AN UNPLEASANT SITUATION.
"Great Scott!" gurgled Old Put, staring after Marline. "But he is a
regular fire eater!"
"He's a bad man--a blamed bad man!" fluttered Danny Griswold.
"That's right," nodded Lewis Little. "He really wants to fight with
swords, I believe."
"Of course, he does," nodded Andy Emery, who had not said a word during
all the talk between Merriwell and Marline. "Jack Diamond was another
fellow just like him when he first came to Yale."
"So he was," said Putnam. "And it seems to me I have heard that
Merriwell met him."
Frank smiled a bit.
"We had a little go," he said. "He put up a fierce fight, too, for a
fellow that knew nothing about the science."
"Oh, everybody knows about that!" said Put. "It was the other affair I
was speaking of. Didn't he force you into a duel with swords?"
"That affair was not very serious," said Frank, evasively.
"But I know it took place. He was a fire eater, and he had just such
ideas of honor as Marline holds. Thought it a disgrace to fight with
fists, and all that. You couldn't get out of meeting him in a regular
duel, and you did so. I've heard the fellows talking it over. Let's see,
who got the best of it?"
"It was interrupted before the end," said Frank. "The sophs came down on
us, and we thought them the faculty. Everybody took to his heels."
"And Diamond would have been captured if it hadn't been for Merriwell,
who stayed behind to help him out," put in Thornton. "The duel was never
finished."
"Don't try it again, Merry," cried Danny Griswold. "The next one
wouldn't come out as well as that."
"But what am I going to do?" asked Frank. "This fellow Marline will not
let up on me."
"Don't pay any attention to him," advised Little.
"That's right, ignore him," said the others.
"That will be a hard thing to do. I am no bully, as you all know, but I
cannot ignore a man who tries to ride me."
"Better do that than get into a fight with deadly weapons, and be
killed," said Put.
"Or kill him," added Griswold.
"Never mind if he does try to brand you as a coward," advised Emery. "He
can't make the brand stick. You are known too well here."
Frank flushed a bit.
"I don't know about that," he asserted. "It was only a few days ago that
almost everybody here seemed to think me a coward because I declined to
play football. They would be thinking so now if I had not played through
absolute necessity."
"But what you did in that game has settled it so no man can call you a
coward hereafter, and have his words carry any weight," said Putnam. "I
believe you can afford to ignore Rob Marline. He is sore now because he
was unable to play in the game, and because you put up such a game.
He'll get over that after a time, and it's quite likely he'll be ashamed
of himself for making such a fuss. He's not much good, anyway."
"Right there is where I think you make a big mistake," said Frank.
"Marline has been underestimated by many persons. He has sand, and
plenty of it. He is not responsible for his peculiar notions as to the
proper manner for a man to settle an affair of honor, for he was born
and brought up where such settlements are generally made with pistols."
"Well, you can't fight him in the manner he has named, and that's all
there is to it. Nobody will blame you for not meeting him. Let him go it
till he cools off."
"Perhaps he will be cool by the time his ankle gets well," said
Griswold.
Others came along and joined the crowd, and the talk turned to football.
Everybody seemed to want to shake hands with Frank, and his arm was
worked up and down till it ached. He was congratulated on every hand.
Sport Harris stood at a distance and saw all this, while his face wore a
sour, hateful sneer.
"It makes me sick to see them slobbering over him!" he muttered. "He'll
swell up and burst with conceit now. Hang him! He beat me out of my last
dollar yesterday, and now I'll have to take some of my clothes down to
'uncle' and raise the wind on them. Ain't got even enough for a beer
this morning, and my account is full at Morey's. This is what I call
hard luck! Wonder how Harlow feels this morning?"
Rolf Harlow had formerly been a Harvard man, and he was an inveterate
gambler. Through him Harris had placed all his money on the Harvard
eleven. Sport had tipped Harlow to the condition of the team, and the
apparent fact that Harvard was sure to win, on which tip Rolf had
hastened to stake everything on the Cambridge boys. At the close of the
game Harris got away from Harlow as quickly as possible, finding him
anything but agreeable as a companion.
Harris knew Marline hated Merriwell, and he felt sure the boy from the
South had nerve and courage, but, to his wonderment and disgust, Rob
would not enter into any sort of a compact against Frank.
"Together, we might be able to do up Merriwell," thought Harris. "The
only man I ever, found who had the nerve to stick by me against
Merriwell was Hartwicke, and he was forced to leave college. I'll get
the best of the fellow some day."
Later on, Sport heard something of the encounter between Merriwell and
Marline that morning. He listened eagerly to this, and he was seized by
a few thoughts.
What did he care about Marline? If Merriwell could be led into a genuine
duel with the lad from South Carolina, it might result in the expulsion
of both from Yale, either if neither should be seriously injured.
If Merriwell should be injured, all the better. If he wounded Marline,
the whole story might come out on investigation, and that would put him
in a bad box.
Anyway, a duel between the two might bring about Merriwell's downfall.
Harris set about stirring the matter up. He reported that Marline had
driven Merriwell "into his boots." There were a few fellows who "took
some stock" in Sport, and through them he worked to spread the story.
Harris was industrious, and before another night all sorts of tales
concerning the encounter between the rivals were in circulation.
Harry Rattleton, Frank's old-time chum, heard some of the reports, and
he lost no time in telling Frank just what was being said. Merriwell
smiled grimly, and said nothing.
"What are you going to do about it?" asked Harry, excitedly.
"Nothing," said Frank.
"What's that?" shouted Rattleton. "If you don't do anything, lots of the
fellows will think the stories are true."
"Let them."
"I wouldn't stand it! I'd hunch somebody's ped--I mean, punch somebody's
head."
"The fellows who heard it all know if Marline drove me into my boots."
"All right!" said Rattleton. "If you don't do anything about it, I
shall. I'm going to find out who started the yarns, and then I'm going
to punch him!"
And Rattleton went forth in search of some one to punch.
And he was not the only one, as we shall see.
Within three days Marline was able to get around, with the aid of a
cane. His ankle was improving swiftly, and he expected it would be
nearly as well as ever in less than a week.
Marline had a following. There were some rattle-brained young fellows in
the college who looked on him with admiration, as it was known he came
from a fighting family, and was just as ready to face a foe on "the
field of honor" as any of his ancestors had been before him.
Marline considered himself a "careful drinker," for he took about a
certain number of drinks each day, seldom allowing himself to indulge in
more than his allowance.
He always took whiskey. Beer and ale he called "slops." Such stuff was
well enough to boys and Dutchmen, but "whiskey was the stuff for a man."
Rob did not know he was forming one of the worst habits a man can
acquire--that of "drinking moderately." The moderate drinker becomes the
steady drinker, and, in time, he gets his system into such a condition
that he cannot get along without his regular allowance of "stuff." The
moment he tries to cut down that allowance, he feels miserable and "out
of sorts." Then he "throws in" a lot of it to brace up on. Perhaps it is
some time before he realizes what a hold drink has on him, and, when he
does realize it, in almost every case it is too late to break off the
habit. Gradually he increases his "allowance," and thus the moderate
drinker becomes a slave to liquor, and a drunkard.
The only "safe way" to handle liquor is not to handle it at all.
Marline had a father with plenty of money, and he was provided with more
than a liberal allowance while at college. He had money to spend, and
now, knowing the value of popularity, he began to spend it with unusual
liberality. As a result, there was a crowd of fellows who clung to him
closely in order to get as many drinks as possible out of him.
Although Frank did not drink, he often went around with fellows who did.
He had a strong mind, and it was not difficult for him to resist
temptation.
Thus it came about that Merriwell and Marline sometimes saw each other
in Morey's or Treager's, two well-known students' resorts. At first,
they seemed to avoid each other. Then Marline got the idea that
Merriwell was afraid of him, and he took to flinging out scornful
insinuations and staring at Frank contemptuously.
It was difficult for Merriwell to restrain his passions, for never had
he known a fellow who could anger him like Marline, but he held onto
himself with a close hand.
Jack Diamond heard of the affair between Frank and the boy from South
Carolina. Although Jack was from the South, he knew Merriwell as well as
anybody at Yale, and his knowledge told him Frank was in the right.
It galled Diamond to think that anybody could sneer at Merriwell, and
not be called to account. He did not say much at first, but, after a
time, he began to feel that he had stood it about as long as possible.
"Look here, Merry!" he exclaimed, as he stalked into Merriwell's room
one evening; "how long are you going to stand this?"
Frank had been studying, but he flung down his book immediately.
"Stand what?" he asked, smiling.
"Why, the insolence of this fellow from South Carolina. I heard him in
Morey's last evening when he made that sneering remark about you, and it
has been galling me all day. I expected you would jump him on the spot,
but you never moved an eyelash."
"What did you think I'd do?"
"Punch him, confound it!"
"How can I?"
"How can you? With your fist, of course."
"But I can't do it, you know. He has acknowledged publicly that he is no
fighter with his fists, and I'd seem like a bully if I hit him."
"Oh, rot!" exploded Jack. "Think I'd let any fellow insult me and then
rub it in without giving him a thump on the jaw? Not much!"
"Your ideas on that point seem to have changed since you came to Yale.
You will remember you did not believe in fighting with fists when you
came here."
"That's right," nodded Jack. "I thought gentlemen never fought in such a
manner, but I have found out that even gentlemen are occasionally forced
to do so."
"Marline holds just the same ideas as you held. I demanded satisfaction
of him, and he said he'd give it to me, with swords."
"He's a chump! What he really needs is a good drubbing, and you ought to
give it to him."
"And be called a bully. They would say it was a cowardly thing to do.
Really, Jack, I'm in a confounded nasty place!"
"I believe you are," admitted Diamond, slowly. "But you must do
something."
"Suggest something."
"Fight him with the weapons he named!" cried the Virginian, hotly. "You
can do it, and I know you can get the best of him. I haven't forgotten
our little duel. Not much! Why, Merriwell, you disarmed me twice! You
can do the same trick with him."
"Perhaps not."
"I know you can. If you disarm him twice, you can call him a bungler,
and refuse to continue the duel. Do it, Merry!" excitedly urged Jack.
"I'll stand by you--I'll be your second."
"Thank you, old man; but aren't you afraid of getting into serious
trouble? If the faculty----"
"Hang the faculty! We'll have to take chances. You can't stand his
insults, Merry, and you'll have to fight him with the weapons he has
named. That's the only thing you can do."
"You may be right," said Frank, slowly. "I am getting sick of the way
the thing is going, but I don't want to make a fool of myself."
"You won't; but you'll make a monkey of Rob Marline, and I'll bet on it.
Why, Merry, you are wonderfully clever with the foils, and you have
nerves of iron."
"Still, there might be a slip, you know."
"Are you afraid he'll do you up?"
"Not that," said Frank, "although I know he might. I'll tell you the
truth. I hate Marline, and I might do him up. A sword is a nasty weapon.
What if I should run him through?"
"I never saw the time yet when you were not your own master. I don't
think there is any danger that you will kill Marline, but you pink him,
just so he would remember you. He wouldn't blow. He's from the South. He
wouldn't blow if you pinked him for keeps."
"I think you are right about that. Well, Jack, there's no telling what I
may be driven into. If I have to meet him in a duel, I shall call on you
to act as my second."
"You may depend on me. I'll serve you with great satisfaction. Call him
out, Merry--call him out!"