FRANK’S TERMS.
“Three cheers for Capt. Merriwell!”
“Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!”
“Three more for Manager Merriwell!”
“Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!”
The pent-up feelings of the crowd burst forth in a wild roar of
satisfaction.
“Now,” rang out the clear voice of Charlie Creighton, as he scrambled
up on the shoulders of two strong fellows and waved his cap in the air,
“now give three cheers for plain Frank Merriwell, the whitest man, the
truest sport, and the best all-round athlete in Yale! Wake ’em up!”
They did. The feeling of enthusiasm that seized upon them just then was
intense, and they cheered and cheered again.
The windows of the quad filled. The news spread, and the cheering
became general.
Harry Rattleton was numb with dismay.
“Manager and captain!” he gasped. “Gracious!”
Bart Hodge was palpitating with satisfaction.
“Manager and captain!” he cried. “Hurrah!”
On the outskirts of the crowd that had gathered so swiftly about the
new captain was Walter Gordan, eating his heart out with envy.
“Oh, it’s just his infernal luck!” Walter whimpered. “Hear the fools
cheer for him! It’s all they know!”
“Let them cheer now,” Pink Pooler muttered in Gordan’s ear. “The
cheering will turn to groans after a few ball games have been played.”
“I don’t know,” said Forrest, who had caught Pink’s words. “He has been
shrewd enough to get himself appointed manager, as well as captain.
There is no telling what he may do with the team.”
“It’s too late for him to make it a winner,” said Pooler, with
satisfaction. “It takes time to build up a winning nine.”
Frank’s friends crowded about him, shaking his hand and congratulating
him, with a few exceptions. Some of his friends were not enthusiastic
over his appointment. Harry Rattleton was one of them. A few others
thought the same as Harry about it.
But these were but few of the crowd that swarmed about Merry. Of
course, some of those who shook his hand and expressed their delight
were hypocritical, but the most of them were sincere.
Frank was modest. He smiled and said:
“Thank you, fellows. You are more than kind. It does one good to know
he has such friends.”
Harry Rattleton groaned.
“It seems to me Merry is getting to be a soft thing!” he muttered.
“They have made a mark of him this time, and he walked into the trap
with his eyes open.”
Harry was disgusted. He had warned Frank, but Frank had not heeded the
warning. From what he had overheard, Rattleton was sure it was a trap
to injure Frank.
For a little while Harry was so disgusted that he went off by himself
and declared he was glad of it, and that he hoped they would soak it to
Frank.
Then he was ashamed of himself for wishing ill luck to such a friend,
and he felt like punching somebody’s head.
It was about this time that Andy Emery, on the way to his room, saw
Rattleton standing all alone in a dejected attitude beneath one of the
big elms.
“Hey, there, Rattles!” called Emery, coming close enough to recognize
Harry in the twilight. “What are you sulking here for? Why aren’t you
making merry along with Merriwell’s other friends?”
Harry looked at Andy and scowled. The scowl was wasted in the gloom,
for Emery did not see it.
“What’s the matter with you?” asked Emery, coming closer. “You should
be happy to know Merriwell is captain, even if Yale does not stand a
show of winning.”
“Now, you want to be careful!” growled Harry, fiercely. “I’m in no mood
for your jokes! I’ll bet you something Yale does win! They can’t beat
Frank Merriwell!”
“Come off!” laughed Emery. “He’s made a chump of himself this time, and
everybody knows it.”
“That’s a lie!” snarled Rattleton. “And I won’t stand to have anybody
call Frank Merriwell a chump before me!”
Then he let fly his right hand, struck Emery on the chin with his fist,
and knocked the fellow down.
The moment Rattleton did this he was sorry. It seemed he did it without
thinking.
Emery was dazed and astounded. He had always regarded Rattleton as a
peaceable sort of fellow, but now----
“What in blazes do you mean?” he gasped, lifting himself upon his elbow.
In a moment Harry was kneeling beside the fellow he had struck.
“Forgive me, Emery, old man!” he cried, his voice quivering with shame
and regret. “I didn’t know I was going to do it--honest, I didn’t! I
did it before I thought! I’m half crazy, anyway! You know I wouldn’t do
such a thing purposely! Let me help you up!”
“Get out!” said Emery, sharply. “I can get up myself. You are not to
be trusted! It must be you have been drinking!”
“Not a drop. But I think I am dind of kaffy--I mean, kind of daffy! If
I hadn’t been----Say, old man, hit me! I’ll take it all right. Soak me
a good one! Knock me down!”
Emery was on his feet, and Harry was begging to be struck in turn. Andy
looked at him in amazement, and then turned away, gently rubbing the
spot where Rattleton’s knuckles had struck.
“You are daffy!” Emery flung over his shoulder. “You ought to be in an
asylum.”
Harry stood still and stared after Emery till he was gone. Then an
almost irresistible desire to shed tears assailed the excited fellow,
who was completely unstrung.
He hurried to his room and locked himself in, feeling that he never
wanted to see anybody again.
Deep down in his heart Harry Rattleton was one of the truest of Frank
Merriwell’s friends. His affection for Frank was of the most intense
nature, and, being somewhat excitable, he had become hysterical over
the misfortune he believed had befallen Merry. He would have done
anything to keep Frank from walking into the trap. He was proud of
Frank’s record at Yale, and he felt sure this meant the ruin of the
proud reputation Merry had won.
Harry got hungry after a time. He began to realize it, and he became
aware of the fact that he had not eaten dinner. Then he decided to go
out to a restaurant somewhere and have something all alone by himself.
He would be alone in his misery.
He was slinking along the streets like a whipped dog when somebody
blocked his path, and a voice cried:
“Here he is, fellows! We won’t have to go to his room for him. It’s a
streak of luck.”
Harry’s heart gave a thump as he recognized Merriwell’s voice. He
looked up, and saw three fellows before him. They were Merry, Hodge and
Browning.
“Come,” said Frank, locking arms with Harry. “We had started out to
have a little feed when I thought of you, and we turned back to get
you, if you have not eaten.”
At first Harry thought he would lie--thought he would say he had just
eaten, so he might get away. But when he tried to say so, the words
stuck in his throat. So Merry had thought of him, and they were coming
to hunt him up and take him out. He choked, and there was a blurr
before his eyes.
“You are very good,” he said, weakly, “but----”
“There is no but about it,” said Frank, in his hearty, whole-souled
manner. “If you have not eaten, you must come along and have a square
feed; if you have eaten, you must come along just the same and watch us
fill our sacks. Line up, fellows, and close in on him.”
Hodge took Rattleton’s arm, and Browning fell in behind, lazily
observing:
“He’s in for it now. Escape is impossible.”
So they bore him away to a first-class restaurant, where they had a
little private dining room all to themselves, and Merriwell ordered
an elaborate spread, and they pitched into the food and ate like the
hearty, hungry fellows they were.
As he ate, Harry’s heart warmed. Frank was jollier than ever before.
He laughed and joked, he told stories that caused the others to shout
with laughter. He was the prince of good fellows, that was sure. Still,
Harry could not help thinking what a shame it was that he had been
trapped.
Hodge was unusually talkative, although his talk was of a serious
nature. Browning managed to crack a joke now and then, and he was able
to eat and laugh as heartily as anybody.
Not a word did any of them say about Merriwell’s new position of
responsibility till the meal was over and their appetites satisfied.
Then Browning produced cigarettes and offered them to the others,
laughing as he did so.
No one accepted a cigarette.
“I don’t suppose anybody will object if I smoke,” said Bruce, as he
selected one.
“Yes,” said Frank, quietly, “I shall object, old man.”
With no little surprise, Browning saw Merriwell was in sober earnest.
“Great Scott!” he exclaimed. “Why should you object?”
“I have a very good reason. I may want you before the season is over.”
“Want me?” cried Browning. “What for?”
“First base.”
“Come off!”
“I am in earnest.”
“Why, I am too fat, Frank--I am not in condition. Such a thing is
ridiculous!”
“You are large, but you might be fatter than you are. I know you can
train down swiftly. A week of hard work will pull you down at an
astonishing rate.”
Bruce groaned.
“It might; but I should not live through it,” he said, as he struck the
match and prepared to light the cigarette.
Frank blew out the match and took the cigarette from Browning’s fingers.
“I am talking business to you now,” he said, almost sternly. “You are
going to work systematically to-morrow to work off your flesh, for I
may want you on the ’varsity nine. When you are in condition, you are
a better man than Parker on first, while Parker is a better man than
Faunce in the field. One trouble with the nine is that several of the
men are not playing in their proper positions.”
“But you are not going to have the nerve to switch them around! You
will not have the crust to fire some of them and take on new men?”
“Won’t I? Wait and see. You know I am manager, as well as captain. I
considered everything before I told the directors what I would do. They
wanted me to be captain, while they retained the management of the
nine. I said ‘Nit!’ I told them that, if I became captain, I must be
manager also, and that I must have absolute and thorough control of the
team. I must have the authority to do just as I pleased, with nobody to
forbid me.”
“Good for you!” cried Hodge, while Rattleton brightened up and showed
great interest.
“It staggered them at first,” smiled Frank. “They thought I had a
crust. They tried to induce me to agree to their terms, but I would
not. Then they had a fight among themselves, for some were against
giving me so much rope. I waited quietly till the smoke of battle
cleared away, and then I found they were ready to accept my terms. So I
am manager, as well as captain, and I am going to run things just as I
please. If I make a fizzle of it, no one else will be to blame.”
“That’s the stuff!” exclaimed the enthusiastic Hodge.
Harry shook his head, but said nothing.
Frank saw the movement, and quickly asked:
“What’s the matter, Rattles? Come, come! You are off your trolley.
Everything is all right.”
“I’m afraid everything is all wrong,” said Rattleton, gravely; “but I
warned you, and you went into it with your eyes open.”
“Yes, but I went in on my own terms. I’ll make an overturning in the
nine.”
“It’s too late for that.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Besides, the material is not here to make a corking nine. You can’t
make a first-class ball team out of second-class material.”
“I believe the material is here,” said Merry, quietly; “but I do not
think it is all on the nine. I got Hodge on, and now I am going to have
Browning.”
“Oh, come, Merry!” gasped Bruce. “I’ll do almost anything for you, but
I can’t torture myself to work off flesh in a hurry. Besides, I could
not get enough off to----”
“You can get off enough in ten days so you will be able to play ball
all right. I want you for your batting. Batters count. You are a good
hitter, and the team is weak at the bat. It’s no use, Bruce; I want
you, and am going to have you. You must quit drinking beer and smoking
cigarettes. You must go into training to-morrow, and you must work hard
to get off superfluous flesh. One week from Saturday you go on the
nine.”
It was useless for Browning to beg; Merry had decided, and the big
fellow could not get out of it.
“I wouldn’t do it for any other man living,” declared the lazy student;
“but I suppose I’ll have to for you. You are a perfect tyrant, anyway.
What you say goes.”
“And what he says is right,” declared the confident Hodge.
“Then I will say right here,” spoke Frank, with quiet assurance, “that
Yale will have a nine that will be the surprise of the season. We are
going after that pennant, and Princeton and Harvard will have to hustle
to win.”
Hodge nodded. He was thinking of Merriwell’s marvelous double-shoot.
“They can’t touch it,” he muttered.
“Eh?” said Browning. “What’s that? Touch what?”
“You’ll see,” said Hodge, his eyes gleaming. “Frank says the Yale team
will be a surprise, but I know what will be a still greater surprise.”