A DECLARATION OF WAR.
At Yale Field there was a spirit of optimism in the air that delighted
Dick Merriwell.
The climax of the great baseball season was really at hand at last.
After several years, in which Yale baseball teams had completely failed
to uphold the prestige of the university in the national game, although
Yale had been doing well in all other branches of sport, Dick Merriwell
had, in one short season, brought the nine up to be a contender for the
national intercollegiate championship.
The universal coach, after watching the aimless practice of the players
for a few minutes, walked over to the stand, where Jim Phillips and big
Bill Brady, his classmate, whose fame as a catcher was almost as great
as that Jim had won as a pitcher, were practicing a new curve that Jim
was trying to perfect.
“Get that ball ready, Jim,” he said. “I hope you won’t have to pitch
another game for Yale this year, but it’s as well to be ready for
emergencies.”
“That means Gray is to pitch for the team on Commencement Day, I
suppose, Mr. Merriwell,” said Brady. “I’m glad to hear it. It will be a
fine wind-up to his four years in college to beat Harvard on the same
day that he gets his degree.”
“That’s the idea,” said Merriwell, smiling. “We’ll have to wait to see
whether he can do it or not. But I certainly hope he can. He’s worked
mighty hard, and he’s improved tremendously since the beginning of the
season. He and Taylor make a fine battery now, and I guess Taylor’s
learned a lot about catching from you, Brady.”
“Not so much as you think, Mr. Merriwell,” said Brady. “He always was a
good catcher, and if he’s much better, it’s partly because he’s been
taking the game more seriously and looking after himself better.”
“I wanted to speak to you two fellows,” said the coach seriously. “I’ve
been thinking a lot about this man Parker. He’s a fine football player,
and if he doesn’t play this fall, Yale will miss him badly. I don’t know
just where we can look for a guard to take his place. But I won’t have
him on the team if he hasn’t been playing fair. You remember that after
I proved he was responsible for that absurd charge that Jim Phillips was
a professional, he promised to behave himself. Now, what I want to know,
Jim, is whether you think he had anything to do with your being kidnaped
in Boston the night before the first Harvard game?”
“I can’t say at all positively that he had, Mr. Merriwell,” Phillips
answered finally, after going over the whole affair in his mind. “I
thought I recognized his voice, but he only spoke once—the man I thought
was Parker, I mean—and I never got a look at his face. So I certainly
couldn’t make the positive statement that he had anything to do with
it.”
“I’m pretty sure he had,” said Brady. “There was no one else who would
have had any reason for doing anything of that sort, you know, and
Parker could have managed it. He could have pointed us out to the
chauffeur of that cab, and they were probably willing to carry me off
along with Jim, you know.”
“You’re out of this, Bill,” said Dick, with a smile. “I think as you do,
but we need more than thoughts to be sure, you see. I can’t punish
Parker unless I’m absolutely certain that he did take part in that
affair. I think we’re agreed that his loss of the football captaincy is
sufficient punishment for the business of the registered letter. As it
happened, that did no serious harm; though, of course, it was no fault
of his that we were able to defeat his plans. But you have to consider
the effect as well as the intention, and I think we can let that matter
drop. However, he was very defiant when we obtained that confession from
him.”
“I can’t make any charge against him in that taxicab affair,” Jim
decided finally. “I haven’t enough evidence to satisfy myself, much less
some unprejudiced person. So, as far as I am concerned, I say, let the
thing drop. I’ll be careful hereafter. I’ll see that no one has a chance
to do anything of that sort again.”
“There’s Parker now,” said Brady curiously, looking up into the stand,
where a score or more of students, who were not themselves players, had
assembled to watch the practice.
“Good,” said Dick. “I’ll go up there and read the riot act to him,
anyhow. Whether he’s innocent or guilty, that won’t do any harm.”
Parker looked up with unconcealed surprise and hostility when he saw the
universal coach making his way toward him through the rows of empty
seats.
“What do you want?” he snarled, as Dick dropped into a seat beside him.
“You’ve got your way, haven’t you? Your man has been elected as football
captain. Can’t you let me alone?”
“I don’t know, Parker,” said Merriwell, laughing. “That depends on you,
you know. I didn’t start the trouble between us, and I’m sorry that
there had to be any. It was you who tried to spoil Jim Phillips’ record
and cause Yale to enter the series with Harvard in a crippled condition.
I’ll let you alone as long as you give me no cause to interfere with
you. But if you make a move that seems to be unfair or is intended to
hurt any of my friends, I will use the confession you signed. That is
still in my possession, you know, and it will be enough to cause your
expulsion from Yale if I give the word.”
“You forced it out of me,” said Parker. “I don’t think that a confession
extracted in that way is any good.”
“Possibly not, if there’s no other evidence,” said Dick cheerfully. “And
there’s plenty in this case, you see. Carpenter confessed his part, and
Shesgren, as you know, refused to be your tool as soon as he found out
what you were doing. Now, there’s another matter. You know something of
what happened to Phillips in Boston. Just how much you do know I don’t
pretend to say, and I’m not going to ask you, either. But I’m going to
warn you to be careful. We are on the lookout; and if you are concerned
in anything more of this sort, the evidence of your first plot will go
to the dean at once. You know what would happen after that.”
“I’m not admitting anything to you,” said Parker, as insultingly as he
could. “But I’m not afraid of you. I’m going to keep my hands out of
your affairs altogether. And if you don’t want me to report for football
practice in September, all you’ve got to do is to say so.”
“I do want you to play football, of course,” said Dick, “provided that
you are willing to behave yourself. I don’t know much about you, Parker,
except for the episode of the registered letter. Put yourself in my
place. If that was all you knew about another man, you would be likely
to distrust him, wouldn’t you, and would want to feel sure that he was
powerless to injure you? That’s my only feeling. I don’t bear any ill
will. I’m perfectly willing to let the past go, and to consider only the
present and the future.
“You’re a man who can do a whole lot for Yale if you will sink your
personal ambitions and make up your mind to work for the old college. I
would rather have you with me than against me. Why don’t you cut loose
from the old ways and try a new deal?”
Parker was surprised at the apparent willingness of Dick Merriwell—whom
he regarded as his personal enemy—to be friendly. But he was self-willed
and obstinate, and it was very hard for him to get rid of a prejudice
once formed in his mind.
“That sounds very fine,” he said, sneering. “But I might as well tell
you that I don’t take much stock in it. I’ll look out for myself. If you
don’t like the way I do things, you can do the other thing. And if the
football team can get along without me, I can certainly get along
without the football team.”
He got up abruptly, and took himself off. But he was thinking hard as he
went.
“Curse him!” he said, to himself, scowling. “I’ll never be safe as long
as he has that confession of mine. I’ll have to tell Foote about that,
so that he can work out some scheme for getting it away from him—the
sneak! He’d use that now, and ruin me, if anything happened, whether he
could prove that I was mixed up in it or not.”
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