BOOKS FOR YOUNG MEN
MERRIWELL SERIES
ALL BY BURT L. STANDISH
Stories of Frank and Dick Merriwell
Fascinating Stories of Athletics
A half million enthusiastic followers of the Merriwell brothers will
attest the unfailing interest and wholesomeness of these adventures of
two lads of high ideals, who play fair with themselves, as well as with
the rest of the world.
These stories are rich in fun and thrills in all branches of sports and
athletics. They are extremely high in moral tone, and cannot fail to be
of immense benefit to every boy who reads them.
They have the splendid quality of firing a boy’s ambition to become a
good athlete, in order that he may develop into a strong, vigorous,
right-thinking man.
ALL TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT
1—Frank Merriwell’s School Days
2—Frank Merriwell’s Chums
3—Frank Merriwell’s Foes
4—Frank Merriwell’s Trip West
5—Frank Merriwell Down South
6—Frank Merriwell’s Bravery
7—Frank Merriwell’s Hunting Tour
8—Frank Merriwell in Europe
9—Frank Merriwell at Yale
10—Frank Merriwell’s Sports Afield
11—Frank Merriwell’s Races
12—Frank Merriwell’s Party
13—Frank Merriwell’s Bicycle Tour
14—Frank Merriwell’s Courage
15—Frank Merriwell’s Daring
16—Frank Merriwell’s Alarm
17—Frank Merriwell’s Athletes
18—Frank Merriwell’s Skill
19—Frank Merriwell’s Champions
20—Frank Merriwell’s Return to Yale
21—Frank Merriwell’s Secret
22—Frank Merriwell’s Danger
23—Frank Merriwell’s Loyalty
24—Frank Merriwell in Camp
25—Frank Merriwell’s Vacation
26—Frank Merriwell’s Cruise
27—Frank Merriwell’s Chase
28—Frank Merriwell in Maine
29—Frank Merriwell’s Struggle
30—Frank Merriwell’s First Job
31—Frank Merriwell’s Opportunity
32—Frank Merriwell’s Hard Luck
33—Frank Merriwell’s Protégé
34—Frank Merriwell on the Road
35—Frank Merriwell’s Own Company
36—Frank Merriwell’s Fame
37—Frank Merriwell’s College Chums
38—Frank Merriwell’s Problem
39—Frank Merriwell’s Fortune
40—Frank Merriwell’s New Comedian
41—Frank Merriwell’s Prosperity
42—Frank Merriwell’s Stage Hit
43—Frank Merriwell’s Great Scheme
44—Frank Merriwell in England
45—Frank Merriwell on the Boulevards
46—Frank Merriwell’s Duel
47—Frank Merriwell’s Double Shot
48—Frank Merriwell’s Baseball Victories
49—Frank Merriwell’s Confidence
50—Frank Merriwell’s Auto
51—Frank Merriwell’s Fun
52—Frank Merriwell’s Generosity
53—Frank Merriwell’s Tricks
54—Frank Merriwell’s Temptation
55—Frank Merriwell on Top
56—Frank Merriwell’s Luck
57—Frank Merriwell’s Mascot
58—Frank Merriwell’s Reward
59—Frank Merriwell’s Phantom
60—Frank Merriwell’s Faith
61—Frank Merriwell’s Victories
62—Frank Merriwell’s Iron Nerve
63—Frank Merriwell in Kentucky
64—Frank Merriwell’s Power
65—Frank Merriwell’s Shrewdness
66—Frank Merriwell’s Setback
67—Frank Merriwell’s Search
68—Frank Merriwell’s Club
69—Frank Merriwell’s Trust
70—Frank Merriwell’s False Friend
71—Frank Merriwell’s Strong Arm
72—Frank Merriwell as Coach
73—Frank Merriwell’s Brother
74—Frank Merriwell’s Marvel
75—Frank Merriwell’s Support
76—Dick Merriwell at Fardale
77—Dick Merriwell’s Glory
78—Dick Merriwell’s Promise
79—Dick Merriwell’s Rescue
80—Dick Merriwell’s Narrow Escape
81—Dick Merriwell’s Racket
82—Dick Merriwell’s Revenge
83—Dick Merriwell’s Ruse
84—Dick Merriwell’s Delivery
85—Dick Merriwell’s Wonders
86—Frank Merriwell’s Honor
87—Dick Merriwell’s Diamond
88—Frank Merriwell’s Winners
89—Dick Merriwell’s Dash
90—Dick Merriwell’s Ability
91—Dick Merriwell’s Trap
92—Dick Merriwell’s Defense
93—Dick Merriwell’s Model
94—Dick Merriwell’s Mystery
95—Frank Merriwell’s Backers
96—Dick Merriwell’s Backstop
97—Dick Merriwell’s Western Mission
98—Frank Merriwell’s Rescue
99—Frank Merriwell’s Encounter
100—Dick Merriwell’s Marked Money
101—Frank Merriwell’s Nomads
102—Dick Merriwell on the Gridiron
103—Dick Merriwell’s Disguise
104—Dick Merriwell’s Test
105—Frank Merriwell’s Trump Card
106—Frank Merriwell’s Strategy
107—Frank Merriwell’s Triumph
108—Dick Merriwell’s Grit
109—Dick Merriwell’s Assurance
110—Dick Merriwell’s Long Slide
111—Frank Merriwell’s Rough Deal
112—Dick Merriwell’s Threat
113—Dick Merriwell’s Persistence
114—Dick Merriwell’s Day
115—Frank Merriwell’s Peril
116—Dick Merriwell’s Downfall
117—Frank Merriwell’s Pursuit
118—Dick Merriwell Abroad
119—Frank Merriwell in the Rockies
120—Dick Merriwell’s Pranks
121—Frank Merriwell’s Pride
122—Frank Merriwell’s Challengers
123—Frank Merriwell’s Endurance
124—Dick Merriwell’s Cleverness
125—Frank Merriwell’s Marriage
126—Dick Merriwell, the Wizard
127—Dick Merriwell’s Stroke
128—Dick Merriwell’s Return
129—Dick Merriwell’s Resource
130—Dick Merriwell’s Five
131—Frank Merriwell’s Tigers
132—Dick Merriwell’s Polo Team
133—Frank Merriwell’s Pupils
134—Frank Merriwell’s New Boy
135—Dick Merriwell’s Home Run
136—Dick Merriwell’s Dare
137—Frank Merriwell’s Son
138—Dick Merriwell’s Team Mate
139—Frank Merriwell’s Leaguers
140—Frank Merriwell’s Happy Camp
141—Dick Merriwell’s Influence
142—Dick Merriwell, Freshman
143—Dick Merriwell’s Staying Power
144—Dick Merriwell’s Joke
145—Frank Merriwell’s Talisman
146—Frank Merriwell’s Horse
147—Dick Merriwell’s Regret
148—Dick Merriwell’s Magnetism
149—Dick Merriwell’s Backers
150—Dick Merriwell’s Best Work
151—Dick Merriwell’s Distrust
152—Dick Merriwell’s Debt
153—Dick Merriwell’s Mastery
154—Dick Merriwell Adrift
155—Frank Merriwell’s Worst Boy
156—Dick Merriwell’s Close Call
157—Frank Merriwell’s Air Voyage
158—Dick Merriwell’s Black Star
159—Frank Merriwell in Wall Street
160—Frank Merriwell Facing His Foes
161—Dick Merriwell’s Stanchness
162—Frank Merriwell’s Hard Case
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Dick Merriwell’s Fighting Chance
OR
THE SPLIT IN THE VARSITY
By
BURT L. STANDISH
Author of the famous Merriwell stories.
[Illustration]
STREET & SMITH CORPORATION
PUBLISHERS
79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York
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Copyright, 1910
By STREET & SMITH
————
Dick Merriwell’s Fighting Chance
All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign
languages, including the Scandinavian.
Printed in the U. S. A.
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DICK MERRIWELL’S FIGHTING CHANCE.
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CHAPTER I
A GATHERING IN DURFEE.
The comfortable sitting room in Durfee Hall, occupied by Dick Merriwell
and his Texas chum, Brad Buckhart, was filled to overflowing. Sprawling
among the cushions of the divan was Rudolph Rose, handsome,
high-spirited, and rather quick-tempered, but happy in the knowledge
that he had at last conquered the latter failing and thereby won a place
in Merriwell’s friendship.
Close beside him was Terry Baxter, quiet, almost too serious, but with a
keen sense of humor which showed in the appreciative gleam in his brown
eyes and the occasional terse, pithy remarks which he uttered in a
solemn manner, but which invariably sent the others into an uproar.
Eric Fitzgerald, slim, slight, and curly haired, dangled his legs from
one end of the table. He was so full of vim and life and go that he
reminded one of a particle of quicksilver, forever on the move; and on
the rare occasions when he did settle down for a moment, he usually
perched himself somewhere in a temporary manner, as if he were only
pausing for an instant before making another flight.
Samp Elwell, the Hoosier, whose dry wit was a source of never-ending
delight to his friends, occupied the piano stool. Across the room sat
his chum, Lance Fair, who was not nearly so unsophisticated as his
smooth, rosy cheeks and almost girlish manner would lead one to imagine.
Buckhart was hunched down on the back of his neck in one of the big
easy-chairs near the table, while Merriwell himself was tilted back
against the wall in the desk chair, his dark eyes sparkling with mirth
and a smile curving the corners of his sensitive mouth.
“You fellows ought to have been in Pierson’s classroom this morning,” he
remarked. “After the lecture he started in to quiz us, and happened to
spy Hollister gazing dreamily out of the window. I suppose Bob was
thinking out some new football stunt. Anyway, he was miles away from
Roman history, and Pierson caught him.
“‘Mr. Hollister,’ he said, in that short, snappy way he has, ‘can you
mention one memorable date in Roman history?’
“Bob came out of his trance with a jump and snapped back without
thinking, ‘Anthony’s with Cleopatra, sir.’ It brought down the house.”
There was a shout of delighted laughter, and when it had died down Samp
Elwell looked up, grinning.
“He did,” chimed in Fitzgerald from the table. “Piercy was mad as
thunder. It isn’t the first time Bob’s flunked by a long shot, either.
He’s been awful punky this term.”
“I’d like to have seen old Pierson’s face,” he chuckled. “I reckon Bob
drew a goose egg for that.”
“Too much football, I opine,” growled the Texan. “He can’t get his mind
off the game long enough to feed his face, let alone keep track of
lectures. He’s plumb locoed about it. You hear me gently warble!”
“Oh, say,” Elwell spoke up suddenly; “how about that new stunt of old
Bill’s. That forward——”
The Texan straightened up like a flash, and, grabbing a book from the
table, shied it with swiftness and remarkable accuracy at the Hoosier’s
head. Elwell ducked, and the book struck the piano, falling to the
keyboard with a discordant crash.
“What in time——” began the indignant sophomore, straightening up again.
“You don’t seem to recollect what I tried to drill into that solid ivory
skull of yours a brief time back,” Buckhart drawled with perfect
composure. “Talking shop has got to be cut out around this bunk house.
I’m plumb sick of hearing about football. For six weeks I’ve heard
nothing else, and now that Tempest is back on the job I’m going to take
a rest.”
“Great Scott, Brad!” Rose exclaimed aghast. “You’re not going to leave
the team!”
“Thunderation, no!” the Texan retorted. “I’ll hold down my job till the
cows come home; but off the field I’m going to forget it and take a
whack at the books I have hardly got a squint at since the term began.
So, unless you gents want to start a row promiscuous like, kindly
refrain from holding forth on the subject while I’m around.”
“Say, fellows, isn’t it pretty near time we organized a little fishing
party up to the lake?” asked Fitzgerald.
Trout fishing was one of his pet hobbies.
“Any trout there?” inquired Fair quickly.
“Thousands of ’em,” returned Fitz.
“Will they bite easily?” asked Lance.
“Will they?” exclaimed the slim chap. “Well, I should say they would!
Why, they’re absolutely vicious. A man has to hide behind a tree to bait
his hook.”
“It wouldn’t be a bad idea,” Dick remarked. “We haven’t gone on a trip
like that this fall. Say, Samp, why don’t you take a comfortable chair?
You’ve been holding down that piano stool all evening, and you know you
can’t play a note.”
The Hoosier winked significantly and cast a meaning glance at
Fitzgerald, one of whose many accomplishments was the singing of popular
ditties to improvised accompaniments consisting of a more or less
skillful variation of two chords.
“I know that,” Elwell returned composedly, “but neither can any one else
while I’m here.”
Fitz instantly took up the gantlet.
“Talk about hogs!” he exclaimed, springing from his seat on the table.
“And here I am fairly bursting with a perfectly punk song I just learned
this afternoon. Avaunt, creature!”
He made a dive at Elwell, and, before the stalwart Hoosier realized what
was happening, the piano stool was deftly upset and he sprawled on the
floor. By the time he had scrambled to his feet, the slim chap was
seated calmly at the keyboard and had struck an opening chord.
“Come into the garden, Maud,” he began dramatically. He got no farther.
A united yell of protest arose which effectually drowned him out.
“Oh, what a chestnut!”
“Noah sang that to the animals in the ark!”
“Give us something that’s not more than two thousand years old!”
Fitz turned slowly around, a look of pained surprise on his freckled
face.
“Peace, prithee—peace!” he chided. “I assure you that the song is quite
new, save the first line, which may be a little reminiscent. Kindly
refrain from any more rude, vulgar interruptions.”
Before the others could recover their breath he struck the chords and
began to sing again, this time rather hurriedly:
“Come into the garden, Maud”;
But Maud was much too wise.
‘Oh, no,’ said she, ‘the corn has ears
And the potatoes eyes.’
His voice, dwelling lingeringly and fondly on the last note, was drowned
in a shout of laughter.
“Great!” choked Buckhart. “Maud was a wise child, all right.”
“Give us another verse, old fellow,” chuckled Elwell.
“I’m afraid I’m not in very good voice to-night,” simpered Fitz, looking
coyly down at the keys. “Such a critical audience always makes me so
nervous. However——”
He lifted his voice again in the same serious chant.
“The rain it falls upon the just,
And also on the unjust fellers;
But chiefly on the just, because
The unjust have the justs’ umbrellers.”
This verse was received with equal applause, and Fitz was entreated to
give them another.
“Sing another song,” urged Rose. “You must know a pile of them.”
“Well, I’ll give you a very short one,” the slim chap returned with much
apparent reluctance. “It’s a little old, but you mustn’t mind a thing
like that.”
Striking a single chord, he began the first line.
“Mary had a little——”
He paused, and, clearing his throat, glanced around at his audience,
plainly surprised that there had been no interruption. Having been
caught once, however, the fellows were not going to repeat the
performance, and remained expectantly silent.
Seeing that he could not get a rise out of them, Fitzgerald turned back
to the piano and began the song over again.
“Mary had a little skirt
Tied tightly in a bow,
And everywhere that Mary went
She simply couldn’t go.”
“That’s all,” he announced, springing up and skipping over to the table
again. “Somebody else can do parlor tricks now.”
Before any one had a chance to reply, the door was opened rather
unceremoniously, and a tall, curly haired, sun-burned fellow, with an
attractive face and the figure of an athlete, entered composedly, and
closed the door behind him.
From the uproarious nature of the greeting he received, it was quite
evident that he was a general favorite.
“Hello, Bob!”
“Come in and rest your face and hands.”
“How about Anthony’s date with Cleopatra?”
Bob Hollister grinned a little sheepishly.
“Heard about that, have you?” he inquired, as he dropped down on a
chair. “I suppose that’ll be rubbed into me for the next six months.
What the deuce did I know about Roman history? I was doping out a new
around-the-end combination.”
“Sh! Careful!” cautioned Elwell, with upraised finger.
Hollister looked bewildered.
“What’s the matter?” he asked quickly.
“No football talk,” returned the Hoosier, with a grin. “Our esteemed,
ex-temporary captain objects to it in the sacred privacy of his
apartment.”
“Well, I’ll be hanged!” gasped Hollister. “Not talk about football! What
in the mischief else is there to talk about?”
Dick smiled.
“You have got it bad, Bob,” he remarked. “Don’t you ever think about
anything else?”
Hollister shook his head.
“Hardly ever,” he confessed. “I couldn’t keep it out of my head if I
tried, with the big game so close. Why, I even wake up in the middle of
the night wondering how to work certain combinations, or thinking up
some new way of getting the ball through their line. I haven’t had time
to open a book in weeks.”
He gave a sudden start, and, diving down into one pocket, drew out a
rather crumpled envelope.
“Just look at that,” he remarked, tossing it over to Dick.
Merriwell caught it and extracted a square, printed slip, which proved
to be one of the warning notices sent out from the dean’s office when a
student has fallen behind the required grade in any particular study.
“A warning in Latin,” he said thoughtfully. “You must have been pretty
rotten lately, Bob. Goodhue is one of the easiest profs in college.”
“I have flunked a bunch of times,” Hollister confessed. “And that isn’t
all, either. Got one in German day before yesterday. I suppose Schlemmer
got on his ear after the mess I made of Heine last week.”
“You want to look out, Bobby,” Fitzgerald put in lightly. “After this
morning, you’re due for still another. Dear old Piercy was purple when
you made that cute remark about Anthony’s date. I’ll bet he hot-footed
to the dean the minute the class was over.”
“And three warnings means a general one,” supplemented Elwell. “By
hocus, Bobby! You’ll have to do a little cramming, or you’ll have the
whole faculty down on your neck.”
“They are now!” Hollister burst out petulantly. “I believe it’s a put-up
job. Every one of them takes a special delight in getting me up every
chance they can and making a monkey out of me. They ought to know I
don’t have any chance to grind right in the middle of the football
season. But what do they care about football! A lot of dried-up fossils!
They don’t give a rap whether we’re licked or not. I don’t believe the
biggest part of ’em even see one game a season.”
“You’re wrong there, Bob,” Dick put in quietly. “Some of the profs are
daffy about the game. The dean wouldn’t miss one for any amount of
money.”
“Yes, and old Piercy is the worst of the lot,” chimed in Fitzgerald.
“You ought to have seen him Saturday—standing up on the bench, his hat
off, hair rumpled, and eyes popping out of his head, waving his arms
like a windmill, and yelling like a fiend. He’s a good old sport, even
if he does like to catch a fellow napping in the classroom.”
The clock struck ten, and the sound had scarcely died away when Buckhart
threw out his arms and yawned, loudly and ostentatiously.
“Humph!” remarked Fitzgerald tartly. “Why don’t you tell us plainly that
it’s time to go home?”
“I was waiting to see if you wouldn’t wake up to the fact yourselves,”
the Texan returned tranquilly.
The slim chap eyed him mischievously.
“I’ve a good mind to stay here just to spite you,” he said presently.
Buckhart yawned again.
“Stay right along, if you like, little one,” he drawled. “That wouldn’t
bother me a whole lot. In about ten minutes I’m going to hit the pillow;
but if you gents want to sit here for the rest of the night chinning,
you’ve sure got my permission.”
Most of the other fellows were about ready to turn in themselves, and
there was a general movement toward the door. Hollister got up with the
rest, and then glanced hesitatingly toward Merriwell.
“Got a couple of minutes to spare, Dick?” he asked, in a low tone.
“Sure thing,” Merriwell returned quickly. “Sit down and I’ll be with you
in a minute.”
Hollister dropped back onto his chair, and Dick followed the others to
the door. With a chorus of good nights, they trooped out in a body and
clattered downstairs. Then Merriwell came back into the room and resumed
his seat, while Buckhart made tracks for the bedroom.
“You gents will have to excuse me,” he mumbled. “Can’t keep my blinkers
propped open another minute. Good night.”
Without waiting for their response, he disappeared, and the next moment
the sound of shoes being thrown to the floor was heard, followed with
amazing swiftness by the creak of springs as the Texan crawled into bed.
“Gee! I wish I could do that,” Hollister murmured.
Dick raised his eyebrows inquiringly.
“Go to sleep the minute I hit the pillow,” Hollister explained. “I toss
around for an hour or more, thinking about all kinds of things. Seems as
if I could think better at night when everything’s quiet and there’s no
one to disturb me.”
“Football, I suppose?” Dick questioned, looking at him thoughtfully.
Hollister nodded.
“Yes, but that wasn’t what I wanted to talk to you about,” he said
quickly. “It’s these confounded warnings. I never got one of them before
this fall.”
His tone was almost angry.
“As I remember,” Dick remarked, “you never used to have any trouble
keeping up in your studies, but still had plenty of time for almost
anything in the line of athletics you wanted to do.”
A frown corrugated Hollister’s forehead.
“Exactly,” he returned. “It looks to me as if the profs did the thing on
purpose just to worry me when they ought to know I’ve got to give all my
time to football. It’s a rotten shame!”
Dick did not answer for a moment.
“I hardly think that’s it, Bob,” he said presently. “There wouldn’t be
any object in their doing that. I don’t believe they like giving a
fellow’s name to the dean. I know Goodhue doesn’t, for he’s told me so.
He doesn’t have a man warned until it’s absolutely necessary. No, I’m
afraid the trouble is altogether with you. You don’t bone enough.”
Hollister smiled wryly.
“I don’t grind at all,” he said quickly. “Somehow, there doesn’t seem to
be any time.”
Dick smiled.
“Shucks! You’ve got as much time as the rest of us. Somehow we manage to
make a passable showing.”
Hollister flushed a little.
“I suppose I have got the time,” he said slowly, “but I can’t seem to
make use of it. The minute I sit down with a book, my mind flies off to
the field as regular as clockwork, and before I know it it’s time to
turn in, and I haven’t done an earthly thing with the Latin or math, or
whatever it may be; but very likely I’ve thought out some corking new
formation or trick play.”
“I see,” Dick said quietly; “but what good does it all do?”
“Good!” exclaimed Hollister, in surprise. “Why, I put the idea up to
Tempest or Fullerton, and often they can make use of it.”
“Of course I know that,” Dick returned. “There isn’t a fellow on the
team who has a better, broader conception of the strategy of the game;
but you’re not in college just to play football and let everything else
go to smash. That sounds sort of priggish, I know, but it’s really the
truth. What you’ve got to do is to put it out of your mind the moment
you leave the field. If you don’t, Bob, you’ll be plucked as sure as
fate.
“Brad has realized that, and you know there isn’t a fellow in college
who thinks more of the game. But while he was taking Tempest’s place as
captain, he just about dropped everything else and got frightfully
behind in his work. Since Don came back last week, Brad has been doing
his best not to think of football except on the field, and he’s done
such a lot of hard grinding that he’s beginning to catch up.”
“That’s what I ought to do, of course,” Hollister agreed. “But I don’t
see how I can, Dick. I start in, really intending to study, but somehow,
I never get anywhere.”
“That’s all nonsense,” Dick said emphatically. “You can do it if you
really make up your mind to. Great Scott, man! You don’t want to develop
into a fellow with just one idea, do you? If you keep on this way, you
won’t be able to think of another earthly thing but football. And if you
don’t take a brace in your real work, you’re more than likely to be
dropped. Then where would you be?”
Hollister’s face had grown very serious. He seemed to realize for the
first time the gravity of the situation and the end toward which he was
rapidly drifting. Somehow it had never occurred to him that there was a
possibility of being dropped. If that should happen, what earthly good
would his ability to play football be to him? It was not a pleasant
thought.
“I expect you’re right, old man,” he said slowly, with a rather futile
attempt at a smile. “Looks as if I’d have to take a big brace before
something drops. It’s going to be a hard pull, though.”
“Of course, it will be hard, Bob,” Dick said earnestly, “but you’ve got
to do it. Just make up your mind that you positively won’t give the game
a thought off the field. Banish it entirely from your mind, and take a
fresh spurt with the books. Then I think you’ll come out all right.”
Hollister arose slowly.
“That’s what I’ll do,” he said quickly; “at least, that’s what I’ll try
to do.”
“Don’t say try,” Merriwell put in swiftly. “Don’t let there be a doubt
in your mind of your ability to succeed, and I think you’ll make good.”
“Right you are,” Hollister smiled. “I’ll start in to-morrow morning. I’m
awfully obliged, Dick, for your advice. I didn’t seem to realize before
how serious a fix I was in, but I’ll pull up now, and I think things
will come around in good shape.”
“Of course, they will,” Merriwell answered heartily. “See you to-morrow,
old fellow. Good night.”
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