Frank Merriwell's Return to Yale

"FOR THE HONOR OF OLD YALE."

The order was filled, the whiskey was brought. It was placed on the table at which Frank sat. He stared at it in surprise.

"What's that?" he asked.

"Why, sir, it's the whiskey you ordered," answered the waiter.

"Whiskey?" said Merriwell, in a dazed way. "Did I order that?"

"Yes, sir."

He paid for it.

Later, when a gay party dropped in, he was sitting at that table, with the untasted whiskey before him. He sat there staring and scowling at the table, but paid no attention to any one. The expression on his face made him look like anything but his old jolly self.

No one spoke to him. Newcomers drank, joked, laughed and went out. Still he sat there, scowling and staring at the table.

The report spread that Merriwell had been cut by his old friends. Curious ones strolled in and ordered a drink just to get a look at him. He seemed quite unaware of this.

Never in his life had Frank tasted whiskey, but for one moment he had weakened and thought of easing the blow to his pride by resorting to the stuff.

Merriwell was human, but still that weakness lasted no more than a moment. Then he came to himself, and he was ashamed to think that he had contemplated such a course. It seemed cowardly.

"They say I am a coward," he thought; "but I am not a coward enough for that."

For more than an hour he sat there at the table. Finally he seemed to come out of the stupor that had seized upon him.

"Waiter," he called.

His voice was calm and natural, the scowl had vanished from his face, and he was himself once more.

"Waiter, you may remove this whiskey and bring me a lemon-seltzer. I don't care for this stuff."

When this order was filled, he calmly drank the lemon-seltzer, paid for it, rose to his feet, pulled on his gloves, and left Morey's with an air of combined nonchalance and dignity.

He was his own master once more. He had been insulted by fellows he formerly believed friends, but he was still Frank Merriwell. He felt within himself that he was a man and the equal of the best of them. Some day they should be ashamed when they remembered their act. He felt confident that day would come.

That night he slept as peacefully as a child, and arose in the morning refreshed and undisturbed. He would not permit his mind to dwell on what had happened, but resolutely set himself at his studies.

Those who had thought Merriwell, having once been so popular, would be crushed, soon found out their mistake. He was calm, quiet, and dignified. He did not seek the society of his fellows, but seemed the same old Merriwell to those who came to him. He was perfect in his recitations. He attended the gym., as usual, taking his daily exercise. He paid not the least attention to sneering words and scornful looks.

Frank's bitterest enemies were dissatisfied. They had fancied he would be utterly broken by his downfall, and they could not understand his dignity and disregard for public opinion.

Those who had reluctantly turned against him were impressed by his strength of spirit and dignity. He carried about him an air of manliness that won their admiration, despite themselves.

But every one had not turned against him. Bruce Browning was stanch and true, although he fiercely berated Merriwell for his course.

Harry Rattleton tried to remain unchanged, and never a word of reproach did he utter, no matter what he thought.

Jack Diamond did not say anything, but it was because he could not trust himself to speak. In his heart he felt like punching Frank and whipping his enemies and traducers; but he knew enough to let Merry alone.

Halliday held aloof. He was thoroughly disgusted with Merriwell. At first he said as much, and then he became silent and would say nothing at all.

So the days went by. Frank called on Inza, but did not mention what had happened. He had thought of telling her everything, and then he decided that it would do no good, and he would tell her nothing. It was too late for him to change his course, and it could do no good to talk it over. He preferred not to think about it.

The football team continued to practice and get ready for the great game at Cambridge. It was said that Harvard had the strongest eleven put on the field by her in five years. Her games with the higher teams had shown she was "out for blood." There was doubt and uncertainty in the Yale camp.

Ott, Marline's substitute, was not satisfactory. Those who understood the situation best said that an injury to Marline early in the game would ruin Yale's prospects.

The anxiety increased as the day of the game approached. Some claimed the eleven had not been properly trained, others asserted they had been overtrained.

From Frank Merriwell's manner one could not have suspected he had ever taken the slightest interest in football. He did not seem to know anything of the general gossip.

It was the night before the game. Merry had been studying. He was alone in his room. At last, feeling exhausted, he flung open the window and looked out.

It was a perfect night, cold, clear and light. The sky was filled with stars. From across the campus came the sound of a rollicking song.

Directly beneath Frank's window was a group of students who were excitedly discussing something. Their words attracted Merriwell's attention.

"It's settled," said the voice of Paul Pierson. "Yale will not be in the game for a minute. What can a team do without a first-class full-back?"

"Isn't there a chance that Marline's ankle will be all right in time for the game?" asked another of the group.

"Not a chance," positively asserted Pierson. "The doctor says he'll not step on it for three days, at least. It is a bad sprain."

"Such beastly luck!" growled Randy Robinson. "Now if Merriwell——"

"Don't speak of that fellow," exclaimed two or three.

"He is the only hope for Yale," declared Pierson. "Ott isn't in it for a minute. Frank Merriwell must be appealed to for the honor of old Yale."

"Who'll appeal to him?"

"I will, if they'll give me authority. I know he will play when he understands the situation."

Merriwell drew in his head and closed the window. His face was pale. Up and down the floor he walked.

"For the honor of old Yale!" he muttered.

Then he suddenly cried:

"For the honor of old Yale I will do anything!"

Then came a knock on his door.

A SENSATION ON THE FIELD.

The day of the great football game between Harvard and Yale had arrived. The hour approached.

Jarvis Field was ready for the great struggle. The white marks of the gridiron were regularly and beautifully made.

The sun shone down from a clear sky. There was no breeze, but the air was crisp, for all of the sunshine.

At either side the stands were filled; hundreds upon hundreds were standing; hundreds upon hundreds were coming. A better day for the game could not have been ordered, and spectators were turning out in force.

Harvard students were there in a body. They flaunted the crimson and sung their songs of glee. Their faces were radiant, and they were confident of victory.

Yale had sent her representatives by hundreds. They wore the blue, they waved the blue, they cheered for the blue.

Everywhere the blue and the crimson could be seen. Everybody was partisan; everybody had a favorite.

Back of the dark mass of human beings, beyond the limit of the field, were the trees and the great buildings with their many windows, upon which the sunshine glinted coldly.

Policemen kept back the standing mass of spectators, or those in the rear would have pressed those in advance forward upon the field.

A few of those in the rear had obtained boxes or stools, upon which they were standing in order to look over the heads of those before them. A wagon was covered with spectators; they were standing on the spokes of the wheels.

The excitement and the eager anticipation was most intense. It betrayed itself on every face.

Not far from the point where the mass of Yale blue was thickest two lads were talking. One wore the blue, the other wore the crimson. The first was Sport Harris, and the other was Rolf Harlow, who had been forced to leave Harvard after being exposed as a crooked gambler.

"Every dollar is up," said Harlow, gleefully. "We are in to win a good pile on this game if what you say is right."

"What I have told you is straight."

"Marline can't play?"

"No."

"Ott is a poor man?"

"Sure."

"And there is no chance that Frank Merriwell will be run in?"

"Bah!" exclaimed Harris, disdainfully. "Merriwell is a dead duck at Yale. He'll never count in anything more. He is an outcast now. What do you think?—he's universally rated as a coward."

"Oh, say!" exclaimed Harlow; "that's too much! You don't expect me to believe that about Frank Merriwell?"

"Believe it or not, it's true."

"I don't understand how it could come about, for you and I know there is not a drop of cowardly blood in Merriwell. Confound him! If there had been, some things that have happened would not have taken place."

"Circumstances have conspired to put him where he is, and he'll never dig out. He has a few enemies who will take care to keep him down, now he is down."

"Well, I'm glad he's not on the team. We'll make a fat thing out of this, old man."

"Yes, I gave you every dollar I could raise, so you must know I am dead sure Harvard will win. If, by any fluke, Yale should happen to pull off this game I shall be busted."

"Same here."

"In that case, we'd have to stand in together and catch some suckers. We've done it before."

"And been exposed in it by that cursed Merriwell! Oh, I'd like to get a good rap at that fellow! He has spoiled a number of good, soft things for me since we first met."

"You can't hate him more than I do."

"I don't know about that; but he has been a lucky devil. I'm glad he's not going to play for Yale to-day."

"He couldn't win the game alone."

"No, but it would be Yale's luck to win if Merriwell played. He has been a mascot for Yale in almost everything."

Harris believed this, for he remembered how many times Frank Merriwell had been the instrument by which Yale had snatched victory from apparent, certain defeat.

Suddenly a band struck up, and out upon the field came the Harvard eleven on the trot. What a cheer went up—what a wild roar of greeting!

For the moment it seemed that the crimson was everywhere. The band hammered away, and the blood was leaping in the veins of the thousands of spectators.

Harvard immediately took a bit of preliminary practice.

"They are the boys to polish Yale off this year!" laughed Harlow. "It's going to be a snap for Harvard."

"I believe it," grinned Harris. "We'll have money to burn after this game."

Suddenly another kind of a cheer rent the air, and now the blue was waving everywhere. Onto the field came the Yale eleven at a sharp trot.

Harris and Harlowe laughed and nudged each other with their elbows.

"See the little lambs!" chuckled the sport.

"Coming to the slaughter!" grinned Rolf.

"Too bad!"

"It's a shame!"

"I feel for them."

"I expect to feel for that money. Where's Ott?"

"Why, he's right over—over there—where the dickens is Ott?"

"Can't you see him?"

"Can't seem to, but he must be there. Yes, there he is with the group out to the right."

"Those are the substitutes. Why is he with them?"

Harris stared, quite as much puzzled as Harlow, for he had understood that Ott was to be put in as full-back for Yale at the very start.

"It must be—it can't be—it can't be Marline is going to try it!"

"You said he couldn't step on his foot."

"He can't."

"Then he isn't in it."

"Of course not."

"Who is?"

"You tell!"

Then, all at once, Harlowe caught Harris by the shoulder, and, pointing toward the field, almost screamed in his ear:

"Ten thousand furies! Look there—look there, you blunderer! See him—see that tall, straight fellow?"

"Where?—who?"

"Where? Who? Right there, with the Yale captain—with Forrest! By all the living fiends, it is——"

"Frank Merriwell!" gasped Harris.

"Yes, and he is going to play full-back for Yale! He'll hoodoo Harvard! Yale will win this game!"

STOPPING A TOUCHDOWN.

Frank Merriwell was there. His appearance was a surprise to nearly all the Yale crowd; it created a sensation.

"Merriwell has been taken in to fill Marline's place!" was the excited statement that went around.

"It's a foolish move," declared scores. "He has not been practicing with the team. He's not in condition."

They did not know Frank Merriwell thoroughly, for he kept himself in condition constantly.

At first his appearance seemed to create doubt and uncertainty among the spectators who were interested in Yale. Gradually, however, enthusiasm grew. It was remembered how he had carried the ball right through Princeton's center in the game the year before, making the most remarkable run ever known on a football field. Yale had felt her chance was a desperate one; surely it could not be any worse. Perhaps it might be bettered by the placing of Merriwell at full-back. It was a desperate resort, but who could say the result would not justify the move?

Forrest was talking to Merriwell, having drawn Frank aside. They were in earnest conversation.

A little negro boy came on the field. How he escaped the vigilance of the officers was a mystery, but he reached the group of substitutes.

"Heah!" he called, flourishing something in his hand: "heah am suffin' to Mistah Merriwell. Where am he?"

It was a folded scrap of paper. One of the substitutes took it and told the boy to "chase himself."

"I's done got mah pay fo' bringin' it," he chuckled, as he scudded off.

The note reached Merriwell when he had finished talking with Forrest. He took it in surprise, and then opened it hastily. A gasp came from his lips when he saw the writing.

"From Inza!" he whispered.

This is what he read:

"Dear Frank: Did not receive your letter till this morning. Too late then to answer. Had left New Haven for Boston before I read it. You asked me to release you from your promise not to play football. No, I will not! You must not play! If you do, I'll never speak to you again! I know Yale will win if you play! You must not play! Hastily,

"Inza."

"Line up!"

The game was about to begin!

Frank tore the note into many pieces, and those pieces he tossed aside. His face was stern and determined.

"It's for old Yale—dear old Yale!" he muttered. "She has no right to ask so much of me without giving me a reason for it. I must play—I will play!"

Out to positions went the two teams. They lined up for business, and a great hush came over the mighty jam of spectators.

Yale had the first kick-off, and Merriwell balanced himself for it.

Pung!—away sailed the ball clean through Harvard's goal posts, causing the uninitiated to tremble, as it was an exquisite exhibition of kicking.

But this kick really gave Yale no advantage, for the rule gives the ball to the opponents on such a play.

Harvard's full-back sent it spinning back into the center of the field. It looked like another kick by Merriwell, but, instead of that, Yale tried Mills, the right-half, who could make only two yards against Harvard's heavy forwards.

The game was on in all its fury, and the excitement was intense. Kick followed kick in quick succession, but that style of play did not seem to gain anything worth gaining for either side.

Yale got the ball and tried the revolving wedge on Harvard. They could not make a big gain, for the Cambridge lads were like a stone wall.

Again and again was this style of play tried, till Harvard got the ball on downs.

Then came Harvard's turn to see what she could do, and the first attempt was a try at the tandem play, made famous by Pennsylvania.

Yale seemed ready enough for that, and the way she cut through and broke Harvard's line showed immediately that the tandem was not likely to prove very effective.

Then Harvard called on Benjamin, her right-half, and a moment later the rush line did a fine piece of work, opening Yale's center and letting the little fellow through.

Benjamin had the speed of the wind. He also had the ball. Away he went with it, and there was a clear field before him.

Harvard admirers roared from all over the field. The crimson flaunted everywhere.

It looked like a sure touchdown for Harvard. Every Yale spectator held his breath in racking suspense.

Benjamin was flying over the ground. It seemed that his feet scarcely touched the turf.

Where is Yale now? What chance has she to stop the little fellow with wings on his feet?

Three seconds of suspense seemed like three hours of torture. It was awful!

A Yale man was after little Benjamin—was gaining! Could he stop the little fellow in time? It must be a tackle from behind, if at all, and the slightest slip would bring failure.

Behind them came all the others on the run, strung out raggedly.

Benjamin would make it—he was sure to make it. His pursuer could not reach him in time.

Then it seemed that the Yale man had springs in his legs, for he sailed over the ground like a frightened rabbit. He closed in on Benjamin and flung himself headlong at the little fellow.

Down slipped the tackler's hands, down from the hips to the knees, to the ankles. Down went Benjamin with a hard thump, stopped within three yards of Yale's line.

Twenty men piled upon tackler and tackled.

Deep down beneath that mass was Frank Merriwell, his hands clinging like hooks to Benjamin's ankles.

He had stopped what seemed to be a sure touchdown for Harvard at that early stage of the game.

WON BACK.

Beside Inza Burrage, in a splendid position to watch the game, sat a pretty girl with fluffy hair. She wore Harvard's colors, and seemed greatly excited.

"There he is!" she exclaimed, at various stages of the game—"there is Jack! See him, Inza!"

"Yes," said Inza, "I see him."

But her eyes were not on the one meant by her companion. She was watching Frank Merriwell, and she bit her lip as she watched.

She had seen him receive her note, she had seen him read it, tear it in pieces, cast the pieces aside.

"He will play!" she muttered. "He will break his promise to me!"

Her companion heard her words.

"You said Merriwell would not go into the game," she cried.

"Yes, I said so, but I was wrong. He gave me his promise not to play, and last night he sent me a letter asking to be released from that pledge. The note I sent to him a short time ago was a reminder of his promise, and a refusal to release him."

"Yet he will play?"

"He is going into the game."

"Then it can't be that he thinks as much of you as you supposed."

"He does not. This has settled that point."

"I'm afraid Harvard will not win, Inza. Jack says Frank Merriwell has been Harvard's hoodoo in everything. He was sure Harvard would obtain this game if Merriwell did not play. You said he did not mean to play, but I wanted you to ask him not to do so."

"I did ask him, something I should not have done had we not been such friends, Paula, although I was curious to know how much influence I had over him. Oh, I think he is the meanest fellow! I shall hate him now!"

Inza's eyes were flashing and her face flushed. She was intensely angry, and she showed it.

Paula Benjamin was startled.

"Oh, you musn't be too hard on him!" she said. "You know how much Jack loves Harvard, and how crazy he is for Harvard to beat Yale in this game. I was almost as crazy myself, and that is why I wanted you to ask Mr. Merriwell not to play."

"I shall never trust him again," whispered Inza, hoarsely—"never! He has broken his promise to me."

"It is certain he loves Yale as dearly as Jack loves Harvard. He may think it is his duty to break his word for the sake of Yale."

"I don't care! I don't care! I do hope Harvard will beat!"

With breathless interest the two girls watched the game. They were nerved to a point of intense excitement. They saw Harvard stand like a stone wall against Yale's repeated assaults. It was a battle of gladiators.

Then came Harvard's tiger-like assault upon Yale's center, and Jack Benjamin went through with the ball. The great crowd of spectators rose as one person, seething with excitement, as Benjamin flew toward Yale's line.

"Hurrah!" cried the sister of the little fellow. "That is Jack—my brother Jack! He'll make a touchdown! They can't catch him—they can't stop him!"

"Wait a bit!" palpitated Inza Burrage, who was clinging convulsively to Paula's arm. "Look—look there! Frank is after him! See them run! Frank is gaining!"

"He can't catch Jack—my brother Jack! I know he can't do it! Jack has the start! Hurrah! Hurrah!"

"He will catch him! He's gaining! See—see him again! He is getting nearer—nearer! Now—now——Oh-o-o-oh!"

Frank Merriwell had flung himself at the Harvard man and pulled him down. Then the other players piled upon them.

"I knew it!" cried Inza, with a hysterical laugh. "I knew he could not get away from Frank!"

"Oh, the brute!" sobbed Paula—"the brute to throw my brother like that! Jack was right! Frank Merriwell will keep Harvard from winning! I hate him!"

"Yes," fluttered Inza, "he will do it if it is in his power. Oh, he is a wonderful player! But he thinks more of his old college than he does of me! I'll never speak to him again!"

Paula sat down and cried, while Inza did her best to comfort her friend.

Soon the game was on again, as fierce as ever. Yale fought desperately, driving Harvard back a little, but it seemed that Harvard had the superior team. All the fighting was on Yale's territory. At last, as the first half drew to a close, Harvard's left half-back went around Yale's end, and the most masterly interference prevented Yale from stopping him. He crossed the line and made a touchdown. Then Harvard's full-back had time enough to kick a goal, and the first half ended with Harvard triumphant.

"Har-vard! Har-vard! Harvard! Rah-rah-rah! Rah-rah-rah! Rah-rah-rah! Harvard!"

It was a sense of wild rejoicing. Crimson fluttered all over the great throng.

Where was the blue?

"Yale isn't in the game for a minute," said some who were supposed to be experts. "The Yale fellows found they were butting against a stone wall every time they tried a rush. This is Harvard's year."

Ralph Harlow was beaming with triumph.

"It's going to be an easy thing for our money, Harris," he chuckled. "Yale can't do anything with Harvard to-day."

"That's the way it looks," admitted Harris; "but the game is not over."

"The game will run the same way till, it is over. Yale's rushers could do nothing with Harvard's line. Frank Merriwell is the only man who has distinguished himself for Yale, and he could do nothing but delay the inevitable for a short time."

"That was the only real good opportunity Merriwell has had," said Sport. "He showed what he could do then. You remember his run through Princeton's line last year?"

"That's all right. Yale can't break an opening to let him through Harvard's line this year."

"I hope not, but I shan't feel sure of it till the game is over."

The Harvard crowd cheered and sang songs till they were hoarse. They hugged each other, tooted horns and indulged in wild antics to give vent to the exuberance of their feelings.

The sons of Old Eli who had come up from New Haven to see the game were dolefully silent. They had seen Yale fling herself upon Harvard time after time and rebound as a ball rebounds from a solid wall, and their hearts were weak within them.

Paula Benjamin was almost crazy with joy. She laughed and cried by turns.

"Oh, the dear fellows!" she exclaimed. "I could hug every one of them!"

Inza Burrage said nothing, but upon her face there was a look of unspeakable disappointment and dismay. In her heart she was crying:

"Will Yale let them beat? Will Frank be beaten? If he is, I am sure I'll never speak to him again!"

Soon the men formed for the beginning of the second half. Harvard went into the game on the jump, and Yale was forced to resort to defense play. It seemed that there was no stopping the crimson in its onward march to victory. Foot by foot and inch by inch Yale was beaten back till the ball was on the twenty-yard line.

Then Halliday revived hope in a measure by taking it back to the center of the field, where he was downed with such violence that he was picked up quite unconscious, and another man had to be put in his place, while he was carried from the field, limp and covered with dirt and glory.

It seemed that Halliday's desperate do-or-die break gave Yale courage and hope. For some time she held Harvard at the center of the field, not allowing a gain of a foot. Then Old Eli got the ball and rushed it into Harvard's territory.

What a glorious fight it was! Now every Yale man in the crowd was on his feet cheering like mad. Those cheers seemed to make fiends of the defenders of the blue. They played, every man of 'em, as if they were in battle and ready to sacrifice their lives without a moment of hesitation. They were irresistible. Harvard's stone wall was broken at last. Merriwell was in the thick of it. Four times he advanced the ball. Others took turns, and, at last, the ball was on Harvard's twenty-five-yard line.

Then there was a hush, for it suddenly became plain that Merriwell would try to kick a goal from the field. It was a desperate expedient. Yale feared to lose the ball and have it carried back to the center in a minute. Such a loss would be fatal, and Forrest knew it Frank had been given the signal to kick.

"He can't do it!" cried scores.

Then they thought of the beautiful kick he had made at the very beginning of the game and were silent.

Frank advanced to the proper position, exactly the right blade of grass. There he poised himself.

Cross fiddled with the ball between his legs. The suspense became intense.

Suddenly the ball was snapped and passed back. Punk—Frank kicked it. Away it sailed.

He did it before those Harvard tigers could down him. It was a glorious kick. Through the goal posts and over the bar it sailed.

Then the Yale yell was heard.

But the game was not over. Harvard had secured a touchdown and a goal. Yale had secured a goal. It seemed that she had feared utter defeat, else she would have fought for the touchdown.

The Harvard crowd remained confident. They crowed, for they said Yale had displayed her own lack of confidence by kicking a goal from the field.

The time was growing short, and there seemed little chance for Yale to do anything more. Harvard men laughed and said Harvard would obtain another touchdown and goal before the end.

Little time was lost in putting the ball into play again. Harvard immediately started out with rushes. Now, to the astonishment of all, Yale was the stone wall.

Soon the ball went to Yale. Mills took it around Harvard's end for fifteen yards. Powell bucked the center with it and gained some ground.

Harvard men began to get anxious. Things had changed since the first half. Harvard was on the defensive now. What had caused the change no one could tell.

Back and still back the Harvard line was forced. Would Yale try to secure another goal from the field? That was the question.

Paula Benjamin was almost crying.

"It's Frank Merriwell!" she said. "Jack said he would hoodoo Harvard, and he has!"

"It is Frank!" thought Inza. "He has put life into the Yale men. He has given them confidence somehow. He must win now—he will!"

The ball was getting dangerously near Harvard's line. The Cambridge men fought to hold it during the last few minutes of the game.

Then, with a sudden movement, a man was sent through Harvard's center, although an around-the-end play had been anticipated. It was a tricky move, and took Harvard by surprise.

Like a shot that man went through Harvard's line. He ran with wonderful speed, with interferers on either side and a bit in advance.

It was Frank making a last desperate effort for a touchdown!

One by one the interferers were flung aside till he was alone, hugging the ball, running as if for his life.

Three men came down on him while he had fifteen yards to go. They flung themselves on him like famished wolves. They thought to crush him to the ground.

Then ten thousand people gasped with astonishment, scarcely able to believe what they saw.

It did not seem that Merriwell slackened speed much, and he still went forward, carrying those three men on his back and shoulders. They tried to drag him down, and others tried to reach him. They could not break him to the ground, and, with them all on his back he carried the ball over the line. Then he fell, and the ball was beneath him.

It was a touchdown for Yale! Besides that, it was the most wonderful touchdown ever made on a football field. A mighty roar went up from the spectators when they realized what had happened. Never before had they witnessed anything like that. They knew the man who made the play had won fame. To-morrow his picture would be in every Boston and New York newspaper.

Oh, how the Yale men shrieked, and screamed, and roared! They were like human beings gone mad. They were crazed with their admiration for the man who had done that trick. They longed to take him in their arms, to bear him on their shoulders, to do him every honor.

Gloriously had Frank Merriwell won back his lost prestige! Let a man breathe a slur against him now and there would be a hundred ready to knock that man down.

When the mass untangled Merriwell was seen lifted to his feet. He stood up, wavering a bit, supported by Forrest, who had an arm around Frank's body.

Then Frank pushed Forrest off. Time was precious, and his soul was strong.

Hasty preparations were made, and, for all of what he had just passed through, Merriwell kicked a goal.

Three seconds later the game was over, and Yale had won.

Then all Merriwell's admirers rushed upon the field to surround him, to fight for a look at him, and to roar their delight.

"Rah for Yale!"

"Three cheers for Frank Merriwell!"

"They can't down Old Eli!"

So the cries rang on.

It was truly a scene never to be forgotten.

But at that moment Frank did not think of the game.

He was wondering what Inza would say.

Would she forgive him for what he had done?

"Oh, I hope she does," was his thought. "If she doesn't——" And he could think no further.

INZA BEGINS TO UNDERSTAND.

"How did the game come out?" asked Miss Abigail Gale, Inza's aunt, as the two girls returned to Paula's home, which was a handsome house in an aristocratic portion of the Back Bay.

Miss Gale was knitting. For all of her luxurious surroundings, she was plainly dressed, and she was practicing economy by knitting herself some winter stockings. Reputed to be comfortably rich, Miss Gale was "close-handed" and thrifty.

"Yale won, of course!" cried Inza, who had not recovered from her enthusiasm. "Oh, Aunt Abby, you should have seen it!"

"No, no!" exclaimed the spinster, shaking her head.

"You would have gone crazy over it!"

"It's brutal. I have no sympathy with such brutal games. I didn't want to see it, and I stayed away."

"But it was such a splendid spectacle. Twenty-two young gladiators, clad in the armor of the football field, flinging themselves upon each other, struggling like Trojans, swaying, straining, striving, going down all together, getting up, and——

"Land!" cried Miss Abigail, holding up both hands. "It must have been awful! It makes my blood run cold! Don't tell me any more!"

"At first Harvard rushed Yale down the field. Yale could not hold them back. It was easy for Harvard. Jack got the ball—Jack Benjamin. He went through Yale's line. The coast was cleared. He made a touchdown. He ran like a deer. How his legs did fly!"

"Good!" cried Miss Abigail, getting excited and dropping her knitting—"good for Jack!"

"But a Yale man was after him, and the Yale man could run. The crowd was wild with excitement. Jack tore up the earth. The Yale man tore up the earth——"

"He couldn't catch Jack!" exclaimed the spinster. "It wasn't any use for him to try."

"He did catch him—jumped at him—caught his ankles—pulled him down!"

"You don't say! He'd ought to be walloped!"

"Then the others came up, and they all piled on Jack and Frank."

"Frank? Frank who?"

"Why, Frank Merriwell, of course."

"Was he the one that caught Jack?"

"Yes."

"I might have known it. No use for Jack to try to run away from Frank. He couldn't do that. But I thought Frank wasn't going to play?"

"He broke his promise to me—he did play."

"Do tell! I'm surprised!"

"So was I. He stopped Jack, but Harvard scored in the first half, and Yale didn't get a thing. Then came the other half. Yale went at Harvard with new life. Frank seemed to give it to them. He rushed the ball down the field. Harvard couldn't hold him."

"Of course not."

"He got the ball close down to Harvard's line. Then he kicked a goal."

"Hurrah!" cried Miss Abigail, with an astonishing burst of enthusiasm. "Go on, Inza."

"The ball was put into play again. Again Yale got it and rushed it down through Harvard's line. Harvard made a furious struggle to hold it back. Frank got it at last—he broke through—they couldn't stop him. Then—then, with three Harvard men on his back, he carried the ball over the line for a touchdown, kicked a goal, and won the game."

Miss Abigail was palpitating with excitement.

"Goodness me!" she gurgled. "And Frank did all that? I didn't see him do it, either! Goodness me! It must have been grand—it must have been! What a fool I was to stay at home!"

Inza laughed, and then became sober, suddenly.

"Yale won," she said, "but I'll never speak to him again."

"Him? Who?"

"Frank."

"Won't speak to Frank Merriwell?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"He broke his promise to me. Harvard would have won if he hadn't. Look at Paula! She is heartbroken! It was mean of Frank—just as mean as it could be!"

"It was mean," said Paula, "and Frank Merriwell ought to be ashamed. I think he must be an awfully cheap fellow to do anything like that."

Miss Abigail's face grew hard as iron.

"Now, you hold right on, Paula Benjamin!" she said, severely. "Don't you talk about him! Your mother and me was schoolmates, but I won't stay in this house to hear Frank Merriwell traduced! I know him, and he's a fine young man."

"He may be," reluctantly admitted Paula, seeing Miss Gale was thoroughly aroused; "but it seems to me that a fine young man should keep a pledge."

"You don't know his circumstances. There must have been a good reason why he broke his pledge."

"I presume he was called on to play when Mr. Marline injured his ankle."

Inza looked at Paula quickly.

"Mr. Marline?" she said. "I think Frank spoke of him. Who is he?"

"He was to play full-back for Yale, but he sprained his ankle, and so he could not play."

"Do you know him?"

"I have been introduced to him. Jack knows him very well. We met him when we were South two years ago."

"How do you know he sprained his ankle?"

"Jack heard of it last night."

"Then word must have been sent from New Haven. Did it come through a traitor or a spy?"

Paula flushed, and then said:

"Through neither. Mr. Marline expected to see us after the game, and he sent word that he could not very well, as he had sprained his ankle and might not be able to come on. I saw him with the Yale boys, though. He was on crutches."

"I begin to understand Frank's position," thought Inza. "He was forced into the game. Well, I have said I'd never speak to him again, and I shall keep my word. I don't care if it breaks my heart! I know he thinks more of his old college than he does of me."

Jack Benjamin came home bruised in body and crushed in spirit. Paula met him at the door, and drew him into the sitting-room, where Inza and Miss Gale were.

"It's too bad, Jack!" cried his sister, her sympathetic heart wrung by the look of pain on his face. "I think it is just awfully mean that Harvard didn't win!"

"Harvard would have won if it hadn't been for that fellow, Frank Merriwell!" growled Benjamin. "I said he'd hoodoo us, and I was right. We can't down Yale at any game he is in. It's no use to try. Why, we out-classed Yale all around to-day, and still he won the game for them. That's what I call infernal luck!"

Inza repressed her elation, but something like a grim smile came to Miss Abigail's hard face.

"If Marline hadn't hurt his ankle, we'd been all right," declared Jack, as he sat with his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hands, looking down at the floor. "Rob is a good man, they say, but he could not have done the things Merriwell did. Why, hang it!" he suddenly cried, getting on his feet, sinking his hands deep in his pockets, and stamping around the room, "that fellow actually carried Woodbury, Stanton and Glim on his back for more than fifteen yards! They couldn't pull or crush him down. I wouldn't believe it possible if I hadn't seen it. He's a terror!"

Inza's eyes sparkled.

Paula followed Jack and took his arm.

"I hate him!" she cried. "I saw him pull you down, the big, strong ruffian!"

"Yes," nodded Jack, "and a pretty tackle it was. He didn't pile upon me like a wooden man, but his hands went down to my ankles and flipped me in a second. If he'd bungled the least bit, I'd made a touchdown. Oh, he is a terror!"

"But I hate him!" persisted Paula. "I was so sure you would make a touchdown. What right had he to grasp you that way and throw you so hard?"

"That's the game, sister mine. Any Yale man would have done it—if they could."

"I don't care! Why was he playing?"

"That's right!" cried Jack, turning to Inza. "I thought he wasn't in the game this season? I thought he gave you his promise not to play?"

Inza flushed with shame and embarrassment.

"He did," she confessed.

Jack whistled.

"And broke his promise—I see! It can't be that he thinks much of his word."

It seemed for an instant that Inza would defend him, but she did not. For the first time Frank had broken a promise to her, and she felt it keenly. She turned away.

Miss Gale looked grim, but remained silent. She knew herself, and realized she might say too much, if she spoke at all.

It was an hour or so before Jack could cool down, so stirred up was he by the result of the game. Finally, he went upstairs to take a bath.

Before dinner there was a ring at the bell, and a servant brought in a card, which she gave to Jack, who was enjoying his first smoke of weeks, now that the game was over.

"Hello!" he cried. "Rob Marline! I didn't expect him."

"Rob Marline!" exclaimed Paula, in no little confusion. "Gracious! I must be looking like a fright! Come up to my room with me, Inza, and see that I am presentable."

So the girls ran up to Paula's room, and Jack directed that Marline be brought directly to the smoking-room.

"I want to look my best when Mr. Marline comes," said Paula, when they were in her boudoir. "I am sure my hair looks bad, and I must be a perfect fright."

Inza laughed.

"It seems to me you are very particular about Mr. Marline."

"I am," confessed Paula, busying herself before the mirror. "You know, he is Jack's particular friend."

"Oh, he's Jack's particular friend!"

The manner in which Inza said that brought a warm flush to Paula's cheeks, and she endeavored to hide her confusion, but in vain.

"I've discovered your secret, dear!" cried Inza, with her arm about her friend's waist. "Now I know why you take such an interest in Robert Marline."

"Nonsense! I like him, because—because——"

"Just because you do."

"No; because he is Jack's friend."

"Now, don't try to deceive me, Paula!" cried Inza, holding up one finger. "You can't do it. You would like Rob Marline just as much if your brother was not in it."

"Oh, it's no use to talk to you," fluttered Paula. "You are one of the girls who will have your own way."

"No, not always. I did not have my way to-day. Frank Merriwell played football. But, Paula, I think I am beginning to understand more fully just why you were so anxious Mr. Merriwell should not play on the Yale eleven. He was Mr. Marline's natural rival for the position of full-back. If Frank Merriwell played, Rob Marline could not. I'm sure I am right. You did not tell me the entire truth, but I have found it out."

Paula was more than ever confused, but she could not deny Inza's charge.

"If I told you that," she confessed, with sudden frankness, "I feared you would not try to induce Mr. Merriwell not to play. Now, don't be angry with me, Inza! I know it was Rob's—I mean Mr. Marline's ambition to play full-back on the Yale team, and I wanted him to do so. That's all. Perhaps I ought to have told you in the first place. Do forgive me, dear!"

It was not in Inza's heart to be unforgiving, and so the girls hugged each other, kissed and assisted each other in getting ready to go down and meet the visitor.

They found Jack and Marline in the library. The Yale lad arose with difficulty. His crutches were lying on the floor beside the chair on which he sat.

Paula blushed prettily as she shook hands with Marline, and then she presented Inza.

Thirty minutes later, while they were chatting, there was another ring at the bell, and the servant brought a card to Inza.

"Gentleman wishes to see you, miss."

Inza looked at the card, turned pale, and then, her voice quivering a bit, said:

"Tell Mr. Merriwell I will not see him!"

A BLOW FOR FRANK.

"Eh? What's that?" exclaimed Miss Abigail, who entered the library just in time to catch Inza's words.

"Frank Merriwell has had the impudence to call here to see me—as soon as this!" flared Inza, her face flaming.

"Eh?" exclaimed Miss Abigail, once more. "Impudence?"

"Yes—insolence! After he did not keep his promise to me!"

Rob Marline was greatly interested, although he pretended not to notice what was going on.

"Oh, well, dear," said the spinster, "you must not blame him."

"But I do!"

"You do not know the circumstances."

"I know he broke his promise, and I know I'll never speak to him again as long as I live—never!"

"You think so now, but——"

"I shall think so always."

"Don't be foolish, child! Mr. Merriwell is a splendid young man, and you——"

"I will not see him! That is all."

Then Inza again instructed the servant to tell Mr. Merriwell that she would not see him.

"If you won't see him, I will," said Miss Abigail. "Is he in the parlor? I'll go to him."

"Now, aunt!" cried Inza, catching her arm, "you need not try to fix anything up. He broke his promise to me, and I said I'd never speak to him again. I meant it! He may just stay away, for I don't want to see him. Tell him so for me."

"All right, I will, but I'm going to tell him you're all fluttered, and don't know what you're talking about."

So Miss Gale went to see Frank in the parlor, while Inza remained in the library.

Paula was not hard-hearted, for all that she had declared she hated Frank Merriwell, and, when she saw Inza was in earnest about not seeing Frank, she drew her aside, and said:

"Perhaps you had better see him. I don't want to be the cause of a misunderstanding between you."

"Don't let that worry you," said Inza, with affected lightness. "I don't want anything to do with a fellow who cares so little for me that he will break a pledge the way Mr. Merriwell did."

"But—but he was loyal to his colors and his college."

"Which shows he thinks more of his old college than he does of me. I have said I'd never speak to him again, and you shall see that I can keep my word."

Paula was distressed, for she began to think herself responsible for the misunderstanding between Frank and Inza. She knew Inza well enough, however, to realize it was useless to attempt to reason with her when her mind was set on anything. The more one tried to reason, the more set she became.

Rob Marline had taken in all that passed, although he pretended to be interested in Jack Benjamin's talk about the football game.

Marline felt elated, for he saw Merriwell had done something to turn against him this pretty girl, who was Paula's friend. At first glance, this Yale student from South Carolina had been strongly impressed by Inza's appearance, and there was something about her spirit and her manners that impressed him more and more.

"If I could cut Merriwell out with her!" he thought. "Ah! that would be a rich revenge! But Paula might object! Never mind; I've given Paula no particular reason to think I am stuck on her. If she is stuck on me, it's not my fault. There is no reason why I should not try to catch on with Miss Burrage."

He compared Inza and Paula, and he saw that the former was far the handsomer girl. She had a strikingly attractive face with large dark eyes, red lips and perfect teeth, while the color that came and went in her cheeks told the tale of perfect health. He could see that she was destined to become the kind of a young lady who always creates a sensation when she enters a drawing-room and causes men to turn and look after her on the street.

The more Marline thought it over, the firmer became his determination to do his best to win Inza from Frank Merriwell. He laughed to himself when he thought what a revenge that would be upon the fellow he hated.

"What are you laughing at?" cried Benjamin, somewhat offended. "I tell you Harvard would have won in a walk if it hadn't been for that fellow Merriwell."

"Beg pardon," said Marline, quickly. "Did I laugh? Excuse me. Still, I think you overestimate Merriwell."

"Not a bit of it. He's the best man on the Yale eleven. Besides that, he is one of the best baseball pitchers who ever twirled a ball. He has done more for Yale sports and athletics than any one man ever did before in the same length of time."

"He had the opportunities to-day," said Marline. "That's how he happened to do so much."

"He made the opportunities," declared Benjamin. "What kind of an opportunity was it when three of our men piled upon him and he carried them more than fifteen yards? That was something wonderful!"

"Don't speak so loud, Jack," cautioned Paula. "He is in the parlor, and he might hear you."

"Well, I'm sure I'm not saying anything that could offend him."

"It might give him the swelled head," put in Marline.

Inza turned on him like a flash.

"It is evident you do not know him very well, Mr. Marline," she said, severely. "Frank Merriwell never gets the swelled head."

Marline was somewhat embarrassed, but, with the utmost suavity, he bowed to her, smoothly saying:

"It is possible I do not know him very well, as you say; but I am sure almost any fellow might be in danger of getting a touch of swelled head had he done the things Mr. Merriwell did to-day."

He said this so gracefully that Inza's threatened anger was averted, and she fell to chatting with him, much to his satisfaction.

They were standing close together, talking earnestly, Marline supporting himself by leaning on the back of a chair, when Frank left the parlor, saying to Miss Gale that he must hasten to catch a train back to New Haven.

The library door opened into the hall, and Frank saw Inza chatting with Rob Marline in a manner that seemed very friendly and familiar. The sight gave him a start, and the hot blood rushed to his cheeks.

Inza knew Frank had seen them, but she did not turn to look at him. She began to laugh in her most bewitching manner, as if amused very much at something Marline had said, and leaned a little nearer her companion.

Frank seemed dazed. The sight of Rob Marline in that house chatting thus with Inza seemed a revelation to him. All at once, he fancied he understood the situation—fancied he knew why Inza had not wished him to play on the Yale football team.

"We shall be in New Haven the last of the week, Mr. Merriwell," said Miss Abigail. "She'll get over it by that time, and we'll call. It's nothing but a foolish whim."

She spoke the words just loud enough for Frank to hear, but he did not seem to understand. Like one in a dream, he took his cap from the rack and turned toward the door.

"Good-day, Mr. Merriwell," called the old maid.

"Eh? Oh! Good-day!"

Frank paused at the door and looked back; then he spoke, loudly enough to be heard in the library:

"I shall be pleased to see you at any time, Miss Gale, but, if you call on me, perhaps it would be well not to bring a certain person with you. It might be embarrassing and unpleasant. Good-day."

Bounding down the steps, Frank walked swiftly away. There was a hard, set look on his face, which had grown singularly pale.

"Yes," he muttered, "I understand it all now. She would not tell me why she did not wish me to play on the eleven, but I know now. Somewhere she has met Rob Marline, and she is stuck on him. He wanted to play full-back for Yale, and she aided him all she could by inducing me to promise that I would not play. I see through the whole game! She was playing me for a fool! I did not think that of her, but it is as clear as crystal."

And Marline had cut him out with Inza! He felt sure of that.

"Well," he grated, "I have been easy with that fellow. Now we are enemies to the bitter end! Let him look out for me!"

THE HOMEWARD JOURNEY.

"What's the matter with Merriwell?" asked Lewis Little, speaking to a group of jolly lads who were on the train that bore the Yale football team out of Boston on its way to New Haven. "He's grouchy."

"Is he?" cried Paul Pierson. "Well, he ought to be ashamed of himself! Why, he's the hero of the day! All the papers will have his picture to-morrow. I saw at least five persons snapping him with cameras on the field. Grouchy, is he? Well, confound him! He has no right to get a grouch on."

"Not a bit of it!" cried Charlie Creighton. "What's the matter with him? Where is he?"

"He's sitting back in the end of the car, looking fierce enough to eat anybody."

Creighton, Pierson and several others sprang to their feet and looked for Frank. They saw him.

He was staring out of the window in a blank manner, although he did not seem to notice anything the train passed. He was paying no attention to the gang of shouting, singing, laughing students, who filled the smoker and were perched on the backs of the seats and crowded into the aisles.

"Hey, Merry!" shouted Creighton. "Shake it, old man—shake it! Come up here! Get into the game!"

Frank looked around, shook his head, and then looked out of the window again.

"Well, hang him!" growled Charlie. "Any one would think he had played with Harvard, instead of winning the game for Yale! What can be the matter with him?"

No one seemed to know. Creighton went down and talked to Frank, but could get no satisfaction out of him.

As soon as he was let alone again, Merriwell fell to gazing out of the window, seeming quite unaware of the shouts and songs of the jolly lads in the car.

When strangers crowded into the car to get a look at the man who had won the game for Yale, having heard he was on the train, he still continued to gaze out of the window, and it was not apparent that he heard any of their remarks.

"Tell you what," said Creighton, as he returned to Pierson and the others of the little group, "Merriwell is sore."

"Sore?" cried Tom Thornton, "he can't be any sorer than I am! Why, I was jumped on, kicked, rammed into the earth, and annihilated more than twenty times during that game. A little more of it would have made a regular jellyfish out of me. I'll be sore for a month, but I believe in being jolly at the same time."

Then he broke forth into a song of victory, in which every one in that car seemed to join, judging by the manner in which the chorus was roared forth.