The Medal Library
Famous Copyrighted Stories for Boys, by Famous Authors
PUBLISHED EVERY WEEK
This is an ideal line for boys of all ages. It contains juvenile
masterpieces by the most popular writers of interesting fiction for
boys. Among these may be mentioned the works of Burt L. Standish,
detailing the adventures of Frank Merriwell, the hero, of whom every
American boy has read with admiration. Frank is a truly representative
American lad, full of character and a strong determination to do right
at any cost. Then, there are the works of Horatio Alger, Jr., whose
keen insight into the minds of the boys of our country has enabled him
to write a series of the most interesting tales ever published. This
line also contains some of the best works of Oliver Optic, another
author whose entire life was devoted to writing books that would tend
to interest and elevate our boys.
To Be Published During March
250. Neka, the Boy Conjurer. By Capt. Ralph Bonehill.
249. The Young Bridge Tender. By Arthur M. Winfield.
248. The West Point Boys. By Lieut. Frederick Garrison, U.S.A.
247. Frank Merriwell’s Secret. By Burt L. Standish.
246. Rob Ranger’s Cowboy Days. By Lieut. Lounsberry.
To Be Published During February
245. The Red Rover. By J. Fenimore Cooper.
244. Frank Merriwell’s Return to Yale. By Burt L. Standish.
243. Adrift in New York. By Horatio Alger, Jr.
242. The Rival Canoe Boys. By St. George Rathborne.
To Be Published During January
241. The Tour of the Zero Club. By Capt. R. Bonehill.
240. Frank Merriwell’s Champions. By Burt L. Standish.
239. The Two Admirals. By J. Fenimore Cooper.
238. A Cadet’s Honor. By Lieut. Fred’k Garrison, U.S.A.
* * * * *
237. Frank Merriwell’s Skill. By Burt L. Standish.
236. Rob Ranger’s Mine. By Lieut. Lounsberry.
235. The Young Carthaginian. By G. A. Henty.
234. The Store Boy. By Horatio Alger, Jr.
233. Frank Merriwell’s Athletes. By Burt L. Standish.
232. The Valley of Mystery. By Henry Harrison Lewis.
231--Paddling Under Palmettos. By St. George Rathborne.
230--Off for West Point. By Lieut. Fred’k Garrison, U.S.A.
229--Frank Merriwell’s Daring. By Burt L. Standish.
228--The Cash Boy. By Horatio Alger, Jr.
227--In Freedom’s Cause. By G. A. Henty.
226--Tom Havens With the White Squadron. By Lieut. Orton.
225--Frank Merriwell’s Courage. By Burt L. Standish.
224--Yankee Boys in Japan. By Henry Harrison Lewis.
223--In Fort and Prison. By William Murray Graydon.
222--A West Point Treasure. By Lieut. Fred’k Garrison, U.S.A.
221--The Young Outlaw. By Horatio Alger, Jr.
220--The Gulf Cruisers. By St. George Rathborne.
219--Tom Truxton’s Ocean Trip. By Lieut. Lounsberry.
218--Tom Truxton’s School Days. By Lieut. Lounsberry.
217--Frank Merriwell’s Bicycle Tour. By Burt L. Standish.
216--Campaigning With Braddock. By William Murray Graydon.
215--With Clive in India. By G. A. Henty.
214--On Guard. By Lieut. Frederick Garrison, U.S.A.
213--Frank Merriwell’s Races. By Burt L. Standish.
212--Julius, the Street Boy. By Horatio Alger, Jr.
211--Buck Badger’s Ranch. By Russell Williams.
210--Sturdy and Strong. By G. A. Henty.
209--Frank Merriwell’s Sports Afield. By Burt L. Standish.
208--The Treasure of the Golden Crater. By Lieut. Lounsberry.
207--Shifting Winds. By St. George Rathborne.
206--Jungles and Traitors. By Wm. Murray Graydon.
205--Frank Merriwell at Yale. By Burt L. Standish.
204--Under Drake’s Flag. By G. A. Henty.
203--Last Chance Mine. By Lieut James K. Orton.
202--Risen From the Ranks. By Horatio Alger, Jr.
201--Frank Merriwell in Europe. By Burt L. Standish.
200--The Fight for a Pennant. By Frank Merriwell.
199--The Golden Canon. By G. A. Henty.
198--Only an Irish Boy. By Horatio Alger, Jr.
197--Frank Merriwell’s Hunting Tour. By Burt L. Standish.
196--Zip, the Acrobat. By Victor St. Clair.
195--The Lion of the North. By G. A. Henty.
194--The White Mustang. By Edward S. Ellis.
193--Frank Merriwell’s Bravery. By Burt L. Standish.
192--Tom, the Bootblack. By Horatio Alger, Jr.
191--The Rivals of the Diamond. By Russell Williams.
190--The Cat of Bubastes. By G. A. Henty.
189--Frank Merriwell Down South. By Burt L. Standish.
188--From Street to Mansion. By Frank H. Stauffer.
187--Bound to Rise. By Horatio Alger, Jr.
186--On the Trail of Geronimo. By Edward S. Ellis.
185--For the Temple. By G. A. Henty.
184--Frank Merriwell’s Trip West. By Burt L. Standish.
[Illustration]
Frank Merriwell’s
Danger _By BURT L. STANDISH_
_Author of_ “Frank Merriwell’s School Days,” “Frank
Merriwell’s Chums,” “Frank Merriwell’s Foes,” “Frank
Merriwell’s Trip West,” “Frank Merriwell Down
South,” “Frank Merriwell’s Hunting Tour,” “Frank
Merriwell’s Bravery,” “Frank Merriwell in Europe,” etc.
[Illustration]
STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS
238 WILLIAM STREET, NEW YORK CITY
[Illustration]
Copyright, 1904
By STREET & SMITH
Frank Merriwell’s Danger
FRANK MERRIWELL’S DANGER.
CHAPTER I.
OUT FOR A CRUISE.
Spring!
All through the long winter the only green thing to be seen on the Yale
campus was the festive freshman, but now, on this mild, sunny April
day, which was a promise of June soon to come, a few blades of grass
were struggling to appear.
It was a day to bring everybody out. For the first time one could
realize that winter was really a thing of the past.
At noon the campus swarmed and the fence was lined with roosters. The
juniors came out and smoked their big English pipes, and did their best
to imitate the graveness and dignity of the seniors. The sophomores
loaded their line of fence, joking, laughing and guying the freshmen.
And the freshmen gamboled like young colts just turned out to pasture,
betraying their absolute “newness” by every word and act.
Big Bruce Browning smoked in lazy abandon, leaning against a post,
feeling far too tired to climb to a seat upon the top rail. Bink Stubbs
was whittling with a brand-new knife, while Danny Griswold whistled a
rollicking tune. Dismal Jones actually wore an expression on his face
that was as near perfect satisfaction and happiness as anyone had ever
seen on his long countenance. “Lucy” Little, with a necktie “loud
enough to jar the bricks out of South Middle,” was doing his best to
see how many packages of cigarettes he could smoke in five minutes.
Everywhere the talk was baseball. Who would make the team? Would it be
as strong as the year before? and would they win out from Harvard?
It was pretty certain Harvard would have an exceptionally strong team.
The material to choose from was better than ever before, and Harvard
was “making a brace” in all directions. Yale had won the last football
game from Harvard more by the wonderful work of one man than by the
superior strength of her eleven, and the Cambridge lads were thirsting
for revenge.
The man who seemed to stand head and shoulders above all others in Yale
sports and athletics was Frank Merriwell. But Merriwell had become a
“greasy grind” during the winter, and there were those who prophesied
that he was satisfied with his fame, and would retire on his laurels.
It was even reported that he was ambitious to be valedictorian, and it
was known that he could go to either Bones or Keys, as he might choose,
which was a most remarkable state of affairs, as there were hundreds of
good men and true, with hearts full of ambition, who could not reach
either.
All along Merriwell had refused to say anything about his plans, and he
would not talk baseball. He had been drawn into the football game with
Harvard through force of circumstances, and against his inclination, so
it was not strange that the general belief was that he might refuse to
become the leading “twirler” for Yale that season.
It was generally conceded by Merriwell’s friends and foes alike that
his refusal to play would be a great blow to Yale. Hugh Heffiner and
Dad Hicks, the old timers, were gone, and Merriwell was the only man
left who had been tried by Yale and not found wanting.
True, there was some new material. Walbert, an Andover man, was a
promising candidate; and Haggerty, who had come to Yale after being
dropped at straight-laced little Williams for some thoughtless prank,
was said to be a great “southpaw” twirler.
But what Yale wanted was steady, reliable material in which confidence
could be placed. The new men might show up all right when the time
came, but what if they did not? The “if” was in the way.
So baseball was the theme on this bright April day, and the enthusiasm
which the game always arouses among the “cranks” was beginning to make
itself manifest.
While they were talking of him, Frank Merriwell appeared. He looked
trim and well-groomed. It was one of his peculiarities that he always
looked as if he had just emerged from a bath.
Barely was Frank upon the campus before Harry Rattleton, his old-time
chum, rushed up and caught him by the arm.
“Looking for you, old man--looking for you!” he excitedly sputtered.
“There’s tomething on sap--I mean something on tap.”
“You know I never drink beer,” smiled Frank.
“Never mind--t’ain’t beer,” Harry rattled on. “This is just the day,
isn’t it?”
“Just the day for what?”
“Cruise.”
“What sort of a cruise?”
“On the sound. I’ve got a cat.”
“A cat? Well, what has a cat to do with a cruise on the sound?”
“I mean a batcoat--no, no, a catboat! Bought her yesterday.”
“Oh! I must say you are starting early.”
“None too early. And this is just the day for a sail. We can have a
glorious afternoon on the sound. What do you say to it, old man?”
“Who is going?”
“Anybody you want. We’ll take along Browning and Diamond.”
“I don’t think I ought to spend the time.”
“Oh, come off! You have been cramming like a fiend all winter, and an
afternoon’s outing is just what you need. You can’t say no. Think of
the sport.”
Frank did think of it. He knew it was true he had become a “dig,” and
he felt that a sail on the sound would do him good. It would serve as
a relaxation for half a day, and he could return to his studies with
fresh energy on the morrow.
All at once he turned on Harry, exclaiming:
“I am with you, old fellow!”
“You will go?”
“Dead sure. I’ll be able to study all the better for it afterward.”
“That’s the talk, Merry! Who’ll we take?”
“Name your own crew.”
“Diamond and Browning.”
“They’re all right. What say if I get Hodge and take him along?”
“Get him. That will make just the right sort of a crew. I’ll get a
lunch, and we’ll meet at the New Haven Yacht Clubhouse. The _Jolly
Sport_ is moored off the clubhouse. We’ll all get down there as soon as
possible. I know Browning and Diamond will go when they know you are
coming along, Frank. You go for Hodge, and I’ll look after the others.”
In this way it was settled. Frank started to get Bart Hodge, another
old chum, who roomed at a distance. Hodge had passed examinations
successfully, and was a Yale student at last. Rattleton made for
Browning, who still leaned in solemn stateliness against the fence.
Rattleton and Diamond were on the _Jolly Sport_, getting her in trim,
when Frank and Bart appeared.
“Where’s Browning?” shouted Frank.
“Coming,” Harry called back.
“So’s Christmas, but it’ll be a long time getting here. If you really
expect that fellow to sail with us this afternoon, you should have
brought him along.”
“We can’t waste the afternoon waiting for him,” said Jack, impatiently.
Frank and Bart got on board the boat, and then Bruce appeared,
perspiring and staggering under a heavy load, for he carried a huge
basket in either hand.
“Dat the whickens--I mean, what the dickens has he there?” cried Harry.
“Oh, I know, the lunch!”
“That’s it!” exclaimed Frank. “We were smart not to think of that.
But he has brought enough to provision the _Jolly Sport_ for a week’s
cruise.”
“Hurry up, Browning!” shouted Jack, testily. “We’ve waited long enough
for you.”
“Oh, fall overboard and cool off!” flung back the big fellow, who
seemed a bit out of sorts himself from the exertion. “You’re always in
a hurry.”
“What have you there, anyway?” asked Frank, as Bruce came on board.
“Beer.”
“Beer?” shouted all the lads.
“Sandwiches.”
“Then it’s not all beer?”
“Most of it is.”
“That’s all right,” said Diamond, beginning to look satisfied. “We’ll
take care of it.”
“Oh, I don’t know!” grunted Browning. “I brought it along for myself.
Supposed you chaps would bring your own beer and provisions.”
“You don’t mean to say you brought all that stuff in those two great
baskets for yourself and no one else?”
“Why not?”
“How long do you think this cruise will last?”
“Can’t tell about that.”
“You’ll divvy, or we’ll put you in irons and cast you into the hold!”
declared Rattleton. “I’m owner and captain of this vessel, and what I
say goes. See?”
To this Bruce simply grunted.
The baskets were stowed as snugly as possible, and then Rattleton began
to give orders.
“Haul away!” he cried. “Haul away on the throat halyards! Up with the
peak! That’s right. Slack off the sheet a bit, Diamond. Lay her a bit
more to port! Steady, so!”
The tide was running out, and the wind was light, but the _Jolly Sport_
seemed eager to get out into the sound, and was soon running down past
an anchored fishing vessel at good speed.
“Well, this is great!” muttered Hodge, as he lay back comfortably,
lighting a cigar.
Down past the fort in Indian Hill they slipped, steered across to the
old lighthouse, and tacked into the sound.
“Hurrah!” cried Skipper Rattleton. “The breeze is with us, boys!”
Then he sang a snatch of “A Life on the Ocean Wave.”
“What do you think of my singing?” he asked. “It’s entirely by ear.”
“Great heavens!” cried Merry, tragically. “That explains it!”
“Explains what?”
“Why, I didn’t think it possibly could be by mouth.”
Browning grunted. It was as near as he could come to laughing without
exerting himself.
The boys took off their coats and prepared to enjoy life. All fell to
smoking, with the exception of Frank.
“Going to pitch on the nine this spring, Merry?” asked Bart.
“I may,” answered Frank. “I was practicing yesterday, and I threw the
ball a mile.”
“What’s that? Threw a baseball a mile? Oh, come off!”
“You see, I threw it at a mark.”
“Well?”
“I missed the mark.”
“What of that?”
“Isn’t a miss as good as a mile?” chuckled Frank.
Rattleton came near having a fit.
“If this keeps up,” said Diamond, “there will be a lot of maniacs on
board before the _Jolly Sport_ sails back to New Haven.”
As they passed a puffing tug, an old salt hailed them:
“Better be careful, boys,” he called.
“Careful? What for?”
“There’ll be a reg’ler nor’wester to-night. This is a weather breeder.”
“All right, cap,” returned Frank. “We’ll be back before night.”
And they did not think of the warning afterward.
Away down the harbor ran the _Jolly Sport_. The boys smoked, laughed,
sang and joked. It was like a midsummer day. They took the East Channel
out toward Brandford Point, and then set their course toward the
Thimble Islands.
After a time the wind freshened a little, and they put on their coats.
The Thimbles were seen glistening in the bright sunshine. Harry had
brought along a glass, and they took turns peering off toward the
islands, of which there are said to be three hundred and sixty-five,
one for each day in the year.
The wind rose steadily till they had a “spanking breeze,” and the
catboat danced along right merrily.
“Perhaps we hadn’t better try to make the islands,” said Frank, but the
others cried him down.
“What’s the matter with you?” they demanded. “This is a beautiful
breeze. Of course, we’ll go to the Thimbles.”
They were enthusiastic, for the way the _Jolly Sport_ reeled along was
exhilarating. Soon the glistening islands grew to bits of green and
then took on definite shapes.
“Look at that schooner yonder,” said Jack. “Isn’t she a queer-looking
craft?”
He pointed out a black two-master that was running up into the sound.
There was something rakish about the slant of the masts, and the vessel
seemed to creep over the water in a stealthy fashion. The boys watched
her with increasing interest.
“Makes me think of some of the stories of pirate vessels,” said Bart.
“Jingoes!” exclaimed Diamond. “She does look like a pirate!”
“But the days of pirates are past,” said Harry. “Probably she is a
fishing vessel.”
“Guess not,” said Frank. “She does not look like a fisherman. There is
something mysterious in her appearance.”
“You know Capt. Kidd ran in here something over a hundred years ago
and landed on the Thimbles,” Harry reminded. “He hid his vessel behind
the rocky islands and buried his treasure where he and no one else has
since been able to find it. His ‘punch bowl’ and initials remain to
prove that he really did come in here.”
“Imagine we are living in the days of pirates,” said Diamond, his eyes
sparkling. “Imagine that fellow coming yonder is one.”
“We’d be headed the other way, instead of bearing down to cross close
under his stern,” declared Hodge.
“I don’t believe that schooner is much of a sailor, for all of her
rakish appearance,” said Harry.
“She’s running under light sail,” observed Frank. “It would make a
difference if she were to crack on every stitch.”
At the wheel a man seemed half asleep. Another man was at work forward,
and those were all the boys could see.
“Don’t believe she carries a heavy crew,” said Browning, surveying the
schooner with lazy interest.
Somehow or other as they drew nearer to the black vessel they lowered
their voices and all seemed to feel an air of awe stealing over them.
“Do you make out her name, Merry?” asked Harry of Frank, who had the
glass.
“Yes. There, you can all see it now.”
The schooner swung to port, and the white letters on her stern were
distinctly seen.
“_P-i-r-a-t-e_,” spelled Diamond.
“_Pirate_?” gasped Harry, doubtfully.
“_Pirate_!” exclaimed Hodge, excitedly.
“_Pirate_,” came languidly from Browning, who showed no remarkable
interest.
“That’s right,” nodded Frank. “An appropriate name for her, sure
enough.”
“I should say so!” nodded Rattleton. “She looks like a pirate.”
“And I’m hanged if the man at the wheel don’t look like one!” half
laughed Frank, passing the glass to Harry.
Rattleton took a look through the glass.
“Both men are tough-looking fellows,” he declared. “They have the
appearance of men who would not hesitate to cut a throat for a sawbuck.
I wouldn’t---- What’s up now?”
There was a commotion on board the black schooner.