“Too bad we didn’t drink that toast!” murmured Merriwell, as the
echoing steps of the orderly and Randall died away down the corridor.
“Still, I’m mighty glad that Bob saw fit to come around. It’ll clear
things up wonderfully.”
He crossed the room and sank into a chair. Picking up a magazine, he
began to turn over its pages. As he did so, his hand went out to the
nearer of the two glasses, and he brought it to his lips, sipping
slowly.
With a sigh, he emptied the glass and replaced it on the table. Five
minutes passed, and Merry flung the magazine back to its place, rising.
“Wonder what kind of a row Randall has got himself into now?” he mused,
going to the window and looking down on the campus, with a frown.
Colonel Gunn was the principal of Fardale, and if Randall had been in
some kind of a scrape, it might injure his chances on the diamond.
However, there was a chance that the Southerner had been guilty of some
infraction of the military routine of the school which would merely get
him a “call-down” and a few black marks.
Suddenly Chip turned, as a sharp knock sounded at the door.
“Come in!”
The door opened. Merry gave a gasp of astonishment, for framed in the
doorway, stood Bully Carson. The latter turned and shut the door, not
observing him.
“You came over to see the game?” Merry asked pleasantly.
Bully whirled with a swift cry, his face black.
“You! Why--why--where’s Bob Randall? Isn’t this his room?”
The startled surprise of Colonel Carson’s son was quite evident. In
fact, he was wildly disconcerted. He had expected to see his cousin,
and instead he found Merriwell.
“Don’t get scared out, Bully,” said Chip. “Bob will be right back. I
was waiting for him myself, so I hope you won’t mind my company.”
Merry thoroughly enjoyed the confusion of the other. He bore Carson no
malice, for he knew that the other had been thoroughly punished for
his wrongdoings. He fancied that Bully’s confusion sprang from fear at
being found in Fardale--fear of new retribution for the past.
“Sit down,” he urged pleasantly. “Sit down and rest your eye, Bully.
One of ’em looks pretty tired. Hot day, isn’t it?”
Bully growled out something inarticulate and sank into a chair with a
scowl at Merry. Since he had blundered into it, he was determined to
stick.
As Chip remarked, it was a warm day for that time of year, and no
mistake. Bully Carson was heated by his walk from the village, and he
was perspiring profusely. He pulled out a handkerchief of purple silk
with red bars, and mopped at his face, eying Merry furtively. Seeming
to conclude that he was safe for the present, he regained his composure
slowly.
Chip knew that Carson was a thorough bully and coward. In fact, he
had himself presented Bully with that black eye, when the other had
attempted to “beat him up” in Carsonville the previous Saturday. He
scanned Bully’s attire with a humorous twinkle in his eyes.
“You ought to be more careful, Bully,” he remarked, with mock
solicitude. “If you were seen on the Fardale streets in those duds,
you’d be in danger of arrest.”
“Huh? What for?” Bully growled suspiciously. He looked down at himself.
“For disturbing the peace,” said Chip, with a laugh, dropping on the
window seat.
“Think you’re cussed smart, don’t you?”
“Not a bit of it,” Chip gravely assured him. He found Bully capital
amusement. “I only wonder at your nerve in coming here!”
“You should worry,” retorted Bully, with a scowl. “Ain’t I got a right
to visit my cousin?”
“Sure. Only, if you had another cousin in jail, you’d have a better
right to visit him, seems to me.”
“Huh?” Carson turned pale and mopped at his face again. “What you goin’
to do about it?”
Chip knew that he could have both Bully and his father arrested for
what had taken place at Carsonville. This, however, was far from his
thoughts.
“Nothing. Make yourself right at home, old man. Only I wouldn’t advise
you to light up that cigarette in here.”
Bully had started to roll a cigarette. He paused, looking up quickly.
“Why not?”
“It’s not allowed. Go ahead and suck it all you want to, but don’t
light it. We don’t approve of coffin nails at Fardale, and if the
guards smelled smoke they’d throw you out of here in a hurry.”
Carson grunted. Nevertheless, he apparently decided to take Chip’s
warning in good part. There was an undernote to Merry’s voice that told
him the other was not joking this time.
He finished rolling the cigarette, licked it, and carefully inserted it
into one corner of his mouth. Then he lolled back in his chair, glanced
around, and favored Chip with a black look.
“You fellers are goin’ to get the hide licked off you to-day,” he
announced. His confidence was returning, as Merry made no hostile move.
“Thanks for the news,” said Chip easily. “Are you going to pitch?”
“No. We got a new feller named Green. He’ll show you dubs what real
pitchin’ is, and I’m goin’ to back him to the limit.”
“I hope he’ll show us more than you did,” and Frank settled himself
among the pillows in the window seat. “We’re always willing to be
shown, Bully.”
Bully grunted.
“You get yours to-day, all right.”
“Who’s Green?” asked Chip curiously. “Is he an amateur?”
“Sure!”
“And I suppose your father is going to bet on him, as usual?”
Bully grinned, and patted his pocket knowingly.
“Pop’s goin’ to do a little betting, I reckon. So’m I.”
“Why don’t you bet on Fardale, for a change?” Merry queried pleasantly.
“It might get you something, old man!”
“I suppose you think I’m a piker, hey?” scowled Bully. “I suppose you
think I ain’t got money myself?”
“You always were good at supposing,” said Chip. “This time you hit it
dead right.”
“That shows how much you know! I got a thousand dollars in cash, right
here in my pocket, and I’m goin’ to meet a feller now and bet on the
Clippers, see?”
Chip was somewhat amazed at this intelligence, though he gave no sign
of it. He knew that Colonel Carson himself was a heavy plunger, but
from what he had seen of Bully he had not thought that the latter was
exactly flush with money.
“You must have bet on Fardale during that Franklin game,” he murmured
gently. “Or has your respected father become generous?”
“None o’ your business,” said Bully, with a growl, finding the subject
abruptly distasteful. “Whew! I’m certainly het up. I guess I’ll run
along and place that bet, then come back here and find Bob.”
“Suit yourself,” chirped Merry. “If you’re warm, take a glass of water.
When you get outside, light that cigarette. Then you’ll get nice and
warm again, and it’ll fur up your tongue.”
Bully merely grunted at this sarcasm. He seemed to decide that part of
the advice was good, however, for he caught up the other glass that
Randall had filled and carried it across the table to his lips.
“I suppose you’ll pitch to-day?” he inquired, pausing.
“Once more your suppositions are correct,” returned Chip ironically.
Bully grunted and gulped down the water, replacing the glass on the
table with a deep sigh, then threw his sleeve across his lips.
“That certainly tastes good! Well, I hope you’ll get pounded out of the
box, Merriwell. Green will shut you fellers out without a hit.”
With this pleasant wish Bully came to his feet and moved toward the
door, inspecting a few pictures and pennants as he went.
“Don’t hurry,” pleaded Chip, with mock anxiety. “You’re not going to
tear yourself away so soon, I trust?”
“Tell Bob I’ll be back later,” said Bully, with a grunt.
“With pleasure. Maybe you’d like to have me throw the game for you
to-day?”
Carson merely scowled and passed outside, slamming the door viciously
after him. From the window Frank could see him start across the campus
in the direction of the riding hall, stopping to light his cigarette.
“Big brute!” he thought, disgusted. “I wonder how Randall ever got a
cousin like that? But--what on earth is he doing here? If he and Bob
are getting thick, I feel sorry for Bob.”
This thought was disquieting to Merry. Could it be possible that Carson
was back of Randall’s queer actions?
It seemed improbable, for Randall had been keeping to himself, and
Carson had not been seen at Fardale previous to this. Yet Frank knew
that Bully possessed a crafty and cunning mind. He felt disturbed over
Carson’s impudence in daring to show himself about the place.
“Oh, well, I guess Randall can take care of himself,” he mused, and
dismissed the subject lightly, and settled himself among the pillows
again.
He had been up early that morning, and it was a warm spring day.
Consequently, it was only natural that he should feel drowsy. Taking
advantage of the moment to relax utterly, Merry put back his head and
closed his eyes. Almost before he knew it, he had dropped off into a
light doze.
He was roused by a sharp knock at the door, and sprang up instantly
with a shout to enter. The door swung back and disclosed Colonel Gunn’s
orderly.
“You’re wanted at the office, Mr. Merriwell,” said the cadet, with
symptoms of flurried haste. “Colonel Gunn sent me after you on the run.”
“What’s up?” queried Frank, in surprise. “Is Randall in trouble?”
“In up to his neck,” said the cadet. “But I’d better not say anything
about it, I guess.”
“All right,” and Merry seized his hat. “Come along!”