“Now, boys, I owe you a word of explanation.”
Frank Merriwell, senior, faced the victorious Clippings, who were lined
up around Mrs. McQuade’s extended dinner table.
“I want you to know why I did this. It wasn’t to gamble, as most of
you know that I don’t countenance that so-called sport for a minute.
It wasn’t to fight Colonel Carson with his own weapons. That’s another
thing I don’t believe in.
“But I do enjoy beating a man at his own game, when I can do it cleanly
and make him learn a lesson. Now, in plain words, I knew that Colonel
Carson was little short of being a crook. When he gambled, he wanted to
gamble on a sure thing.”
“That’s right,” went up a murmur.
“But I did not make this bet with him in the prospect of winning money.
I made it in order to get that mortgage from him--that mortgage which
my good friend, Mrs. McQuade, had the pleasure of burning just before
dinner. He had obtained it legally. Then he had been paid for it. By
some mischance, Mr. McQuade had not obtained it, and had no receipt to
show.
“Colonel Carson produced it after his death, and claimed that he had
never received payment. He intended to oust Mrs. McQuade from this
house on Monday. If she had borrowed the money and paid it off the
second time, Carson’s villainy would have triumphed. This I did not
want to see.”
He paused, his grave eyes sweeping from face to face.
“As I wrote you, Frank, that would be a poor way to defeat him. So I
came to Carsonville myself, in disguise. The worthy colonel tried to
entrap me into betting against his team. I appeared to fall into the
trap, and wagered my money against his mortgage. He tried to induce me
to bet against his money, but this I would not do. I want you to get
the difference, and get it clearly.”
“I do, father,” exclaimed Chip quickly.
One after another the rest nodded assent.
“What would you ’a’ done if you’d lost?” queried McCarthy.
Frank Merriwell, senior, smiled.
“I watched you at practice work, Dan, and felt sure that I couldn’t
lose.”
At this retort a yell of delight went up, and Dan flushed and wriggled
in his chair. The speaker went on quickly:
“Are you sure, all of you, that you get my point? I’m not defending
betting, even in a righteous cause, mind; it is demoralizing, and
every sport in which it is allowed is sure to suffer. Colonel Carson
is doing a great injury to baseball to-day. But in this case I might
plead extenuating circumstances. I was not betting in order to win. I
would cheerfully have let Mrs. McQuade borrow the money, except that
this would have been knuckling under to a scoundrel. I won nothing for
myself except the satisfaction of having been of service to a lady whom
I am proud to number among my friends, and to her son, whom I am proud
to number among my son’s friends.”
And he leaned forward, took up his glass of water, and, with the warm
smile which had endeared him to so many hearts, proposed a toast.
“To Mrs. McQuade and her hospitable roof-tree!”
A resounding cheer shook the rafters, and the good lady herself,
between tears and laughter, was unable to respond. But she could not
have made herself heard.
“And here’s another to Frank Merriwell, senior!” shouted Billy McQuade.
Another roar went up.
“And another to the ‘Chip of the old block’!” yelled Clancy
frantically. Chip held up his hand for silence.
“I guess,” he said, looking around with the smile that was so much like
his father’s, “I guess we’d better call off another to the Carsonville
Clippings--the picked-up nine that clipped the Clippers!”