HONORED BY ALL.
Frank Merriwell had not interfered. While he did not believe in
fighting, he knew Dick’s cause was just, and he had wished to see if
the boy could take care of himself in such an affair. The result was
decidedly gratifying to Merry.
Old Joe had on many occasions watched Frank giving Dick
sparring-lessons, and the savage had regarded the whole affair with
supreme scorn and contempt. More than once he had tersely expressed
his opinion in regard to it.
Now, however, there was such satisfaction expressed on the old
fellow’s usually stony face that the look could not be mistaken. When
the flushed and triumphant boy turned about after the skulking away
of the bully, the redskin quickly put his arms about the lad, saying:
“Heap good work! Steady Hand teach Injun Heart mighty big white man
trick with him hands. Um can fight white man way heap good! Ugh!”
This was much for the old savage to say, and it gave Dick a thrill of
pride and satisfaction.
“He would have hurt you, Joe,” said the boy. “He was ready to do it!”
“No hurt me.”
“But he was ready to.”
“No hurt me,” insisted the Indian.
“Why not? You could not fight him with your fists.”
“Knife heap ready. Him strike with fist, Joe strike with knife. Cut
him heart in two mighty quick!”
“It is plain that you saved the fellow’s life, Dick,” said Frank, his
hand falling on the shoulder of his brother; “yet I hardly think he
would thank you if he knew it. You showed that I have not wasted my
time and yours in giving you boxing-lessons. I am rather proud of the
way in which you put the young thug out of commission.”
“Richard, my lively young gazelle, it was a sight to gladden the
heart and bring tears of joy to the eye,” put in Jack Ready. “I
wanted to slip into the fracas, and gently t’ump somebody, but your
greedy brother insisted that you should have all the fun. He wouldn’t
let me mingle.”
The policeman now came into the midst of the crowd, and demanded to
know what was happening. He regarded Old Joe with suspicion, and
seemed rather anxious to arrest somebody.
A citizen, however, explained the matter to him, and he looked Dick
Merriwell over curiously.
“That boy?” he asked, as if in doubt.
“That’s the one,” answered the citizen.
“Did up Squinty Jim?”
“He did.”
“I’m glad of it, but it don’t seem possible. Squinty’s one of the
worst characters in this ward, and he’s always fighting and whipping
somebody.”
“He struck more than his match this time.”
“The boy ought to have a medal. Who is he?”
“They say he’s Frank Merriwell’s brother. I don’t suppose you know
who Frank Merriwell is----”
“Don’t I? Say, do you mean Frank Merriwell, the great athlete of Yale
College?”
“Yes. There he is standing beside the boy now.”
“What? Is that the real Frank Merriwell?”
“It is. He’s stopping at the Continental.”
The officer strode up to Merry.
“Beg pardon,” he said, with an air of politeness. “Is what I’ve just
heard true?”
Merry smiled, saying:
“I am sure I can’t say, sir, for I don’t know what you have just
heard.”
“A man just told me that you are the genuine Frank Merriwell of Yale.”
“I must confess that the gentleman told you the truth. I am Frank
Merriwell.”
“And this chap who just did up Squinty Jim is your brother?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Mr. Merriwell,” said the policeman, “I want to shake hands with you.
I have a boy who owes his life to you.”
The earnestness of the officer showed he was perfectly sincere, and
Merry readily shook hands.
“Owes his life to me?” said Frank, in some surprise. “How is that?
What have I done for your boy?”
“Saved his life, and yet you have never seen him to know him. He has
seen you, though. He has seen you play football and baseball. He
has read much about you in the newspapers. He was not a strong boy,
and he early fell into habits of dissipation. He drank and traveled
with a gang. He smoked forty and fifty cigarettes a day. He was fast
becoming a total wreck when he first saw you play football here
against U. of P.
“He talked about your playing for days. Then he began to find out
everything he could about you. Somehow, he learned that you were
not strong at one time, and he also learned that you never smoke,
drink, or carouse. Something led him to resolve to be as much like
you as possible. He had will-power, sir, and he at once quit his old
companions, stopped drinking, and gave up smoking. The last thing was
the hardest to do. It was a hard fight for him, but he conquered.
Everybody had told me he would go into quick consumption.
“That was almost two years ago. To-day my boy is healthy and strong
and manly. He belongs to a Y. M. C. A. gym, where he goes regularly
every night, and they say he is fast becoming an athlete. More than
that, he is working to save money, and is attending a school to fit
himself for college. Mr. Merriwell, I have longed to meet you, and
I’ve often thought of writing to you and telling you the good you had
done my boy. I cannot repay you, sir, but I take off my hat to you as
the model young American, and one every true American should be proud
of!”
Then, before the Continental Hotel in the city of Philadelphia, was
seen the remarkable spectacle of a policeman uncovering his head to
a civilian, a youth whom he had not known by sight twenty minutes
before.
Dick Merriwell had heard the words of the officer, and he thrilled
from his feet to his head, whispering to himself:
“It is my brother! Everybody honors him! Officers take off their hats
to him! All say he is a model American youth. Ah! can I ever become
thus famous and loved! I do not believe it is possible!”
Frank had been touched himself, and he now assured the officer that
he desired to meet his son, which gave the man no small satisfaction,
as he said:
“I’ll bring Bob round. It is one great desire of his life to shake
hands with you, and he’ll be jealous when he hears I’ve got ahead of
him.”
A time was set when Frank would meet the officer’s son, that evening,
and then the policeman saluted and turned away.
“I can’t believe the things me heavenly blue eyes have seen, nor
those me shell-like ears have heard!” came from Jack Ready. “A cop
hath lifted his tile to thee, O most noble snoozer! and his language
was the language of respect, yet thou art not an alderman, nor yet a
political boss. And this in Philadelphia! Ye gods! the heavens will
fall next!”