Frank Merriwell's Return to Yale

REJOICING AT YALE.

Harris found his opportunity to slip away when the train drew into the station at New Haven.

A band of music was on hand to meet the returning conquerors. A wild mob of screaming, cheering, horn-tooting students was there.

It was evening, and the Yale lads had come down to the station with torches, prepared to give the eleven such a reception as no other football team had ever met.

When the train drew into the station, the band was hammering away at a blood-stirring tune. When the train stopped, the great crowd of young men and boys presented a perfect sea of upturned faces beneath the flaring light of the torches. Blue was everywhere. It was Yale's great day, and all New Haven wore the color.

The train stopped. Then there was a fierce swaying and surging of the crowd, a flutter of flags, followed by a mighty cheer that was like a savage yell of joy over the downfall of a defeated and slain enemy.

How they shouted for Yale! How they swayed and surged! How like lunatics they were!

The sound of the band was drowned, and not a strain of music could be heard. The musicians continued to play, but they might have saved their breath.

The crowd knew well enough that the eleven would be on the smoker. That was the car in which the victors could disport themselves as hilariously as they pleased.

The smoker began to discharge its passengers. Paul Pierson was the first to get off, and he was followed closely by a stream of Yale men.

The general cheering had died down, but almost every man who stepped from the train was greeted in some peculiar manner.

"What's the matter with Yale?" howled a voice.

Then a thousand throats seemed to roar back:

"She's all right! 'Rah! 'rah! 'rah! 'Rah! 'rah! 'rah! Yale!"

Bruce Browning appeared.

"Hey, Brownie!" cried some one on the platform. "How's your corns?"

"Sore," answered the big fellow. "Strained 'em cheering for Yale."

Bink Stubbs came forth riding astride Puss Parker's shoulders. Somewhere on the train he had captured a silk hat that was much too large for him, and it had dropped down over his head to his ears, which were lopped forward by the weight of it. In the hatband was stuck the short staff of a small flag. Bink had a horn, and he blew a hoarse blast the moment he was outside the car.

"Where'd you get that horn?" called a voice.

"This horn's nothing," returned the little fellow. "I've had about twenty horns besides this, and still my neck is dry."

Four fellows came off the car, carrying a fifth. They held their caps in their hands, and were as mournful and sad-appearing as possible. The one who was carried had a big white placard on his breast. On the card were these words:

"I bet a dime on Harvard, and dropped dead after the game!"

It was not an easy thing to carry him down the steps, but the mournful-appearing bearers succeeded in doing the trick.

Dismal Jones came forth from the car. He was holding a handkerchief to his eyes and pretending to weep.

This brought a shout of delight, and some one yelled back:

"Weep for poor old Harvard. She needs it."

Then Capt. Forrest of the eleven appeared.

A mighty roar went up the moment he was seen. It was a great shout of admiration and welcome. It brought a hot flush of satisfaction to his cheeks, and he stood bowing and smiling on the platform.

"What's the matter with Forrest?" shrieked a voice, when the noise lulled somewhat.

"He's a lulu!" shrieked another voice.

"He's all right—he is!" roared the crowd.

Then they cheered for him in the regular manner.

Each player was received with an ovation as he came out of the car, and they must have felt themselves well repaid for their weeks of hard training and practice.

Frank Merriwell was nearly the last one to show himself. The crowd had been waiting for him.

What a shout went up! The torches flared, and it seemed that the very stars quivered with the volume of sound.

"Merriwell! Merriwell! Merriwell!" roared the vast throng.

Roar! roar! roar! It seemed that they would never stop. It was an ovation that might have pleased a monarch.

Frank would have been less than human had he not thrilled with satisfaction as he heard them cheering him thus. He took off his cap and bowed again and again. He tried to descend from the steps and mingle with the throng, but some of them held him back. They seemed to want him up there where they could look at him.

It was some time before the cheering subsided. At last, somebody began to shout:

"Speech! speech! speech!"

Frank shook his head, but it was useless. They were determined he should say something. He saw he could not escape, so he held up one hand.

Silence fell on the great crowd beneath the torchlights.

Then Frank spoke—a single sentence:

"Every man of us did his level best for dear old Yale!"

That was enough. They went mad again, and again they roared till they were hoarse. They cheered for Yale, they cheered for Forrest, they cheered for Merriwell. Of everything for which they cheered, Merriwell created the greatest enthusiasm.

Then he was lifted from the steps and carried away on the shoulders of his admirers, while the mob swarmed after him.

The band got out and formed to head the parade of triumph. The crowd of students fell in behind. The band struck up, and away they went, with the Yale eleven close behind them.

Great crowds had turned out to witness the spectacle, knowing the students meant to give their victorious team a rousing reception. All along the line the spectators cheered and waved hats, flags and handkerchiefs.

A committee had raised a fund for fireworks, and Roman candles began to pop up balls of fire, while rockets went whizzing into the air from the head of the procession.

No one interfered with the rejoicing students. It was their night, and the city fathers remained in the background and permitted them to have a glorious time.

Some of the business places were prepared for their appearance with illuminated windows. All New Haven seemed delighted.

This year every one had seemed to expect Harvard would "wipe up the gridiron" with Yale, and this victory was so unexpected that it set the people wild with delight.

All along the line the students sang and cheered. Now and then the band could be heard pounding away industriously.

In this manner they marched to the college grounds. As they drew near the college, Browning suddenly descended on the trombone player and captured his horn.

That was a signal for a general rush upon the band by the boys, and, within three minutes, every instrument was in the hands of a Yale student.

Some of the boys could play on the instruments they captured, and some could simply make a noise.

"Attention!" roared Browning, who seemed to have awakened from the lethargy that had been on him so long, and was once more a leader in a genuine racket. "We will play the 'Star-Spangled Banner.' All ready! Let her rip!"

They played! Such a wild medley of sounds never was heard before. Puss Parker had a cornet, and he was playing the air of the "Star Spangled Banner," while Browning was putting in the variations with the trombone. But the others played anything they could think of and some things they could not think of! "John Brown's Body," "Yankee Doodle," "Marching Through Georgia," "Suwanee River," and "Hail Columbia," were some of the tunes that mingled in that medley. Those who could not play anything at all added to the hideous din by making the captured horns bleat forth horrible sounds. Bink Stubbs had secured the bass drumstick, and the way he hammered the big drum was a caution. He did his best to break in the head—and finally succeeded!

In this manner the rejoicing students marched right in upon the campus, regardless of policemen, professors, rules or regulations.

A CONTRAST IN ENEMIES.

It was a wild night on the Yale campus. Even the worst old "grind" in the college came out and looked on while the hilarious students made merry, even if he did not join in the riotous proceedings.

A bonfire was built. Once there had been rules prohibiting such fires, but of what use were rules now! Boxes, barrels, lumber, fencing, almost anything that would make a blaze was brought in and heaped up there. It was done in a rush in a manner that showed all preparations had been made in advance, although the combustible material had not been piled up till the time arrived when the fire was required.

Around the great fire the students with the instruments belonging to the band marched and tooted and sang. Bink Stubbs had knocked in one end of the bass drum, but he continued to hammer away on the other end, apparently doing his best to break that in also. Bruce Browning "tore off" music and other sounds with the trombone, while Puss Parker astounded those who knew him best by his skill with the cornet, for he really could play at some tunes.

About twenty fellows tied handkerchiefs over their faces, turned their coats, and attempted to rush the band and capture the instruments.

Then there was war, and the real owners of the instruments looked on in horror, wondering what would become of the horns.

The police were called upon to regain the instruments for the proper owners. A dozen of them attempted to do the trick, but they were not permitted to come onto the campus.

There were rumors of a rush. It was reported that the freshmen were coming out with canes.

But the freshmen were not fools, and they knew it was a bad time to bring about a cane rush. They mingled with the rejoicing crowd, but sported no canes.

Some of the band instruments were ruined in the struggle, but a cheap band had been engaged, and the instruments were of poor grade, so the boys did not mind their destruction, although all felt that somebody would have to settle the bill for damages.

Some one placed Danny Griswold on a box and yelled for a speech. Danny never made a speech in his life, but he felt elated, and he started in to say something. The moment he opened his mouth everybody cheered. When they stopped cheering, Danny started again.

"This is——"

Not another word was heard. Again they cheered, drowning his voice. He waited for them to stop. They stopped.

"This is——"

"'Rah! 'rah! 'rah! Whooper up! whooper up! 'Rah! 'rah! 'rah!"

Danny waited again. Now he felt that he wanted to make a speech. He was determined to make a speech.

"This is——"

He couldn't get beyond "is," and he was growing disgusted. He longed for a fireman's hose and good head of water.

As they began to cheer all at once, they stopped all together.

Once more Danny tried it:

"This is——"

It was no use. The mere sound of his voice seemed to arouse them to the wildest enthusiasm. He shook his fist at them.

"Go to thunder!" he screamed, getting black in the face.

But they laughed and cheered so he could not hear the sound of his own voice.

Some fellows found Frank and carried him around and around the fire. They tried to induce him to get on the box in Danny's place, and say something, but he was too shrewd to try that, even if he had wished to do so.

Sport Harris, holding aloof, his heart sour with disappointment and disgust, saw a fellow swinging himself along on crutches, but refraining from taking any part in the celebration.

"It's Marline," thought Sport. "He must be somewhat sore himself."

Then he approached and spoke to the unlucky student, who had lost the opportunity to play full-back when he sprained his ankle.

"Hello, Marline!" called Harris. "Why aren't you whooping her up with the others?"

Marline looked at him in doubt, and then remembered that Harris and Merriwell had never been good friends.

"Why should I celebrate?" he asked, sourly.

"Yale won."

"Yes, and I sat where I could see the fellow who filled my place secure the opportunities to win, which must have been mine had I played."

"It was hard luck for you to be knocked out in such a manner."

"Hard luck! It was beastly! But it was worse luck to have that fellow, Merriwell, run into the game and get all the opportunities to cover himself with glory."

"Well, he got 'em, and he improved 'em."

"Any fellow fit for the position could have done the same thing."

"Think so?"

"I know it."

"How about carrying three men on his back the way Merriwell did?"

"That was nothing."

"Everybody seems to think it was a great trick."

"It was nothing, I tell you. Those Harvard chumps tackled him in the most foolish manner possible. Not one of them tried to get low down on him, but all piled upon his back."

"Still, it seems that three of them ought to have crushed him into the ground."

"Not if he had any back at all. You could have stood up under it."

"Thanks!" said Harris, dryly. "I don't care to try."

"I know I could."

"But Merriwell carried them right along on his back."

"What of it?"

"Wasn't that something? He scarcely seemed to slacken his speed in the least, for all of their weight."

"Rot! They came upon him from behind, and when they leaped on him they hurled him forward still faster than he was going, if anything."

"It's a wonder they didn't hurl him forward on his face."

"Wonder—nothing! Are you stuck on that fellow?"

"Well, I should say not! I have no reason to admire him."

"Nor I! I despise him, and I am willing he should know it. Wait till my ankle gets well."

"What will you do then?"

"I am making no talk about what I'll do," said Marline, lowering his voice and hissing forth the words; "but Frank Merriwell had better steer clear of me."

"He is a bad man to have for an enemy," said Harris, "I know, for he is my enemy."

"How does he happen to be your enemy?" asked Marline. "You are not in athletics. What made him your enemy?"

Harris hesitated, and then said:

"Some time ago he wrongfully accused me of cheating at cards. I have hated him ever since."

A sudden change came over Marline. He remembered now. He had heard something about it at the time, but it had slipped his mind. He remembered that he had heard from a reliable source that Merriwell had exposed Harris in a crooked game.

Involuntarily, Marline drew away from Harris. The lad from South Carolina had very high ideas of honor, and he could feel nothing but contempt for a card sharp. Sometimes he played cards himself, but he would have died rather than do a crooked or dishonorable thing. A moment before, he had seemed to feel a bond between himself and Sport, as they were both enemies to Merriwell, but now there was a feeling of repulsion.

No matter what Rob Marline's faults might be, and he had many of them, there was not a dishonest streak in him.

Harris seemed to see the change come over the other, and regretted that he had told the truth, for he knew Marline was "encumbered" by a fine sense of honor. He tried to set himself right by fiercely declaring he had been unjustly accused by Merriwell.

"That's what makes me hate the fellow so," he said. "He has injured me by leading some fellows to think I was crooked, and that is the worst injury he could do anybody."

"I agree with you on that point," nodded Marline.

"Some time I'll square it up with him," grated Harris. "We both hate him, and I see no reason why we shouldn't pull together."

Marline hesitated a moment, then shook his head.

"No," he said, "I'll not make a compact with any one against him. I hate him, and I am willing he should know it. I'll meet him face to face and man to man, and I'll make him crawl, or I'll fix him so he won't play football for a long time to come!"

A CHALLENGE ACCEPTED.

The day after the great game the Boston and New York morning papers gave columns to a full report of the contest. All the evening papers of the day before had contained reports, but on the following morning the story was told more fully and accurately.

Not a morning paper appeared in either city that did not contain Frank Merriwell's picture. It made little difference if some of the pictures were poor, Frank's name was beneath each and every one of them.

The papers gave him glaring headlines. He was called "The Yale Trojan," "The Sensation of the Season," "The Boy of Iron," and many other complimentary things.

All Yale was reading the papers, and Frank was more than ever the topic of conversation, for his fellow-students began to realize that he had played an even more important part in the game than was at first thought possible by those who had not witnessed it.

If Frank had smoked or drank he would not have found it necessary to buy a cigar or a drink for weeks to come. Scores of fellows would have considered it a great honor to buy smokes and drinks for him.

But Merriwell neither smoked nor drank. He had never indulged in tobacco or liquor. Who knows how much that was responsible for his wonderful strength, nerve and wind?

At the fence a group gathered early and read and discussed the newspaper reports. Rob Marline seemed to be the only man who did not have a paper.

"What's the matter with you, old man?" asked Tom Thornton. "You are looking as blue as if we had lost yesterday."

"I'm feeling grouchy," confessed Marline.

"Ankle?"

"Has something to do with it."

"Too bad! It was tough to be knocked out just before the game, but you can feel satisfied that your place was filled by a good man."

Marline seemed to turn yellow.

"That is it, sah—that's just it!" he exclaimed, "Look at all the stuff in the papers about him! And I might have had the opportunities he had if I had played."

"Perhaps not."

"Why not?"

"The change might have made considerable difference in the play. You know as well as I, no two men will play just the same under the same circumstances. They may attempt similar plays, but they do not carry them out in precisely the same manner."

"I don't like the way you use that word 'attempt,' sah!" said Marline, flaming up a bit. "It seems like an insinuation that I might have failed in the attempt, while Merriwell succeeded."

"You are altogether too suspicious and sensitive, Marline. I did not hint anything of the sort, although even you cannot be sure you would have succeeded as well as Merriwell. Indeed, what he did in that game was phenomenal."

"Rot, sah!"

"I believe you are jealous of him, Marline. If you are, take my advice, and conceal it, or the boys will jolly you to death."

Rob Marline drew himself up with as much haughtiness as possible, considering his lame ankle.

"Sah," he said, hissing the words through his white teeth, "the boys had better be careful. I am in no condition to be jollied on that point, sah."

Had any other fellow at Yale taken such a stand, it would have produced shouts of laughter. As it was, not a fellow of the group grinned, and Burn Putnam observed:

"If you don't want to be jollied, you'd better keep still about Merriwell. All the fellows will be onto you if you keep it up."

Rob flashed Old Put a cutting look, and then haughtily returned:

"My tongue is my own, sah!"

"All right," grunted Burn. "Use it as you please. You'll find I've given you a straight tip."

"I presume, sah, a man has a right to criticise the playing of any fellow on the eleven?"

"Sure; but it doesn't come very well from you, as you and Merriwell were rivals."

"We were not rivals, if you please. He was substituted to fill my place after I was injured. But for this ankle, he would not have been on the team."

"But that he refused to play football this season, you would not have been on the team," put in Bandy Robinson.

"Oh, I see all you fellows are standing up for him and are down on me!" fiercely cried Marline. "I don't care if you are. I think Frank Merriwell is——"

"Is what, sir?"

It was Merriwell himself, who had approached the group without being noticed by any of them. He now stepped forward promptly and faced Marline.

Rob turned pale, and his eyes gleamed. For some moments he did not speak, but he did not quail in the least before Merriwell's steady gaze.

At last, gaining control of his voice, he sneered:

"So you were listening. Well, there is an old saying that eavesdroppers seldom hear good of themselves."

"So you call me an eavesdropper?"

"You heard what was not meant for your ears."

"Because I happened to be coming here to join this party. You were talking loudly and in public. There was no reason why I should not have heard, and I did so in anything but a sneaking manner. Your insinuation that I eavesdropped is an insult."

"What are you going to do about it, sah?"

"Demand satisfaction!" shouted back Frank, who was aroused to such a pitch that he was ready to quarrel with his rival on the slightest provocation.

Marline grinned sarcastically.

"Very well, sah," he said, something like exultation in his voice. "I am ready to give you all the satisfaction you want, sah, as soon as my ankle will permit."

"You will fight me?"

"With pleasure, sah."

"All right; it's settled. I'll agree to give you a pair of nice black eyes."

"No, you won't, sah."

"Eh? You won't be able to stop me."

"Only ruffians and prize fighters use their fists."

"Eh? What do you mean?"

"I mean business, sah!" shot back the boy from South Carolina, drawing himself up, with the aid of his crutch. "You have seen fit, Mr. Merriwell, to consider yourself insulted by me, and you have demanded satisfaction. You shall have it, sah—all you want! We will fight, but not with our fists. I am the challenged party, and I name swords as the weapons!"

Marline's words produced a sensation. Of all who heard them, Frank Merriwell seemed the least startled or surprised. Danny Griswold near fell off the fence. All the boys looked at each other, and then stared at the boy from South Carolina, as if seeking to discover if he could be in earnest.

He was in deadly earnest; there could be no doubt of it. His face was pale, and his eyes gleamed. The fighting blood of the Marlines was aroused.

Then the other lads of the group remembered the record made by the Marlines, the famous fighters of South Carolina. They remembered that Rob Marline's ancestors were duelists before him, and every one of them on record had killed his man!

With such an example in his own family, and with certain notions of the proper course for a man to defend his honor, it was certain Marline meant business when he named swords as the weapons.

But such a meeting could not take place. It was unlawful. Besides that, dueling was not popular in the North, and it was not believed that a man showed cowardice if he refused to consider the challenge of an enemy.

What would Merriwell do? He could not accept Marline's proposal, and still it would not be easy for him to back down, after demanding satisfaction. He was in a trying position, and the boys wondered how he would get out of it.

"Mr. Marline," said Frank, and his voice was perfectly calm and cool, "you must be aware that such a thing as you propose is utterly impossible."

"I am not aware of anything of the sort, sah."

"Then I will tell you so now."

"That means you are afraid—you dare not meet me face to face and man to man! You show the white feather!"

"It means nothing of the sort."

"You can't get out of it, sah."

"I am a Northerner, and I do not believe in personal encounters with deadly weapons, after the rules of the code duello."

"A Northerner!" flung back Marline, with a curl of his lips and a proud toss of his head. "Well, I am a Southerner, and we do believe in the code duello. It is the only way for a man to satisfy his honor."

"It is evident that is a point on which we cannot agree."

"Then, you are going to back down—you will play the coward?"

"You are making your language very strong and offensive. Will you be good enough to remember you are on crutches, which makes it impossible for me to strike you now?"

"No man ever struck a Marline without spilling his blood for the blow! It is a good thing for you, sah, that I am on crutches."

"If you were not crippled, you could not use the language you have within the past few moments, without getting my fist between the eyes."

Marline sucked in his breath with a hissing sound through his teeth.

"Never mind my condition, sah—hit me! Nothing would give me greater satisfaction, sah!"

"It is impossible. You will not be crippled long."

"I shall recover as swiftly as possible. You may be sure of that, sah!"

"There will be time enough to settle this little affair between us then."

"But the preliminaries can be arranged in advance, Mr. Merriwell. My representative will call on any friend you may name, sah."

It was plain enough to all that Marline intended to force a duel or compel Merriwell to back down squarely.

"If I decline to name a friend—if I decline to meet you in a regular duel——"

"I shall brand you as a pusillanimous cur, sah!"

Frank's face paled a bit, but still his eyes met Marline's steadily.

"You seem to forget you are not in the South," he calmly said. "If you were on your own soil, you might be justified in pushing this thing as you are, for that is the not entirely obsolete custom among Southern gentlemen. But you are in the North, where duelists are criminals who have not even the sympathy of the public in general. Under such circumstances, you have no right to try to force such an encounter with me."

"You demanded satisfaction, sah, and I named the weapons. I know nothing of your Northern ideas, and I care less. I do know that a man of honor in your position would name a representative and have this affair settled properly."

"You have raised a point of honor on which we cannot agree, that is all."

"Then you refuse to meet me? You take water? Ha! ha! ha! I swear I did think you were a coward all along! A short time ago all Yale said you were a coward, but now, because you made two or three lucky plays in the football game, all Yale is praising you to the skies. Well, sah, I will show them the kind of a man you are! I will show them that you challenged me, and then dared not meet me. I will brand you as the coward you are, sah! It will give me great satisfaction, I assure you."

"Look here, Marline," broke in Burn Putnam, "you are carrying this thing beyond the limit. Merriwell has explained to you his position and made it clear that such a meeting as you propose is utterly impossible."

"That's right, that's right!" chorused the others.

"Mr. Merriwell knew me at the beginning," said the boy from the South, unrelentingly. "He knew I did not take any stock in fist-fighting—that I made no pretensions of being what you call a scrapper. Yet he demanded satisfaction of me for what he chose to consider an insult. That gave me the chance to name the weapons, and I named them. It seems that he sought to take an unfair advantage of me, thinking to force me into a fist-fight, about which he knew I knew nothing, and, having the advantage of me thus, give me a drubbing. It was a brutal attempt to take advantage of me, but he was check-mated. Now, under the circumstances, I have a right to push this matter as far as possible, and I will do it! He'll meet me in a regular duel, or I will take great trouble to brand him as a craven."

"You'll get yourself into a very bad scrape, Marline," said Thornton. "Sympathy will not be with you."

"Bah! What do I care! I can stand alone! I am a Marline!"

"Besides that," continued Tom, "there is another point to be considered."

Rob made a gesture of disdain, but Thornton hastened on:

"Suppose you two would fight a duel and one of you should be seriously wounded, what then? Why, an investigation would follow, and the truth would come out That would mean expulsion for you both—it would mean disgrace."

"Bah!" cried Marline, once more. "I presumed I was dealing with a man of honor, and that every person here was a man of honor. In such a case, if one of us should be wounded, he would keep his lips closed, even if he were dying. Not a word of the truth would he disclose, and no amount of investigation would discover the truth. The victor would be safe."

"That is much easier to talk about than it would be to put in practice. I, for one, am against anything of the sort."

"You do not count, sah."

"Don't, eh? Well, we'll see about that! Frank Merriwell can't meet you, and that settles it. If you try to force him, I'll report the whole matter to the faculty, and the chances are about ten to one that you will be fired from college. There, Mr. Marline, you have it straight from the shoulder, and I trust you are satisfied."

Thornton was astonished with himself for taking such a stand, as he was, as a rule, a good follower, but no leader. He had a way of thinking of things after others put them into execution, but now he was the one to take the lead.

Marline made a gesture of scorn.

"Yes, sah, I am satisfied," he said; "I am satisfied that Mr. Merriwell is a coward. He was looking for a loophole to crawl through, and you have provided him with that loophole. He should feel very grateful to you, sah!"

"Marline," said Frank, sharply, "you can make a mistake by heaping this on too thick! I can't stand everything, and you'd better drop it."

"Yes, drop it, Marline!" cried some of the others.

"Oh, I'll drop it for the present," said Rob, with deep significance—"for the present, you understand. But I am not done with Mr. Merriwell. My ankle will be all right in a short time, and then——"

He paused, giving Frank a stare of hatred. Then, without another word, he turned and swung himself away, aided by his crutches.

All felt sure that the affair was not ended.

AN UNPLEASANT SITUATION.

"Great Scott!" gurgled Old Put, staring after Marline. "But he is a regular fire eater!"

"He's a bad man—a blamed bad man!" fluttered Danny Griswold.

"That's right," nodded Lewis Little. "He really wants to fight with swords, I believe."

"Of course, he does," nodded Andy Emery, who had not said a word during all the talk between Merriwell and Marline. "Jack Diamond was another fellow just like him when he first came to Yale."

"So he was," said Putnam. "And it seems to me I have heard that Merriwell met him."

Frank smiled a bit.

"We had a little go," he said. "He put up a fierce fight, too, for a fellow that knew nothing about the science."

"Oh, everybody knows about that!" said Put. "It was the other affair I was speaking of. Didn't he force you into a duel with swords?"

"That affair was not very serious," said Frank, evasively.

"But I know it took place. He was a fire eater, and he had just such ideas of honor as Marline holds. Thought it a disgrace to fight with fists, and all that. You couldn't get out of meeting him in a regular duel, and you did so. I've heard the fellows talking it over. Let's see, who got the best of it?"

"It was interrupted before the end," said Frank. "The sophs came down on us, and we thought them the faculty. Everybody took to his heels."

"And Diamond would have been captured if it hadn't been for Merriwell, who stayed behind to help him out," put in Thornton. "The duel was never finished."

"Don't try it again, Merry," cried Danny Griswold. "The next one wouldn't come out as well as that."

"But what am I going to do?" asked Frank. "This fellow Marline will not let up on me."

"Don't pay any attention to him," advised Little.

"That's right, ignore him," said the others.

"That will be a hard thing to do. I am no bully, as you all know, but I cannot ignore a man who tries to ride me."

"Better do that than get into a fight with deadly weapons, and be killed," said Put.

"Or kill him," added Griswold.

"Never mind if he does try to brand you as a coward," advised Emery. "He can't make the brand stick. You are known too well here."

Frank flushed a bit.

"I don't know about that," he asserted. "It was only a few days ago that almost everybody here seemed to think me a coward because I declined to play football. They would be thinking so now if I had not played through absolute necessity."

"But what you did in that game has settled it so no man can call you a coward hereafter, and have his words carry any weight," said Putnam. "I believe you can afford to ignore Rob Marline. He is sore now because he was unable to play in the game, and because you put up such a game. He'll get over that after a time, and it's quite likely he'll be ashamed of himself for making such a fuss. He's not much good, anyway."

"Right there is where I think you make a big mistake," said Frank. "Marline has been underestimated by many persons. He has sand, and plenty of it. He is not responsible for his peculiar notions as to the proper manner for a man to settle an affair of honor, for he was born and brought up where such settlements are generally made with pistols."

"Well, you can't fight him in the manner he has named, and that's all there is to it. Nobody will blame you for not meeting him. Let him go it till he cools off."

"Perhaps he will be cool by the time his ankle gets well," said Griswold.

Others came along and joined the crowd, and the talk turned to football. Everybody seemed to want to shake hands with Frank, and his arm was worked up and down till it ached. He was congratulated on every hand.

Sport Harris stood at a distance and saw all this, while his face wore a sour, hateful sneer.

"It makes me sick to see them slobbering over him!" he muttered. "He'll swell up and burst with conceit now. Hang him! He beat me out of my last dollar yesterday, and now I'll have to take some of my clothes down to 'uncle' and raise the wind on them. Ain't got even enough for a beer this morning, and my account is full at Morey's. This is what I call hard luck! Wonder how Harlow feels this morning?"

Rolf Harlow had formerly been a Harvard man, and he was an inveterate gambler. Through him Harris had placed all his money on the Harvard eleven. Sport had tipped Harlow to the condition of the team, and the apparent fact that Harvard was sure to win, on which tip Rolf had hastened to stake everything on the Cambridge boys. At the close of the game Harris got away from Harlow as quickly as possible, finding him anything but agreeable as a companion.

Harris knew Marline hated Merriwell, and he felt sure the boy from the South had nerve and courage, but, to his wonderment and disgust, Rob would not enter into any sort of a compact against Frank.

"Together, we might be able to do up Merriwell," thought Harris. "The only man I ever, found who had the nerve to stick by me against Merriwell was Hartwicke, and he was forced to leave college. I'll get the best of the fellow some day."

Later on, Sport heard something of the encounter between Merriwell and Marline that morning. He listened eagerly to this, and he was seized by a few thoughts.

What did he care about Marline? If Merriwell could be led into a genuine duel with the lad from South Carolina, it might result in the expulsion of both from Yale, either if neither should be seriously injured.

If Merriwell should be injured, all the better. If he wounded Marline, the whole story might come out on investigation, and that would put him in a bad box.

Anyway, a duel between the two might bring about Merriwell's downfall.

Harris set about stirring the matter up. He reported that Marline had driven Merriwell "into his boots." There were a few fellows who "took some stock" in Sport, and through them he worked to spread the story.

Harris was industrious, and before another night all sorts of tales concerning the encounter between the rivals were in circulation.

Harry Rattleton, Frank's old-time chum, heard some of the reports, and he lost no time in telling Frank just what was being said. Merriwell smiled grimly, and said nothing.

"What are you going to do about it?" asked Harry, excitedly.

"Nothing," said Frank.

"What's that?" shouted Rattleton. "If you don't do anything, lots of the fellows will think the stories are true."

"Let them."

"I wouldn't stand it! I'd hunch somebody's ped—I mean, punch somebody's head."

"The fellows who heard it all know if Marline drove me into my boots."

"All right!" said Rattleton. "If you don't do anything about it, I shall. I'm going to find out who started the yarns, and then I'm going to punch him!"

And Rattleton went forth in search of some one to punch.

And he was not the only one, as we shall see.

Within three days Marline was able to get around, with the aid of a cane. His ankle was improving swiftly, and he expected it would be nearly as well as ever in less than a week.

Marline had a following. There were some rattle-brained young fellows in the college who looked on him with admiration, as it was known he came from a fighting family, and was just as ready to face a foe on "the field of honor" as any of his ancestors had been before him.

Marline considered himself a "careful drinker," for he took about a certain number of drinks each day, seldom allowing himself to indulge in more than his allowance.

He always took whiskey. Beer and ale he called "slops." Such stuff was well enough to boys and Dutchmen, but "whiskey was the stuff for a man."

Rob did not know he was forming one of the worst habits a man can acquire—that of "drinking moderately." The moderate drinker becomes the steady drinker, and, in time, he gets his system into such a condition that he cannot get along without his regular allowance of "stuff." The moment he tries to cut down that allowance, he feels miserable and "out of sorts." Then he "throws in" a lot of it to brace up on. Perhaps it is some time before he realizes what a hold drink has on him, and, when he does realize it, in almost every case it is too late to break off the habit. Gradually he increases his "allowance," and thus the moderate drinker becomes a slave to liquor, and a drunkard.

The only "safe way" to handle liquor is not to handle it at all.

Marline had a father with plenty of money, and he was provided with more than a liberal allowance while at college. He had money to spend, and now, knowing the value of popularity, he began to spend it with unusual liberality. As a result, there was a crowd of fellows who clung to him closely in order to get as many drinks as possible out of him.

Although Frank did not drink, he often went around with fellows who did. He had a strong mind, and it was not difficult for him to resist temptation.

Thus it came about that Merriwell and Marline sometimes saw each other in Morey's or Treager's, two well-known students' resorts. At first, they seemed to avoid each other. Then Marline got the idea that Merriwell was afraid of him, and he took to flinging out scornful insinuations and staring at Frank contemptuously.

It was difficult for Merriwell to restrain his passions, for never had he known a fellow who could anger him like Marline, but he held onto himself with a close hand.

Jack Diamond heard of the affair between Frank and the boy from South Carolina. Although Jack was from the South, he knew Merriwell as well as anybody at Yale, and his knowledge told him Frank was in the right.

It galled Diamond to think that anybody could sneer at Merriwell, and not be called to account. He did not say much at first, but, after a time, he began to feel that he had stood it about as long as possible.

"Look here, Merry!" he exclaimed, as he stalked into Merriwell's room one evening; "how long are you going to stand this?"

Frank had been studying, but he flung down his book immediately.

"Stand what?" he asked, smiling.

"Why, the insolence of this fellow from South Carolina. I heard him in Morey's last evening when he made that sneering remark about you, and it has been galling me all day. I expected you would jump him on the spot, but you never moved an eyelash."

"What did you think I'd do?"

"Punch him, confound it!"

"How can I?"

"How can you? With your fist, of course."

"But I can't do it, you know. He has acknowledged publicly that he is no fighter with his fists, and I'd seem like a bully if I hit him."

"Oh, rot!" exploded Jack. "Think I'd let any fellow insult me and then rub it in without giving him a thump on the jaw? Not much!"

"Your ideas on that point seem to have changed since you came to Yale. You will remember you did not believe in fighting with fists when you came here."

"That's right," nodded Jack. "I thought gentlemen never fought in such a manner, but I have found out that even gentlemen are occasionally forced to do so."

"Marline holds just the same ideas as you held. I demanded satisfaction of him, and he said he'd give it to me, with swords."

"He's a chump! What he really needs is a good drubbing, and you ought to give it to him."

"And be called a bully. They would say it was a cowardly thing to do. Really, Jack, I'm in a confounded nasty place!"

"I believe you are," admitted Diamond, slowly. "But you must do something."

"Suggest something."

"Fight him with the weapons he named!" cried the Virginian, hotly. "You can do it, and I know you can get the best of him. I haven't forgotten our little duel. Not much! Why, Merriwell, you disarmed me twice! You can do the same trick with him."

"Perhaps not."

"I know you can. If you disarm him twice, you can call him a bungler, and refuse to continue the duel. Do it, Merry!" excitedly urged Jack. "I'll stand by you—I'll be your second."

"Thank you, old man; but aren't you afraid of getting into serious trouble? If the faculty——"

"Hang the faculty! We'll have to take chances. You can't stand his insults, Merry, and you'll have to fight him with the weapons he has named. That's the only thing you can do."

"You may be right," said Frank, slowly. "I am getting sick of the way the thing is going, but I don't want to make a fool of myself."

"You won't; but you'll make a monkey of Rob Marline, and I'll bet on it. Why, Merry, you are wonderfully clever with the foils, and you have nerves of iron."

"Still, there might be a slip, you know."

"Are you afraid he'll do you up?"

"Not that," said Frank, "although I know he might. I'll tell you the truth. I hate Marline, and I might do him up. A sword is a nasty weapon. What if I should run him through?"

"I never saw the time yet when you were not your own master. I don't think there is any danger that you will kill Marline, but you pink him, just so he would remember you. He wouldn't blow. He's from the South. He wouldn't blow if you pinked him for keeps."

"I think you are right about that. Well, Jack, there's no telling what I may be driven into. If I have to meet him in a duel, I shall call on you to act as my second."

"You may depend on me. I'll serve you with great satisfaction. Call him out, Merry—call him out!"

STUDENTS' RACKETS.

Inza Burrage came back to New Haven with Miss Gale. Frank discovered she was there by seeing her on the street. He started to join her and speak, but she entered a store, and he lost her.

That evening he started out to call on her, resolved to have a talk with her and come to a complete understanding, if she would see him.

He knew where Miss Gale was stopping, and he made his way to the house by a roundabout course, thinking over what he would say in case Inza consented to see him.

As he approached the house he saw some one ascending the steps. The person going up the steps carried a cane.

Frank halted abruptly.

"Marline!" he whispered.

It was his rival.

Rob rang the bell and was admitted to the house.

Frank turned about and walked swiftly away.

"That settles it!" he grated. "I don't want to see her now, for I am sure she was playing double with me. She is stuck on Rob Marline. It's all right! it's all right! I'll have to take Diamond's advice. Marline shall have all the satisfaction he desires."

On his way back to his room he met Browning, Diamond, Rattleton and several other fellows, who were starting out for a jolly time. They were singing, "Here's to Good Old Yale," and he immediately joined in with them, his beautiful baritone adding to the melody which floated out on the crisp evening air.

"Hurrah!" cried Rattleton. "It's Merry! Come on, old man, and we'll have some sport."

To the surprise of all, Merriwell joined them, without asking where they were going. He seemed ready enough for any kind of sport, and his laughter rang the loudest and merriest of them all. He was overflowing with jokes and witty sayings, so that the boys began to say to each other that he was like the Frank Merriwell of old.

They made the rounds of the "places." Nearly all of them drank beer, but, although Frank seemed in a reckless mood, not a drop of beer or liquor touched his lips. He seemed to enjoy the sport as much as any of them, and still he remained sober.

In fact, Frank was a leader in wild pranks that night. Before the evening was over, the boys got two policemen after them, and were forced to run to escape arrest.

Rattleton was somewhat slower than the others in starting, and he soon found one of the policemen was close upon him.

"Stop!" cried the officer.

"Go to thunder!" flung back Harry.

"Stop, I tell yer!"

"Save your wind! You can't catch me in a thousand years."

"Can't?"

Whiz—something flew through the air. It struck Harry between the shoulders, knocking him forward on his hands and knees.

Then the officer pounced upon him, picking up his stick, which he had flung at the boy.

"Oh, I've got yer!" grated the policeman. "I'll teach yer to be tearin' down an' shiftin' round people's signs! I saw yer when yer pulled down the sign in front of the Chinese laundry, and the charge'll be larceny. We're goin' to fix some of you frisky students."

The police had been sore ever since their ineffectual attempt to get upon the campus and arrest the students who were parading with the horns captured from the band. Word had gone the rounds among the students that the "cops" were watching for an opportunity to retaliate. Evidently this policeman fancied his opportunity had come.

Larceny! Harry realized the full meaning of the charge, and he knew it would go hard with him if he were convicted. Thoughts of making a desperate effort to slip out of his coat, and leave it in the officer's clutch, flashed through his head; but the blow of the club had knocked the wind out of him, and, just then, he did not have the strength to make the effort.

Where were the others? Had they all escaped? Had they abandoned him?

"Git up!" ordered the policeman, releasing his grip on Harry a bit, in order to change his hold.

Swish! thump! bump!

A dark body came out of the shadows and struck the policeman with the force of a catapult.

The officer was hurled through the air, his hold on Harry being broken. He struck the stone paving heavily.

A hand fastened on Rattleton's collar, a strong arm jerked him to his feet, a familiar voice hissed in his ear:

"Run!"

It was Merriwell! Harry's heart leaped as he realized that. Frank had not deserted him. Frank never deserted a friend.

Rattleton was somewhat dazed, but Merriwell's hand directed him, and away they sped. They heard the policeman behind them, heard him shout breathlessly for them to stop, but they had no thought of obeying.

Into a narrow space between two buildings plunged Frank, telling Harry to follow. Merriwell came to a gate, but he seemed to see it, for all of the intense darkness.

"Over here!" he called to Harry.

They heard the policeman plunge in behind them. Over the gate they scrambled, not daring to pause long enough to find the way it was fastened. Out into a back yard they dashed, hearing the officer run into the gate and grunt as he was flung backward.

There was a high fence around the yard, and it seemed that they might be in a trap.

Frank felt for a clothesline and found it. He seemed to see in the dark.

"Over the fence, Harry—over the fence!" he whispered.

"Come on!"

"In a moment."

"What are you doing?"

"Lowering this line, so it will just catch Mr. Officer under the chin. Get over the fence."

Rattleton obeyed. He found a place where he could scramble to the top of the fence, and there he sat, calling to Frank:

"Come on—hurry!"

The policeman came out into the yard. It seemed that Merriwell had been waiting for him. Frank started to run, and the officer started after him.

"I have yer now!" grated the policeman.

Frank led him directly toward the clothesline. Just before the line was reached, Frank seemed to stumble and nearly fall. He did it in order to duck under the line.

A triumphant exclamation broke from the officer. It was cut short by another sort of exclamation.

The clothesline caught him under the chin. It snapped his head backward and his heels forward. He went down flat on his back with a terrible thump, and there he lay.

With a triumphant laugh, Frank shinned up the fence and perched on the top beside Rattleton.

The officer was sitting up. He had seen more stars and fireworks than it had ever been his fortune to behold before.

"Ta, ta, old chappie!" tauntingly called Merriwell. "We'll see you some other evening."

"Stop—stop right where you are!" ordered the policeman, in a bewildered way, looking around for the speaker. "You can't get away. It's no use for you to try."

"You're twisted, old man," laughed Frank. "Good-night, and pleasant dreams! We certainly had you on a string to-night. Ha! ha! ha!"

Then the boys dropped down from the fence into the next yard, made their way to the street, and hastened toward Morey's.

"Christopher? what a racket!" laughed Rattleton. "Why, I haven't been in anything like this since I was a freshman."

"It's good for a fellow once in a while," said Frank. "It stirs up his blood."

"But I was in a hard place when you came to my rescue, Merry. The cop had me pinched, and he said the charge would be larceny. I thought I was in for it."

"I wasn't going to leave anybody to be locked up."

"You never do, Merry; you always stick. It does me good to see you out on a time like this, for you have not been like yourself in weeks. Now you seem like the old Frank Merriwell."

They reached Morey's safely. Entering, they discovered nearly all the others of their party there ahead of them.

And Rob Marline was there, drinking whiskey.

As soon as Frank and Harry appeared, the others of the party surrounded them, asking about their adventures.

Bruce Browning was wiping the perspiration from his flushed face, while he growled:

"Haven't done anything like that for a long time. It was awful! Wouldn't done it then if it hadn't been to escape arrest. Cæsar's ghost! think of being arrested."

"I was arrested!" said Rattleton.

"What?" cried the others. "Come again!"

"A cop pinched me."

"No? How did you get away?"

"Merriwell came to my rescue. He didn't desert me, if the rest of you did. He saw the cop nail me, and he sent his buttons flying by running into him. That gave me a chance to skip. I tell you, it took nerve to tackle a cop like that."

Rob Marline laughed sarcastically, but did not say anything. Rattleton flushed with anger, but Merriwell did not seem to notice it.

Harry went on with his story, telling of their adventures, and the party shouted with laughter when he related the clothesline incident.

The fellows were gathering about Merriwell, and Marline found that he was being deserted, which added to his bitterness. He saw the boys listening to the story of Merriwell's attack on the officer and the trick with the clothesline, and the soul of the boy from the South was filled with bitterness.

"He's cutting ice with the gang again," thought Marline. "That must be stopped."

But how could he stop it? He thought of calling to those who had been with him before Merriwell came in, and asking them to have another drink. Then it seemed that he would humiliate himself by doing so, for he would cause everybody to notice how he had been abandoned. So he ordered another drink for himself, and drank it sullenly.

Every time the boys laughed Marline grated his teeth. Things had not gone right with him that night, and he was in an ugly mood. He had called to see Inza Burrage, and had attempted to make himself "solid" with her. In the course of his conversation he had made some disparaging remark about Frank Merriwell.

That remark was like a spark of fire in a keg of powder. In a moment Inza flared up and exploded. She told him Frank Merriwell was a gentleman. She told him Frank Merriwell was too much of a man of honor to malign an enemy behind his back. She showed deep scorn and contempt, and Marline left the house crestfallen and raging with anger.

He had been touched on a tender spot. To have any one insinuate that Frank Merriwell was more honorable than he, was like stabbing him to the heart.

The whiskey made Marline desperate. Little did he know that the boy he hated was in a most reckless mood. Had he known it, he would not have cared. There was not a drop of cowardly blood in Marline's body. He longed for an encounter with Merriwell.

At length, when he could stand it no longer, he arose to his feet. Some one was complimenting Merriwell on his nerve. Marline had not tasted the last glass of whiskey brought him. He took it in his hand, made two steps toward Frank, and flung the stuff full into Merry's face!

"If Mr. Merriwell has so much nerve, let him resent that!" rang out the hoarse voice of the boy from South Carolina. "We'll see how much nerve he has!"

Frank took out a handkerchief and slowly wiped the liquid from his face. He was very pale, and his eyes gleamed with a glare that his best friends had never seen in them before. But he laughed, and those who knew him best shuddered at that laugh.

"Mr. Marline," he said, his voice calm and modulated, "will you be kind enough to name your friend?"

Marline looked around. Sport Harris was at his side in a moment.

"I'll serve you!" Sport eagerly whispered.

Marline felt that almost any one was preferable to Harris, but he saw the others had drawn away. Harris seemed to be the only one with nerve enough to stand by him. He felt forced to accept Sport.

"Mr. Harris is my man," he said.

Frank bowed gracefully.

"Mr. Diamond will wait on him."

A gleam of exultation came into Marline's face, for he felt that he had driven Merriwell to the wall at last.

Frank and Jack immediately withdrew from Morey's, and, later, the Virginian sought Harris in his room.

Frank awaited Diamond's return. He came back in about an hour

"To-morrow, at sunrise," he said.