to be tricked or
beaten down. Merriwell seemed to anticipate every play his opponents
made, and he massed the strength of his team to check and defeat it.
Lorrimer looked on with a frown on his face.
“This kind of work is as bad as a regular game,” he said. “It is
certain to break up the men, but the boys must get the best of the
scrub, or it will take the courage out of them.”
So the regulars were hurled against the scrub again and again. They
tried to break the line, they tried to turn the ends, they resorted to
all sorts of stratagems, and then kicking was fallen back on. For some
time there was a beautiful duel between Captain Birch and Merriwell,
and Merriwell had the best of it in the end.
Frank had friends enough among those who were watching the contest,
and they cheered. Of course, Lorrimer was displeased by the work of
the regulars, and Birch was no less dissatisfied.
Then the scrub took the offensive again, and it seemed that they were
going to add another touch-down to their record before the half
closed. Merriwell seemed like a man of iron. He found opportunities to
hurl himself against the regulars, and almost always with the result
of gaining ground.
At the fifteen-yard line of the regulars there was a terrific
struggle. Somebody was down, and then men piled up in a mass. When
this knot untangled, Merriwell was lying on the field.
“He’s hurt!” was the cry.
A doctor was present, and he hurried to the side of the motionless
athlete. As he bent down, Merriwell was seen to stir and partly sit
up, but he fell back with a groan. Then the doctor made a hasty
examination, while players and spectators breathlessly awaited what he
had to say.
“What is it, doctor?” asked Birch. “How much is he hurt?”
“He has a broken rib!” answered the doctor.
“That ends him so far as football is concerned this year!” muttered
Buck Badger.
Frank Merriwell had a broken rib! Imagine how the news traveled and
the excitement it created. He was carried to the hospital.
And the regulars scored thirty-six points against the scrub in the
second half of the same practise game.
“That shows who was backbone of the scrub,” said Pink Pooler bitterly.
“Poor old Merry!”
The anger of Frank’s friends was fierce and terrible. They denounced
Lorrimer and the entire management of the eleven. Some of them went to
extremes in their fury over the matter. Bart Hodge was outspoken, and
he did not fear any one. There was excitement at the fence that
evening, and Hodge was in the midst of it.
“Merriwell has been sacrified on the altar of human cussedness!” Hodge
declared. “He is the best man who ever wore a Yale uniform! By kicking
him off the eleven, Yale has thrown away her last chance for beating
Harvard.”
For once, Harry Rattleton was not doing much talking, but he was
almost in tears. Browning whittled a stick and chewed savagely at a
shaving. Diamond was flushed and seething inwardly. No man felt the
accident more than Jim Hooker.
“Merriwell has a heart as large as his whole body!” declared Hooker.
“Look what he did for me! If I could take his place now――――”
“What would be the good?” sneered Hodge. “If you could take his place,
the freaks who are running the eleven would not put him back onto the
team.”
“I shall stay away from the Harvard game,” said Ben Halliday. “I can’t
afford to have my feelings harrowed up by seeing the Cambridge gang
walk all over Yale.”
“I have an idea that there will be an unusually small showing of Yale
men at the game,” said Parker.
“What does Lorrimer have to say about it?” asked somebody.
“Not a word!” cried Halliday. “What can he say? He knows he is to
blame for it all.”
Hock Mason came up.
“Say, fellows,” he called, “heard the latest?”
“No! What is it?”
“Merriwell is in his room!”
“WHAT?”
Fifty men shouted the word.
“Yes, sah!” cried Mason; “he’s there. Walked upstairs alone, too.”
With a whoop, the men rushed for Merriwell’s room. They stormed up the
stairs and came bursting in. They found Frank bolstered up on a couch.
“Don’t mind the door,” he said, with a faint smile, as they slammed it
open and came crowding in. “Kick it down if it’s in your way,
gentlemen.”
“Merriwell!” shouted Rattleton, catching hold of his hand. “We didn’t
expect to――――”
“Ouch!” exclaimed Frank, with a wry face. “Drop that paw! You gave me
a yank that hurt my side then.”
“Then it is――――”
“Hurt? Rather.”
“But your rib,” said Hodge breathlessly――“the doctor said it was
broken.”
“That was what he thought, but you know his examination was rather
hasty.”
“Then it isn’t broken?”
“No.”
“Hurrah! hurrah!”
“That’s splendid! It gives me great satisfaction, but I have to tell
you that the doctors at the hospital informed me the injury was about
as bad as a broken rib.”
Hodge’s face fell, and the others looked disappointed and concerned.
“Then you can’t play football?” asked Rattleton.
“They tell me that I can’t.”
“That’s tough!”
“But what’s the odds,” smiled Merry, “as long as they were going to
keep me in reserve. There are other men who will fill my place.”
“There’s no other man living who can fill your place!” exclaimed Bart.
“Thank you, old man. That’s what you think. It’s plain there are
others who do not think that way.”
“They’re fools! We’re done for, Merriwell! We can’t beat Harvard
without you! I’ve had my say, and they can do what they like about it
so far as I am concerned. I don’t want to play.”
“Don’t talk that way, old man! You must help Yale win! Think how I
shall wait for news of the game! If Yale is defeated again this year
I’ll be the sorest man on the campus. I’ll be sorer than I am now!”
“That’s being loyal!” muttered Jack Diamond. “Talk about
patriotism――that’s it!”
“It shows the kind of a heart he carries round in his bosom,” said
Rattleton, in an aside.
“Doctors told me I must keep still,” said Frank. “Asked ’em if I
couldn’t get out to go to the game, and they shook their heads. It
will be a tough Thanksgiving for me this year.”
“It’ll be tough for Yale,” grunted Browning.
They talked with Frank awhile, and then, one by one and in little
groups, they drifted out. The report went abroad that Merriwell’s rib
was not broken, but that he was hurt so bad that he could not leave
his room for a week.
“I don’t believe it,” declared Gene Skelding, at the fence. “He is
playing a game for sympathy.”
“You’re a liar!” said Hock Mason promptly.
Once Mason had been the bully of the freshman class. Of late, he was
so quiet that no one could have dreamed that he had ever been a
terror. Skelding knew little about Mason.
“What do you say?” he snarled. “Do you call me a――――”
“A liar, sah,” said the man from South Carolina. “Is that plain enough
for you to understand, sah?”
“It is!” returned Skelding. “Take that for your insult!”
Slap! he struck Mason with his cane.
It was a stinging blow, and the Southerner was staggered. He came back
with remarkable suddenness, and――――
Crack! His fist landed between Skelding’s eyes, knocking the fellow
clean over the fence.
“Any time, sah,” said Mason, as Gene picked himself up――“any time that
you wish to pursue this little matter farther, I shall be pleased to
accommodate you, sah.”