Transcriber's Notes:
The original spelling, hyphenation, and punctuation have been retained,
with the exception of apparent typographical errors which have been
corrected.
Text in Italics is indicated between _underscores_.
Text in small capitals has been replaced by regular uppercase text.
* * * * *
BOOKS FOR YOUNG MEN
MERRIWELL SERIES
Stories of Frank and Dick Merriwell
Fascinating Stories of Athletics
A half million enthusiastic followers of the Merriwell brothers will
attest the unfailing interest and wholesomeness of these adventures of
two lads of high ideals, who play fair with themselves, as well as with
the rest of the world.
These stories are rich in fun and thrills in all branches of sports and
athletics. They are extremely high in moral tone, and cannot fail to be
of immense benefit to every boy who reads them.
They have the splendid quality of firing a boy’s ambition to become a
good athlete, in order that he may develop into a strong, vigorous,
right-thinking man.
_ALL TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT_
1—Frank Merriwell’s School Days By Burt L. Standish
2—Frank Merriwell’s Chums By Burt L. Standish
3—Frank Merriwell’s Foes By Burt L. Standish
4—Frank Merriwell’s Trip West By Burt L. Standish
5—Frank Merriwell Down South By Burt L. Standish
6—Frank Merriwell’s Bravery By Burt L. Standish
7—Frank Merriwell’s Hunting Tour By Burt L. Standish
8—Frank Merriwell in Europe By Burt L. Standish
9—Frank Merriwell at Yale By Burt L. Standish
10—Frank Merriwell’s Sports Afield By Burt L. Standish
11—Frank Merriwell’s Races By Burt L. Standish
12—Frank Merriwell’s Party By Burt L. Standish
13—Frank Merriwell’s Bicycle Tour By Burt L. Standish
14—Frank Merriwell’s Courage By Burt L. Standish
15—Frank Merriwell’s Daring By Burt L. Standish
16—Frank Merriwell’s Alarm By Burt L. Standish
17—Frank Merriwell’s Athletes By Burt L. Standish
18—Frank Merriwell’s Skill By Burt L. Standish
19—Frank Merriwell’s Champions By Burt L. Standish
20—Frank Merriwell’s Return to Yale By Burt L. Standish
21—Frank Merriwell’s Secret By Burt L. Standish
22—Frank Merriwell’s Danger By Burt L. Standish
23—Frank Merriwell’s Loyalty By Burt L. Standish
24—Frank Merriwell in Camp By Burt L. Standish
25—Frank Merriwell’s Vacation By Burt L. Standish
26—Frank Merriwell’s Cruise By Burt L. Standish
27—Frank Merriwell’s Chase By Burt L. Standish
28—Frank Merriwell in Maine By Burt L. Standish
29—Frank Merriwell’s Struggle By Burt L. Standish
30—Frank Merriwell’s First Job By Burt L. Standish
31—Frank Merriwell’s Opportunity By Burt L. Standish
32—Frank Merriwell’s Hard Luck By Burt L. Standish
33—Frank Merriwell’s Protégé By Burt L. Standish
34—Frank Merriwell on the Road By Burt L. Standish
35—Frank Merriwell’s Own Company By Burt L. Standish
36—Frank Merriwell’s Fame By Burt L. Standish
37—Frank Merriwell’s College Chums By Burt L. Standish
38—Frank Merriwell’s Problem By Burt L. Standish
39—Frank Merriwell’s Fortune By Burt L. Standish
40—Frank Merriwell’s New Comedian By Burt L. Standish
41—Frank Merriwell’s Prosperity By Burt L. Standish
42—Frank Merriwell’s Stage Hit By Burt L. Standish
43—Frank Merriwell’s Great Scheme By Burt L. Standish
44—Frank Merriwell in England By Burt L. Standish
45—Frank Merriwell on the Boulevards By Burt L. Standish
46—Frank Merriwell’s Duel By Burt L. Standish
47—Frank Merriwell’s Double Shot By Burt L. Standish
48—Frank Merriwell’s Baseball Victories By Burt L. Standish
49—Frank Merriwell’s Confidence By Burt L. Standish
50—Frank Merriwell’s Auto By Burt L. Standish
51—Frank Merriwell’s Fun By Burt L. Standish
52—Frank Merriwell’s Generosity By Burt L. Standish
53—Frank Merriwell’s Tricks By Burt L. Standish
54—Frank Merriwell’s Temptation By Burt L. Standish
55—Frank Merriwell on Top By Burt L. Standish
56—Frank Merriwell’s Luck By Burt L. Standish
57—Frank Merriwell’s Mascot By Burt L. Standish
58—Frank Merriwell’s Reward By Burt L. Standish
59—Frank Merriwell’s Phantom By Burt L. Standish
60—Frank Merriwell’s Faith By Burt L. Standish
61—Frank Merriwell’s Victories By Burt L. Standish
62—Frank Merriwell’s Iron Nerve By Burt L. Standish
63—Frank Merriwell in Kentucky By Burt L. Standish
64—Frank Merriwell’s Power By Burt L. Standish
65—Frank Merriwell’s Shrewdness By Burt L. Standish
66—Frank Merriwell’s Set Back By Burt L. Standish
67—Frank Merriwell’s Search By Burt L. Standish
68—Frank Merriwell’s Club By Burt L. Standish
69—Frank Merriwell’s Trust By Burt L. Standish
70—Frank Merriwell’s False Friend By Burt L. Standish
71—Frank Merriwell’s Strong Arm By Burt L. Standish
72—Frank Merriwell as Coach By Burt L. Standish
73—Frank Merriwell’s Brother By Burt L. Standish
74—Frank Merriwell’s Marvel By Burt L. Standish
75—Frank Merriwell’s Support By Burt L. Standish
76—Dick Merriwell At Fardale By Burt L. Standish
77—Dick Merriwell’s Glory By Burt L. Standish
78—Dick Merriwell’s Promise By Burt L. Standish
79—Dick Merriwell’s Rescue By Burt L. Standish
80—Dick Merriwell’s Narrow Escape By Burt L. Standish
81—Dick Merriwell’s Racket By Burt L. Standish
82—Dick Merriwell’s Revenge By Burt L. Standish
83—Dick Merriwell’s Ruse By Burt L. Standish
84—Dick Merriwell’s Delivery By Burt L. Standish
85—Dick Merriwell’s Wonders By Burt L. Standish
86—Frank Merriwell’s Honor By Burt L. Standish
87—Dick Merriwell’s Diamond By Burt L. Standish
88—Frank Merriwell’s Winners By Burt L. Standish
89—Dick Merriwell’s Dash By Burt L. Standish
90—Dick Merriwell’s Ability By Burt L. Standish
91—Dick Merriwell’s Trap By Burt L. Standish
92—Dick Merriwell’s Defense By Burt L. Standish
93—Dick Merriwell’s Model By Burt L. Standish
94—Dick Merriwell’s Mystery By Burt L. Standish
95—Frank Merriwell’s Backers By Burt L. Standish
96—Dick Merriwell’s Backstop By Burt L. Standish
97—Dick Merriwell’s Western Mission By Burt L. Standish
98—Frank Merriwell’s Rescue By Burt L. Standish
99—Frank Merriwell’s Encounter By Burt L. Standish
100—Dick Merriwell’s Marked Money By Burt L. Standish
101—Frank Merriwell’s Nomads By Burt L. Standish
102—Dick Merriwell on the Gridiron By Burt L. Standish
103—Dick Merriwell’s Disguise By Burt L. Standish
104—Dick Merriwell’s Test By Burt L. Standish
105—Frank Merriwell’s Trump Card By Burt L. Standish
Frank Merriwell’s Marriage
OR,
INZA’S HAPPIEST DAY
BY
BURT L. STANDISH
Author of the famous MERRIWELL STORIES.
[Illustration]
STREET & SMITH CORPORATION
PUBLISHERS
79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York
Copyright, 1905
By STREET & SMITH
Frank Merriwell’s Marriage
(Printed in the United States of America)
All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign
languages, including the Scandinavian.
FRANK MERRIWELL’S MARRIAGE.
CHAPTER I.
AT EAGLE HEIGHTS.
“I would give ten thousand dollars to know Frank Merriwell’s secret,”
declared Wallace Grafter, sitting in a comfortable “Old Hickory” chair
on the veranda of the Eagle Heights clubhouse and watching the Albany
boat, which was passing on its way up the Hudson.
“It would be worth it, my dear boy,” yawned Philip Phipps, a youth from
Poughkeepsie, as he snapped a half-smoked cigarette over the rail and
drew out his handsome watch, at which he casually glanced. “But do you
think he has a secret?”
“Of course he has!” exclaimed the first speaker decidedly. “His record
proves it. What time is it?”
“Ten-twenty,” answered Phipps.
“He’ll be here in forty minutes,” said Grafter. “I’m curious to see
him.”
Farley Fisher, straight, square-shouldered, military in his bearing,
not over twenty-four years of age, standing at a corner of the veranda,
smiled a bit scornfully.
“It is amusing to me, gentlemen,” he observed, “to think that any
fellow can keep up a fake as long as Merriwell has.”
“Fake?” cried Phipps, excitement bringing a touch of falsetto into his
voice.
“Fake?” questioned Grafter, moving his chair to face Fisher more
squarely. “What do you mean by that?”
“Just what I said—no more, no less. I am satisfied that Merriwell is a
faker.”
Inside an open window of the reading room, which was close at hand,
Hobart Manton had been glancing over the pages of a magazine. The words
of those outside reached his ears. He dropped the magazine and leaned
on the window ledge.
“I agree with you, Fisher,” he said. “Merriwell is the biggest faker
in this country, and in many ways the cleverest. You know I’m a Yale
man. At college I heard so much of Merriwell and what he had done while
there that I grew sick and disgusted. He was successful in fooling
almost everybody, it seems.”
Grafter rose to his feet. He was a well-built fellow, nearly six feet
tall, with splendid shoulders and carriage. He was the son of Mike
Grafter, the well known Tammany politician, familiarly called “Reliable
Mike” by his associates in New York. Although young Grafter had never
been guilty of doing a day’s work in his life, he had inherited a
splendid physique from his parents and had made athletics his hobby,
beginning with the days of his baseball playing on the open lots in
Harlem. Like his father, he was generally well liked, although it was
claimed that, with his sturdy frame he had also inherited some of old
Grafter’s ideas of winning in any contest by whatever method possible,
either fair or otherwise. Like his father, he was also able to cover
his tracks so completely that nothing crooked had ever been proved
against him, and he was prompt to vigorously resent any insinuation or
hint of unfairness.
“I presume,” he said, “that you gentlemen have heard the saying of the
late Abraham Lincoln that ‘you can fool some of the people all of the
time and all of the people some of the time, but you can’t fool all the
people all of the time?’”
“What has that to do with Merriwell?” asked Fisher.
“If he is a faker,” retorted Grafter, “I swear it seems to me that he
has succeeded in fooling all of the people all of the time since he
started in to fool them at all.”
“I’d like to know what any one means by calling him a faker,” said
Phipps.
Manton rose quickly from his chair and came sauntering out onto the
veranda, followed by his particular friend, Denton Fisher, of the
Harlem Heights A.A.
“Gentlemen,” he said, a knowing smile on his smooth-shaven, bulldog
face, “I think I can explain what I mean by calling Merriwell a faker.
A faker is a deceiver—he pretends to accomplish things he does not
actually accomplish. At college Merriwell won a great deal of glory as
a football captain and a baseball player. Investigation will show that
the football and baseball teams of those years were the strongest ever
turned out at Yale. He obtained the reputation, while the men behind
him did the work. It has been so ever since.”
“Apparently,” said Phipps, “you do not give Merriwell any credit for
developing such strong teams.”
“I place the credit where it belongs, with the coaches. Merriwell
developed nothing. He happened to be fortunate in having such good
teams to back him up, and he has lived on the reputation made at Yale.”
“His career since leaving Yale——” began Grafter.
“What has he done? Personally, I mean. He has traveled round more or
less, with an athletic team made up from the best Yale men of his day
and a few clever outsiders. He still works the old game of living on
the glory that should belong to others. But he is careful when he plays
baseball teams to choose such teams as he can defeat in most instances.
For instance——”
“The Chicago Nationals,” laughed Grafter. “Didn’t he win two games off
them in California?”
“Fake!” laughed Manton, in return. “He has plenty of money, and he can
afford to buy the rubber game, especially when it costs a big team
nothing to lose it. That’s another of his tricks. He goes round the
country spending money freely. Who couldn’t win at almost anything if
he had plenty of money!”
Grafter shook his head.
“I have found out,” he said, “that legitimate amateur sports are
generally on the level. Amateurs, as a rule, cannot be bought.”
“Well,” said the Yale man, with a slight curling of his lips, “I
presume you speak from experience.”
Instantly Grafter flushed and his hands closed quickly.
“What do you mean by that?” he demanded, a threat in his voice. “You
may have a reputation as a gentleman boxer; but you had better be
careful with your tongue, for I don’t fancy being insulted, even by
you.”
Manton looked like a pugilist toned down, or toned up, like a
gentleman. He had a thick neck and the cast of countenance that one
instinctively associates with pugnacity. He had taken part in many an
amateur boxing match, and some of the contests had been “to a finish.”
It was his boast that he had never been “put out.” It was generally
known that his college career had terminated suddenly and unexpectedly
because he had attempted to beat up one of the professors.
“You’re touchy, Grafter,” said Manton, with a slight shrug of his
muscular shoulders. “What’s the use? Can’t you take a joke?”
“The right kind of a joke. I presume you’re joking about Merriwell?”
“On the contrary, I’m in sober earnest. I meant just what I said.”
“It sounded like a joke to me,” said Phipps. “Why, I didn’t suppose any
one questioned Merriwell’s standing as an athlete. Surely it is not
questioned here, else he would not have been invited to take part in
our meet.”
“It is possible we may be able to show him up as the faker he is,”
laughed Manton. “Why, the fellow actually has the nerve to claim that
he is the all-round champion athlete of this country.”
“I don’t think he made such a claim himself,” said Grafter promptly.
“The newspapers called him that after he made the best record at
Ashport last week. That was a contest for the all-round championship
of the country.”
“At Ashport!” sneered Manton. “And where is Ashport, pray? A little
country town somewhere on the Ohio River. Who did Merriwell meet there?”
“Amateurs from all over the country,” answered Phipps. “According to
all reports, it was one of the most successful contests ever held in
this country.”
“But it was not the regular meet of the Amateur Athletic Association of
the United States. It was nothing but a country club affair, at most.
Championships won at such tournaments do not count. It’s a case of pure
gall for Merriwell to set himself up as the leading all-round amateur
of the country.”
“Besides,” reminded Denton Frost, “he was defeated there by a local man
in a cross-country run a short time before.”
“Who defeated him?” questioned Phipps.
“Oh, some unknown. I agree with Manton that he’ll be shown up here if
he ventures to take part. We’ll have the leading amateurs in the East.”
“Gentlemen,” said Grafter, who appeared to have recovered his good
nature, “if Mr. Merriwell enters for any of our contests, I’ll give you
an opportunity to win some of my money, for I shall bet on him.”
“Better use stage money,” advised Frost. “You won’t miss it so much.”
“Don’t worry about me,” flung back Grafter. “If I lose some real money,
I can stand it.”
“That’s a good thing for you,” grinned Frost, in a chilly manner.
“I think I heard you remark that you would give ten thousand to know
Merriwell’s secret,” said Manton. “I’ll tell you what it is, and it
won’t cost you a dollar. Pick out easy marks as opponents. In that
manner you’ll always be a winner.”
“I don’t fancy you think we have many easy marks belonging to this club
or entered for the tournament?”
“No, not many.”
“Will you name some of the events in which men are entered who cannot
be defeated by Merriwell?”
“Ye-e-es; the standing long jump, the high jump, and the pole vault.
The champions of the country are entered for these events, and
Merriwell would be outclassed in any one of them.”
“Perhaps he may be induced to take part in them.”
“I doubt it. When he finds out the men who are entered, he’ll keep
out. Why, Jack Necker, the Hartford man, is going out for the world’s
championship, and he can jump some. My friend Frost is entered for the
pole vault. He came within an ace of defeating Burleigh, the world’s
champion, last year, and he can vault eight inches higher this year
than he could then. He’d make Merriwell look like a high-school kid at
it.”
“Perhaps we’ll have a chance to find out very soon what Merriwell
intends to do,” said Phipps, rising and looking down the winding drive.
“Here comes a carriage, containing Bert Fuller and two strangers. I
fancy one of the strangers is Frank Merriwell.”
The Eagle Heights A.A. was peculiar in many ways. It was a “country
club” for amateur athletes, most picturesquely located on the Hudson,
some miles above Peekskill. One of the qualifications for membership
was that each and every member must belong to some other amateur club
and must be the champion of his own club in some particular line. For
instance, Bert Fuller, president of the Eagle Heights A.A., was the
champion gymnast of the Madison Square A.A.; Wallace Grafter was the
best shot putter of the Catskill Club; Horace Manton was the star
boxer of the Albany University Club; George Branch was the leading
long-distance bicyclist of the Century Club, of Boston; Philip Phipps
was the champion billiard player of the Poughkeepsie Pastime Club, and
Denton Frost, of the Harlem Heights A.A., was a candidate for the
championship of the world at pole vaulting.
It will be readily understood that the Eagle Heights A.A. was an
organization made up and maintained by rich young men, or the sons of
wealthy men—gentlemen they were supposed to be, one and all. But wealth
is not always the brand of birth or breeding, and, like other clubs,
the Eagle Heights contained members who lacked the natural instincts of
the gentleman, although they had a certain veneering, or outward polish.
The Eagle Heights A.A. was the outcome of the modern development of
interest in athletics and sports. Ten years ago the organization and
maintenance of such a club would have been impossible; and, indeed, the
scheme seemed wild and visionary when first outlined at the Manhattan
A.A. by Frederick Fuller, the father of Bert Fuller. Although plainly
told that he could never carry the project through, Fuller, Sr., went
about it in earnest, secured a site for the clubhouse, with fine
grounds on every hand, started a fund, interested other men of wealth,
and finally pushed the thing through. The Eagle Heights A.A. was
nearly two years old and flourishing like a green bay tree. It was
generally regarded as the acme of glory to be admitted as a member,
and the time had already arrived when it was found necessary to make a
finer discrimination in regard to admissible candidates.
As was natural, rivalry for honors among the club members of this
remarkable organization was very keen. But not all the contests were
held for the benefit of members only. Already there had been three
open meets of various sorts, and now there was to be another, in which
all athletes regularly registered in the A.A.A. of the U.S. could
participate. Frank Merriwell, having reached the East after a tour of
the country, had received a special invitation to be present and to
compete if he desired.
Having learned that Merry would visit the club at a certain time, there
was an unusually large number of members present on the forenoon of
this midweek day.
Phil Phipps was correct in thinking that one of the two strangers in
the carriage with the president of the club was Frank. The other was
Merry’s boon companion, Bart Hodge.
The carriage stopped at the broad front steps and Fuller sprang out,
followed by his guests.
“Here we are, Merriwell!” cried the youthful president, with a wave of
his hand. “What do you think of our location?”
Frank permitted his eyes to sweep over the beautiful prospect of
fields, woodland, and hills, through the midst of which flowed the
blue, majestic Hudson. It was a vision to delight the soul of any true
lover of nature.
“It is grand, Fuller!” he answered, with enthusiasm. “With such a view
outspread before you, you should be constantly spurred to do your level
best at any undertaking. Surely it is an inspiration.”
The face of Hodge betrayed his admiration, but he said nothing.
“My father chose the spot,” said Fuller proudly. “He saw what could
be done here. Although we are up among the hills, we have one of the
finest athletic fields in the country. Let’s go in. I know many of the
boys are anxious to meet you.”
“And I am one of them,” declared Wallace Grafter, advancing to the
steps.
He was introduced to Frank and Bart, shaking them heartily by the hand.
Phil Phipps and Farley Fisher followed.
“We have a Yale man here, Merriwell,” said Fuller. “I know you’ll be
welcomed by a son of Old Eli. Mr. Manton——”
He stopped short, for Hobart Manton, with Denton Frost at his side, had
already turned away and was entering the clubhouse.
The president flushed. For a moment he seemed surprised and confused,
but he quickly recovered, smiling a little, as he said:
“Evidently Manton’s modesty prevented him from pressing forward at
once. He intends to wait to meet you inside.”
Frank nodded. He knew something was wrong, but he did not show it. He
did not even return Bart’s queer look of questioning.
They entered the building. In the parlor they met other members, all of
whom were very cordial. In the reading room were still others.
Manton and Frost were there when they entered. The pair surveyed Frank
and Bart with an air of indifference, and together, just before Fuller
would have presented them, they sauntered away into another part of the
house.
Fuller was furious, although he tried to conceal it.
There was no mistaking this repetition of the act.
It was a deliberate slight.
The president made a resolution to give Manton and Frost a prompt
calling down, but, not wishing to leave Merry just then, he waited for
another opportunity.
The visitors were conducted through the building until they finally
came to the gymnasium, which they found lavishly fitted with the finest
modern apparatus.
In the gym a number of fellows were at work. The only spectators were
Manton and Frost. But now neither Fuller nor the visitors gave the two
chaps the slightest notice, although walking past them within a few
feet.
At one side of the room, and running the full length, was a string of
flying rings.
Coming to the end of these, Hodge was seized by a sudden desire to test
some of the energy he felt seething within. Giving a short turn, he
sprang into the air, caught the first ring, swung to the second, from
that to the third, and so on until he had traversed the complete line.
Manton and Frost left the room, laughing softly and saying something to
each other about showing off.
Bart had not thought of “showing off,” but he realized that his action
might be regarded as the outcome of a desire to exhibit himself, and
his face grew dark.
“When the time comes right, one or both of you chaps are going to get
something from me,” he thought.
They next inspected the billiard room, coming at last to the bowling
alleys.
There they again found Manton and Frost, who seemed on the point of
starting a string.
Now an odd thing happened. Manton stepped forward and spoke to Frank.
“You’ve been kept busy shaking hands with the rest of the boys,” he
said. “I’m not inclined to rush forward and overwhelm a visitor. I
leave that to Grafter.”
Fuller was relieved, and he immediately introduced both Manton and
Frost.
“We’re glad to know you, Mr. Merriwell,” declared the gentleman
pugilist. “I heard a great deal about you at college. You surely had
all Yale hypnotized. Of course some of the things they tell of you are
preposterous. I regard you as very clever in being able to secure such
a reputation.”
“I don’t think I understand you,” said Merry, disagreeably impressed by
the fellow’s words.
“Why, you know they seem to think in New Haven that you were a champion
at any old thing to which you turned your hand. No man could excel at
everything. That’s out of reason. I presume you were fairly clever as
a baseball pitcher, or something of that sort; but they seemed to fancy
you were possessed of the powers of a god. For instance, although I
was the champion bowler and sparrer, I was continually being told what
Merriwell did when he was there. I grew sick of it. I longed for an
opportunity to demonstrate to them that you were not the only person on
earth. Of course I had no such opportunity. Had you drifted along at
the proper moment, I’d taken special delight in showing you up on the
alleys.”
He laughed as he made this statement.
“Evidently,” said Frank, “it was a good thing for my reputation that I
kept away from New Haven while you were in college.”
“As far as bowling or boxing was concerned.”
“You’re a fine bowler?”
“I am the champion of this club, although one of our members is the
champion bowler of the White Elephant, of Paterson.”
“I’m hardly in my best form as a bowler just now,” confessed Merry.
Frost started to laugh, but checked himself.
“I presume not,” smiled Manton.
“I have bowled very little during the last two months, having been
interested mainly in outdoor sports.”
“Don’t be alarmed,” said Manton; “I’m not going to challenge you.”
“But I was thinking of challenging you,” said Merry sweetly, his words
causing the heart of Bart Hodge to leap with satisfaction.