A CONTRAST IN ENEMIES.
It was a wild night on the Yale campus. Even the worst old "grind" in
the college came out and looked on while the hilarious students made
merry, even if he did not join in the riotous proceedings.
A bonfire was built. Once there had been rules prohibiting such fires,
but of what use were rules now! Boxes, barrels, lumber, fencing, almost
anything that would make a blaze was brought in and heaped up there. It
was done in a rush in a manner that showed all preparations had been
made in advance, although the combustible material had not been piled up
till the time arrived when the fire was required.
Around the great fire the students with the instruments belonging to the
band marched and tooted and sang. Bink Stubbs had knocked in one end of
the bass drum, but he continued to hammer away on the other end,
apparently doing his best to break that in also. Bruce Browning "tore
off" music and other sounds with the trombone, while Puss Parker
astounded those who knew him best by his skill with the cornet, for he
really could play at some tunes.
About twenty fellows tied handkerchiefs over their faces, turned their
coats, and attempted to rush the band and capture the instruments.
Then there was war, and the real owners of the instruments looked on in
horror, wondering what would become of the horns.
The police were called upon to regain the instruments for the proper
owners. A dozen of them attempted to do the trick, but they were not
permitted to come onto the campus.
There were rumors of a rush. It was reported that the freshmen were
coming out with canes.
But the freshmen were not fools, and they knew it was a bad time to
bring about a cane rush. They mingled with the rejoicing crowd, but
sported no canes.
Some of the band instruments were ruined in the struggle, but a cheap
band had been engaged, and the instruments were of poor grade, so the
boys did not mind their destruction, although all felt that somebody
would have to settle the bill for damages.
Some one placed Danny Griswold on a box and yelled for a speech. Danny
never made a speech in his life, but he felt elated, and he started in
to say something. The moment he opened his mouth everybody cheered. When
they stopped cheering, Danny started again.
"This is----"
Not another word was heard. Again they cheered, drowning his voice. He
waited for them to stop. They stopped.
"This is----"
"'Rah! 'rah! 'rah! Whooper up! whooper up! 'Rah! 'rah! 'rah!"
Danny waited again. Now he felt that he wanted to make a speech. He was
determined to make a speech.
"This is----"
He couldn't get beyond "is," and he was growing disgusted. He longed for
a fireman's hose and good head of water.
As they began to cheer all at once, they stopped all together.
Once more Danny tried it:
"This is----"
It was no use. The mere sound of his voice seemed to arouse them to the
wildest enthusiasm. He shook his fist at them.
"Go to thunder!" he screamed, getting black in the face.
But they laughed and cheered so he could not hear the sound of his own
voice.
Some fellows found Frank and carried him around and around the fire.
They tried to induce him to get on the box in Danny's place, and say
something, but he was too shrewd to try that, even if he had wished to
do so.
Sport Harris, holding aloof, his heart sour with disappointment and
disgust, saw a fellow swinging himself along on crutches, but refraining
from taking any part in the celebration.
"It's Marline," thought Sport. "He must be somewhat sore himself."
Then he approached and spoke to the unlucky student, who had lost the
opportunity to play full-back when he sprained his ankle.
"Hello, Marline!" called Harris. "Why aren't you whooping her up with
the others?"
Marline looked at him in doubt, and then remembered that Harris and
Merriwell had never been good friends.
"Why should I celebrate?" he asked, sourly.
"Yale won."
"Yes, and I sat where I could see the fellow who filled my place secure
the opportunities to win, which must have been mine had I played."
"It was hard luck for you to be knocked out in such a manner."
"Hard luck! It was beastly! But it was worse luck to have that fellow,
Merriwell, run into the game and get all the opportunities to cover
himself with glory."
"Well, he got 'em, and he improved 'em."
"Any fellow fit for the position could have done the same thing."
"Think so?"
"I know it."
"How about carrying three men on his back the way Merriwell did?"
"That was nothing."
"Everybody seems to think it was a great trick."
"It was nothing, I tell you. Those Harvard chumps tackled him in the
most foolish manner possible. Not one of them tried to get low down on
him, but all piled upon his back."
"Still, it seems that three of them ought to have crushed him into the
ground."
"Not if he had any back at all. You could have stood up under it."
"Thanks!" said Harris, dryly. "I don't care to try."
"I know I could."
"But Merriwell carried them right along on his back."
"What of it?"
"Wasn't that something? He scarcely seemed to slacken his speed in the
least, for all of their weight."
"Rot! They came upon him from behind, and when they leaped on him they
hurled him forward still faster than he was going, if anything."
"It's a wonder they didn't hurl him forward on his face."
"Wonder--nothing! Are you stuck on that fellow?"
"Well, I should say not! I have no reason to admire him."
"Nor I! I despise him, and I am willing he should know it. Wait till my
ankle gets well."
"What will you do then?"
"I am making no talk about what I'll do," said Marline, lowering his
voice and hissing forth the words; "but Frank Merriwell had better steer
clear of me."
"He is a bad man to have for an enemy," said Harris, "I know, for he is
my enemy."
"How does he happen to be your enemy?" asked Marline. "You are not in
athletics. What made him your enemy?"
Harris hesitated, and then said:
"Some time ago he wrongfully accused me of cheating at cards. I have
hated him ever since."
A sudden change came over Marline. He remembered now. He had heard
something about it at the time, but it had slipped his mind. He
remembered that he had heard from a reliable source that Merriwell had
exposed Harris in a crooked game.
Involuntarily, Marline drew away from Harris. The lad from South
Carolina had very high ideas of honor, and he could feel nothing but
contempt for a card sharp. Sometimes he played cards himself, but he
would have died rather than do a crooked or dishonorable thing. A moment
before, he had seemed to feel a bond between himself and Sport, as they
were both enemies to Merriwell, but now there was a feeling of
repulsion.
No matter what Rob Marline's faults might be, and he had many of them,
there was not a dishonest streak in him.
Harris seemed to see the change come over the other, and regretted that
he had told the truth, for he knew Marline was "encumbered" by a fine
sense of honor. He tried to set himself right by fiercely declaring he
had been unjustly accused by Merriwell.
"That's what makes me hate the fellow so," he said. "He has injured me
by leading some fellows to think I was crooked, and that is the worst
injury he could do anybody."
"I agree with you on that point," nodded Marline.
"Some time I'll square it up with him," grated Harris. "We both hate
him, and I see no reason why we shouldn't pull together."
Marline hesitated a moment, then shook his head.
"No," he said, "I'll not make a compact with any one against him. I hate
him, and I am willing he should know it. I'll meet him face to face and
man to man, and I'll make him crawl, or I'll fix him so he won't play
football for a long time to come!"