Chip Merriwell looked curiously at his friend and host.
“Has this Colonel Carson anything to do with your leaving Fardale--or,
rather, with your writing that you would not be back?”
“Yes,” Billy said, in a low voice. “Let’s walk along, Chip, and I’ll
tell you about it. It might as well come out now as any time, I s’pose.”
It was Merry’s second day in Carsonville. Billy McQuade, or, as he was
more generally known, “Billy Mac,” was a plebe at Fardale Academy.
During the preceding summer he had shown remarkable ability as backstop
on the scrub nine, and it was reported that he was in line to catch for
the regular team during the coming season. Billy Mac was also good at
first, however, so that Fardale had been in no little doubt.
Shortly before the spring vacation began, Billy had been called home
to Carsonville. His father was dead, and his mother had merely written
that she needed Billy’s presence to settle up some portions of the
estate. Then had come a letter from Billy himself--a heartbroken
letter, stating that he would be unable to return to Fardale.
He assigned no definite cause, and the reason remained pretty much a
mystery. It was a most disconcerting mystery, also. Owen Clancy, Chip
Merriwell’s regular backstop, was somewhere off in the Southwest. It
had been pretty generally settled that Billy Mac would don the mask
this season, and his sudden withdrawal was a body blow to Fardale hopes.
These had been swiftly raised, however, when on the last day of school
before the vacation Clancy had appeared without warning. He had
retrieved his family fortunes, and was ready to pitch into work at
Fardale once more. This, none the less, did not throw any light upon
the mystery of Billy Mac’s dropping out.
Both Merry and his father had been no little worried. Frank Merriwell,
senior, had finally suggested that Chip drop around to Carsonville
during vacation. Although head over ears in track and field work, Chip
had assented gladly. Billy Mac sent him a cordial invitation to come
along, and he had promptly arrived.
The McQuade home was a comfortable, old-fashioned residence on a hill
near the river, just outside of town. During his first day, Merry had
asked no questions, but his eyes had been busy. He noted the worried,
uneasy air of hospitable Mrs. McQuade, and the nervousness of his
friend. It was not hard to guess that the estate of the senior McQuade
had fallen into difficulties, though not a word had been said on the
subject.
“Let’s have it, old man,” said Merry gravely. “Nothing helps a fellow
so much as being able to spout out his trouble to some one else.”
“I know,” sighed Billy Mac hopelessly. “But this is different. I s’pose
you remember about--about dad dying just before Christmas holidays?”
“Yes,” said Chip sympathetically. “And we were all mighty sorry to hear
of it, old fellow.”
“Well,” went on the other, “things didn’t look so bad just then. Mother
had a thousand dollars of insurance money, while the house and orchard
was ours. We’ve got some mighty fine fruit trees there, and they
promised to take care of things pretty well.”
“I should think they would! Those apples you dug up yesterday were
something fine, Billy Mac.”
“They were the last of the ones we buried last fall, Chip. We shipped
off some of them, for with the apples and other things we get high
prices from the city. They seem to appreciate getting extra fine fruit.”
“Of course they do. The trouble with most farmers is that they don’t
take pains enough to market their crop right, and take care of it on
the way. But go ahead.”
Billy sighed again, and glanced heavily at the river.
“This here Colonel Carson,” he broke out, “suddenly produced a
mortgage on the house and orchard for two thousand dollars. That was
just before vacation, when mother wrote for me to come home.”
“But you knew that he had the mortgage?” queried Chip, frowning.
“We thought dad had paid it. You see, dad--well, dad was kind of
careless about money. Just the same, we _knew_ he had paid that
mortgage. Mother could find no receipt, however, and Carson vowed that
it had never been paid.”
“Somebody ought to teach him something,” said Merry warmly. “Hadn’t you
any proof whatever?”
“Not a scratch, Chip. We couldn’t find a single thing. Mother pleaded
with him, and he agreed to give us a little time in which to pay
it--over again. It hit us pretty hard, you see. We knew that dad had
paid it, but that villain Carson only wants to get hold of the place.”
“Looks as though the scoundrel had you,” said Merriwell thoughtfully.
“Can you pay it, Billy?”
“Maybe. Mother has that thousand insurance money, and--well, to tell
the truth, I’ve arranged to get a job as clerk in the Carsonville
general store. If we can hold the colonel off a while, I guess we can
fix it.”
“Pretty hard lines, just the same,” commented Merry. “So that’s why you
wrote that you wouldn’t be back to Fardale, eh?”
“Yes,” said Billy Mac miserably. “It’s all off, Chip. And now, after
what’s happened this morning--well, you can guess that Carson won’t
have much mercy.”
Merriwell whistled softly. Now he began to see the possible disaster he
had brought upon the McQuade family through scaring Colonel Carson’s
horse. Recalling the man’s face, he was forced to admit to himself that
he could not see much hope in it. Every line spelled hardness, cold
unscrupulousness.
There was good cause for Billy Mac’s worry--yet he had cast no word of
blame on Chip, whose lack of caution seemed to have brought wreck upon
him. Merry appreciated this fact. It was only another indication of the
sterling qualities of his friend.
At the same time, it gave him serious food for thought. If Colonel
Carson did come down upon Mrs. McQuade, in his rage, Chip knew that he
would be morally responsible for it.
“I’m mighty sorry about this, old man,” he exclaimed soberly, “What
kind of a fellow is this Carson? Is he well off?”
“Got slathers of money,” said Billy Mac, with added gloom. “The burg
was named after his family, and he owns most of the main street, the
bank, and everything else, even the baseball team.”
“Baseball team?” inquired Merriwell sharply. “A professional team?”
“No, the Clippers are made up of amateurs, and stand pretty high in the
Amateur League. But it’s like everything else, Chip. The colonel is
said to be mighty careless about methods in everything he does, so long
as he gets what he wants. The Carsonville Clippers are amateurs, all
right, but I notice most of ’em have jobs in Colonel Carson’s bank, or
on his farms, or somewhere. And the jobs don’t need much attention.”
“So that’s it, eh?” Merriwell looked thoughtful. “Are they a good
bunch?”
There was no doubt that the Clippers could play ball, and play it well
enough to win most of their games. Carsonville, of course, was not a
large-enough place to support such a team, but, where his one great
hobby was concerned, Colonel Carson was willing to spend money like
water.
One reason for this was that his own son was the star pitcher of the
Clippers. Another was that Colonel Carson had a consuming ambition to
make such a showing with his amateur team, that he could buy into one
of the larger professional-league teams as a well-known follower of the
sport.
To this end, it was necessary that his team should win games. The
Clippers did so. But--and this point Merry dragged by sheer force from
the reluctant Billy--it was whispered that Colonel Carson did not care
much how they won, so long as they did win.
“I don’t believe in repeating calumnies,” went on Billy, “whether you
like a man, or don’t. I believe that Colonel Carson is a scoundrel and
a liar where my family is concerned, but I don’t like to repeat things
that have no foundation.”
“Right you are,” exclaimed Chip. “But in a case of this kind, rumor is
apt to hit pretty close to the mark, Billy Mac. Is there a good diamond
here?”
“You bet!” cried Billy enthusiastically. “Almost as good as the Fardale
grounds, Chip. It’s laid out down below the milldam, by the river, with
concrete stands and all that. Colonel Carson certainly does things up
brown!”
“That’s what he wants,” agreed Chip. “It’ll help his reputation
with the league magnates. But if he builds his reputation on secret
chicanery and dirty work, he isn’t going to get very far, and, judging
from your own case, it looks as though Colonel Carson had a tricky
streak right through him.”
He could not help feeling sorry for Billy Mac, even while admiring his
sturdy pluck. To throw up school, athletics, and everything else in
order to take up a hopeless undertaking was a stiff proposition. And
Billy’s task looked hopeless.
His salary as clerk in the Carsonville general store would certainly
be small. It would take him a long time to get together a thousand
dollars, to add to the thousand his mother already possessed. Yet it
had been the only chance, and Billy Mac had plunged desperately at it
without a squeal for help.
Merriwell knew better than to offer financial assistance, though he
knew that his father would be glad to help the McQuades. He had seen
enough of Billy’s mother to guess at her pride, and, as though Billy
had read his secret thought, he turned to Merriwell.
“Don’t say anything to mother about my telling you this,” he said
quietly. “It may come out other ways, or she may tell you herself----”
“I understand,” interrupted Chip. “She wouldn’t like to think that her
guests had been bothered with family troubles. She’s a mighty fine
mother to have, Billy.”
“You bet your boots!” and the other’s eyes lighted up. “She didn’t want
me to quit Fardale, of course. But it was the only chance there was,
and she had to give in at last.”
“Well, the place isn’t lost yet, so brace up,” advised Merriwell.
By the time they had finished this heart-to-heart talk, they were at
the outskirts of the town, and nearing the McQuade home. Billy pointed
out a large white house set in from the road as the Carson residence.
They had just passed this point, when, from a bend in the road, came
a shrill cry in a boyish voice. An instant later they sighted two
figures. One was that of a rather small young fellow, crouching; over
him stood a tall, heavy-set figure, striking at the smaller chap, and
paying no attention to his cries for mercy.
“My eye!” cried Billy Mac hotly. “Trail along, Chip. I’ll give that
brute something else to think of!”
And Billy broke into a run, with a yell of anger.