"Vale," grunted Hans, as he stretched himself on the ground in the shade
of some shrubbery, "uf dese don't peat der pand, you vos a liar!"
"Wal, I'm swuzzled ef it ain't pretty gol darn slick," agreed Ephraim,
thrusting his hands into his pockets and looking around admiringly.
"It's queer haow Frank falls inter sech snaps as these. Heer we be
invited to stay right heer at this place an' make aourselves to hum jest
as long as we want to."
"And I feel as if I could remain here forever," grunted Bruce, from a
comfortable hammock, of which he had taken immediate possession on
seeing it. "There's something soothing and restful about this place that
agrees with my nerves and promises balm and healing for my constitution
that has been shattered by Arkansaw chills. It's simply great!"
"It is rather jolly," said the voice of Harry from the cool shadows of a
vine-covered arbor.
"But it's tame it'd be afther a bit, me b'ys," declared Barney Mulloy,
who was leaning against the trunk of a tree. "It's sbort we're lookin'
afther, an' it's ded quoiet here."
"Mr. Kenneth St. Ives promises us some sport if we care to remain," put
in Bart Hodge, quietly.
"Phwat sort av sbort do yez think they can scare up here?" asked Barney,
with a trace of contempt in his voice. "It's croquet we moight play, but
thot's altogither too excoiting."
"Yaw," grunted Hans; "dot growkay likes me, for id don'd peen so much
drouble to blay him. Der balls can knock me apoud shust so easy as nefer
vas."
"Frank and Jack seem to be enjoying some mild sport," said Harry, as the
click of billiard balls and Merriwell's infectious laugh came from the
open windows of a large summerhouse in the shrubbery close at hand.
"Those fellows never seem to care about resting," grunted Browning.
"They will wear themselves out long before they are old men, unless they
let up in their wild career."
All of the boys had reached Springbrook Farm, and Toots was taking care
of their wheels. They had been left to themselves for a time, while
Preston St. Ives and Kenneth went away to see that proper arrangements
were made for the entertainment of their guests.
It had not taken Frank and Jack long to find the billiard table and get
into a game, pulling off their jackets to it, as if they were in deadly
earnest.
As the boys lolled there in the shade, they saw Harry Harden and Iva St.
Ives come down a walk and pass near them, chatting and laughing, seeming
well satisfied with each other's society.
At a distance behind them, taking care not to be seen, Stephen Fenton
stole along, keeping jealous watch of them.
"Aisy, b'ys," warned Barney, speaking softly. "Take a look at th'
spalpane through th' bresh here. It's a dirruty face he has, or me
name's not Mulloy."
"That's what he has," nodded Hodge, who took an instant dislike to
Fenton. "Who is he? Is that the fellow who was with Miss St. Ives?"
"Th' same, bad cess to him! She was afther callin' him 'cousin'."
"He is following them!" exclaimed Harry, softly. "You don't suppose he
will try any crooked work, do you?"
"Oi have a fancy Misther Harden can look out for hisself, me lads," said
Barney. "Oi'll back him against Mr. Fenton."
"Yaw," said Hans. "When Parney says dot, id peen all right. He knows my
pusiness." Then the Dutch boy relapsed into a position of comfort again,
while the jealous spy passed on, watching the couple ahead of him.
Five minutes later the boys were startled by the sound of excited voices
and a feminine cry of alarm.
Barney seemed to be waiting for that sound, for he sprang away like a
flash, and Bart Hodge was not far behind him. Through the shrubbery
crashed the two, and, in a moment, reached a spot where they were able
to see what was taking place.
One young man was rising from the ground, while another stood over him,
with clinched fists, evidently having knocked him down. To the arm of
the latter, begging him not to strike again, clung Iva St. Ives.
"Oi knew it!" chuckled Barney in delight. "It's Fenton thot interfared,
an' th' other b'y knocked him down."
In truth, Fenton it was who was getting up from the ground, while it was
plain that he had been struck by Harden.
"Oh, I'll even this!" snarled the man who had received the blow.
"Come on!" cried Harden, whose blood was aroused.
"Stop, Cousin Stephen--stop, Mr. Harden!" cried the girl, in distress.
"You shall not fight!"
"He insulted me!" flamed Harden.
"I called you a sneaking cur, as you are!" hissed Fenton, getting upon
his feet.
"And I knocked you down, as you deserved!" flung back the other young
man.
"Hurro!" came softly from the lips of the Irish lad. "Thot's th' shtuff!
Sail in, Misther Fenton, an' do up th' spalpane!"
At this moment the other boys, with the exception of Browning, came
crashing through the hedge, and were by the two young men.
Fenton looked up, muttered an imprecation and then sibilated at Harden:
"We will settle this some other time!"
"At any time you like," was the prompt retort.
Then Fenton whirled and quickly vanished in the shrubbery.
"It's all over," said Hodge. "Let's get out of this instanter, for it
must be a trifle embarrassing to Miss St. Ives."
This little encounter had revealed to the boys that Fenton was jealous
of Harden, who, plainly enough, was paying attentions to Iva.
"I believe Fenton is a bad man to have for an enemy," said Rattleton,
with unusual seriousness, as the boys once more gathered about the
hammock, which Browning had not left for all of anything that was taking
place beyond the shrubbery.
"Well," said Hodge, slowly, "it's not likely he is in love with Frank,
for Merry was not willing to be imposed upon by him. Frank may have to
look out for the fellow."
"What's that you are telling about me?" called the pleasant voice of
Frank himself, as he emerged from beneath the vines over the door of the
summerhouse followed by Diamond. "I'm all the time looking out for
somebody. Here I've been having the battle of my life with Jack, and
only beat him one point. I won the game on a fluke, at that."
"But he won it, as he always wins everything he goes into," said the
Virginian, with traces of mingled vexation and admiration.
Toots came panting toward the spot all out of breath.
"Lordy! Lordy!" he gasped; "I done 'clare teh goodness; I's 'feared to
stay 'roun' dat stable any mo'!"
"What's the matter?" asked Frank. "You haven't cleaned up all those
wheels as soon as this?"
"No, sar; but dat hostler in dar am crazy ma-ad, sar."
"What's the matter with him?"
"He done suffin' to dat hawse Fiahfoot, an' de hawse don kick him up
again' de side ob de stall. Wondah it didn't kill him, sar! Po-erful
wondah it didn't bre'k some ob his bones! Made him so mad he got a fork
an' was gwan teh stick it right inteh dat hawse. I couldn't stan' teh
see dat, an' I hollered. Den he see I was a-watchin' ob him, an' he was
ma-ad enough teh kill meh, sar. I don' dar' stay an' clean dem
bisuckles, Marser Frank."
"Those wheels must be cleaned to-night," said Merriwell, decisively.
"Come with me, Toots, and I will settle this thing so the hostler will
not interfere with you."
He strode away toward the stable, and the colored boy followed at his
heels. Hodge and Rattleton followed more leisurely.
As Frank entered suddenly he detected the hostler, wrench in hand, doing
something to one of the bicycles. It looked as if the man was making an
attempt to ruin the wheel.
And it happened that the wheel belonged to Frank!
Three bounds took Merriwell to the side of the man, whom he grasped by
the collar, crying:
"What are you doing there?"
The man straightened up, and turned his bloodshot eyes on the youth. His
face was flushed, and the odor of his breath told he had been drinking
heavily.
"Leggo!" he snarled; "leggo, or I'll smash ye!"
"What were you doing to that wheel?" demanded Frank.
"None o' yer business!" roared the hostler. Then he dropped the wrench,
and made a swinging blow at the boy.
Frank dodged the blow and thrust out his foot in a manner that sent the
awkward man sprawling.
"Land ob wartermillions!" squawked Toots, delighted.
As the hostler scrambled up, his fingers encountered the handle of the
wrench and closed around it. His face was purple with anger, and there
was a furious glare in his bloodshot eyes. The thick lips, purple and
swollen, curled back from his tobacco-stained teeth, and with a snarl
that might have issued from the throat of some wild beast, he flung the
wrench at Frank's head.
"Look out dar!"
Toots uttered the cry, but Merriwell was watching the man closely, and
he dodged the missile, which went whizzing past with an unpleasant
sound.
A man was just stepping in at the door, and the wrench struck him on the
breast, knocking him down as if he had been shot.
Then Rattleton and Hodge came running up, and bent over the fallen man,
who lay groaning on the ground.
It was Stephen Fenton!
The hostler seemed suddenly sobered by his act.
"Gosh!" he muttered. "It were Steve I hit! Hope I didn't kill him!"
Frank was keeping watch of Wade, but saw the man was appalled by the
result of his angry act, and so ventured to turn about and hasten to
Fenton's side.
"Bring some water!" he ordered. "He may be seriously injured!"
Fenton's face was purple, and he was gasping for breath, but, as
Merriwell stooped to lift his head, he feebly but savagely motioned him
back.
"Hands off!" gasped the man. "Keep away from me!"
Toots came running up with some water.
"Heah, boss!" he cried; "heah's yo' watah!"
"What do I want of water! Anybody--got some--whiskey?"
"Here!" cried Wade, quickly stepping forward, and taking a bottle from a
pocket inside his red flannel shirt; "here's a bit."
It was a pint bottle, nearly a third full. Fenton grasped it with a
shaking hand as he sat up, lifted it to his lips, and did not take it
down till he had swallowed the last drop.
With a growl, he got upon his feet, flinging the empty bottle aside. He
gave Frank a fierce look, then addressed Wade:
"What's the matter with you, Bill? Did you want to kill me?"
"I didn't throw it at ye, Steve--I mean Mr. Fenton. I didn't mean ter
hit ye."
Fenton rubbed his chest and coughed.
"Lucky you didn't kill me," he said, huskily.
Kenneth St. Ives appeared.
"What's the matter here?" he asked.
The hostler hastened to explain that he was simply moving the bicycles
out of the way when Frank Merriwell assaulted him.
"It was my wheel," said Frank, making a hasty examination, "and he has
loosened things up generally around it. If I were to attempt to ride it
now without putting it in shape, the chances are that I would break my
neck the first hill I came to. It is plain enough that this wheel has
been doctored to give me a fall."
Kenneth examined it, and saw at a glance that Frank was right. Still,
the hostler protested that he had done nothing to the wheel save move it
over slightly, so it would not be in the way.
"These wheels are not in your way, Wade," said Kenneth, sternly, "and
you may let them alone. You have been drinking, and you know that means
you stand a good chance of losing your position."
The hostler looked sullen and subdued, but said nothing. His assistants
had appeared, attracted by the sound of the encounter, but they were
holding aloof.
Kenneth reprimanded Wade severely, and then informed Frank that supper
was ready for the party.
The boys had been given a chance to wash up, and soon they were seated
about a long table in the cool dining-room of the old mansion, with
Kenneth St. Ives acting as host.