SOLVING THE MYSTERY.
“Fellows,” growled Jack Ready, “we’ve got to retake that fence if
we do it with the aid of Gatling guns! I am willing to shed my
heart’s blood, but I am not willing to listen to the insulting
howling of those freshies.”
But the sophomores were sore and discouraged. The heart and life
had been taken out of them. They had lost confidence in Ready and
Bingham. They had lost confidence in themselves. They remembered
with terror the stalking wonder of the freshmen, the new leader,
Rolf Boltwood.
“That’s all right to say,” muttered one; “but we’re no match for
them as long as they have that fellow.”
“And that fellow should be safe under lock and key now!” growled
Bingham, rubbing his lame shoulder.
Jack Ready begged them to follow him. Do it then, he urged, and
they might take the freshmen by surprise. The freshmen thought they
had driven them off for good and all. But it is not at all certain
he could have induced them to follow him had not Frank Merriwell
suddenly appeared and put in a word.
“You fellows will never hear the last of it if you let the freshmen
keep your fence,” he said. “You can’t do that, and you know it.
Try a rush, locked together, and see if you can’t sweep them back.
Go at them in earnest while they are singing and whooping over
their triumph.”
“If we had you for a leader,” said some one. “If you would meet
that holy terror Boltwood.”
“Oh, he’s a mark!” said Frank. “Anybody can handle that chap.”
“My, my!” murmured Ready. “How wise you are! Bet a cabbage you
can’t handle him so easy!”
Frank laughed.
“I’m ashamed of you, Ready,” he said. “He’s no athlete.”
“Maybe not,” growled Bingham; “but he’s the devil let loose!”
But Frank led the sophomores into forming quietly and quickly for
a rush. When they were ready, Frank saw that they started and got
under way without any yelling to give the freshmen warning that
they were coming.
Thus it happened that the first the freshmen knew the sophomores
were sweeping down on them in a compact mass, ready to make another
fierce struggle. Starbright and Morgan cried for the freshmen to
fall in and get ready to meet the rush, but there was not enough
time to prepare properly before the rushers were on them.
Somehow, Boltwood had disappeared. This had been noticed a short
time before, and now they called to him in vain. He was not there
to give them courage to withstand that furious rush of the sophs.
The sophomores plowed into the freshmen in an irresistible surge,
and they could not be checked. As they found the freshmen melting
before them, their spirits rose and they grew fiercer and more
determined. The result was that the freshmen were swept away like
chaff, and the sophomores retook the fence with so little trouble
that they were almost bewildered.
“Where is Boltwood?” was the question asked on all sides as the
freshmen were put to rout.
“He’s sneaked!” declared somebody resentfully. “He’s a coward,
anyhow. It was only when excited that he had any courage. The
moment the excitement was over, his courage left him and he got out
of the way.”
But neither Starbright nor Morgan made any such remark. Both of
them knew what had become of Boltwood, and they held their peace.
Some of the freshmen were for making another attempt to recapture
the fence, but the most of them had had enough and were well
satisfied. They had defeated the sophs in the pass and captured
and held the fence for a while, which was glory indeed, and that
seemed sufficient. So they began to disperse at once, and to the
sophomores was left the satisfaction of holding what was their own.
As soon as it was seen that the rioting was over for the night, the
students betook themselves to other parts. The sophomores lingered
the longest at their fence, growling over what had happened. Jack
Ready found himself regarded with considerable disfavor, many
seeming to think he should have foreseen the trick at the pass and
been prepared for it.
“Alas!” he sighed. “I did foresee it to the extent of capturing
that devil Boltwood, but somehow he broke forth, or fifth, from his
dungeon cell, and was right in the midst of the prayer-meeting.”
“But where did he go to?” growled Bingham. “He disappeared mighty
suddenly.”
“That was strange,” put in Carker.
“Strange!” exploded Ready. “Will you tell me something that
happened to-night that was not strange? This poet works in wondrous
ways his marvels to perform. I’ll never get over it. Think of being
held up for ridicule by a wall-eyed he-goat like that! Yow!”
“And he slammed me round as if I never cost a cent in my life,”
said Bingham.
“He had the strength of--of----” began Carker.
“An earthquake,” finished Ready.
“Let’s shake the earthquake for a while,” begged Greg.
“We look as if it had shaken us,” muttered Bingham.
“There’s a mystery about that man Boltwood,” declared the sophomore
socialist.
“I believe you!” grunted the big man.
“Where did he get those muscles?” demanded Greg.
“That’s what I’d like to have you explain,” said Ready.
“I’m another,” nodded Bing, rubbing his lame shoulder.
“No man ever gets strength like that unless he trains for it,”
persisted Carker.
“You’re right,” agreed Bingham.
“Well, when has this doggerel writer trained, may I ask?”
“That’s what I’d like to know.”
“He hasn’t.”
“Then how comes it that he is so thundering strong?”
“There is the mystery.”
“And it’s deep and dark,” said Ready. “If he’d been any stronger
he might have wiped us all off the face of the earth. I’ve been up
against Merriwell before now, and it seems to me that this man was
fully the match for Merriwell. Somehow, he had the same careless
way of slamming a fellow round.”
“If we’d just had Merriwell in disguise to run against him,” said
Carker. “Oh, but the fur would have filled the air!”
“Merriwell in disguise!” exclaimed Ready, suddenly starting and
giving his own head a punch. “Why didn’t I think of that before!
Oh, lud!”
“It would have been a great trick,” said Carker; “but it’s too late
to think about it now.”
“Merriwell in disguise!” repeated Ready, as if in a trance.
“Come out of it!” growled Bingham.
“Oh, lud! Oh, lud!” murmured Jack, again smiting himself back of
the ear with his clenched fist. “What chumps we have been! If we’d
just ripped off his wig, he would have stood exposed! And I lost
the chance to do the trick! I must find a good soft place to lie
down and expire!”
“What the dickens are you talking about?” snapped Carker.
“That’s what I’d like to know,” said Bingham.
“Fellows,” said Ready, “we have played right into the hands of
Merriwell. We gave him the chance to be the principal figure in the
affair to-night.”
“Are you daffy?” asked Carker. “What do you mean?”
“He lured us into catching Boltwood and confining the fellow so
that he could get into this game,” said Jack.
Still both Carker and Bingham were in the dark.
“Why, hang it all!” exploded Jack; “can’t you see through a ladder?
Boltwood wasn’t here at all!”
“What?” gasped Carker.
“What?” roared Bingham.
“Then who in blazes----” began Greg.
“Merriwell,” said Jack quietly.
“Merriwell--Boltwood?” gurgled Bingham. “You can’t mean----”
“That Merriwell got us to kidnap Boltwood so that he might disguise
himself as that freak and take part in the fun. He did it, while
Boltwood languished in the dark hole where we have stowed him. You
both know Merriwell’s ability to make up. He is a great actor. He
fooled everybody into thinking he was Knight at the regatta. This
Boltwood is about Merriwell’s height, and----”
“Merciful heavens!” gasped Carker. “I believe you are right!”
“I believe so, too!” admitted Bingham reluctantly. “Now that I
think of it, it seems to me that Boltwood to-night was too well
built for the poet. And it also seems that I observed in his
movements some of Merriwell’s ways.”
“He did it to get even with me,” said Ready.
“And you must confess that he has about made the score even,” said
Carker.
Ready actually seemed relieved.
“Well, I’m glad I wasn’t tossed round like that by that freak of a
freshman poet!” he exclaimed.
“Tell you what,” said Bingham, “let’s go see if Boltwood is still
in the basement of the old storage-house. If that was Merriwell, he
must be there.”
“I’m with you!” cried Jack. “Come on, Carker!”
Away they went. They found a cab and piled into it in a hurry,
having given the driver directions.
“He’ll be there,” said Bingham confidently. “I haven’t a doubt of
it now.”
“Nor I,” said Carker.
“I hope he is,” said Ready. “I feel like slamming him round a few,
just to relieve my feelings.”
They stopped at last near the old warehouse. Leaving the cab to
wait, they jumped out and approached the dark and gloomy building.
A watchman stopped them.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“It’s all right, Bill,” assured Jack. “Here’s your pay for
watching. We’ve come for the captive. Is he safe?”
“Sure thing,” said the man, taking the money from Jack. “You’ll
find him right there.”
“Had to drive anybody away from the building?”
“Not a soul.”
“That settles it!” growled Bingham. “Now we know who did the trick!
Ready, Merriwell is more than even with you!”
“Don’t say a word!” muttered Jack. “I believe I shall have to slam
Boltwood round a little, just to ease the strain on my nervous
system.”
They entered the old building and descended into the basement. It
was dark down there, but they found a candle and lighted it. Then
they proceeded to a heavy door, on which there was a padlock, and
against which was a heavy bar.
Jack took out a key and unlocked the padlock, while Bingham removed
the bar, Carker holding the candle.
Then the door was yanked open, and the light of the candle shone
into the room beyond. It showed them, sitting on a box and calmly
waiting, the well-known figure of the long-haired freshman poet!
“Yah!” snarled Jack Ready, jumping in and pouncing on Boltwood. “So
you are here, are you?”
“Well, where in thunder did you think I’d be?” growled the freshman
sulkily. “I hope you are satisfied with your scurvy trick!”
“Scurvy trick, hey?” cried Jack, growing warm. “Be careful! Your
language is offensive, sir!”
“Well, you haven’t done anything to me that was offensive, have
you? You think you can do just as you hanged please without anybody
saying a word. But I’ll fix you! I’ll write a poem about you!”
“I don’t believe you will,” said Jack.
“Yes, I will. I’ve made up my mind to that, and I’ve been composing
some of the stanzas while you’ve kept me locked up here.”
“Oh, you have? Well, you want to get them right out of your head.”
They led the freshman forth and made their way from the old
building. As they departed, the man they had paid for watching
stood at a distance and chuckled.
“Well, this has been a great night’s work,” he muttered. “Both
chaps paid me a fiver. Ten dollars for doing nothing! I’d like to
make a strike like that every night.”
The sophomores led Boltwood to the cab, into which they thrust him.
Then they piled in, the door slammed, and the cab rolled away.
“Now,” said Ready, when they were all in the cab, “I want you to
repeat some of the poetry you have composed about me.”
“You won’t like it,” said Boltwood, with a chuckle.
“I don’t expect I will. But begin.”
“All right. It begins like this:
“There was a little Jack,
And it came to pass
That this poor little Jack
Became a jackass.”
Bingham snorted, and Carker made some sort of a gurgling sound.
“I don’t think I’ll repeat any more of it,” said Boltwood, in a
tone of voice that seemed to tremble with apprehension.
“Perhaps you hadn’t better!” said Ready coldly. “That is quite
enough.”
“I should say so!” muttered Carker.
“It’s not poetry,” asserted Ready.
“I admit,” said Boltwood, “that it contains more truth than poetry.”
Then Bingham snorted again.
“You’re altogether too gay, my fresh young friend!” cried Jack,
getting hold of Boltwood and giving him a shake.
“Oh, I think you are mistaken!” exclaimed Boltwood, getting hold of
Jack and giving him a fiercer shake.
“What the deuce are you doing?” cried Ready.
“What the deuce are you doing?” asked Boltwood.
Then Jack got mad and smacked the freshman with his open hand. But
quick as a flash Boltwood came back with his open hand, nearly
knocking Jack’s head off.
“Give it to him, fellows!” cried Ready angrily. “Let’s teach the
chump a lesson!”
“Do!” urged Boltwood, as he suddenly biffed Bingham. “I shall enjoy
it so much!”
That made the big fellow mad.
“You are a chump!” he growled.
But somehow Boltwood managed to yank Carker round so that Greg
received the blow Bingham intended for Boltwood.
The freshman laughed.
“Isn’t this fun!” he said. “It’s far better than being shut up in
that dark hole.”
“Oh, wow!” howled Carker. “That nearly knocked my head off!”
“It wouldn’t have been any great loss,” said Boltwood.
By this time the three sophomores were angry in earnest, and they
proceeded to pitch into the freshman.
“We’ll have to spank him again, Bing,” said Ready.
But when they tried to yank the freshman down and get him into
position for spanking, they found it could not be done very easily,
and he managed to rap their heads together till they saw stars and
heard bells ringing.
“Aren’t you having lots of fun with me?” inquired Boltwood.
“Oh, lud!” groaned Ready. “My head, my head!”
“Never mind,” said the freshman. “It’s hard to crack solid wood.”
“Now, that’s too much!” exploded Jack.
“Is it?” asked Boltwood. “Then it may not be solid; perhaps it’s
hollow.”
“Jump on him!” urged Carker, whose “dander” was up. “Let’s kill
him!”
“That’s right!” urged the fellow; “go ahead and kill me. I’ll see
how you do it.”
Ready thought he had the range of Boltwood, and he struck out. His
knuckles, however, encountered something hard, knocking the skin
off them.
“Too bad!” said the voice of the freshman. “Try it again, please.”
“Slam him down in the bottom of the cab!” roared Bingham.
“Won’t that be nice!” laughed the freshman. “You can use me for a
foot-mat. He, he!”
But he got hold of Bingham by the back of the neck, and gave the
big fellow a twisting flop that threw him to the bottom of the cab.
“Steady,” said the poet, as he held the big soph down with his
knees. “Lie still and take things easy.”
Both Carker and Ready tried to grapple with the fellow, but they
got hold of each other by mistake, and he proceeded to slam them
down on top of Bingham, filling the space between the two seats
with their bodies. Then he sat on them and held them down.
The cab rumbled on, and the freshman began to sing, “Throw Him
Down, McClusky.”
Bingham howled, Carker squawked, and Ready squealed.
In this manner the cab rattled up to the corner of College and
Chapel Streets, where it stopped. The freshman wrenched open the
door, jumped out, bade the discomfited and disgusted sophomores
good night, and ran into Osborn Hall.
* * * * *
The events of that night completely mystified Ready, Bingham,
and Carker. They were certain that one of the “Boltwoods” was
Merriwell, but which one was the question that troubled them. After
a while Jack Ready figured it out.
“They were both Merriwells!” he declared.
“How could that be?” asked Bingham.
“Merriwell somehow found out where we had taken Boltwood. He left
the fellow there, while he made up and led the freshmen. When the
fight for the fence was over, he hastened to set Boltwood free
and take his place, again in disguise. So it was Merriwell we
encountered both times.”
It seemed marvelous, but it was the real explanation, Jack felt
confident. However, when they accused Frank, Merry lifted his
eyebrows, seemed greatly astonished, and told them they must be
going daffy. Nor could they get him to admit that he had taken any
part in the rush or had been in the cab with them.
“But to my dying day I shall believe it was Merriwell!” said Jack.