MORGAN SETS THE BALL ROLLING.
“Seen yer friend goin’ away!” said Bill Higgins, catching hold of
Starbright’s arm, the next morning. “I reckon’t you thumped him so that
he’s goin’ to cut out. Anyway, he looked like a critter that had pulled
his picket-pin and was stampedin’ from the range.”
“Oh, you mean Morgan?”
Starbright had been walking up the street from the station toward the
college when overtaken by the cowboy.
“Yep! You give him sich a thumpin’ last night that I reckon he’s lit
out. ’Feared you’d tell of it, and he hain’t the sand to face the laugh
that the fellers will give him.”
Starbright also had been at the railway-station, though he had not been
observed by Higgins.
“Didn’t know but there mought be an elopement, first off!” grinned
Higgins. “Durn purty young woman come trippin’ ‘long at the same time he
did, goin’ to take the same train, and he waltzed toward her and offered
her his wing, er ruther I thought ’t he was goin’ to offer it to her.
But dinged if she seen him at all! Mighty queer, too, for he was big
enough. But she didn’t see him—didn’t notice him, when he tuck off his
cap and scraped his foot across the floor like a nigger fiddler at a
dance, per nuthin’, but jist sashayed right by him ’thout lookin’ at
him, and hopped onto the car steps all by her lonesome! Say, ye don’t
reckon she done that there fer a blind, and that they was really goin’
away together, do ye?”
Starbright had observed the same performance—had seen Rosalind Thornton
come down to the station and cut Dade Morgan dead when he came forward
to assist her to the platform of the car.
“No elopement!” said Dick. “I guess she wanted to cut his acquaintance.”
“Well, the manners of this hyer effete East goes ahead of me,” said
Higgins. “Out on the ranches when ye want to cut an acquaintance ye do
it with a knife. But I reckon I’ll ketch on bimeby. Had a notion hoppin’
on that there train myself, only it was goin’ the wrong way. I’d ‘a’
gone if’t hadn’t been fer Merriwell. Say! I tie to that feller! I never
seen another like him. Hyer I come fer a day er two, and I’ve been hyer
I don’t know how long, a-stayin’ jist on account of him. If them Yale
perfessors would let a feller read their books with a lasso and write
with a picket-pin, I’d enter the blamed old college myself, jist to stay
with Merriwell. Never seen no sich man on this hyer earth. Treats every
feller like a king! And ’t don’t make no difference to him whether a man
stepped out of a bandbox er come straight off the ranges. All he asks is
that a man shall be a man!”
Dick Starbright was quite as willing, ordinarily, to sing the praises of
Frank Merriwell as any one, but just then his thoughts were too much
engrossed with the departure of Dade Morgan and Rosalind Thornton from
the city. He did not know that Dade was on his way to New London, with
scheming brain filled with plans for the carrying out of the wishes of
Dion Santenel, but he knew that Rosalind was on her way home after her
prolonged visit in New Haven.
He made rather a poor companion for Bill Higgins, as he and the cowboy
walked together up the street, almost forgetting Higgins’ chatter while
thinking of all that had occurred since Rosalind came to New Haven on a
visit to her aunt. He and Rosalind were confessed sweethearts then; now
she had gone away, and he had not even said good-by to her.
It had been his intention to at least say “good-by” as she took the
train, if a favorable opportunity came, but Morgan had loomed into the
foreground at the wrong time, and the words had not been spoken. He had
not even gone forward, and he did not believe that Rosalind had observed
him as he stood in the crowd at the station.
“It’s just as well, no doubt!” he thought, with a little ache in his
big, generous, manly young heart.
Yes, it was just as well. Rosalind had shown that she had a jealous,
narrow, spiteful disposition, which was certain to bring trouble to any
young man who really cared for her. But Starbright knew that she was, in
spite of all this, a lovable girl in many other respects; and, though
the dream he had cherished concerning himself and her was shattered and
gone, and he felt that it was better so, he could not quite cure that
ache in his heart—yet.
Starbright and Higgins separated on reaching Chapel Street. They met
again in the gymnasium late in the afternoon, where Merriwell and some
others were skimming round on roller-skates engaged in roller polo
practise.
“Oh, he won’t accept the challenge!” Bertrand Defarge was sneering. “He
never jumps at anything that isn’t dead sure.”
“Who ye talkin’ ’bout?” Higgins asked, for he saw that Defarge was
looking toward Merriwell.
“Merriwell!” the French youth answered, not abashed by the presence of
the cowboy, who was known to be a “Merriwell maniac.” Higgins’ hand went
into his pocket and drew out a bulky wallet, from which he produced a
roll of bills.
“Bet ye any amount you’re minded to name that he will!”
“Will what?” asked Starbright, stepping forward; whereat the Chickering
set, who had been grouped round Defarge, drew back as if they feared his
bulk or the weight of his fist.
“Durn if I know!” Higgins admitted. “But he seems to think that
Merriwell’s afraid, and I’m backin’ the general proposition that
Merriwell ain’t afeared of anything! So there’s yer money. Put up er
shut up!”
“I don’t care to bet with a man who doesn’t know what he’s talking
about!” sneered Defarge.
“I know Merriwell! That’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout and what my money’s
talkin’ ’bout! Put up er shut up!”
“Oh, come away!” begged Chickering, the professed peacemaker, tugging at
Defarge’s sleeve. “We don’t care to bet about this thing, you know.”
“Put up er shut up!” bellowed Higgins; but Defarge and the Chickering
set moved away.
“He shut up!” Higgins observed, grimly tucking the money back. “That’s
what I intended. I dunno a durn thing what he was talkin’ ’bout, but I
don’t ’low nobody to slander Merry.”
They soon discovered what Defarge had been talking about. A challenge by
wire had been received by Merriwell’s polo-team from the polo-team at
New London, asking Frank to set a date for a game, but insisting that
the game should be played in New London. This was of interest to
Starbright, for he was a member of the polo-team which Frank had
organized and was training.
Defarge came back after a while, and this time he had a roll of bills
which he had obtained from Dade Morgan. Roland Packard and Don Pike also
appeared on the scene with goodly sums of money, which they were willing
to wager that Merriwell’s team would not dare to accept the challenge of
the New London men.
“Why do you want to bet against Yale?” Rupert Chickering hypocritically
protested, when Gene Skelding also appeared, clothed with funds and
renewed confidence. “Loyalty to Old Eli, you know!”
“Rot!” said Skelding. “It isn’t a question of Yale and Old Eli.
Merriwell has organized a team of his individual friends. They represent
nothing but Merriwell’s swelled head. They are trying to make themselves
and every one else believe that they can wipe up the earth with
everything in the polo line. We intend to prick the bubble. We’re going
to show that they won’t dare to meet any team that can play.”
“You’re sure of the New London team?”
“Yes; but it isn’t the regular New London team. It’s a private team,
just as Merriwell’s is; but it holds some crack players. They are
willing to meet Merriwell. If he was at the head of a regular Yale team
he could refuse by saying that he would only meet college teams. But as
it is, he won’t have a leg to stand on if he refuses. We’re going to
make him play or take water.”
That night Hodge met Merriwell in a troubled mood. He was a member of
Frank’s team, and the bets that were being freely offered more than
irritated him, and he did not hesitate to say so.
“You’ll have to meet them, Merry, just to take the wind out of these gas
balloons!” he argued. “They say that you won’t accept the challenge, and
that if you should you would insist on playing the match here. Those New
London fellows demanded that we should go over there because they say
they wouldn’t have a fair show in a New Haven rink.”
“I don’t know that I shall pay any attention to the challenge. Whoever
heard of those fellows before, anyway?”
Dick Starbright talked the matter over with Bert Dashleigh that night in
the seclusion of their room. Dashleigh sat in an easy chair, toying with
his mandolin, which he now and then thumped when the conversation
lagged. There was a rap on the door, and when it was opened Ready came
in.
“Going into the thing?” he queried, squatting on the arm of a chair.
Dashleigh had risen, and now put down his mandolin. Though Ready had
hazed and annoyed him in common with other freshmen, he had great
respect for him.
“Camp down!” Ready requested, then repeated his question.
“Into what thing?” Dick asked, wondering if Ready was setting another
sophomore trap for him and his friend.
“Oh! Then the news hasn’t floated hitherward? I’m to be congratulated.
Thanks! I think I’ll shake hands with myself.”
Which he did, very solemnly.
“Chance for a fortune!” he said, winking owlishly. “Merriwell’s
polo-team, of which you and I are the most important members”—bowing
toward Starbright—“has been challenged by a little upstart-team from
hinky-dinky New London. Now, I’d like to go to New London. Acquainted
with a young lady over there, you know. I should like to wear my
beautiful polo-suit and show her that I am a Pole. Merriwell won’t go.
At least, he says he won’t. Now, we’re getting up a sort of combination
jack-pot. Every Merriwell enemy is walking around the streets of this
great and glorious city with his pockets turned inside out and his hands
bulging with great rolls of green-backs, saying that Merriwell won’t go.
So we’re collecting a fund for the needy, which is going to say that
Merriwell will go, and that his team will knock the tar out of the
boasters at New London. I was sure you’d want to get into the game;
hence trotted my feet hitherward. Subscriptions to this fund unlimited;
repayment guaranteed with one hundred per cent. interest immediately
after the New London match.”
Then, seeing that Starbright hesitated, he continued, as if the
information was all that was needed:
“Bill Higgins heads the subscription-list with fifty dollars, which he
says he already owes for board, but which he is willing to stack up on
Merriwell. Bart Hodge goes Higgins ten better. Browning has roused
himself long enough and sufficiently to stop smoking and draw a check
for a pretty little sum. Yours truly, the undersigned, is into it so
deep that I’ll have to shave myself for the next five years or grow
Pfeffer whiskers if we lose. And there are likewise others and some
more. So, I thought——”
He took out a square of legal cap, on which the signatures of various
students appeared, with figures set opposite their names. This he tossed
to Starbright.
Dashleigh was going down into his pockets.
“Oh, I’m always strapped!” he grunted. “I’m spending my allowance faster
than it comes to me. But if Starbright will lend me twenty-five, I’ll
wager it.”
Starbright passed him the paper.
“Why, you’re bound to lose!”
Ready winked another owlish wink of wisdom.
“Milord, why sayest thou so?”
“Because, as you say yourself, Merriwell has declared that he won’t
accept the challenge.”
Ready rose, reseated himself, wiggled the fingers of his right hand from
the armhole of his vest, and winked again.
“What makes you so confident?” Dick demanded, while Bert was looking
over the list.
“I have been commanded to tell it not in Gath, to publish it not in the
streets of Askelon, yclept New Haven; but in these rooms——”
He arose, walked solemnly about as if peering for a possible
eavesdropper, peeped under the lounge and under some chairs, and came
back.
“Put all you can beg, borrow, or steal on this proposition. It’s a dead
sure thing. The bet isn’t that our team will win the game, but that our
team will play. We’re going to clean out the boasters that have been
tantalizingly shoving their money under our noses—clean them out so
slick that they won’t have enough to take them home for the Christmas
holidays. Why do I know?”
He looked around again, lowered his voice and funneled his hands.
“I know, because Charles Conrad Merriwell has himself bet a little roll
with a New London man that Frank will accept the challenge and will beat
the New London challengers!”
Both Starbright and Dashleigh stared. The thing was unbelievable.
“Are you sure?” Dick asked.
“Sure! The fellow came to the New Haven House to-night, made the offer
in the presence of a dozen men, shook the cold cash under Charles
Merriwell’s nose, and Merriwell, like the true sporting man and
gentleman that he is, promptly covered the money.”
“Oh, say! let me have a hundred, somebody!” Dashleigh begged.
“The New London man was a fool to offer such a wager!”
“I think so myself; and a ‘fool and his money’ are likely to be soon
parted. But the idea is out, somehow, that Frank is afraid to accept the
challenge and will not accept it under any consideration. They say he
values his reputation as a successful leader of athletic-teams more than
he does his father’s money; that five thousand dollars is nothing to
Charles Merriwell, and a defeat of his polo-team, made up as it is of
his close friends, would be everything to Frank. So, the fools are silly
enough to think Frank won’t play, and that they’ve got a cinch.”
“You’re sure, then, that Frank will accept?”
“Why, of course he’ll accept! If I didn’t know him so well I’d think he
was holding off this way on purpose to get big bets out of the
proposition. He will accept the challenge to please his father. Nothing
else would make him do it, probably; but that will.”
“Say! somebody lend me two hundred dollars!” Dashleigh begged. “If I
thought my folks would do it, I’d telegraph them to forward me two or
three months’ allowance in advance. But they wouldn’t. You’re going to
put up money on the game, too?”
“Sure!”
Jack Ready did not go away from the rooms of the chums empty-handed; and
not long after, when all arrangements had been made and other sources
laid under contribution, Bertrand Defarge, Don Pike, Roland Packard,
Gene Skelding, the members of the Chickering set, and many others who
had been flashing their “rolls” under the nose of every friend of Frank
Merriwell, found their offered bets covered, and were bantered to lay
wagers on the game.
It was a night of excitement, for in all the places of resort for
students, and in many other places as well, the challenge of the New
London men and the probable action of Frank Merriwell, together with the
bets that were being offered and made, were almost the sole topics of
conversation.
Dade Morgan went to his rooms smiling and elated. He had worked out the
plan given to him by Dion Santenel.
To his surprise he found Santenel sitting before the grate, awaiting his
coming.
These mysterious appearances and disappearances of the man he obeyed,
loved, and feared were often quite puzzling to Morgan. Time and again he
had walked into his rooms, after carefully unlocking the door, and found
sitting there the strange man of mystery; and often, after leaving the
man there, he returned in a very few moments to find Santenel gone for
an absence of a week or more. Santenel’s abiding-place seemed to be as
changing and unsubstantial as that of the Wandering Jew; and where he
stayed while in New Haven Dade had never yet been able to learn.
“Waiting for your report,” said Santenel. “I heard a few things myself,
but I thought it unwise to appear too publicly.”
“Everything has gone on swimmingly!” was Dade’s jubilant preface.
“Things worked right from the start. I found two men at New London who
played right into my hands. One of them I knew before, and that made the
thing easy for me. He had done dirty work for me before, and he’s all
right. They had been talking of organizing a polo-team out of some
fellows who had been rejected or expelled from the other team, and they
organized it on the spot, and wired their challenge.”
Then he gleefully told of the bets that had been made, dwelling
especially on the bet which Charles Conrad Merriwell had made with one
of Dade’s tools from New London.
“The challenge will be accepted, and the game will be played,” was
Santenel’s satisfied comment. “I’ll see that Charles Conrad Merriwell
stays in New Haven that day and meets me. You must have the game early
in the afternoon—Saturday afternoon. Not a night game! I want plenty of
time to do my work. Have the New London men stand to that.”
He rubbed his fingers joyously, and, sinking into the chair, stared into
the grate with his burning eyes.
“Merriwell will accept the challenge!” he declared, as he rose to go.
He was a true prophet. Frank accepted the New London challenge the next
morning.
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