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Changes to the text are noted at the end of the book.
FRANK MERRIWELL IN MAINE
* * * * * *
BOOKS FOR YOUNG MEN
MERRIWELL SERIES
Stories of Frank and Dick Merriwell
PRICE FIFTEEN CENTS
_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 By Burt L. Standish
2--Frank Merriwell’s Chums By Burt L. Standish
3--Frank Merriwell’s Foes By Burt L. Standish
4--Frank Merriwell’s Trip West By Burt L. Standish
5--Frank Merriwell Down South By Burt L. Standish
6--Frank Merriwell’s Bravery By Burt L. Standish
7--Frank Merriwell’s Hunting Tour By Burt L. Standish
8--Frank Merriwell in Europe By Burt L. Standish
9--Frank Merriwell at Yale By Burt L. Standish
10--Frank Merriwell’s Sports Afield By Burt L. Standish
11--Frank Merriwell’s Races By Burt L. Standish
12--Frank Merriwell’s Party By Burt L. Standish
13--Frank Merriwell’s Bicycle Tour By Burt L. Standish
14--Frank Merriwell’s Courage By Burt L. Standish
15--Frank Merriwell’s Daring By Burt L. Standish
16--Frank Merriwell’s Alarm By Burt L. Standish
17--Frank Merriwell’s Athletes By Burt L. Standish
18--Frank Merriwell’s Skill By Burt L. Standish
19--Frank Merriwell’s Champions By Burt L. Standish
20--Frank Merriwell’s Return to Yale By Burt L. Standish
21--Frank Merriwell’s Secret By Burt L. Standish
22--Frank Merriwell’s Danger By Burt L. Standish
23--Frank Merriwell’s Loyalty By Burt L. Standish
24--Frank Merriwell in Camp By Burt L. Standish
25--Frank Merriwell’s Vacation By Burt L. Standish
26--Frank Merriwell’s Cruise By Burt L. Standish
27--Frank Merriwell’s Chase By Burt L. Standish
28--Frank Merriwell in Maine By Burt L. Standish
29--Frank Merriwell’s Struggle By Burt L. Standish
30--Frank Merriwell’s First Job By Burt L. Standish
31--Frank Merriwell’s Opportunity By Burt L. Standish
32--Frank Merriwell’s Hard Luck By Burt L. Standish
33--Frank Merriwell’s Protégé By Burt L. Standish
34--Frank Merriwell on the Road By Burt L. Standish
35--Frank Merriwell’s Own Company By Burt L. Standish
36--Frank Merriwell’s Fame By Burt L. Standish
37--Frank Merriwell’s College Chums By Burt L. Standish
38--Frank Merriwell’s Problem By Burt L. Standish
39--Frank Merriwell’s Fortune By Burt L. Standish
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 1922
40--Frank Merriwell’s New Comedian By Burt L. Standish
41--Frank Merriwell’s Prosperity By Burt L. Standish
To Be Published in August, 1922.
42--Frank Merriwell’s Stage Hit By Burt L. Standish
43--Frank Merriwell’s Great Scheme By Burt L. Standish
To Be Published in September, 1922.
44--Frank Merriwell in England By Burt L. Standish
45--Frank Merriwell on the Boulevards By Burt L. Standish
To Be Published in October, 1922.
46--Frank Merriwell’s Duel By Burt L. Standish
47--Frank Merriwell’s Double Shot By Burt L. Standish
48--Frank Merriwell’s Baseball Victories By Burt L. Standish
To Be Published in November, 1922.
49--Frank Merriwell’s Confidence By Burt L. Standish
50--Frank Merriwell’s Auto By Burt L. Standish
To Be Published in December, 1922.
51--Frank Merriwell’s Fun By Burt L. Standish
52--Frank Merriwell’s Generosity By Burt L. Standish
To Be Published in January, 1923.
53--Frank Merriwell’s Tricks By Burt L. Standish
54--Frank Merriwell’s Temptation By Burt L. Standish
To Be Published in February, 1923.
55--Frank Merriwell on Top By Burt L. Standish
56--Frank Merriwell’s Luck By Burt L. Standish
* * * * * *
FRANK MERRIWELL IN MAINE
Or, the Lure of ’Way Down East
by
BURT L. STANDISH
Author of the famous Merriwell Stories.
[Illustration: (Publisher colophon)]
Street & Smith Corporation
Publishers
79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York
Copyright, 1898
By Street & Smith
Frank Merriwell in Maine
(Printed in the United States of America)
All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign
languages, including the Scandinavian.
FRANK MERRIWELL IN MAINE.
CHAPTER I.
A LIVELY TIME.
Chu! chu! chu!
The sound came from the exhaust pipe of the little steamer.
“Chew! chew chew!” grunted Bruce Browning, lazily looking up at the
escaping steam. “Do you know what that makes me think of?”
“Vot?” asked Hans Dunnerwust, who did not like the glance that
Browning gave him, and who felt mentally sore because he had been
laughed at for trying to get sauerkraut for breakfast. “Vat vos id
you makes id t’ink uf?”
“Of the time you kicked that hornet’s nest, supposing it to be a
football.”
“Py shimminy, uf dot feetpall did gick me und gid stung in more as
lefendeen hundret blaces, id didn’t chewed me!”
“No, but you chewed the tobacco to put on the stings, and that old
exhaust pipe sounds just like Merry, when he kept saying to you,
‘Chew! chew! chew!’--and you chewed like a goat!”
“Und peen so seasick vrom id! Ach! I vish dot dose hornets hat kilt
me deat ven I stinged dhem.”
“Speaking of a goat,” remarked Hodge, “I saw one aboard a while
ago. It belongs to the little boy that came on the boat with the
lady as we were getting our things down to the landing.”
“Shouldn’t think they’d allow a goat on the steamer,” said Diamond,
in disgust. “This isn’t a stock boat.”
“No, but it looks like a lumber van,” declared Browning, glancing
about the deck, where some new furniture had been stowed, destined
for Capen’s, or perhaps Kineo. “I guess it carries about everything
that people are willing to pay for.”
“The man who can deliberately grumble on such a morning and amid
such surroundings, ‘is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils,’”
declared Merriwell, looking admiringly across the water. “Tell me
if any of you ever saw anything finer.”
Frank Merriwell and a party of friends were on the steamer
_Katahdin_, out in the roomy sheet of water known as Moosehead
Lake. The _Katahdin_ had left the town of Greenville, near the
southern extremity of the lake, some time before. Its ultimate
destination was Kineo, the objective point of many tourists,
but it was to stop at Capen’s, or Deer Isle, to put ashore some
supplies there, together with Frank Merriwell’s party, consisting
of Merriwell, Bart Hodge, Bruce Browning, Jack Diamond and Hans
Dunnerwust, all friends of his at Yale.
They had left Greenville in a thick fog, which had at length rolled
away, giving them a view of surpassing beauty. The water crinkled
under the light breeze like a sea of silk. The sky was of so clear
a blue that the black smoke from the little funnel trailed across
it like a blotch of ink.
All round were the lake’s grassy, timbered shores. In the
northwest, the brown precipice of Mount Kineo lifted its hornstone
face to a height of eight hundred feet. It was named for an old
Indian chief, who lived on its crest for nearly fifty years. The
volcanic cone known as Spencer Peaks rose in the east, while beyond
them towered the granite top of Katahdin. In the southwest was the
rugged head of “Old Squaw,” named for the mother of Chief Kineo,
who dwelt on its top, as her son dwelt on the top of the mountain
that bears his name.
Diamond glanced back toward Greenville, and sang, rather than said,
“Farewell, Greenville!”
This started Frank Merriwell, who got out his guitar, put it in
tune, then leaned back on the camp stool with which he had provided
himself and sang:
“Farewell, lady!
Farewell, lady!
Farewell, lady!
We’re going to leave you now.”
Jack Diamond, who sang a fine tenor, joined him in the chorus,
which in spite of its jolly words, floated over the water in a way
that was almost melancholy:
“Merrily we roll along,
Roll along,
Roll along,
Merrily we roll along,
O’er the deep, blue sea!”
“That sentiment would be all right, now, if we were on one of those
new-fangled roller boats,” observed Browning, “but it hardly fits
the present occasion. I’d suggest that you change that to ‘skim
along,’ or ‘steam along’; we’re certainly not rolling. There isn’t
enough sea going on this old lake to make a birch canoe roll!”
Diamond did not seem to hear this. There was a faraway look in his
eyes that made Merriwell wonder if Jack were not thinking of a girl
to whom he had said farewell at Bar Harbor earlier in the summer.
Merriwell started another old song, whose music and words were sad
enough to bring tears, and Diamond’s rich tenor took it up with
him. It was a song of the friends of long ago, and the last stanza
ran:
“Some have gone to lands far distant,
And with strangers make their home;
Some upon the world of waters
All their lives are forced to roam;
Some have gone from earth forever,
Longer here they might not stay.
They have found a fairer region,
Far away, far away!
They have found a fairer region,
Far away, far away!”
“I vish you voult quit dot!” implored Hans, digging some very
fat knuckles into some very red eyes. “Dot make me feel like my
mutter-in-law lost me. I feel like somet’ing gid behint me und
tickle dill I cry.”
He was interrupted by a warning scream, in a woman’s voice.
“Here, Billy! Look out! Look out!” was shouted.
At the same instant there was a blow, a sound of smashing glass,
and with a squawk of astonishment and fright, Hans Dunnerwust shot
forward and into the air, as if hit by a pile driver. Something
had “tickled” him from behind, in a most unexpected way. It was the
goat, of which Hodge had spoken.
“Wow! Mutter! Fire! I vos shot! Hellup! Ye-e-e-ow!”
Hans clawed the air with feet and hands in a frenzy of alarm. Then
he came down on the goat’s back and began to squawk again:
“Safe me! I vos kilt alretty! Somet’ings vos riting me avay!
Hellup! Murter!” as the goat, frightened by Hans’ fall upon his
back, made a forward dash.
Hans had been seated on a stool, which was a part of the new
furniture stowed on the deck. A mirror leaned against this stool,
the mirror being also a part of the furniture.
The goat was supposed to be kept somewhere below, but it had
refused to remain there, and in its peregrinations over the vessel
had finally wandered to the upper deck.
The boy had followed it, with the intention of taking it below
again, but it had scampered by him.
Then it had suddenly become aware of the fact that there was
another goat on the steamer. This new goat was in the mirror. The
new goat looked pugnacious and put down its head in a belligerent
way when the other goat put down its head. This was too much for
any right-minded goat to endure, and so Billy made a rush with
lowered head and smashed the mirror goat into a thousand pieces.
Fortunately it struck below Hans and merely hoisted him forward and
upward. Its impact was like that of a battering-ram, and if it
had butted him fairly in the back it would have inflicted serious
injuries. Still though not at all hurt, Hans thought himself as
good as dead, and bellowed right lustily.
The other members of the party sprang to their feet, quite as
startled, while the boy raced across the deck to stop the goat’s
mad career, and the boy’s mother screamed in alarm.
Hans’ fat legs flailed the air, as the goat made its rush, then he
tumbled off, with a resounding thump.
“Hellup!” he roared. “Something vos kilt py me! I vos smashed indo
more as a hundret and sefendeen bieces!”
Seeing he was not injured, his friends began to laugh.
Hans rolled over, gave them a hurt and angry look, then glanced in
the direction taken by the goat.
It had faced about and now stood with lowered head awaiting the
turn of events. Plainly it was bewildered. The disappearance of the
other goat was to it a puzzling mystery.
“Ba-a-aa!”
Its warning note sounded, as Hans lifted himself on his hands
and knees. He was facing the goat, in what the goat thought a
threatening attitude. Billy’s fighting instincts were aroused and
he was ready for any and all comers, whether they were goats or men.
The comical pugilistic attitude of Hans and the goat was too much
for Frank Merriwell’s risibilities. He shouted with laughter. And
even Bart Hodge and Jack Diamond, who seldom laughed at anything,
laughed at this. Bruce Browning dropped limply back on his stool,
haw-hawing.
“Yaw!” snorted Hans. “Dot vos very funny, ain’d it? Maype you seen
a shoke somevere, don’d id? You peen retty to laugh a-dyin’, ven I
vos kilt. Oh! you gone to plazes! I vos----”
The boy dashed by him toward the goat and Hans lifted himself still
higher on his hands and knees.
This was too much for the goat.
“Ba-a-aa!”
Whish! Whack!
He made for Hans with lowered head, passing the boy at a bound, and
struck a blow that tumbled Hans down on the deck. But the fire and
force were taken out of the goat’s rush, for the boy caught him by
his short tail as he passed, and gave the tail such a yank that the
goat was skewed round and struck Hans’ shoulder only a glancing
blow.
Hans went down in a bellowing heap, and the goat squared for
another rush.
“Safe me!” Hans yelled. “You peen goin’ let me kill somet’ing, eh?
Wow! Id’s coming do kill me again! Hellup! Fire! Murter! Bolice!”
Diamond picked up a rope’s end and gave the goat a whack across the
back. It was like whacking a piece of wood. The goat did not budge.
The boy caught it by the tail. Hans lifted himself, and the goat,
dragging the boy, made for him again.
This time Hans fell down without being touched.
Diamond leaped after the boy and sought to take the goat by the
neck. It flung him off.
“Ba-a-aa!”
Whack!
That was the goat’s reply to Diamond for his attempted
interference. The blow fell on Diamond’s legs, knocking them from
under him, and the young Virginian promptly measured his length on
the deck.
The goat wheeled again and struck at Bruce Browning, who was
crawling off his easy stool. It missed Bruce.
The boy had lost his grip on the goat’s tail, after having been
yanked about in a neck-breaking manner.
“Ye-e-ow!” screeched Hans, rolling over and over in a wild effort
to gain a place of safety. “I pelief dot vos a sdeam inchine run py
electricidy! Led id gid avay vrom me qvick! Somepoty blease holt me
dill I gids avay vrom id! Hellup! Murter!”
Browning dashed to Diamond’s assistance, and was joined by
Merriwell and Bart Hodge. But they could not hold the goat. It
squirmed out of their hands like an eel and scampered to the other
side of the deck.
Whish! Spat!
A stream of water from the steamer’s hose struck the goat
amidships, at this juncture, and fairly bowled it over.
Some of the crew had decided to take a hand, and were now training
the hose on the pugnacious creature.
The goat shook itself and lowered its head as if for the purpose of
attacking this new foe. But it quickly changed its mind, and raced
from the deck, followed by the stream, sending back a defiant
“Ba-a-aa!” however, as it disappeared.
Hans climbed slowly and hesitatingly to his feet, ready to drop
down at the first warning. He steadied himself on his fat, shaky
legs, and looked round the deck with owlish gravity, as if he
doubted the goat’s disappearance.
“Are you hurt?” Merriwell sympathetically asked, advancing.
“Vos you hurt!” Hans indignantly squealed. “_Dunder und blitzens!_
I vos kilt more as sefendeen hundret dimes, alretty yet! I vos
plack und plue vrom your head to my heels.”
“Diamond caught it, too,” said Browning.
There was a faint smile on his face, which Hans did not let pass
unnoticed.
“Dot vos de drouble mit me! You didn’t nopoby gatch id! Uf you hat
gatched it, id vouldn’t haf putted me down so like a bile-drifer!
Yaw! You vos a smart fellers, ain’d id! You vos a plooming idiot,
und dot’s vot’s der madder mit me!”
“Better hunt up the goat and shake hands with it, and tell it you
didn’t mean it!” suggested Browning, who couldn’t keep back a smile
and some pleasantry when he saw that Hans was really not hurt in
the least.
Hans turned away in disgust and sought his stool.
“You don’t know a shoke ven id seen you!” he declared. “Uf you vos
murtered pefore my eyes, you voult laugh!”
He turned the stool over and jammed it down on the deck, causing a
shower of glass to fall.
Although thoroughly disgusted and angry, Diamond decided not to
make himself ridiculous by showing it.
An officer came forward to look at the broken mirror, and a man
appeared with a broom to sweep up the glass and throw it overboard.
Merriwell picked up his guitar and began to strum the strings, and
soon he and Diamond were again singing, and the laughable, almost
disagreeable incident seemed on the way to speedy oblivion.
Hans maintained a glum silence, however, till the steamer reached
Capen’s, now and then rubbing some portion of his anatomy as if
to make certain it was all there and not violently swelling as a
portent of his speedy death.
The lady apologized for the unruliness of the goat, and paid for
the damage done to the mirror.
“Here we are,” announced Merriwell, as the steamer rounded to at
the boat landing at Capen’s.
The boy came on deck with the goat, leading it by a rope, and Hans
dodged behind the Virginian.
“Uf I see dot feller meppe he gid his mat oop again,” he muttered,
“und uf I don’t see me he von’t knew me!”
But the goat seemed now to be very peaceably disposed. It
obediently followed the boy and was led ashore by him.
The furniture was landed at Capen’s, too; and soon the steamer,
with a much lighter burden, was standing off toward the northwest
in the direction of Kineo.
One of the first things Merriwell did when they were comfortably
located in the hotel was to inquire for a guide. He had written to
Capen, explaining his needs, and he found Capen ready to supply
them.
Merriwell’s party was in the Moosehead Lake region, in the tourist
season for sport.
Not sport with the gun, however, in the ordinary sense, for it
was the close season on all large game; but for a few days of the
enjoyment of camping out.
Merriwell intended to do his hunting with a camera, he said; and
had brought with him a fine, yet small and handy camera, well
adapted to his purposes. He did not desire to shoot any large game,
but he hoped to be able to snap the camera on something of the kind
that would be worth while.
Above all, however, they intended to lounge and loaf and enjoy
themselves without unnecessary exertion, for the time was right in
the middle of August; and in August it often gets very hot, even
along Moosehead Lake, as they well knew.
Capen, when spoken to by Frank about the promised guide, announced
that he was ready to furnish the best and most reliable guide in
all that country, and sent for the guide at once.
He came, an Old Town Indian, bearing the name of John Caribou.
Merriwell looked him over and nodded his approval.
“I think he’ll do!” he said.
“Do!” said Capen. “You couldn’t find a better, if you should hunt
a year!”
The other members of the party were in the room, closely studying
the face and figure of the guide. They saw an Indian of more than
ordinary height and strength, dressed in very ordinary clothing,
with long hair falling to his shoulders. This hair was as black
as a raven’s wing, but not blacker than the keen eyes set between
the heavy brows and high cheek bones. The face was grave and
unreadable, and the man’s attitude one of impassive silence. An
observer might have fancied that the conference did not concern the
Indian at all.
Capen offered to furnish the guide, two tents, two birch-bark
canoes and supplies for the contemplated trip, for a certain sum,
which was agreed to without haggling.
Then Frank Merriwell turned to the guide, who had, so far, not said
a word.
“When can you go?” Merry asked.
“’Morrow,” said Caribou, with commendable promptness. “If want can
go to-day.”
“He’ll be ready long before you are, gentlemen,” declared Capen. “I
don’t doubt he could go in fifteen minutes should it be necessary.
But I shall have to get an extra canoe which I can’t do before
morning, as he knows, and with your permission I’ll send him for
it.”
“Why didn’t he get us a white man?” grumbled Diamond when both
Capen and John Caribou were gone. “Of course, it’s to his interest
to brag about the fellow. I’m not stuck on Indians myself. It’s my
opinion that you can’t rely on them; that they’re all right only
so long as everything goes all right, and they’re treacherous,
ungenerous and ungrateful. If our Indian guide doesn’t make us
sorry we ever met him then I miss my guess.”
“I’m sure he’s all right!” asserted Merriwell. “I studied his face
closely while we were talking. It’s Indian, to be sure, but there
is no treachery in it. I’ll put my opinion against yours that
we’ll find John Caribou as faithful, honest and true as any white
man.”
Statements are not always convincing, however, and the Virginian
remained unchanged in his belief.
Who was right and who was wrong? We shall see.