Then Kenneth St. Ives introduced his father and Mr. Harry Harden. To
avoid an introduction, Stephen Fenton had turned his horse about, and
was staring sullenly in the opposite direction.
"Mr. Merriwell," said Preston St. Ives, dismounting to take Frank's
hand, "I owe you much for your daring service to my daughter. I shall
always feel that I am indebted to you."
Harden dismounted, and talked with Iva, while Fenton glared at them in a
side-long manner, chewing the ends of his black mustache and scowling
fiercely.
Within a very few moments Preston St. Ives found out that Frank and
Barney were on their way to New York, and that they were closely
followed by a party of friends.
"New York is a long distance away," smiled the father of the girl Frank
had rescued. "At most, you would not think of proceeding farther than
Philadelphia to-night."
"We intended to stop there," said Frank.
"But there is no reason why you should be in a great hurry," said St.
Ives, "and so you must stop at Springbrook Farm to-night."
"Springbrook Farm?"
"That is our country place," Kenneth hastily explained. "It is a roomy,
old-fashioned place, and there will be plenty of room for you all. You
can't refuse, Mr. Merriwell!"
At first Frank attempted to decline the invitation, but Iva added her
invitation to that of her father and brother, and Kenneth promised a
jolly time, so that Merry was really inclined to go. A look at Barney's
face showed he was eager to have Frank accept the invitation.
"Well, Barney," said Frank, "if we stop at Springbrook Farm to-night,
you'll have to watch out for the fellows and let them know about it."
"Thot Oi'll do, Frankie," immediately agreed the Irish lad. "But pwhere
is Springbrook Farrum!"
"The farm may be seen from the top of the hill yonder," said Kenneth.
"Come along with us, and we will point it out to you."
At this juncture, Stephen Fenton suddenly yanked the head of his horse
about, gave the creature a cut with the whip, and went tearing along the
road in a cloud of dust, having left the others without a word.
"What is the matter with him?" cried Preston St. Ives, watching the
fellow with a look of displeasure. "It's a wonder that horse doesn't run
away with him and kill him!"
"Oh, he has been in a cross mood all the afternoon, papa," said Iva. "He
is out of sorts with everything and everybody, and it was because he
accidently struck Rex with his whip that the dear old fellow ran away
with me."
She caressed the muzzle of the horse as she spoke, and the creature
seemed pleased with such attention.
"It would serve him right if Firefoot should run away with him!"
exclaimed Kenneth, also watching the retreating form of Fenton. "He is
hard on a horse, and it's a wonder to me that he hasn't been killed
before this. He seems to stick in the saddle some way, although he is
anything but an easy rider."
"If that horse's mouth is not already spoiled, he will spoil it in a
week," declared Frank.
Mr. St. Ives gave Merry a quick look, as if wondering what he knew about
horses.
"I think you are right, young man," he said. "I didn't want to let him
have Firefoot, but he seemed to take a fancy to the creature, and not
another horse out of the stableful would satisfy him. He'll not get the
animal again."
Then there was a mounting of horses, while Frank went back along the
road to look for his wheel He found the bicycle all right as it lay
beside the road, Barney having stopped to get it out of the highway.
The Irish lad accompanied Frank, and he was enthusiastic over the
prospect of sport at Springbrook Farm.
"It's no tellin' pwhat we'll stroike there, me b'y!" he chuckled. "It's
the last chance for a bit av fun before we get inther New York."
"I didn't intend to stop again for anything, for we spent far too much
time at Blue Cove. Virginia was not easy to break away from."
"Roight ye are, Frankie. It's a great Shtate Vir-ginny do be. An' the
b'ys down there are all roight."
"As fine a set of fellows as I have met anywhere in the whole country,"
declared Merry, with a touch of enthusiasm. "They are chivalrous,
hospitable and sporty. Jack Diamond is a representative Virginian. He is
all right."
"Yis, he seems to be since he got back inther this parrut av th'
country, but it's a growler Oi thought he wur at firrust."
"He did not seem like himself while we were in the West," confessed
Frank. "I was surprised at the change in him, but I knew it was not
natural, and I bore with him."
The others came up, Frank mounted his wheel, and they all rode along
together, chatting pleasantly. Frank was questioned, and he told of his
trip across the continent and back, arousing Kenneth St. Ives' interest.
"Well, you must have had sport!" Kenneth exclaimed. "I should have
enjoyed that. Say, father, we must get up something in the way of sport
while they are at Springbrook. Can't we have a hunt?"
"It's too early in the season, my son," smiled Mr. St. Ives.
"I don't know about that," declared Kenneth. "We're liable to have a
frost any morning now. It is chilly at times for this season. Perhaps
to-morrow morning----"
"The Meadowfair Club visits us to-morrow, you know."
"I had forgotten that. So much the better! If Mr. Merriwell and his
friends will stay, we'll find some sort of sport to amuse them."
The top of the hill was reached, and then Springbrook Farm was pointed
out, lying on a hillside two miles distant. It was a beautiful place.
The great stables seemed modern, but the house was an immense colonial
mansion, surrounded by tall trees. The farming land was a broad prospect
of cleared land, upon which were great meadows and small groves. Cattle
and horses were to be seen, and it had the appearance of a stock or
dairy farm.
"There is the place, Mr. Merriwell!" cried Kenneth St. Ives; "and a more
beautiful spot is not to be found in all Pennsylvania."
Frank did not wonder at Kenneth's enthusiasm.
Not far from the old mansion was a small lake, with a boathouse on the
shore, and some boats lying near.
Frank felt sure that the rest of the party could not be far behind, so
Barney would not be compelled to wait long; but it was necessary that
some one should meet them, as Springbrook Farm lay off from the main
highway, being reached by means of a private drive, and the bicyclists,
unless notified, would not know Frank contemplated stopping there.
Barney was willing to wait for them, and so the others rode onward,
Frank wheeling along and chatting with them all.
Stephen Fenton was seen riding up the last incline toward the distant
mansion, still forcing his horse.
When the place was reached a hostler was at work over Firefoot in one of
the stables, and the animal showed the abuse it had received.
Mr. St. Ives dismounted and looked Firefoot over, observing:
"That's fine shape for a horse to be in after a canter along the road.
The creature could not look worse if it had been following the hounds
across country. I think Stephen will have to take another horse the next
time he goes out."
"Beggin' yer pardon, sir," said the hostler, with gruff respect; "but he
says as how he were not to blame. You knows, sir, as how this beast is
onruly, sir, an' Mr. Fenton says it were skeered by some saucy chaps on
bisuckles that paid no attention to its snortin' an' rearin'. You know
yerself, sir, as how most of the bisuckle riders are sassy villains,
sir."
This was said regardless of the fact that Frank had trundled his wheel
into the stable, and the hostler could not help knowing a cyclist was
hearing every word he spoke.
Preston St. Ives did not deign to make any reply to the hostler's words,
but said:
"See that Firefoot is well rubbed down and cared for, Wade. You need not
let Stephen have him again. Remember."
"All right, sir--all right," muttered the hostler, glancing at Frank in
a side-long manner. "You knows your business, sir, an' I'm here to take
your orders, sir."
The hostler had several assistants, and they were on hand to care for
the animals just brought in.
Kenneth showed Frank where to leave his wheel, and then Merry followed
the youth into the house.