CAPT. MERRIWELL.
Phil Hardy was an honest-looking fellow, and it was not remarkable that
Merriwell did not believe him the crafty chap Rattleton represented him
to be.
He came forward swiftly.
“You are the very man I am looking for, Mr. Merriwell,” he said.
“Well, you have found me,” smiled Frank.
“I thought I might find you here when I found you were not in your room
or on the campus. You are wanted at a meeting of the directors of the
ball team.”
Rattleton gave Frank a warning look.
Hardy took hold of Merriwell’s arm and led him away, while Hodge and
Rattleton followed.
“It’s a shame to drag Merry into this!” spluttered Harry.
“Into what?” asked Bart, innocently.
“Why, don’t you know? They’re after him to be captain of the ’varsity
nine in Hardy’s place.”
“That’s good.”
“Good!” cried Harry. “It’s a conspiracy--a plot--an outrage! That’s
what it is!”
“Oh, come off! What are you driving at, anyway? Are you nutty?”
“Not a bit of it, Hodge. I tell you it is a plot to hurt Frank! He’s a
fool if he lets them pull him into it after what I have told him! But,
for all of his shrewdness about most things, he is easy sometimes. He
wants to think everybody white. He is the kind of fellow who will let a
chap walk all over him and then play the friend to that sort of a cur.
That’s where he makes his mistake.”
Now Hodge was aroused, for Rattleton had touched him on a tender spot.
“You are wrong!” cried Bart, flushing. “No man walks all over Frank
Merriwell. You never knew a fellow to get the best of Merriwell and
hold his advantage. Frank is a fighter, and his worst enemies agree on
that point, but he fights fair. He will not take an unfair advantage of
his meanest and most sneaking enemies, and, for that very reason, the
worst enemies he has respect him.”
“Rot!”
“There is no rot about it. I know, for I was his enemy once, and I did
everything in my power to injure him. I did not hesitate to resort to
any sort of expedient, no matter how mean and sneaking. I did some very
mean things, but still I could not get the best of Frank Merriwell.
Sometimes I thought I had him, but I always found out my mistake. When
I got him down I was unable to hold him. It made me furious, for I have
a temper of my own and a little pride. I was fierce enough to kill him.”
“Well, what does that prove?” impatiently asked Harry.
“Wait. I am not through. What I want to tell you is this: The more
I tried to hurt Merriwell in a sneaking manner the lower I sunk in
my own estimation, for I found that he knew what I had done, and
yet he refused to get back at me in the same way, although he had
opportunities enough. He would not lower himself to fight me with the
same kind of weapons I was using. At first I thought him afraid of
me----”
“That’s it! that’s it!” cried Rattleton. “That’s just what they think
of him when he goes easy with them.”
“But I learned better than that after a time,” Hodge went on. “I
found out he was not afraid at all. It was not cowardice, but it
was courage. He was willing to fight me fairly while I took any mean
advantage of him, and still he was not afraid I would get the best of
him in the end. He felt himself my match, and I began to feel that he
was a better man than I in every way. That was what hurt me most. I did
not like to think that the fellow I hated was more honorable than I; I
did not like to think he would scorn to strike me a foul blow, knowing
all the while that I had struck him many such blows. I was forced to
confess to myself that he was a squarer man than I, and that hurt me
more than anything he could have done to me. It is the same with his
enemies now. They know he is white, and they feel that they are sneaks.
That galls them.”
“Let Frank Merriwell alone, Rattleton. He has a level head, and he can
take care of himself.”
“Oh, you don’t understand the situation now!” cried Harry, showing
impatience. “That is plain enough. Frank is so square he would not
dream anybody could pull him into the trap that is set for him. Now
look here, Hodge, I want you to understand that I am just as much
Merry’s friend as you are, and I don’t like to see him trapped. I have
warned him, but I’ll bet he’ll let them fool him just the same.”
“It’s seldom he is fooled, old man. It may seem for a time that he
is fooled, but, in the end, it turns out the other party is the one
fooled.”
“It can’t turn out that way this time. I have been in college longer
than you, Hodge, and I know something about what I am driving at. The
’varsity nine is in a bad way this season. It is weaker than it has
been before in six years, while Princeton and Harvard are stronger.
Yale’s stanchest supporters say she has no show of winning the pennant.
Now, right here is where the trick comes in. Phil Hardy is captain and
manager. He knows he will be blamed more or less for the fizzle Yale
is bound to make, and he gets out in a hurry----”
“By his doctor’s orders.”
“Bah! Fake! Trickery! Can’t fool me that way! Doctor’s fush! I talk
what I’m knowing about--I mean I know what I’m talking about. It was a
trick. Hardy wanted to get out, and he took that way. Now, Merriwell is
to be pulled in to fill the place, so all the blame may be piled on his
shoulders. I’ve told him the whole business, and he will go in with his
eyes open.”
“If you have told him, don’t worry about him,” said Bart, quietly. “He
won’t be caught.”
“That’s what Hardy is after him for. I heard him say the directors of
the ball team wanted to see him.”
“That’s all right. They will not trap Frank Merriwell. Don’t let that
worry you.”
But Bart could not impart this feeling of confidence to Harry. They got
on to the same car with Hardy and Merriwell, and Rattleton was uneasy
and nervous all the way back to the college.
Harry wanted to get another word with Frank before the latter went
before the directors, but Hodge held him back.
“I tell you to let him alone,” said Bart, sharply. “I should resent it
if you kept after me in such a manner.”
“You needn’t worry!” snapped Harry. “I wouldn’t keep after you at all.
If I took the trouble to warn you once, I’d let you go after that.”
“Surely Frank Merriwell is as shrewd as I am.”
The afternoon exercises were over. On the campus were gathered knots
of students, all of whom seemed to be eagerly discussing something of
general importance.
“They know what is up,” said Harry. “They are talking baseball.”
He was right. Almost the sole topic of conversation on the Yale campus
that afternoon was the baseball situation. The outlook for Yale was so
dark that the most hopeful felt the shadow of gloom. Right on top of
the loss of Capt. Hardy, Bink Stubbs had been conditioned, so that he
must give up playing or take the chance of being dropped a class. The
general feeling seemed to be that Yale’s nine was all to pieces.
The appearance of Merriwell in company with Phil Hardy caused a stir.
“There goes the lamb to the slaughter,” laughed Walter Gordan, who was
in the midst of a little gathering of Merry’s old-time foes.
“Wouldn’t it be moah propah to say the cawfe?” drawled Willis Paulding,
with a weak attempt at wit.
“Oh, he made himself a big gun by his work on the football team last
fall,” said Pooler, with a grin of satisfaction; “but he’ll lose it all
if he takes Hardy’s place on the nine.”
“He can’t get Hardy’s place,” said Walt Forrest.
“Hey?” cried the others. “What do you mean by that? It’s what they want
him for.”
“I guess not,” grinned Forrest.
“Really?” questioned Sidney Gooch, in his smooth, insinuating way.
“Why, that is what I heard.”
“They may want him to be captain of the nine,” said Forrest; “but he
can’t have Hardy’s place. He will be substitute captain, and that
is all. Besides that, Hardy was manager. I know for a fact that the
directors intend to keep Hardy in manager just the same, so Merriwell
will be under him.”
“And I know for a fact,” said Pooler, “that Phil Hardy has no intention
of remaining manager. He knows better than that. Don’t take that boy
for a fool.”
“You think--just what?”
“He wants to get out of it entirely.”
“Because he thinks Yale has no show?”
“Sure.”
“Aw! I think that is wight, don’t yer ’now,” drawled Paulding. “Some
verwy fine fellows in Hawvard. I weally think they awe going to win
this yeah.”
No one paid any attention to Willis, for his opinion was not regarded
as important.
“If Hardy gets out, Merriwell will be manager,” said Walter Gordan, who
was green with envy, although he was trying to hide it.
“Not on your life!” laughed Forrest. “The directors will attempt to
manage the team themselves, and I pity the poor devil of a captain.
He’ll get it in the neck on all sides.”
This caused a general laugh, for these fellows rejoiced to think of the
trouble Frank Merriwell would get into.
“Weally,” said Willis, again attempting to call some attention to
himself, “I am wuther glad Hawvard has a show this yeah. I do not think
it propah faw Yale to win all the time, deah boys.”
“Oh, rats!” cried Gordon. “Harvard hasn’t a show. It will be Princeton
this year.”
The others nodded.
“Finch will make monkeys of our poor fellows,” said Pooler, with an
attempt at dolefulness.
“What’s the matter with you?” exclaimed Forrest. “You want to see Yale
defeated?”
“Oh, really I protest!” cried Pooler.
“Still, as long as Merriwell has anything to do with the Yale team, it
will give you satisfaction to see Yale defeated. You can’t deny that,”
said Forrest.
“Oh, I’d rather see Yale win, for all of Merriwell, but I do not have
so much sympathy with her when she loses if he plays.”
“Say!” cried Forrest. “I want you to think of one little thing. Yale
seldom loses at anything when Frank Merriwell is in the game. He seems
to be Old Eli’s mascot.”
“Of cawse, it’s all beastly luck,” put in Paulding. “He doesn’t really
have any more to do with it than any other good man would.”
“You may think as you like about that,” said Forrest, evasively; “but
you must confess that he seems to bring Yale good luck. We thought she
was a dead duck at football last fall, but he put new life and snap
into the team, and Yale came out on top.”
“He can’t do that with the ball team,” said Gordan. “There’s where
he’ll meet his Waterloo.”
“Let’s see, Gordan,” said Forrest, “I believe you and Merriwell were
rivals for pitching honors the first year in college. He got on to the
’varsity nine, and you got left. Ha, ha! You haven’t admired him since.”
Gordan flushed.
“Oh, it wasn’t that,” he declared; “but he thinks he is so much. That’s
what makes me sick.”
“We all have our reasons for not loving him,” said Pooler. “It’s no use
to talk about that. The worst thing I wish him now is that they make
him captain of the ball team.”
Rattleton and Hodge drifted from knot to knot of the students on the
campus, finding all were talking baseball. The events of the last few
hours had stirred up the “sports” wonderfully.
Rattleton was excited and nervous. He was waiting for the reappearance
of Frank Merriwell.
On the other hand, Hodge seemed unusually cool and unconcerned. Bart
smiled whenever he heard fears expressed as to the result of the
struggle for the pennant, and he smiled more when some one declared
Yale did not have a show.
It was generally known that the directors meant to appoint Merriwell
captain of the nine, but there were not a few who declared Frank was
too wise to accept the position at that late hour and under such
unfavorable circumstances.
An hour passed. It was growing dark swiftly. Lamps were sending gleams
of light from the windows of the quad. It was a mild spring night, and
voices could be heard calling from the open windows. Over in South
Middle a banjo was plunk-plunking. There were bursts of laughter now
and then. Some fellow was whistling “Maggie Murphy’s Home.”
Still the “sports” lingered on the campus, waiting for Hardy and
Merriwell to appear.
Rattleton was so nervous he could not hold himself still three seconds
at a time. Hodge was not disturbed in the least.
“Here they come!”
Somebody uttered a cry. The former captain of the nine was seen
approaching, with Frank Merriwell at his side. He was seen to grasp
Frank by the arm and draw him toward the largest collection of students
near the fence. Other students made a rush for that spot.
“Gentlemen,” said Phil Hardy, speaking clearly and distinctly, “I wish
to introduce to you my successor, Mr. Merriwell, who is now captain and
manager of the ’varsity nine.”