The Best Books For Boys
Ever Written
Burt L. Standish Library
_The Famous Merriwell Stories_
In all the world there is no name more beloved by youthful readers than
that of BURT L. STANDISH.
For many years his stories of Frank Merriwell have been the inspiration
of thousands of boys who desire to succeed in athletics.
Without preaching, Mr. Standish drives home proof after proof that right
living is the only way to live. Hence, the popularity of the Merriwell
stories.
_ALL TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT_
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BURT L. STANDISH LIBRARY
In order that there may be no confusion, we desire to say that the books
listed below will be issued during the respective months in New York
City and vicinity. They may not reach the readers at a distance
promptly, on account of delays in transportation.
To be published in July, 1930.
1—Frank Merriwell’s Schooldays
2—Frank Merriwell’s Chums
To be published in August, 1930.
3—Frank Merriwell’s Foes
4—Frank Merriwell’s Trip West
5—Frank Merriwell Down South
To be published in September, 1930.
6—Frank Merriwell’s Bravery
7—Frank Merriwell’s Hunting Tour
To be published in October, 1930.
8—Frank Merriwell in Europe
9—Frank Merriwell at Yale
To be published in November, 1930.
10—Frank Merriwell’s Sports Afield
11—Frank Merriwell’s Races
To be published in December, 1930.
12—Frank Merriwell’s Party
13—Frank Merriwell’s Bicycle Tour
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_NOTE THE NEW TITLES LISTED_
Western Story Library
For Everyone Who Likes Adventure
Ted Strong and his band of broncho-busters have most exciting adventures
in this line of attractive big books, and furnish the reader with an
almost unlimited number of thrills.
If you like a really good Western-cowboy story, then this line is made
expressly for you.
_ALL TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT_
1—Ted Strong, Cowboy By Edward C. Taylor
2—Ted Strong Among the Cattlemen By Edward C. Taylor
3—Ted Strong’s Black Mountain Ranch By Edward C. Taylor
4—Ted Strong With Rifle and Lasso By Edward C. Taylor
5—Ted Strong Lost in the Desert By Edward C. Taylor
6—Ted Strong Fighting the Rustlers By Edward C. Taylor
7—Ted Strong and the Rival Miners By Edward C. Taylor
8—Ted Strong and the Last of the Herd By Edward C. Taylor
9—Ted Strong on a Mountain Trail By Edward C. Taylor
10—Ted Strong Across the Prairie By Edward C. Taylor
11—Ted Strong Out for Big Game By Edward C. Taylor
12—Ted Strong Challenged By Edward C. Taylor
13—Ted Strong’s Close Call By Edward C. Taylor
14—Ted Strong’s Passport By Edward C. Taylor
15—Ted Strong’s Nebraska Ranch By Edward C. Taylor
16—Ted Strong’s Cattle Drive By Edward C. Taylor
17—Ted Strong’s Stampede By Edward C. Taylor
18—Ted Strong’s Prairie Trail By Edward C. Taylor
19—Ted Strong’s Surprise By Edward C. Taylor
20—Ted Strong’s Wolf Hunters By Edward C. Taylor
21—Ted Strong’s Crooked Trail By Edward C. Taylor
22—Ted Strong in Colorado By Edward C. Taylor
23—Ted Strong’s Justice By Edward C. Taylor
24—Ted Strong’s Treasure By Edward C. Taylor
25—Ted Strong’s Search By Edward C. Taylor
26—Ted Strong’s Diamond Mine By Edward C. Taylor
27—Ted Strong’s Manful Task By Edward C. Taylor
28—Ted Strong, Manager By Edward C. Taylor
29—Ted Strong’s Man Hunt By Edward C. Taylor
30—Ted Strong’s Gold Mine By Edward C. Taylor
31—Ted Strong’s Broncho Boys By Edward C. Taylor
32—Ted Strong’s Wild Horse By Edward C. Taylor
33—Ted Strong’s Tenderfoot By Edward C. Taylor
34—Ted Strong’s Stowaway By Edward C. Taylor
35—Ted Strong’s Prize Herd By Edward C. Taylor
36—Ted Strong’s Trouble By Edward C. Taylor
37—Ted Strong’s Mettle By Edward C. Taylor
38—Ted Strong’s Big Business By Edward C. Taylor
39—Ted Strong’s Treasure Cave By Edward C. Taylor
40—Ted Strong’s Vanishing Island By Edward C. Taylor
41—Ted Strong’s Motor Car By Edward C. Taylor
42—Ted Strong in Montana By Edward C. Taylor
43—Ted Strong’s Contract By Edward C. Taylor
44—Ted Strong’s Stolen Pinto By Edward C. Taylor
45—Ted Strong’s Saddle Pard By Edward C. Taylor
46—Ted Strong and the Sioux Players By Edward C. Taylor
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Frank Merriwell in Europe
OR
Working His Way Upward
By BURT L. STANDISH
Author of the famous Merriwell stories.
[Illustration]
STREET & SMITH PUBLICATIONS
INCORPORATED
79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York, N. Y.
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Copyright, 1896, 1903
By STREET & SMITH
Renewal granted Gilbert Patten, 1924
───
Frank Merriwell in Europe
All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign
languages, including the Scandinavian.
Printed in the U. S. A.
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FRANK MERRIWELL IN EUROPE.
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CHAPTER I.
THE ARRIVAL AT TANGIER.
“Hurrah, Ephraim, here we are at last!”
It was Frank Merriwell who spoke. He was standing on the deck of a
steamer which was approaching the coast of Morocco. Beside him stood his
old chum and former schoolmate, Ephraim Gallup, from Vermont.
“Is thet Tangier?” came from Ephraim, as he gazed ashore with interest.
“It is.”
“Funny looking place, I must say. Not a bit like the United States. But
it’s a heap sight better nor them places we stopped at in South Africy,
by gosh.”
“Let us hope so. I trust we have a more quiet time here than we did
there.”
“Great catfish, Frank, so do I! Why, it was awful, the things thet
happened to us in Africy. No, I don’t want no more sech happenin’s in
mine, by gum!”
As old readers of the Frank Merriwell stories know, Frank was now on a
grand tour to different quarters of the globe. On the death of his
guardian he had come into possession of much money, and his guardian had
desired that he do some traveling before settling down. Frank was to
take with him a professor and one boyish companion. At present the
professor, Horace Scotch, was not with the youth, but Ephraim was, and
the two had just come up from the lower coast of Africa, where they had
passed through numerous adventures, as related in “Frank Merriwell’s
Hunting Tour.”
“Look, Ephraim!” went on Frank. “Yonder is Tangier, lying like a
snow-white pearl on the shore of the blue Mediterranean. It is a sight
to quicken the blood.”
He pointed to the white walls of a city that could be plainly seen.
“It looks purty fair from here,” admitted the Vermonter; “but ‘cordin’
to yeour own statement abaout it, it won’t look so well when we git
there.”
“That is very true; but it is the gateway to a strange land for us—a
land of strange people, strange customs, of wonders and marvels
innumerable. Besides that, I am tired of the sea, and I long to get
ashore once more.”
“By gum! I don’t blame ye fer that. But I’d ruther git ashore where
folks are civilized. I’ve seen enough uv black men an’ heathen.”
Frank laughed.
“Surely we have had our fill of them; but I would not like to return
home without visiting Morocco.”
Before long the speed of the steamer began to lessen, and it finally
came to a stop, the anchor chains rattling, as the anchors were dropped.
“Hang it all!” exclaimed Ephraim, clutching Frank’s arm. “Will yeou jest
look there! Is that a gang uv crazy critters comin’ to attack the
steamer, ur what do they want?”
Some boats were pulling off from the shore, and behind them was a swarm
of tattered Arabs, half naked, wading in the water, advancing toward the
vessel, waving their arms wildly, and uttering strange cries.
“Evidently that is one of the queer things we are to see in this
country,” said Frank, quietly.
The boats reached the steamer, and the passengers were hurried into them
by the boatmen. Frank and Ephraim succeeded in getting into one boat,
and were called on to pay for their passage immediately after they had
left the steamer.
The boats moved toward the throng of tattered terra-cotta-colored human
beings, some of whom had waded in the water to the middle of their
thighs.
As soon as this disreputable-looking horde was reached it precipitated
itself upon the boats. The passengers were seized by the jabbering gang,
as if they were to be put to death without delay.
One old fellow grabbed Ephraim and tried to drag him from the boat.
“Git aout!” squawked the boy from Vermont.
He hit the old Arab a back-handed blow with the flat of his hand,
knocking the man over in a twinkling.
But the old Arab was not to be baffled in such a manner. Dripping with
water, he scrambled up and grappled with the excited youth.
Seeing a catastrophe was coming, Frank lost no time in climbing out of
the boat to the shoulders of a burly mulatto, where he sat in a
comfortable position, waving his hat and shouting:
“Go it, boys! I’ll bet two to one on Vermont! Yankee Doodle forever!”
“Stand off, ye black pirut!” howled Ephraim, who had been somewhat
blinded by the splashed water. “Keep yeour dirty hands off me, or
I’ll——Wa-ow!”
Over went the boat, precipitating the boatman and the Yankee lad into
the water, where there was a general floundering about, much to the
amusement of the other passengers.
Frank Merriwell’s hearty laugh rang out.
“If this is a sample of what we’ll strike in Morocco, we’ll have fun,”
he cried.
Ephraim came to the surface, spouting like a whale.
“Hang ye!” he squealed, standing up and shaking his fist at the
bewildered Arab. “Yeou wait till we git on dry land, critter! I’ll fix
ye!”
Then he began to wade ashore.
“I am surprised, Ephraim,” said Frank, soberly, “that you should make
such a racket over a matter like this. The tan-colored gentleman simply
wished to carry you ashore, as the water is too shoal to permit the
boats to approach nearer. You will observe that all the passengers are
going ashore in that manner.”
The lad from Vermont looked around, seeing that Frank spoke the truth.
The ladies were being carried ashore in chairs, while the male
passengers bestrode the necks of the Arabs and negroes.
“Wal, why in thutteration didn’t they tell a feller what they was
arter!” growled Ephraim, looking ashamed and disgusted. “They acted jest
ez if they wanted to murder the hull on us.”
When the shore was reached, Frank paid for the transportation of both
himself and Ephraim, as the old fellow whom the Vermonter had upset
demanded payment.
“Here we are!” Merriwell cried. “And now we will find a hotel.”
Inquiry revealed that there was one European hotel in the city, and
Frank secured a guide to pilot them thither.
Ephraim grumbled as they made their way along. He was dripping with
water, and presented a ludicrous aspect, but the populace in the streets
did not smile upon him. He was greeted in a stoical, indifferent manner,
as if he were a worm of very small importance. Men drew aside from the
boys, and women avoided them, while children fled in terror.
“Real sociable people,” chuckled Frank. “Judging by the way they act,
any one would think we must be blood-thirsty savages.”
Nearly all the people in the streets were enveloped in a sort of long,
white woolen cloak, with a large cowl, generally worn straight up on the
heads, so that the whole city presented the aspect of a convent of
Dominican monks.
Some of these hooded people passed gravely, slowly and silently, a
dreamy look in their eyes, as if their thoughts were far away; some
remained seated or crouching along the walls, or at the corners of
houses, immovable and with fixed eyes, like the enchanted ones of the
“Arabian Nights.”
On their way to the hotel they passed through several narrow, winding
streets, flanked by small white houses, without windows, and with small,
mean doorways, through which it could not be easy to enter.
In many of the streets nothing was to be seen but the whiteness of the
walls and the blue sky overhead.
Nearly all the streets were littered with rotten vegetables, feathers,
rags, bones, and sometimes with deceased cats and dogs.
As may be imagined, the odors were often anything but agreeable.
At long intervals were seen groups of Arab children, playing or reciting
verses from the Koran in a nasal drone.
Beggars were plentiful, squatting along the streets.
Here and there the nostrils of the boys were assailed by the odor of
garlic, burnt aloes, benzoine, fish, and things unnamable.
The square was reached, and was found to be a little rectangular place,
surrounded by wretched shops.
At one side was a fountain, around which was a crowd of Arabs and
negroes, engaged in drawing water in various vessels.
At the other side of the square, veiled women were seated on the ground,
offering bread for sale.
The little square was thronged with almost naked vagabonds, rich Moors,
Jews, employees of the legations, the houses of which were near at hand;
interpreters and beggars galore.
For the time, Ephraim forgot that he had received a ducking. He looked
around, his jaw dropping.
“Hanged ef this don’t beat the deck!” he muttered. “Never saw nothing
like this before.”
“It is rather interesting,” replied Frank. “I fancied you would find it
so.”
At this moment a veiled girl suddenly broke away from two men, who
seemed to be acting as her escorts, gave a low cry of joy, rushed toward
the boys, and flung her arms about Merriwell’s neck, sobbing:
“Frank! Frank! they said you were dead!”
Never in his life was Frank Merriwell more astonished. He could scarcely
believe he had heard aright.
Ephraim Gallup caught his breath and gurgled:
“Wal, by gum!”
Shouts of surprise and rage broke from the men who had accompanied the
girl. Quickly drawing short, curved swords from beneath their cloaks,
they sprang toward the lads.
“Unhand her, Christian dogs!” roared one, flourishing his sword, as if
he would cut Frank down in a moment.
“Take me away!” implored the girl. “I am willing to go with you now! Do
not let them touch me again!”
That appeal was enough to arouse the chivalry in Frank’s nature.
Swinging her to one side, he drew a revolver.
“Stand off!” he ordered, sternly.
“And keep off!” squealed Ephraim, as he let his clinched fist shoot out
and catch one of the men under the ear.
It was a heavy blow, and the old Moor was knocked down in a twinkling.
A roar went up from all sides, and a rush was made for the two lads, who
found themselves surrounded by a furious and raging mob.
It had come about with marvelous swiftness, so that even Frank was a
trifle bewildered.
Some of the mob brandished daggers and scimiters, and all seemed
thirsting for the blood of the two youths.
The old fellow who had been knocked down got upon his feet, waved his
arms, and shouted forth an order.
In the twinkling of an eye, the lads found themselves overwhelmed. The
revolver was dashed from Frank’s hand, the girl was torn from his grasp,
and he received a blow that staggered and dazed him.
Ephraim was used no less severely.
The second Moor, the one who had shouted at Frank in English, now
ordered the mob back. He addressed them in Arabic, and they seemed to
give over the assault on the boys with great reluctance, drawing back
slowly.
Not knowing what might follow this move, Frank held himself in readiness
for anything, regarding the old Moor with no little curiosity.
The man turned on the boys, gazing at them gloweringly, as if he longed
to annihilate them, yet hardly dared. After some moments, he spoke.
“Knaves,” he growled, “you should die. Do you know what you have done,
miserable Christians?”
“Attempted to defend a girl who appealed to us, but I made a sad failure
of it,” replied Frank, looking around for the mysterious girl, but
seeing nothing of her.
“You have defiled her with your touch, and she is the Pearl of Tangier!
But that is not all. You struck Ben Ahmet, who is her uncle and
protector, and who is also a descendant of Mohammed, the sacred one.”
“Is that so!” drawled Ephraim, dryly. “Wal, I wouldn’t ‘a’ struck Ben ef
I hedn’t thought it necessary. As he’s a trifle older then I be, I’m
sorry I hit him at all. Jest tell him I apologize.”
“Bah! That will not wash away the stain. Your blood would have flowed if
he had ordered it so. From this hour you are marked. If you remain in
Morocco you shall not escape just punishment for your offense. It is
best that you delay not in leaving the country.”
Frank whistled.
“This is interesting,” he said, coolly. “We have just arrived.”
“It matters not. If you would live, depart at once.”
“Well, we will think it over. We can’t go till the steamer leaves,
unless we swim across the straits, and that would be too much trouble.”
“I have spoken.”
“And who be yeou?” demanded Ephraim.
“I am Ali Mustaf, the Cadi of Thwat, favored by the Prince of Believers
and Vicegerent of God upon Earth.”
“Wal, gol dern my cats!” gasped the boy from Vermont. “We didn’t know
we’d run up against anything like that. Will yeou excuse us for livin’!”
“You have heard. Take heed.”
Ali Mustaf turned and waved his hands to the throng, whereupon the mob
slowly and reluctantly dispersed, giving the boys many black looks, and
muttering sullenly.
Ali Mustaf and Ben Ahmet moved away.
“What in the world became of that girl?” muttered Frank, looking about.
“She disappeared in a twinkling.”
“She was carried away by some uv the craowd,” said Ephraim. “One uv them
old varmits must hev told them to take her away.”
“And she knew me.”
“She did?”
“Surely. Didn’t you hear her call me by name?”
“I guess I did. But haow in thunder did she happen to know yeou?”
“That is a mystery—one I would give something to solve.”
Then Frank’s face became clouded again, and he bit his lip, looking
about in an unsatisfied way.
“How shall I find her again?” he murmured. “I did not see her face. I
should not know her if I saw her.”
“I kainder guess we’ll have aour hands full, without botherin’ abaout
her. Mister Mustaf informed us that we was marked.”
“That was a bluff to scare us out of the country. These swarthy fellows
do not like Christians. They dare not harm us, however. If they did,
they would not have stopped when they were crowding around us a short
time ago.”
“Mebbe yeour right, Frank. Yeou ’most alwus be, but somethin’ kainder
tells me we’ll have more trouble with Mister Mustaf and Mister Ahmet.”
“I could not go away without making another attempt to see that
mysterious girl. Something tells me she is in serious trouble. Besides
that, my curiosity is aroused, and I must know how she learned my name.
It is possible I have met her before. More than that, I have thought of
another possibility.”
“What is it?”
“She spoke perfect English.”
“Yes.”
“Which is remarkable, as everything indicated she could not be more than
sixteen or seventeen.”
“Wal?”
“Moorish girls of that age are not likely to have opportunities to learn
the English language.”
“I s’pose not.”
“Can’t you see what I am driving at?”
“Dunno’s I kin. I’m kainder thick-headed.”
“Why, she may not be a native of this country at all—she may be an
English or American girl.”
“Great gosh!”
“And she may be a captive. It is possible she has been kidnaped for the
harem of some miserable old Moor. The thought makes my blood boil.
Ephraim, we have a mission in Morocco. It is to find that girl and
rescue her, if needs be. We will do it!”
“We will do it!”
Before the eyes of the wondering rabble the dauntless boys clasped
hands.
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