THE PARTY.
“There are lots of joy forever here this evening,” observed Jack
Ready, as he surveyed the assembly of pretty girls and manly
youths. “In fact, it’s been a long time since I’ve had the pleasure
of looking on such a fine collection of joy forever.”
“What are you trying to get off?” asked Bert Dashleigh, who for
once was unaccompanied by his mandolin, which made him feel very
lonesome, although every one else was well satisfied. “What are
joys forever?”
“Things of beauty, of course,” explained Jack, with an expression
of contempt. “My callow young friend, it is barely possible that
you have heard it said that a ‘thing of beauty is a joy forever.’”
“I believe I have,” faltered Bert.
“Well, just take a look at those stunning girls. Aren’t they things
of beauty? Then, of course, they are joys forever. Where do you get
off?”
“Anywhere,” muttered Bert meekly. “You have such flowery ways of
saying things that----”
“That will do!” said Jack loftily. “It is plain you belong to the
common herd that does not understand the poetic feelings of those
who soar to heavenly heights. By Jove! there is Jennie Dwight! I
wonder if she will lend me her chewing-gum.” And away he went in
pursuit of a vivacious-looking girl.
It was the evening of the party at Whitney Hill, and Doctor
Lincoln’s handsome residence was thronged with beautiful girls and
bright-looking young men. From basement to attic the mansion was
glittering with lights, and the sound of music and laughter and
chattering voices seemed to come from every part of it.
Elsie was happy. Of course, she had been compelled to meet scores
of strangers when she would have preferred to be enjoying herself
with a group of her own particular friends, but all were kind and
pleasant, and a spirit of good-fellowship seemed to pervade the
gathering.
Never in her life had Elsie looked more attractive. Her dress
was of some gray-silk substance, made over pink, which gave it a
delicate tint that seemed to match her complexion perfectly. Her
eyes were blue as the summer sky, and shining like stars, while the
smile that flitted about her sweet mouth made it seem sweeter than
usual.
The heart of Bart Hodge had given one great throb when his eyes
rested upon her.
“How beautiful she is!” he inwardly cried.
She gave him her hand, with a pressure that thrilled his every
nerve. The hot blood was in his cheeks, and she saw the love-light
flame deep in his intense eyes. She knew how much he cared for
her, and his love was something that made her afraid at times, for
not yet did she understand her own heart.
Frank came. He was splendid, and he had a way of saying something
pleasant in a manner that did not seem prosaically conventional.
Pretty girls flocked round him, and he showed that he was one of
those rare men who, while in every way a “man’s man,” could be
quite at his ease in the presence of the other sex.
It was a perfect spring evening, so warm that the windows were
thrown open and many of the guests sought the breeze that could be
found on the broad veranda. Out there Chinese lanterns dangled and
glowed, and the throng strolled beneath them.
Somewhere behind a screen of palms and flowers an orchestra gave
forth sweet music. The heroes of Yale, the gridiron gladiator, the
baseball man, the hammer-thrower, the sprinter, and others who had
done things, were in great demand by the pretty girls.
But of all the heroes present Frank Merriwell was the most popular.
The girls crowded to get a look at him, to speak to him, to hear
his voice and receive a smile from him.
“He is it!” declared Jack Ready. “He has the call in this little
game. I don’t know another fellow who wouldn’t look a little
foolish or self-conscious. He doesn’t seem to know that he’s
just about the whole blooming show. That makes him all the more
popular. I am for boycotting him.”
“Boycott him!” growled Browning. “He’ll be girl-caught if he
doesn’t look out. There isn’t a pretty girl here who doesn’t stand
ready to fling herself at his head on the slightest provocation.”
“But what sort of a show do we stand?” sighed Ready sadly. “All the
girls seem to want to talk about Merriwell, Merriwell, Merriwell. I
just told a saucy young miss that I thought him perfectly horrid.
She gave me the icy eye at once. Bet a button she won’t know me the
next time we meet.”
“You should know better. You’re old enough.”
“But I’d like to be a little bit of a tin hero to somebody,” the
queer sophomore sobbed. “I’m going to do something. I have made up
my mind to do something to produce notice. What would you advise?”
“Shoot yourself,” said Bruce gravely. “You’ll get an obituary
notice.”
“Thanks!” retorted Jack. “I am not seeking posthumous glory, my
wise friend. I don’t know of anything I have less use for. I want
to do something that will make a lot of stunning girls cuddle round
me like flies around a molasses-barrel. Now, if I could only take
part in a duel!”
“You will ‘duel’ to avoid such a method of obtaining glory,” said
Bruce.
Jack gasped.
“Air!” he moaned faintly.
“That’s all anybody finds in your vicinity,” said Bruce, moving
away.
Next to Merriwell, Dick Starbright seemed the most popular with
the girls. The handsome freshman giant had won his spurs on the
football-field. Having the build of a Spartan gladiator, the rosy
face of a boy, and the pleasant manners of a Yale gentleman, it
was not strange that he should find himself almost constantly the
center of a bevy of handsome girls. And he knew what it meant when,
in a careless, apparently thoughtless, manner, some of them rested
their hands on his arm for a moment. They wanted to feel his muscle!
Hodge might have had a flock around him, but he was so dark and
stern that they seemed a little afraid of him. When they gathered
near, he did not seem to mind them. There was only one girl among
them all for Bart, and he was impatiently waiting the time when she
would be at liberty to give him some of her attention.
Doctor Lincoln seemed very happy. His heavy face wore a smile, but
Bart fancied the wild light lurked in his eyes. The doctor found
Hodge and drew him aside.
“I have been listening to the talk,” he said. “I have heard
these young people speaking of Merriwell as such a wonder. And
Starbright--they seem to think he is very strong.”
“He is,” said Bart.
“I presume so--in a way. He is big, and, of course, he must have
a certain amount of strength. But he is not what I rate as truly
strong.”
“Isn’t he?”
“Not at all. Do you think he could lift that stone out there in the
grove?”
“He might.”
The doctor frowned.
“Perhaps he might, but I doubt it. I am certain Merriwell could not
lift it.”
“Don’t be too certain. Frank Merriwell is far stronger than he
looks. I fancy, if put to the test, he’d be able to show himself
even stronger than Starbright.”
“Do you think that?” exclaimed the doctor, in apparent surprise.
“Well, you know them both, and you may be right. But how I could
astonish them. They do not know that I am the strongest man in the
world, do they?”
“I don’t think they do.”
Somehow, this answer seemed to arouse the man’s suspicions.
“Have you betrayed my secret?” he whispered rather fiercely. “You
promised that you would not. Have you told them that I am the
strongest man in the world?”
“No.”
“You are sure?”
“Yes.”
The man seemed to draw a breath of relief.
“I was afraid you had done so,” he said. “You must keep my secret.
You must not breathe it to a soul. I don’t know why I trusted you.
It was foolish of me.”
Bart said nothing.
“You took me by surprise,” declared the strange doctor. “You were
watching me there in the grove. Why were you watching me? Answer
that question.”
“It happened quite by chance.”
“Did it? Then you were not spying upon me?”
“Of course not.”
“I thought perhaps you might have been. I have kept the great
secret until the time comes to divulge it, which I shall do in a
most sensational manner. I have not yet decided how it is to be,
but I shall do something to rival the act of Samson when he pulled
down the temple upon his enemies. I have enemies. You may not know
it, but it is true. I have secret enemies, and they would rob me of
my strength if they knew I possessed it. That is why I wish to keep
it a secret until the time comes. Then I shall call them all out in
a body and topple some massive building down upon them. That will
obliterate them, and they will give me no more trouble.”
He was speaking in a quiet tone of voice, and any one observing
him must have fancied he was simply chatting with Bart about
ordinary matters.
More than ever was Hodge satisfied that the man was a dangerous
lunatic. And he was all the more dangerous because he had craftily
concealed from those who knew him best the fact of his derangement.
They simply thought him “queer,” but it was not likely that any of
them dreamed that his mind was actually unbalanced.
“When the time comes,” the doctor continued, “I may ask you to
assist me in calling my enemies together. Oh, I’ll show you some
sport! You love sport, and you’ll laugh at this, I promise you. We
will get them to stand in one long row, and then I’ll bring the
bricks and mortar and stone and iron thundering down upon them. It
will be just like children playing with blocks.”
The doctor laughed silently to himself as he thought of this, and
Bart felt a cold shiver creeping over him.
“I must tell Elsie everything,” he thought. “She must not remain in
the house with this madman.”
Then he saw her coming toward them.
“Excuse me, doctor,” he said. “I wish to have a chat with Miss
Bellwood.”
“But not a word of the great secret to her!” warned the man, in a
whisper. “If you value your life, be silent!”