THE GHOSTLY FACE.
“’St, Brad!”
The Texan stopped in his tracks as a dark figure stepped out before him.
Brad had just left the pier, having told Lynch, Ditson, and Du Boise
what he thought of them and what he meant to do.
A queer, quivery sensation shot along Buckhart’s spine. He stood quite
still and stared at the dark figure which promptly strode toward him.
“Don’t raise a shout, old man,” said the voice of Dick Merriwell. “Don’t
let those fellows hear you. It is I.”
Brad deliberately pinched himself to make sure he was awake.
“It sounds like you, and it looks like you,” he said, “but it can’t be
you. You’re drowned!”
“Hardly,” said Merriwell, as he dropped a hand on the shoulder of his
chum. “But I want those fellows still to think I’m drowned. I’m in hopes
it will worry them some. That’s why I didn’t let you know I hadn’t gone
to the bottom.”
Realizing at last that Merriwell was there in the flesh, the Texan
suddenly caught Dick’s wet figure in his arms and gave him a bear hug.
“Oh, great horn spoon, I’ve got to yell!” he panted. “If I don’t, I’ll
sure blow up. Say, partner, can’t I yell just once? Can’t I let off
steam a little? Gophers and jack rabbits, I thought you were dead! Oh,
say, what a funny feeling I’ve got! I don’t know how to express it. Hang
it all, didn’t you know I was searching for you with the rest of the
bunch? Didn’t you realize how I felt about it? Partner, I wouldn’t go
through that thing again for fifty thousand dollars! I sure reckoned you
were food for the fishes.”
The Texan’s voice was quivering with emotion, and he trembled in every
limb.
“It was rough on you,” agreed Dick, “and perhaps I’m mistaken in
thinking it will disturb those rascals to fancy me done for. Let’s wait
here until they pass. We can tell by what they are saying whether they
are disturbed or not.”
Hidden in the narrow space between two of the old buildings, the boys
waited until the trio of rascals came along and passed on their way.
Falling in behind but taking pains not to be seen, Dick and Brad
followed the three to the first saloon and from thence to Fred’s place
of business.
“They’ve taken a private room,” said Brad, after peering between the
swinging doors. “They’ve gone upstairs, partner. I reckon they intend to
drown their remorse with plenty of booze. If you should appear before
them now, they’d certain think you a spook.”
Dick laughed softly.
“I have a fancy to play the spook,” he said. “Come with me.”
In a near-by restaurant he purchased a few cents’ worth of flour, which
was given him in a paper bag. Slipping this into his pocket, he led the
way back to Fred’s.
There were a very few patrons in Fred’s as the boys entered. Spofford, a
sophomore, was leaning lurchingly on the bar and telling a story. Two or
three of Spofford’s chums were with him. The barkeeper was listening and
the waiter was opening a barrel in the back room. No one paid any
attention to Dick and Brad, who sauntered through and quietly ascended
the stairs.
There were two rooms above. Listening, Merriwell soon learned which of
these was occupied by the fellows he hoped to frighten. Having located
them, he brought forth the bag of flour, which he proceeded to smear
over his face until his features were well coated with it.
“Do I look rather ghostly, Brad?” he whispered.
“Your face looks that way,” softly chuckled the Texan, “but there’s
nothing very ghostly about the rest of you.”
“Then I’ll show only my face,” decided Dick. “Here’s the panel through
which drinks are passed into that room.”
“They shouldn’t see you in too strong a light,” murmured Brad.
Merriwell’s fingers found the switch and turned it. This cut off all the
lights in the upper part of the building.
“That’s too much,” he whispered quickly. “Turn off that one over your
head, Brad. Hurry up.”
There was a faint click, and the Texan announced that he had found the
electric bulb and turned off the current. Then Dick softly pushed back
the panel and manipulated the electrical switch. He did not turn it on
at once, but moved it gradually, getting the result hoped for as the
lights glowed dimly at first.
The startled fellows within that room saw the white, ghastly face at the
open panel and Du Boise shrieked and fell to the floor in a faint. Dick
closed the panel at once.
“Skip, Brad!” he hissed. “We must make a sudden duck.”
Spofford and his friends had left, and only the barkeeper was found in
the lower room.
“What’s that yell I heard?” he asked, as the boys appeared.
“Nothing but a little practical joke,” said Dick, as he mopped the flour
from his face with his handkerchief. “Those fellows upstairs are hitting
the booze too hard. It’s time they swore off. They may think they’ve
seen a ghost. Perhaps you’ll help them reform if you fail to undeceive
them.”
“Don’t say a word,” said Brad, tossing a silver dollar on the bar.
“You sure gave those gents something of a start, partner,” said Brad, as
they hurried away.
“I think I did,” agreed Merriwell. “You should have seen them, Brad.
Their eyes stuck out of their heads. Du Boise collapsed like a pricked
bladder. It was really amusing. I’ve been well paid for the ducking I
received.”
“Perhaps you have!” growled the Texan. “But I’ve got a bill to settle
with those gents. They still have to pay me for my _Sallie_, and you bet
your life I’ll make them cough up. You hear me gently chirp!”