A REPORTER'S INFLUENCE.
The wine spattered in the face of the man who was helping Mellor. The
latter looked up in stupid wrath, and then it dawned on him suddenly
that the interruption came from his manager.
He gasped, hiccoughed, sat back in his chair and tried to rise.
Meanwhile the other two fellows with the orange rosettes had sprung to
their feet, and were trying to push Frank from the room.
In this the waiter joined them, and, for a moment, therefore, Merriwell
had his hands full. They were lively hands, though, and in much less
time than it takes to narrate it he had struck out right and left and
landed stinging blows upon the faces of two of his antagonists.
The bartender, who was a heavy fellow, who had probably had plenty of
experience in dealing with tough customers, set down the bottle of wine
and attacked Frank with great fury.
He made the mistake of supposing that he could hustle the intruder out
by mere force, and in so doing he put up both hands to catch Frank by
the shoulders.
This gave the athletic student a better opportunity than he could have
asked for. In quick succession the bartender got two blows, one full
upon the mouth, and the other on his neck.
He went down on the floor with a thump, and catching at the table for
support, overturned it. The bottle of wine fell upon him and drenched
him.
The others, who had staggered back under the force of Frank's first
blows, now tried to push their way out. The room was a very small one,
and there was but one door.
It was evident that they were not there for fighting, and had no wish to
defend their drunken companion, no matter what Frank's object in making
the attack had been.
As Frank's only anxiety was in getting Mellor away, he did not attempt
to stop the others from going out.
The rumpus attracted the attention of everybody in the main room of the
saloon, and by the time the bartender had been sent to the floor a dozen
or so others, most of them customers of the place, came crowding up to
see what was the matter.
"Letsh not fight, Mer'well," said Mellor, with a tremendous attempt at
dignity. "Letsh not get mixed up in a row."
He, too, tried to walk out, but the way was now barred with other
bartenders who had come to the relief of their comrade.
They might have fallen upon Frank and beaten him badly, for they far
outnumbered him, if it hadn't been that at that moment a policeman took
a hand in the affair.
He had been passing the side door of the saloon at the very moment when
Frank struck the glass from Mellor's hand.
He had entered at the first sound of a ruction, and had been in time to
get a glimpse of Frank as he struck the bartender to the floor.
There was a lot of excitement and confusion for a moment, during which
Frank stood with his fists still clinched and his jaws shut hard
together, waiting for the next turn.
Everybody connected with the saloon denounced him as an intruder, and
the one who had made all the trouble.
Frank thought hastily of explaining the real situation, but he refrained
from doing so, as that would surely make the whole thing public, and he
did not want any such disgrace to be attached to Yale's part in the
intercollegiate games.
So when the policeman roughly put him under arrest he submitted quietly
and went to the station house. A couple of bartenders followed, dragging
the almost helpless Mellor with them.
Yale's champion wrestler at that moment was too far gone to realize
fully what was taking place. He staggered along between the bartenders,
protesting that there had been a "mishundershtanding," that he was a
gentleman, and that as soon as the matter had been explained he would
return to the saloon and "set 'em up" for everybody.
Frank walked in silence, feeling extreme humiliation, not for his
arrest, but for the disgrace that a Yale athlete was bringing upon his
college.
When they stood before the sergeant in the station, the policeman told
briefly how he had heard a row in progress in the saloon and had got
there in time to see Frank doing all the fighting.
The sergeant looked at the bartenders, and one of them said:
"This man," pointing to Mellor, "was entertaining a party of friends in
the back room when the other chap came in, and without saying a word
tried to clean the place out. Everything was peaceable and quiet until
he came in."
The sergeant took up a pen, and looking at Frank, asked:
"What is your name?"
"Frank Merriwell," was the quiet response.
"Huh!" grunted the sergeant, as he wrote the name, "I thought from your
looks you would say Jones of nowhere. What is your residence?"
"New Haven."
"Have you got anything to say for yourself?"
"Not at present."
The sergeant looked surprised, and hesitated a moment before he asked a
number of other questions.
They were such questions as are always put to prisoners concerning their
age, their reasons for being in the city, and their own account of what
had happened.
Frank gave his age, but to the other questions refused to reply.
Accordingly the sergeant ordered both him and Mellor to be searched, and
after a vain attempt to get any information out of Mellor, both were
locked up.
A considerable crowd had collected in the main room of the station house
during this, and Frank remained quietly in his cell until he felt
certain that all the curiosity seekers had gone out.
Then he called to a doorman and asked if he might speak to the sergeant
or the captain. It took a little persuasion to get permission to do
this, but Frank got it finally, and was taken upstairs again.
The main room of the station was then deserted by all except the doorman
and the sergeant. The latter looked at the young prisoner inquiringly.
"I'd like to send for somebody," he said, "and will pay liberally for a
messenger. You've got my money, and therefore know that I can pay any
decent charge."
"Yes," said the sergeant, "you're well heeled. Who do you want to see?"
Frank thereupon gave the name of a Supreme Court judge. The sergeant's
eyes opened wide.
"What do you want of him?" he asked.
"He'll come down here in a hurry," Frank answered, "if he knows that I'm
locked up."
The sergeant sat back in his chair and thought a moment. It was
perfectly plain to him that Frank was not intoxicated, and his whole
manner was that of a gentleman.
The sergeant was probably wondering whether the name Merriwell might not
be a false one, and whether this prisoner might not be the son of the
judge mentioned.
While he was wondering what he had better do about it, a young man
entered the station with a businesslike air, and stepping up to the big
desk, said:
"Good-evening, sergeant, anything going on?"
Then he caught sight of Merriwell, and exclaimed:
"Great Scott, Merriwell, what are you doing here?"
"I'm a prisoner, Mr. Matthews," Frank responded.
The young man stared at Frank for just an instant, and then turning to
the sergeant, said:
"Anybody in the captain's room?"
"No," was the reply.
"Come in here," said Matthews, taking Frank by the arm and walking him
across the room.
When they were in the captain's room, Matthews shut the door, motioned
to a chair, and sat down opposite Frank.
"Now, then," he said, "what's got into Yale?"
"Mr. Matthews," Frank responded, "I hate to say that I'm sorry to see
you, but a newspaper man is the last man in this whole world that I
would care to tell this story to."
"Well, but see here, Merriwell," responded Matthews, earnestly, "a
newspaper man isn't a born fiend, you know; I'm not likely to forget
that I'm a graduate of Yale, and I certainly am not going to hurry off
with an item to my paper that will bring you into any disgrace.
"Yale graduates are getting to think a good deal of you, Merriwell, and
I brought you in here to see if there might not be some way to help you,
not to get a sensational item."
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Matthews," said Frank, "but I had an idea that
when a man became a reporter he could think of nothing but news and
things to write about."
"That's business," said Matthews, "sure enough, but I'm an old Yale man,
at least I'm older than you, but I graduated only a couple of years ago,
you know, so sing your song and let's see if there isn't something I can
do."
Thereupon Frank told the reporter all about his difficulty. He explained
how Mellor was hopelessly drunk in a cell, and how he had got arrested
while making an attempt to get Mellor away from his companions.
"By Jove!" said Matthews, under his breath at last, "I don't blame you
for doing what you did, Merriwell, but perhaps it would have been better
if you had avoided a row and simply induced Mellor to go out with you."
"I don't think I lose my head very often," Frank responded, "but I must
confess I did then. It was just maddening to see him soaking there with
three scoundrels who had undoubtedly set out to get him filled up.
Anyhow, there's no use regretting what I did, for here I am, and next to
having Yale win in the contest to-morrow night, I'd rather keep this
thing from becoming public."
"I can fix that easily enough," said Matthews, confidently. "The
sergeant doesn't know that you're a Yale man, and even if he should,
I'll prime all the other reporters who cover this district at night, and
get them to say nothing about it. You needn't worry on that score,
Merriwell, the only thing to do is to get you and Mellor away from the
station house."
Frank then told how he had wanted to send for the judge referred to.
"He's known me since I was born," he explained, "and was an intimate
friend of my father. There's no doubt that he would believe me, and I
suppose his word would go with the police."
"Yes, it would, but it's a long way to his house, and he may not be at
home. The captain will be in in two or three minutes, and we'll see if I
haven't got influence with him."
In less time than Matthews had supposed, the captain came in. To Frank's
great astonishment, the reporter easily persuaded the captain to release
the two students.
It is not very often that a police captain has an opportunity to do a
favor to a newspaper man, and when a chance does occur, he's quick to
take it, for the reporters of New York newspapers can make or unmake a
policeman's reputation.
The only thing in the way of letting the students go was the fact that
the bartenders in the saloon where the fight occurred had made a charge
against Frank.
That was quickly fixed by the captain, who went himself to the saloon
and suggested that the charge be withdrawn.
Of course the suggestion of the captain was enough. The bartenders were
glad to withdraw the charge if he advised it.
Therefore Frank had not been a prisoner half an hour before he and
Mellor, accompanied by Matthews, were rolling across the city in a
closed cab on their way to the Murray Hill.
When they arrived there they used a good deal of caution about going in,
for Mellor was quite as stupid as he had been at first, and both
Matthews and Merriwell were anxious to prevent anybody from becoming
aware of his condition.
They got him into the Turkish bath there without observation, and gave
an attendant a liberal fee to look after him for the night.