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[Illustration: The Merriwell Series No. 137 Frank Merriwell's Son By
Burt L. Standish]
Frank Merriwell's Son
OR,
A CHIP OFF THE OLD BLOCK
BY
BURT L. STANDISH
Author of the famous MERRIWELL STORIES.
[Illustration]
STREET & SMITH CORPORATION
PUBLISHERS
79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York
Copyright, 1906
By STREET & SMITH
Frank Merriwell's Son
(Printed in the United States of America)
All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign
languages, including the Scandinavian.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER I. A NEW LIFE.
CHAPTER II. THE BIRTHMARK.
CHAPTER III. ON THE VERANDA.
CHAPTER IV. A MAID OF MYSTERY.
CHAPTER V. THE SURPRISE.
CHAPTER VI. THE FACE IN THE WATCH.
CHAPTER VII. A BLACK SAMSON.
CHAPTER VIII. THE SUBSTITUTES.
CHAPTER IX. SPARKFAIR'S HIT.
CHAPTER X. A MOONLIGHT MEETING.
CHAPTER XI. THE TRUTH.
CHAPTER XII. A HEART LAID BARE.
CHAPTER XIII. THE PLEDGE OF FAITH.
CHAPTER XIV. THE SIGNAL FOR SILENCE.
CHAPTER XV. KIDNAPED!
CHAPTER XVI. FOR THE SAKE OF OLD DAYS.
CHAPTER XVII. A CALL TO THE "FLOCK."
CHAPTER XVIII. A MAN OF THE PEOPLE.
CHAPTER XIX. AN INTRUDER.
CHAPTER XX. OLD FRIENDS EN ROUTE.
CHAPTER XXI. AT MERRY HOME.
CHAPTER XXII. ANOTHER PILGRIM.
CHAPTER XXIII. IN THE NOOK.
CHAPTER XXIV. ON THE CLIFF.
CHAPTER XXV. A STARTLING DISCOVERY.
CHAPTER XXVI. A LIVELY GAME.
CHAPTER XXVII. MURILLO'S FAREWELL.
CHAPTER XXVIII. A COMPACT.
CHAPTER XXIX. THE PROOF.
CHAPTER XXX. THE EDUCATED HORSE.
CHAPTER XXXI. A CHALLENGE.
CHAPTER XXXII. A HARD PROPOSITION.
CHAPTER XXXIII. THE VOICE OF THE TEMPTER.
CHAPTER XXXIV. A TROUBLED MIND.
CHAPTER XXXV. REMORSE.
CHAPTER XXXVI. A FRIEND WORTH HAVING.
CHAPTER XXXVII. A PROTEST.
CHAPTER XXXVIII. A CONFESSION.
CHAPTER XXXIX. JOLTS FOR BULLIES.
CHAPTER XL. A DETERMINED FRONT.
CHAPTER XLI. THE HOUR AND THE MAN.
FRANK MERRIWELL'S SON.
CHAPTER I.
A NEW LIFE.
Lizette, the French nurse, came softly and lightly down the stairs and
found Frank Merriwell pacing the library floor, while Bart Hodge and
Elsie Bellwood talked to him soothingly.
"Madame will see you now, saire," said the nurse, with a little curtsy.
"Ze doctaire he is gone now some time. Madame she is comforterbill. She
say she see you--alone."
Frank was all eagerness to go. He bounded up the stairs, two at a time,
scarcely heeding the white-capped nurse, who hurried after him, softly
calling:
"Not on ze rush, saire. You make ze rush, you gif madame ze start."
"That's so," muttered Merry, checking himself at the head of the stairs
and waiting for the cautious nurse. "Lizette, lead the way."
The girl, stepping softly as a cat, gently opened a door for him, thus
revealing a chamber where the light was softened by drawn window shades.
Within that chamber Mrs. Merriwell reclined amid the snowy pillows of a
broad bed.
"Ze mastaire is here, madame," said the nurse, as Frank entered.
In a moment Merry was bending over his wife.
Something small and pink, in a soft white garment, nestled on her arm.
It uttered a weak little cry--the cry of a new life in the great
seething world--which was sweet music to the pale woman on the bed and
the anxious man who bent over her.
"Oh, Frank," murmured Inza, "he's calling to you! He knows his father
has come."
Merriwell kissed her lightly, softly, tenderly. Then, with that
indescribable light in his eyes, he gazed long and fondly at the babe.
"It's a boy, Inza!" he murmured. "Just as you wished!"
"Just as I wished for your sake, Frank," she said. "I knew you wanted a
son. This is the happiest moment of my life, for I have given him to
you."
"A son!" exclaimed Frank softly, as he straightened up and threw his
splendid shoulders back. "Why, think of it, Inza, I'm a father--and you
are the dearest, sweetest, handsomest, noblest little mother in all the
world!"
The nurse ventured to speak.
"Madame is so well! Madame is so strong! It is wonderful! It is grand!"
"You've been very good, Lizette," said Inza. "We'll not forget it."
The nurse retired to the far end of the room, where she stood with her
back toward the bed, pretending to inspect and admire a Donatello upon
the wall.
Frank took the chair beside the bed and found Inza's hand, which he
clasped in a firm but gentle grasp.
"What shall we name him?" he asked.
"Why, haven't you decided on a name, dear?"
"Without consulting you? Do you think I would do such a thing, Inza?"
"The name that pleases you will please me," she declared. "What shall it
be, my husband?"
"Why not the name of my most faithful friend? Why not call him Bartley
Hodge Merriwell?"
"If that satisfies you, he shall be called by that name."
Somehow Frank fancied he detected a touch of disappointment in her
voice.
"But you, sweetheart--haven't you a suggestion to make?"
"If you would like me to make one."
"You know I would, Inza."
"Then let Hodge be his middle name. Let's call him Frank Hodge
Merriwell. The initials are the same as your own. Bart will be pleased,
and to me the baby will be little Frank."
"Fine!" laughed Merry, in great satisfaction. "That is settled. That
shall be his name. Hello, there, Frank Merriwell, the younger! I'll make
an athlete of you, you rascal! I'll give you such advantages to start
with as I never had myself."
"No matter what you give him, no matter what you do for him," murmured
the happy mother, "he can never become a better or nobler man than his
father."
Frank kissed her again.