A PROTEST.
The morning paper from Wellsburg arrived in Bloomfield at seven o'clock.
Before the coming of Frank Merriwell to Bloomfield this morning paper
had been able to boast of barely a dozen regular subscribers or
purchasers in the little town. Now, however, things were different, and
Bloomfield took fully fifty copies of the paper each morning. The
formerly indifferent citizens had become eagerly anxious to get the
paper as soon as possible after its arrival each morning in order to be
posted on the county and State news.
The increasing circulation in Bloomfield had been noted by the editor of
the _Herald_, who wisely decided to have a regular correspondent in that
town who would furnish a daily news letter. This correspondent had
faithfully reported the reunion of Frank Merriwell's old flock and the
doings of the house party at Merry Home.
Between eight and nine o'clock each forenoon Frank found a short period
of rest from his duties at Farnham Hall. On the morning following the
arrangements for the ball game with the Rovers he jogged into town in
company with Hodge and called at the post office for his mail.
Something unusual seemed to be taking place at the post office. More
than a dozen villagers were assembled there in two or three groups, all
of them talking earnestly and some appearing decidedly excited. Merry
observed that many of them held Wellsburg _Heralds_ in their hands.
"What's up, Frank?" questioned Hodge. "Suppose the advertisement of that
game to-day has kicked up all this disturbance?"
"I can't tell," answered Merry. "Perhaps we'll find out."
As they stepped inside they heard a tall, thin-lipped man declaiming in
a sharp, rasping voice:
"You'll find out, neighbors, that my predictions will come true. They're
coming true already. The spirit of frivolity and sin is running riot in
this town. Wickedness is rampant. Staid and respectable citizens are
losing their dignity. Good church members are becoming afflicted with
this worldly spirit. And who's to blame for it all--who's to blame?
There's only one man. He's created this indescribable change. The
foolish ones have regarded him as a public benefactor, but I insist that
he's doing untold harm. He brought about the downfall of Brother Hewett,
who was respected and revered by every one in Bloomfield for years.
You're afraid of him--that's what's the matter. You don't dare to speak
out and express yourself. Now I'm not afraid of him. I am ready to
denounce him in public. I'm ready to denounce him to his face. You know
who I mean. His name is---- Er, hum! How!"
"Good morning, Deacon Crabtree," said Frank, as the speaker stammered
and hemmed, having ceased abruptly in his remarks. "I notice that, as
usual, you are denouncing sin and wickedness. Bloomfield should be proud
of the fact that it has one man who makes no compromise with iniquity.
Evidently you stand firmly rooted on the rock of righteousness."
"Yes, sir--yes, sir, that's right," said Crabtree. "I'm not one of these
whiffle-minded creatures who changes his opinion every time the wind
changes."
"That's a very good thing," nodded Merriwell. "I haven't much patience
with people who are so extremely changeable. At the same time, it must
be admitted there is some truth in the saying that only mules and fools
never change their minds."
Jeremiah Crabtree turned red in the face.
"Is this a jab at me, young man?" he snapped. "Are you personal in your
remarks?"
"I hope you won't take it as personal unless it happens to hit your
case, Mr. Crabtree. People seldom care to wear clothes that do not fit
them. What has happened now that's caused all this commotion and talk?"
"Mebbe you haven't seen the _Herald_ this morning."
"I confess I haven't."
"Well, you'd better read it. If you'll look in the second column on the
first page you'll find something about a great ten-thousand-dollar
baseball game that's going to take place in Bloomfield to-day."
"A ten-thousand-dollar game?"
"Yes, sir. Don't you know anything about it?"
"Well, I'm aware that there's to be a baseball game here this afternoon.
I was not aware it was to be a ten-thousand-dollar game."
"Well, look at that--look right there!" snapped Crabtree, holding up the
paper and pointing a long bony finger at an article in the second
column. "Notice the heading in big black type. Notice it says that Frank
Merriwell's own baseball team will play the Rovers, the champion
independent team of the country, for ten thousand dollars."
Merry smiled.
"I think that's an exaggeration," he said. "I think that's simply an
advertising dodge, Mr. Crabtree."
"Do you mean to say you ain't made no arrangement to play this team for
a sum of money? Do you mean to say there ain't been no betting on the
game? This article distinctly states that one of your friends, and a
player on your team, has made a wager of ten thousand dollars that
you'll beat the Rovers."
"I mean to say I know nothing whatever of such a wager, and I do not
believe that a bet of that sort has been made. I was in Wellsburg
yesterday and gave the _Herald_ certain information to be used in
advertising this game, but I assure you I gave them no information
concerning a wager of that sort. On the face of it the yarn appears
decidedly preposterous. I think Bloomfield citizens are generally aware
of the fact that I am opposed to betting in any form."
"I know you've always claimed you was," said Crabtree, with a sneer;
"but, 'cordin' to some of the things I've heard about ye, you've been a
mighty sportin' young feller in your day. You've lived pretty high for a
youngster, and you've had dealings with sportin' people. They tell me
you don't drink, you don't gamble, you don't swear, and you don't do any
of them things; but I fail to understand how any man can associate with
persons who do drink and swear and gamble without acquiring such habits
himself. Now, sir, it's a well-known fact that professional ball players
are generally dissolute and disreputable. These Rovers are
professionals--they claim to be. When you play ball against them you
sort of put yourself in their class."
"Well, not exactly, Mr. Crabtree," denied Frank. "I presume you are
aware that a number of college baseball teams play games early every
season with teams of the National and American Leagues. Yale usually
plays the New York Nationals in New York. The Yale team is made up of
non-professional college men, amateurs in good standing. They do not
become professionals by engaging in a game with the New York Nationals.
I don't care to discuss this matter with you, Mr. Crabtree. I simply
give you my assurance that I know nothing whatever of this
ten-thousand-dollar wager, and I am satisfied that no such wager has
been made. The story is intended to arouse excitement and interest, with
the evident purpose of bringing out a crowd of spectators to witness the
game."
"Then it's a fraud and a deception!" cried Jeremiah, flourishing the
paper in his right hand and shaking his clenched left hand in the air.
"It's a falsehood--a barefaced lie! It's an imposition on the public!
You're concerned in it, sir! You can't get out of it! If you don't know
anything about it, you're concerned just the same."
"I fail to see how you make that out."
"When you make an agreement to play them professionals you knew what
sort of men they were. If they've originated this yarn for the purpose
of deceiving people, you're responsible because you've had dealings with
them."
"That's rather far-fetched, Mr. Crabtree."
"Nothing far-fetched about it."
"If I should purchase a horse of you for a hundred dollars, and, in
order to increase the apparent value of that horse, with the idea of
selling him to some one else, I should go around informing people I had
paid three hundred dollars, would you be responsible in any way? Do you
feel that in any manner you would be party to the falsehood?"
Rufus Applesnack had been listening to the talk, and now he gave
Crabtree a jab in the ribs.
"He's gut ye, deacon--he's gut ye!" chuckled the grocery man. "He's gut
ye right where the wool is short!"
"I fail to see it! I fail to see it!" rasped Crabtree. "There ain't no
similarity in the two cases. My mind is made up on the point, and I
don't propose to change it."
"Which sorter reminds me of the mule Mr. Merriwell mentioned a few
minutes ago," declared Applesnack, as he turned away.
Frank secured his mail and was leaving the post office, when outside the
door he came face to face with Owen Clearpath, the new parson of the
village church.
"I'd like to have a word with you, Mr. Merriwell," said the parson;
"just a word."
He drew Frank aside, while Hodge waited.
"I don't see how Merry keeps his patience and temper in dealing with
these hide-bound yokels," muttered Bart.
Clearpath seemed confused and ill at ease. He hemmed a little while
Merry waited quietly for him to speak.
Suddenly the young minister began, as if forcing himself with a great
effort to say something he regarded as decidedly disagreeable.
"You know, Mr. Merriwell," he said, "that I hold you in the highest
estimation. You know I'm considered by the members of my church and the
people of this town generally as a liberal preacher. In fact, I'm
entirely too liberal to suit some of the church members. You've done a
splendid work for Bloomfield, and you're doing a splendid work. I'm
proud of you, sir."
"It isn't necessary to sugar coat the pill, parson," smiled Frank. "Just
hand it out to me, and I'll swallow it."
"Well, you know there's been several unpleasant, not to say sensational,
occurrences in this town of late. I don't suppose you're to blame for
everything that has happened. I have insisted that you could not be
blamed for the unfortunate misstep of Brother Hewett, who was tempted to
take a little more hard cider than was really good for him. Your
detractors have insisted that the deacon was led into this action
through his exuberance over the arrival of your friends. Some of them
have tried to hold you responsible for Brother Hewett's temporary
downfall."
"I'm very sorry the deacon did such a thing," asserted Frank. "I hope
you've not been too harsh with him, parson."
"I haven't mentioned the matter to him. I've thought it best to
overlook it, for I'm certain he feels deeply humiliated and downcast. I
know for a fact that he's heard of it from other quarters. I've tried to
show him that my confidence is unshaken."
"Which I believe was a very wise course to pursue."
"Another thing that caused a great sensation was the unfortunate death
of that Mexican who broke into your house some ten days ago. There have
been all sorts of rumors about that affair. I'm positive the facts were
given to the coroner's jury, who failed to find any one save Murillo
responsible."
"No one could feel more disturbed over the matter than I have," said
Frank.
"You see your enemies are inclined to use such matters against you, if
possible. A number of persons have come to me this morning and shown me
an item in the Wellsburg _Herald_."
"I've just seen that item," said Frank. "Let me assure you, parson, that
so far as I have the slightest knowledge, I'm positive there's not a
word of truth in the statement that a ten-thousand-dollar wager has been
made on the result of the baseball game to be played this afternoon."
Clearpath looked relieved.
"I'm glad to hear you say that," he breathed. "I decided to ask you
about it. Have I your authority to deny the truth of that statement?"
"You may say I gave you my word that I knew nothing whatever of the
matter."
"I'll do so, sir--I'll do so. If you think the game will be clean and
respectable, I may decide to witness it myself."
"It's not my intention to permit anything on Farnham Field that may not
be witnessed by you, by any lady, or by any child in town. I hope to see
you at the game this afternoon, parson."