BOOKS FOR YOUNG MEN

MERRIWELL SERIES

Stories of Frank and Dick Merriwell

PRICE, FIFTEEN CENTS

Fascinating Stories of Athletics

A half million enthusiastic followers of the Merriwell brothers will attest the unfailing interest and wholesomeness of these adventures of two lads of high ideals, who play fair with themselves, as well as with the rest of the world.

These stories are rich in fun and thrills in all branches of sports and athletics. They are extremely high in moral tone, and cannot fail to be of immense benefit to every boy who reads them.

They have the splendid quality of firing a boy’s ambition to become a good athlete, in order that he may develop into a strong, vigorous right-thinking man.

ALL TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT

Frank Merriwell’s Endurance

OR,

A SQUARE SHOOTER

BY

BURT L. STANDISH

Author of the famous Merriwell Stories.

STREET & SMITH CORPORATION

PUBLISHERS

70-89 Seventh Avenue, New York

Copyright, 1905

By STREET & SMITH

Frank Merriwell’s Endurance

(Printed in the United States of America)

All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign

languages, including the Scandinavian.

FRANK MERRIWELL’S ENDURANCE.

CHAPTER I
L’ESTRANGE.

On the way East with his athletic team Frank Merriwell accepted the invitation made by Hugh Morton to stop off at Omaha and visit the Midwestern Athletic Association.

Morton, a young man of twenty-five, was president of the Midwestern. He and Merriwell, the former Yale athlete, had met and become acquainted by chance in Los Angeles some weeks before, and there seemed to exist between them a sort of fellow feeling that caused them to take unusual interest in each other.

Merry and his friends were invited by Morton to witness the finals in a series of athletic events which were being conducted by the club. These contests consisted mainly of boxing and wrestling, although fencing, which was held in high esteem by the association, was one of the features.

In explanation of the rather surprising fact that fencing was thus highly regarded by an athletic association of the middle West, it is necessary to state that a very active member of the club was M. François L’Estrange, the famous French fencer and duelist, whose final encounter in his own country had resulted in the death of his opponent, a gentleman of noble birth, and had compelled L’Estrange to flee from his native land, never to return.

As fencing instructor of the Midwestern A. A., L’Estrange soon succeeded in arousing great interest in the graceful accomplishment, and he quickly developed a number of surprisingly clever pupils. In this manner fencing came to be held in high esteem by the organization and was a feature of nearly all indoor contests.

At first Omaha did not appeal to Frank; but he quickly found the people of the city were frank, unreserved, genial, and friendly, and after all, a person learns to like a place mainly through the character of its inhabitants.

At the rooms of the Midwestern, Merry and his comrades met a fine lot of young men, nearly all of whom made an effort to entertain the boys. The visitors were quickly convinced that they were welcome at the club and that they could make themselves at home there without offending any conservative and hidebound old fogies. Although the Midwestern was cautious and discreet in regard to admitting members, and it was necessary for visitors to obtain admittance in the proper manner, once inside its portals a person immediately sensed an air of liberty that was most agreeable.

“The forming of cliques in this club has been frowned down,” Hugh Morton explained. “I have visited clubs of similar standing in the East and found them full of cliques and restless with petty jealousies and personal dislikes. We hope to suppress such things here, although I regret to say that of late the club has seemed to be gradually dividing into two parties. Thus far everything has been good-natured and unruffled; but I fear that I see a pernicious undercurrent. I may be wrong; I hope I am.”

The morning after Merry’s arrival in the city the Bee noted the fact, giving him half a column and speaking of him as “that wonderful young American athlete who had maintained and added to his reputation since leaving college, yet who had persistently abstained from professionalism.” A list of his contests and victories during his Western tour was also given.

At ten o’clock that forenoon Frank and Bart Hodge met Hugh Morton by appointment in the reception room of the Midwestern. Morton rose and advanced to meet them, smiling a welcome.

“Look here,” said Frank, when they had shaken hands, “I don’t feel just right about this.”

“About what?” questioned the Omaha man.

“Taking you from your business this way. When I accepted your invitation to stop off here, I didn’t expect you to waste your time on us. Business is business, and——”

“Don’t you worry. My business is fixed so it will not suffer if I leave it. I’m delighted with this opportunity. Yesterday I gave you a look at the stockyards and the city. To-day, you told me, you wanted to take things easy and just loaf around. I’m more than willing to loaf with you. And my business will go on just the same.”

“All right,” smiled Frank. “You know your own affairs, and we’re glad to have you with us. Bart and I were talking about fencing on our way here. We’ve been wondering how much we have deteriorated in the art since quitting active practice. It has surprised us—and stirred us up somewhat—to find the sport features in this club. Bart has challenged me to give him a go at it. If we can have a set of foils and——”

“Just follow me,” invited Morton. “I’ll fix you out.”

As they were about to leave the room a tall, slender, dark man of thirty-six or thirty-seven entered. Immediately Morton paused, saying:

“Mr. Merriwell and Mr. Hodge, I am sure you will appreciate the honor of meeting our fencing instructor, Monsieur L’Estrange. Monsieur L’Estrange, this is Frank Merriwell, the most famous American amateur athlete of the present day.”

The Frenchman accepted Frank’s proffered hand. He was as graceful in his movements as a jungle panther. About him there was an air of conscious strength and superiority, and instantly he struck Frank as a person who could not do an awkward thing or fall into an ungainly pose. His training was such, that grace and ease had become a part of his nature—not second nature, but nature itself.

“Monsieur Merriwell,” he breathed softly, “it gives me ze very great pleasure to meet wiz you, sare. I have meet very many of your famous American athletes. Eet is ze grand passion in this country. Eet is good in some ways, but eet nevare make ze feenished gentleman—nevare.”

“I agree with you on that point, monsieur,” confessed Frank; “but it fits a man for the struggle of life—it prepares him to combat with the world, and you know the success and survival of the fittest was never more in evidence, as the thing of vital importance, than at the present time.”

The eyes of the Frenchman glistened.

“Very true, sare; but mere brute strength can nevare make any man ze fittest—nevare. You theenk so? You are wrong—pardone me eef I speak ze truth plainly.”

“But I do not think so, monsieur. It takes a combination of strength and brains to make a well-balanced man.”

“And skeel—do not forget skeel. Eet is ze most important of all, sare.”

“Brains give ability, strength gives power to exercise that ability.”

“And skeel defeats ze man with strength and brains. Oh, eet does! Ze man with too much strength, with ze beeg muscles; he ees handicap against ze man with just ze propare development and no more. His beeg muscles tie him, make him awkward.”

“Again I am compelled to agree with you,” smiled Frank; “and I confess that I consider fencing the most perfect method of developing ease, grace, quickness and skill—attributes essential to any man who desires to reach the highest pinnacle of development.”

“You have ze unusual wisdom on zat point, sare,” acknowledged L’Estrange. “Eet is strange, for seldom have I met ze great athlete who did not theenk himself superior to ze expert fencer. Eet is plain you know your weakness, sare.”

Bart Hodge opened his lips to say something, but Merry checked him with a quick look.

“I have fenced a little, monsieur,” explained Frank—“enough to get an idea of its value and importance.”

“Zat ees goode. You take eet up at school—at college?”

“Yes, first at Fardale, and later I followed it up at Yale.”

“Ah! but you could not have ze propare instruction—no! no! Ze American instructor he seldom know very much about eet. He ees crude; but he have ze—ze—what you call eet? Ze swell head. He theenk he knows eet all. Oui!”

“That is a fact in many instances,” acknowledged Merriwell.

At this point Morton whispered in Bart Hodge’s ear:

“L’Estrange is started and he will bore Merriwell with talk about fencing, unless we find a way to interrupt it and break away. We must be careful not to offend him.”

There was a strange, half-hidden smile on Bart’s lips as he turned to their host.

“Let the man talk,” he said, in a low tone. “Before he is through Merry will give him the call. You may not believe it, but I doubt if the Frenchman can tell Frank anything new about fencing.”

“Oh, L’Estrange is a graduate of Joinville-le-Pont, the great government school of France.”

Morton said this as if it settled a point, and Hodge knew the man thought him presuming in fancying Frank’s information on fencing was to be compared with that of the great French master of the art.

In the meantime, all his enthusiasm aroused, L’Estrange ardently continued:

“You speak of ze brain, sare. When you fence, ze brain ees prompted to act without a moment of ze hesitation. To hesitate means to make ze failure. Ze fencer must be readee with hees wit, skill, and action, like ze flash of lightning. So ze fencer fits himself for ze struggle of life. He is full of ze resource, he is queek to detec’ ze strength or ze weakness, of an argument or situation, and he acts like electricity, sweeft and unerring. Zis make him a bettair business man zan other men.”

“Every word of this is true,” nodded Merry.

“In societee he is at perfect ease; in business he can stand ze great strain. His blood ees fresh, his tissues are firm and he has ze grand enthusiasm.”

“And enthusiasm is absolutely necessary for a man to make the best of himself,” said Frank. “The man who goes at any task with indifference is inviting failure. No matter how well he may think he knows his work, he must keep up his enthusiasm unless he is willing to see that work deteriorate. Lack of enthusiasm causes thousands to fail and fall by the wayside every year.”

“True, true, sare. I see you have ze enthusiasm of ze boy steel with you. You have nevare met with anything to dull eet.”

“Not yet; and I hope I never may.”

“To keep eet you should fence, Monsieur Merriwell. Some time eet may safe your life. Oui! Once since I come to zis country I hear a noise in ze night. I rise and go to discovare ze matter. I find ze burglaire. He attack me wiz ze knife. He was beeg and strong—ze brute! I see ze umbrellare in ze corner. I seize eet. I keep ze burglaire off. I punish heem. I thrust, hit him in ze face. I give eet to him hard. Soon he try to get away. He rush for ze door. I sprang between. I continue to administaire ze punishment. I make him drop ze knife. Ze noise have aroused ze rest of ze house. Ze police come. Ze burglaire ees marched to ze jail. Ha! If I had been ze athlete, like you, zen with hees knife ze burglaire he cut me to pieces—he keel me.”

“That was fine work,” agreed Frank.

“Not yet you are too old to acquire ze skeel. You know a leetale about eet now. That help you. Find ze French master and keep at eet. Take no one but ze French master. Ze Italian style is not so good. That has been proved many time. Ze Frenchman is cool and he stands on guard with ease. Ze Italian he will move all ze time. He jump here, there, everywhere. He crouch, he stand straight, he dodge. Every minute he seem ready to jump. He makes strange sounds in hees throat; but he is not dangerous as he seem. Did you ever hear of Jean Louis?”

“Yes; he was a famous French duelist.”

“Oui, oui! When ze French army invade Spain, in 1814, Jean Louis keeled thirteen Italian fencing masters, one after ze other. Zat profe ze superiority of ze French method, sare. Ze Italian believe strength is needed to make ze perfect fencer. That is wrong. In France manee persons of ze highest rank are wondairefully skillful in ze art, yet they are not remarkable for strength. Eet is ze light touch, ze grace, ze art, ze composure, ze ready wit that count.”

“How about duels at German colleges, like Leipzig and Heidelberg?”

“Oh, no, no, no! The German have a mixture of ze French and ze Italian method. Zey are fightaires, but zey count on ze strength, too. Years ago fencing was ze study paramount at ze great German colleges; but too manee students they are killed at eet. Ze most peaceable never was he sure of his life for one day. Later ze method change, and now eet is to cut and scar ze face of ze adversary. Ze German never have ze grace of ze French.

“You stay here, Monsieur Merriwell—you see ze finals? Well, zen you see my greatest pupil, Fred Darleton, defeat his opponent. Of Monsieur Darleton I am very proud. Oui! He is a wondaire. I belief he can defeat any American in ze country.”

Hodge made a protesting sound in his throat; but again Frank shot Bart a glance of warning.

“I shall be delighted to witness the work of Mr. Darleton,” said Merry. “It has been some time since I have fenced, Monsieur L’Estrange, and I know I must be very rusty at it; but you have reawakened my enthusiasm for the sport, and I feel like taking up the foils again. If I were to remain in Omaha any length of time, I would seek to become one of your pupils.”

L’Estrange bowed with graciousness.

“Eet would give me pleasure to instruct you, sare,” he said. “Eet would give me delight to show you ze real superiority of ze duelist, ze fencer, over ze athlete. You watch ze work of Fred Darleton to-night. Eet will delight you.”

As Morton led them away, he said:

“You got off easy, Merriwell. Once get L’Estrange aroused and he can talk a blue streak about fencing for hours. He’s really a wizard with the foils, and this fellow Darleton, of whom he spoke, is likewise a wonder. Darleton is not popular with many members in the club; but I believe that is because of his remarkable skill at cards.”

“He is a successful card player, is he?” questioned Frank.

“Altogether too successful. He makes his spending money at the game.”

“What game.”

“Poker.”

“Do you permit gambling for stakes in this club?”

“It is permitted,” confessed Morton, flushing slightly. “Of course gambling is not open here. We have a private card room for those who wish to play for stakes.”

Merry said nothing more, but he was thinking that the practice of gambling was a bad thing for any organization of that sort. It was not his place, however, to express such an opinion.

A short time later Merry and Bart were fitted out with foils, masks, and plastrons, and they prepared for a bout, both eager to discover if they retained their old-time skill at the art.

CHAPTER II
THRUST AND RIPOSTE.

That Frank retained all his old-time skill he soon demonstrated. Hodge was not in bad form, but Merry was far and away his superior, and he toyed with Bart.

Morton looked on in some surprise.

“Why, say,” he cried, “both of you chaps know the game all right! You could cut some ice at it.”

Bart smiled.

“I could have told you that Merry knew it,” he said.

“L’Estrange could make an expert of him,” declared Morton.

“Perhaps he might surprise L’Estrange,” said Hodge.

“I think he would,” nodded the host, without detecting Bart’s real meaning.

Frank and Bart went at it again. In the midst of the bout two young men sauntered up and paused, watching them with interest.

“Why,” said one, “they really know how to fence, Fred!”

“That’s right,” nodded the other. “They are not novices.”

Morton quickly stepped to the side of the two.

“These are my guests, gentlemen,” he said.

“Oh,” said the taller and darker chap, “I understand you have Merriwell and his friends in town. Is either of these fellows——”

“Yes, that one there is Frank Merriwell.”

“Introduce me when they are through. I am interested in him as an athlete, although I may not be as a fencer. Evidently he thinks himself pretty clever at this trick, but his form is not correct, and he makes a number of false moves.”

Bart Hodge heard these words distinctly, and he lowered his foil, turning to survey the speaker.

“You see, Darleton!” muttered Morton resentfully. “They have heard you!”

Darleton shrugged his shoulders.

To cover his confusion, Morton hastened to introduce Darleton and his companion, Grant Hardy, to Frank and Bart.

“Mr. Darleton,” said Merry, “glad to know you. I’ve just been hearing about you from your fencing instructor.”

“Have you?” said Darleton, with a quite superior air. “I’m afraid Monsieur L’Estrange has been boasting about me, as usual. Just because I happened to be particularly apt as a pupil, he is inclined to puff me on every occasion. I don’t fancy it, you know, but I can’t seem to prevent it. People will begin to think me quite a wonder if he doesn’t stop overrating me.”

“But he doesn’t overrate you, my dear fellow,” quickly put in Grant Hardy. “I’ve seen you hold L’Estrange himself at something like even play, and he is a wizard.”

Hodge laughed a bit.

“Why do you laugh?” asked Hardy, with a flash of resentment. “Do you think——”

“I laughed over Mr. Darleton’s modesty,” said Hodge. “It is useless for him to seek to conceal the truth from us in that manner. He is quite the wonder of this club.”

Hardy missed the sarcasm hidden in Bart’s words and his face cleared.

Darleton, however, was not so obtuse, and he surveyed Bart searchingly, a flush creeping into his cheeks.

“I observe that you fence after a fashion, Mr. Hodge,” said Darleton, and the passing breath of insult lay in his manner of saying “after a fashion.”

“Oh, not at all!” protested Hodge; “but I assure you that my friend Merriwell can put up something of an argument at it when he is in his best form.”

“Indeed?” smiled Darleton, lifting his eyebrows. “Then I am led to infer that he is not in his best form just now.”

“What leads you to infer that?”

“Oh, your manner of speaking the words, of course. I would not comment on what I have seen him do.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“No, indeed.”

“Sometimes our ears deceive us,” said Bart; “but I fancied I did hear you—never mind that.”

He broke off abruptly, but he had informed Darleton that his words, spoken when he first appeared on the scene, had been overheard.

Darleton shrugged his shoulders, a gesture he had caught from his French instructor.

“Fancy leads us into grave mistakes at times,” he said. “It should not be permitted to run away with us. Now, I have known fellows who fancied they could fence, but very few of them have been able to make much of a go at it.”

This was a sly thrust at Merry. Frank looked pleasant and nodded.

“I have even known instructors to be deceived in the skill of their pupils,” he remarked, reaching home and scoring heavily.

This reply brought the blood flashing once more to Darleton’s cheeks.

“In case you were the pupil,” said the fencer, instantly, “no instructor could feel the least doubt in regard to your skill.”

His words plainly implied that he meant lack of skill, although he was not that blunt.

“Although you are not inclined to comment on the work of another,” returned Merry; “it is evident that your observation is keen, and with you, one’s back might not be as safe as his face.”

This was a coup, for Darleton lost his temper, showing how sharply he had been hit.

“I’ll not pass words with you, Mr. Merriwell,” he exclaimed, “as I am not inclined to waste my breath uselessly. If at any time while you are here you feel inclined to demonstrate what you can really do—or think you can do—you will find me at your service.”

Hodge stiffened. It was a challenge.

“Thank you for your kindness,” smiled Frank, perfectly at his ease. “I may take you at your word later on.”

Darleton and Hardy turned away.

“He may,” observed Hardy, speaking to his companion, but making sure Frank could not fail to hear, “yet I doubt it.”

Hodge seized Frank’s arm, fairly quivering with excitement.

“You’re challenged, Merry!” he panted. “You must accept! Don’t let him off! Teach the fellow a lesson!”

“Steady, Bart,” said Merriwell softly. “There is plenty of time. Don’t fly up like this. Do you want to see me defeated?”

“No! He can’t defeat you!”

“How do you know?”

Hodge stared at Frank in doubt and astonishment.

“Is it possible you are afraid to face him?” he gasped.

“I don’t think so; but you should remember that he is in perfect form and condition, while I am rusty. In order to meet him and do my best I must practice. That I shall do. Wait. I promise you satisfaction—and Mr. Darleton the same!”

CHAPTER III
GETTING INTO TRIM.

Bart Hodge was not aware that Frank had been so thoroughly aroused; but when he was called to Merry’s room in the hotel that day after lunch and found two complete fencing outfits there—foils, masks, jackets, and gauntlet gloves—he realized that there was “something doing.”

Frank closed and locked the door.

“Strip down and make ready,” he said grimly. “I’m going to brush up and get in condition, and you are the victim.”

“I’m happy to be the victim now,” declared Bart; “in case Mr. Darleton is the victim later.”

Something more than an hour later the comrades were resting after a bath and rub down. Bart’s eyes shone and his dark, handsome face wore an expression of great satisfaction.

“You may be rusty, Merry,” he observed; “but I fail to see it. I swear you fenced better to-day than ever before in all your life.”

“You think so, Bart; but I can’t believe that. A man can’t be at his best at fencing, any more than at billiards, unless he is in constant practice.”

“Oh, I know I’ve gone back; but you have not. I’ll wager my life you can give Fred Darleton all he is looking for.”

“It would be a pleasure to me,” confessed Frank. “Somehow he irritated me strangely.”

“I’d never supposed it by your manner.”

“If I had lost my temper I should have been defeated. Mr. Darleton has a temper, and I shall count on it leading to his downfall, in case we meet.”

“You’ll meet, for you are challenged. He thinks you a mark, Merry. He’ll be overconfident.”

“Another thing I count on as aiding me. Overconfidence is quite as bad as lack of confidence. Darleton has been praised too much, and he believes he is very nearly perfect as a fencer. A defeat now will either make or mar him. If defeated, he will either set about working harder to acquire further accomplishment, or he will quit.”

“I believe he’ll quit.”

“I don’t know.”

“I don’t like him, Merry.”

“There is something about him that I do not fancy, myself. I’ve not seen him enough to judge what it is. I’ve tried to think it might be his freshness in shooting his mouth the way he did; but something asserts that I should have disliked him had he kept his mouth closed. He has an air of directness; but behind it there is a touch of cunning and craft that stamps him as crooked. I may sympathize with a weak chap who goes crooked through temptation; but I have no sympathy for a sly rascal who is dishonest with deliberation. If Darleton is naturally honest, I have misjudged him.”

There came a heavy knock on the door and the sound of voices outside.

Bart unlocked the door, and Joe Gamp stalked in, followed by Jack Ready, Hans Dunnerwurst, and Jim Stretcher, all of Merriwell’s party.

“Ding this tut-tut-tut-tut-tut——” began Joe.

“Tut, tut!” interrupted Jack. “Eliminate repetitions from your profuse flow of language, Joseph.”

Gamp flourished his fist in the air and began again:

“Ding this tut-tut-tut-tut-tut-tut——”

“Whistle, Joe—whistle!” advised Frank.

Whereupon the tall chap recommenced:

“Ding this tut-tut-tut—whistle—town! It’s all up hill and dud-dud-dud—whistle—down!”

“Oh, Joseph, you’re a poet!” exclaimed Ready.

“Yah,” said Dunnerwurst gravely, “oudt uf him boetry flows like a sbarkling rifer.”

“We have decided in solemn conclave,” said Ready, “that the streets of this prosperous Western burgh are exceedingly soiled.”

“Und some of them been stood their end onto,” put in Hans.

“It’s hard to keep your fuf-fuf-fuf—whistle—feet from slipping in the sus-sus-sus—whistle—street,” added Gamp.

“There he goes again!” burst from Ready. “I never suspected it of him. Crown him with laurels and adorn him with bays.”

“What is the difference between the bay and the laurel, Jack?” laughed Frank.

“Ask me not at this unpropitious moment,” entreated the odd fellow. “We have been meandering hither and yon over Omaha—yea verily, we have been even as far as the stockyards of South Omaha. We have waded across streets that were guiltless of being cleaned even since the day they were paved. We have ascended streets which led into the clouds, and we have descended others which led into the gorges and valleys. We have gazed in awe upon the courthouse, with blind justice standing on its battlements, balances in hand. We have seen the post office and expressed our admiration. Alas and alack, we are wearied! We fain would rest. Omaha is all right for those who think so; but some day she will rise and butcher her street-cleaning department. She will be justified. I have spoke.”

With this he dropped on a chair and fanned himself weakly.

“What have you fellows been dud-dud-doing?” inquired Gamp, noticing for the first time that the boys were in bath robes and that fencing paraphernalia was scattered about the room.

Frank explained that they had been fencing.

“Jee-whickers!” cried Joe. “You used to be pretty good at it when you were at cuc-cuc-college. You were the champion fuf-fuf-fuf-fencer at Yale, all right.”

“He’s just as good to-day as he ever was,” declared Bart; “and Mr. Darleton will find out that is good enough.”

“Who’s Darleton?” asked Stretcher.

Then they were told about the affair at the club, which quickly awoke their interest.

“Omaha takes on new fascination for me,” averred Ready. “I felt like folding my tent and stealing away a short time ago; but if Merry is going against some gentleman with the inflated cranium in this burgh, I shall linger with great glee to watch the outcome.”

“You talk the way a cub reporter writes, Ready,” said Stretcher. “Big words sound good to you, but if you know what you’re saying you’ll have to show me.”

“I shall refrain from exerting myself to that extent, my boy,” retorted Jack. “It’s not worth while.”

“Where are the rest of the boys?” asked Frank.

“Scattered broadcast over the mountains and valleys of Omaha,” answered Ready. “Fear not for them; they will return in due time.”

“How does Omaha strike you, Jim?” inquired Merriwell.

“She ain’t in it much compared with Kansas City,” said Stretcher. “We have some hills there, you know. I’ve yet to see any country that can get away from old Missouri. When you get ahead of Missouri, you’ll have to hurry.”

“It does me good to see a chap who will stand up for his native State,” said Merry, winking at some of the others but maintaining a grave face before Stretcher. “Of course Missouri may have her drawbacks, but we all know she is a land of fertility and——”

“Fertility!” cried Jim enthusiastically. “You bet! Crops grow overnight there. Yes, sir, that’s straight. It’s perfectly astonishing how things grow. As an illustration, when I was about seven years old my mother gave me some morning-glory seeds to plant. I always did love the morning-glory flower. I thought it would be a grand thing to plant the seeds beneath my chamber window, where I could look forth each morning on rising and revel in the beauty of the purple blossoms. I got busy and stuck the seeds into the ground one afternoon about five o’clock. I knew the soil was particularly rich right there, and I counted on the vines growing fast, so I lost no time in stringing a number of cords from the ground right up to my window.

“That night when I went to bed I wondered if the seeds would be sprouted when I rose the following morning. It was warm weather, and I slept with my window open. I suppose I kicked the bedclothes off. Some time in the night I felt something pushing me, but I was too sleepy to wake up. About daylight I woke up suddenly, for something pushed me out of bed onto the floor. I jumped up and looked to see what was the matter. Fellows, you won’t believe it, but the vine—or, rather, a profusion of vines—had grown all the way up to my window in the night, had found the window open, had come into the room, and, being tired from its exertion in growing so hard, I presume, had climbed into my bed and pushed me out.”

A profound silence was broken by Dunnerwurst, who gurgled:

“Uf I faint, vill somebody blease throw me on some vater!”

“Stretcher,” said Merry, “I don’t suppose there is ever anything in your State that is not grand and superior? There are no drawbacks to Missouri? Soil, climate, people—all are of the first quality?”

“Oh,” said Jim, with an air of modesty, “I presume any part of the country has its drawbacks. The soil of Missouri is magnificent and the climate superb—as a rule. I presume there are sterile spots within the boundaries of the State, and I have experienced some unpleasant weather. The winter that old Jake died was unusually severe.”

“Who was Jake?”

“A mule, and the dumb companion of my innocent boyhood. You see, I always wanted a dog. Lots of boys I knew had dogs. Tom Jones had a shepherd, Pete Boogers had a collie, Muck Robbins had a yaller cur, and Runt Hatch had two bull purps. I pestered paw for a dog. He didn’t have any use for dogs, and he wouldn’t give me one. I told him I must have a pet of some kind. ‘All right, Jim,’ says he, ‘if you want a pet, there’s Jake, our old mule, you may have him.’ Now, Jake was pretty well used up. He was spavined and chest foundered and so thin his slats were coming through his hide. He wasn’t beautiful, but he had been a faithful old creature, and paw was disinclined to kill him. He thought it was a great joke to give me Jake for a pet; but I was just yearning for something on which I could lavish my affection, and I began to pour it out on Jake.

“I petted the old boy, gave him good feed, took him into the cowshed nights, and did my best to make him generally comfortable. Jake appreciated it. You may think dumb creatures, and mules in particular, have no sense of gratitude, but such is not the case. Jake understood me, and I did him. I could actually read his thoughts. Yes, sir, it’s a fact. At first paw grinned over it and tried to joke me about Jake; but after a while he got tired of having his best feed given that old mule and finding the animal bedded down in the cowshed. He said it would have to stop. Then he got mad and turned Jake out to pick for himself. I brought Jake back twice, but both times paw raised a fuss, and the last time, he got so blazing mad he swore he’d knock the mule in the head if I did it again.

“That was in the fall, with winter coming on. I tried to plead with paw; but it was no go. He said Jake would have to shift for himself in the open. Jake used to come up to the lower fence and call to me melodiously in the gloaming, and I would slip down and pat him and talk to him and sympathize with him. But I didn’t dare do anything more. Well, that winter was a tough one. Never had so much cold weather packed into one winter before that. Jake suffered from exposure, and my heart bled for him. He grew thinner and thinner and sadder and sadder. Paw’s heart was like flint, and I couldn’t do anything. Jake hated snowstorms. Every time one came he thought it would be his last; but somehow he worried through them all until the snow went off and spring set in. Then Jake brightened up some and seemed more like himself.

“But late in the spring another cold spell struck in. It was near the first of May. In the midst of that cold spell our barn got afire one night. When Jake saw that fire, he says to himself, ‘Here’s my chance to get warm all the way through.’ He found a weak spot in the fence and got over it, after which he waltzed up to the barn and stood there, warming first one side and then the other by the heat and enjoying himself.

“We had a heap of corn stored in the barn. After a while the roof of the barn burned off and the fire got to the corn. When this happened the corn began to pop and fly into the air. It popped faster and faster and flew high into the air, coming down in a great shower. Jake looked up and saw the air plumb full of great, white flakes of popped corn. The poor, old mule gave a great groan of anguish. ‘I’ve lasted through twenty-one snowstorms this winter,’ says he, with tears in his eyes; ‘but this one is my finish.’ Then he lay right down where he was and gave up the struggle. In the morning we found him frozen stiff.”

Ready sobbed and wiped his eyes.

“How pathetic!” he exclaimed chokingly.

“Poor Shake!” gurgled Hans.

“That story should be entitled ‘The Tale of a Mule,’” observed Frank.

“It is evident,” said Bart, “that Missouri mules are sometimes more intelligent than the inhabitants of the State.”

“Oh, we have some dull people, of course,” admitted Jim. “I remember the janitor at our old school—he was a trifle dull. Poor old Mullen! One day he threw up his job. They asked him why he did it. Says he: ‘I’m honest, and I won’t stand being slurred.’ He was pressed to explain. ‘Why,’ he exclaimed, ‘when I’m sweeping out, if I happen to find a handkerchief or any little thing, I hang it up, like an honest man. Every now and then the teacher, or somebody who hasn’t the nerve to face me, gives me a slur. A few days ago I come in one mornin’ and I seen writ on the blackboard: “Find the least common multiple.” Well, I just went searching the place over from top to bottom, but I couldn’t find a sign of the old thing anywhere. I don’t believe nobody lost it. That made me sore, but I stood for it all right. Yesterday mornin’ in great big letters there was writ on the blackboard: “Find the greatest common divisor.” Says I to myself: “Now, both of them blamed things is lost, and I’ll be charged with swipin’ ’em.” And I throwed up my job.’”

They laughed heartily over this story, and, having aroused their risibilities at last, Jim seemed satisfied.

CHAPTER IV
DARLETON’S CHALLENGE.

It was the night of the “finals” at the Midwestern, and the clubrooms were thronged. Frank and all his friends were there. Morton had introduced them to many well-known young men of the prosperous Nebraska city, and they were being made to feel quite at home.

Much of the general conversation concerned the coming bouts. Opinions were freely expressed as to the abilities and merits of different contestants and there was much good-natured argument and banter.

There was also not a little quiet betting.

In one of the big main rooms of the club, Merry met three Yale men, who expressed their delight at seeing him there. While he was talking with them François L’Estrange came up. The Frenchman knew them also, and he paused to shake hands all round.

“What’s the matter, L’Estrange?” asked one. “You seem rather downcast and troubled over something.”

The fencing master shrugged his shoulders.

“Eet is unfortunate,” he declared. “I haf to geef you ze information zat there will be no fencing zis night.”

“Why, how is that?” they exclaimed.

“Meestare Marlowe, who was to meet Meestare Darleton, ees not here.”

“Not here?”

“No.”

“Where is he?”

“He haf sent ze word zat he is very ill.”

“Cold feet!” cried one of the gentlemen. “That’s what’s the matter! Marlowe squeals!”

“Sure thing!” agreed another. “It’s a shame, but he has made a clean backdown.”

“He was all right last night. I saw him then,” put in the third gentleman.

“Eet is very strange,” said L’Estrange regretfully. “I understand eet not why he should haf ze cold feet and be ill. I suppose ze cold feet ees unpleasant, but zey should not make him squeal.”

“What we mean,” explained the first gentleman, “is that he is afraid to meet Darleton. He has defeated every opponent in the contests, and it has been his boast that he would defeat Darleton. His nerve failed him.”

“Eet ruin ze sport for zis night,” declared the fencing master. “Zere ees no one who is for Meestare Darleton ze efen match, so zere will be no fencing.”

At this point Darleton himself, accompanied as usual by his chum, Grant Hardy, came pushing through the throng, espied L’Estrange and hurried up.

“I’ve been looking for you, professor!” he exclaimed. “What’s this about Marlowe? Is it true that he has quit?”

“Eet is true.”

“Well, that’s just about the sort I took him to be!” cried Darleton angrily. “He’s a great case of bluff! He’s a bag of wind! He’s a quitter! He knew I’d defeat him. Now, what are we going to do?”

“Zere is nothing we can do,” answered the fencing master regretfully.

“And our go was to be the feature to-night. Every one will be disappointed. It’s a shame. Besides that, Marlowe had no right not to give me a chance to show him up. I meant to put it all over him, the slob!”

Darleton’s chagrin over his lost opportunity to “put it all over” the other fellow seemed to lead him into a complete loss of temper, and he indulged in language which on any occasion he would have condemned in another.

Suddenly his eyes fell on Frank Merriwell, and a peculiar expression came to his face.

“Why, here is the great athlete who fancies he is something of a fencer,” he said. “Good evening, Mr. Merriwell. I suppose you came to see me outpoint Marlowe? Well, you will be disappointed, I regret to say.”

Hodge was near, and the words and manner of Darleton had caused him to bridle until he was on the point of exploding.

“I regret very much,” said Merry quietly, “that we shall not have the pleasure of witnessing the fencing bout between you and Mr. Marlowe, sir.”

He was calm, polite, and reserved.

L’Estrange spoke up:

“I suppose we might geef ze exhibition ourselves, Meestare Darleton,” he said. “Zat might please ze spectators bettaire than nothing.”

“But it would not be like a bout in which there was an element of uncertainty. Every one would know you could defeat me easily if you cared to. If I counted on you I’d win no credit, for they would say you permitted me to do it.”

The desire of the fellow for applause and his thirst to display his skill by defeating some one was all too evident.

Suddenly he turned sharply to again face Frank.

“How about you?” he asked.

Merry lifted his eyebrows.

Hodge felt a tingling, for he realized that an open challenge was coming.

“About me?” repeated Frank questioningly.

“Yes, how about you? You think you can fence.”

“I have fenced—a little.”

“I was told to-day that you are a champion at everything you undertake. That’s ridiculous if you undertake many things. You have undertaken fencing. Well, I’d like to convince some people that there is one thing at which you are not much of a champion.”

“Would you?” asked Merry, smiling pleasantly.

“Indeed I would. The crowd wants to see a fencing bout to-night. Marlowe has taken water. He isn’t here. You are here. Of course we can’t fence for honors in the series, as you have not been engaged in previous contests. All the same, we can give an exhibition go. There will be an element of uncertainty about it. What do you say?”

“Why, I don’t know——” came slowly from Merry, as if he hesitated over it.

“Oh, if you’re afraid,” sneered Darleton—“if you haven’t the nerve, that’s different.”

A strange, smothered growl was choked back in the throat of Bart Hodge.

“I don’t believe I am afraid of you,” said Frank, with the same deliberate manner. “I was thinking that such an affair would be quite irregular if interpolated with the finals.”

“Don’t worry about that. If you are willing to meet me, I’ll fix it.”

“Of course I’m willing, but——”

“That settles it!” cried Darleton triumphantly. “You hear him, gentlemen. He’s ready to fence me. He can’t back out.”

“As if he would want to back out!” muttered Bart Hodge softly. “You’ll get all you’re looking for to-night, Mr. Darleton.”

CHAPTER V
THE FENCING BOUT.

“On guard, gentlemen!”

It was the voice of François L’Estrange.

The regular finals were over. As a finish to the evening’s entertainment, the announcer had stated that, in order not to disappoint those who had expected to witness a fencing contest, an arrangement had been made whereby Frank Merriwell, a guest of the club, would meet the club’s champion, Fred Darleton.

Darleton had appeared first on the raised platform and had been greeted by hearty applause.

Then came Merriwell, and the applause accorded him was no less generous.

The preliminaries were quickly arranged.

L’Estrange was agreed on as the referee.

“On guard, gentlemen!” he commanded.

At the word the contestants faced each other, and then they went through the graceful movements of coming on guard, their foils sweeping through the air. Simultaneously they advanced their right feet and were ready.

“Engage!”

The foils met with a soft clash and the bout had begun.

The great gathering of spectators packed on the four sides of the raised platform were hushed and breathless. They saw before them two splendid specimens of youthful manhood. Between them it was indeed no easy thing to make a hasty choice. Both were graceful as panthers and both seemed perfectly at home and fully confident. Frank’s face was grave and pleasant, while Darleton wore a faint smile that bespoke his perfect trust in himself.

Frank’s friends were all together in a body. Among them Harry Rattleton was the only one who expressed anxiety.

“I know Merry could do that fellow ordinarily,” said Rattles, in a whisper; “but I fear he’s out of trim now. Darleton is in perfect practice, and he will bet the guest of Merry—I mean get the best of him!”

“Don’t you believe it!” hissed Hodge. “Don’t you ever think such a thing for a second! Merry may not be at his best, but he is that fellow’s master. He has enough skill to hold Darleton even, and he has the master mind. The master mind will conquer.”

“I hope you’re right,” said Harry; “but I’m afraid.”

“Don’t be afraid!” growled Browning, also aroused. “You make me tired!”

Thus crushed, Rattles relapsed into silence, but he watched with great anxiety, fearing the outcome.

At the outset the two fencers seemed “feeling each other”—that is, each tried to test the skill, technique and versatility of his opponent. Both were calm, cool and calculating, yet quick as a flash to meet and checkmate any fresh mode of attack.

Ordinarily the spectators might have become impatient over this “fiddling,” but on this occasion all seemed to realize the fencers were working up to the point of genuine struggle by exploring each other’s methods. Besides that the two displayed variety and change enough to maintain unwearied interest in these preliminaries to the real struggle.

The eyes of François L’Estrange took on a light of keener interest as the bout progressed. He watched the stranger from the first, having confidence in the ability of his pupil, and silently praying from the outset that Merriwell would not be too easily overcome. Satisfaction, not anxiety, took possession of him as he began to realize that Frank possessed unusual knowledge of the art, and was capable of putting that knowledge to clever use. The Frenchman continued to believe that Darleton would finish the victor.

The two young men advanced, retreated, circled, feinted, engaged, disengaged—all the time on the alert for the moment when one or the other should launch himself into the encounter in earnest. The foils clicked and hissed, now high, now low. At intervals the fencers stamped lightly with the foot advanced.

“Mon Dieu!” muttered L’Estrange, still watching Merriwell. “Who taught him so much!”

Suddenly, like a throb of electricity, Darleton made a direct lunge—and the real engagement was on.

L’Estrange’s pupil was led into the lunge through the belief that Merry had exposed himself unconsciously in the line in which he was engaged.

Quick as the fellow was, it seemed that Frank had known what to expect. He made no sweeping parry, but, quicker than the eye could follow, he altered the position of his foil by fingering and turned Darleton’s lunge. Following this with almost incredible swiftness, Merry scored fair and full in quinte.

L’Estrange suppressed an exclamation of displeasure, for he realized his pupil had been decoyed and led to expose himself. Too much confidence in himself and too little regard for the skill of his opponent had caused Darleton to give Merry this chance to score.

“Touch!” exclaimed Darleton, with a mingling of surprise and dismay.

He recovered instantly, a bitter expression settling about his tightened lips.

“So you fooled me!” he thought. “I’ll pay you for that! It may be your undoing, Mr. Merriwell!”

He believed Frank would become overconfident through this early success; but he did not know Merriwell, whose observation and experience had long ago told him that overconfidence was the rock on which many a chap has stranded in sight of victory.

Darleton was in earnest, now; there was no more fooling. He sought for an opening. Failing to find it, he tried to lead Frank into attacking and leaving an opening.

Merry pretended to attack, but it was only a feint. When Darleton parried and tried the riposte, his thrust was met and turned. Then Frank attacked in earnest, and his button caught his opponent in tierce.

Darleton leaped away, but did not acknowledge the touch. Instead, he claimed that Merriwell had simply reached his right shoulder, which did not count.

L’Estrange’s pupil was white to the lips now. He could not understand why he had failed, and he felt that there must be many among the spectators who would maintain that he had been unfair in claiming he was not fairly touched the second time.

The dismay of the pupil was no greater than that of his instructor. L’Estrange was angry. In French he hissed a warning at Darleton, urging him to be more cautious and to try his antagonist in another style.

Frank understood French even better than Darleton, and he was warned of what to expect.

Therefore when the Midwestern man sought an opening by “absence,” Merry declined to spring into the trap and expose himself. To many it seemed that the visitor lost a chance to score, but all were aware that he prevented Darleton from counting when the latter followed the “absence” by a flashing thrust. This thrust was turned, but Darleton had learned his lesson, and he recovered and was on guard so suddenly Frank found no advantageous opening.

Although his pupil had failed to score, L’Estrange showed some satisfaction, for he saw that Darleton was now awake to the danger of failing to cover himself instantly after an attack of any kind. At last the Omaha man knew he would have to exert himself to the utmost to defeat the stranger he had held in scornful contempt.

“Now he knows!” whispered L’Estrange to himself. “Now he will defeat Merriwell with ease!”

A moment later Darleton met and turned a fierce attack. Then he counted cleanly.

“Touch!” cried Frank promptly.

Harry Rattleton gave a gasp of dismay.

“I knew it!” he palpitated. “You see I’m right! He’ll win over Merry!”

“You’d better go die!” grated Hodge. “Frank has counted on him twice already!”

“Only once.”

“Only once acknowledged, but Merry counted twice, just the same.”

“Either time,” declared Morgan, “would have ended the affair in a genuine duel.”

“Sure!” growled Browning.

“But not in this sort of an encounter,” said Harry. “Here a touch is a touch, and Darleton is on even terms with Merry now.”

After this none of them paid much attention to Harry’s fears, as he expressed them. They were wholly absorbed in the cleverness of the two young men on the platform, who were circling, feinting, attacking, parrying and constantly watching for an opening or seeking to create one through some trick or artifice.

Three times Darleton sought to reach Frank and failed, but each time he prevented a successful riposte on the part of Merry. He was at his very best, and for a few moments his skill seemed superior to that of the visitor.

The shadow that had clouded the face of L’Estrange passed away. Confidence came to him. Once he had feared that his pupil might be outmatched, but this fear troubled him no longer. Darleton was forcing the work, but he was keeping himself well in hand and effectually covered all the while.

Finally the Midwestern man made a flashing cut-over and scored.

“Touch!” cried Merry again.

“I knew it!” half sobbed Rattleton.

A bit later the timekeeper announced the expiration of two minutes, whereupon Merry and Darleton changed positions.

During the first half of the bout, according to acknowledged touches, Darleton had taken the lead.

The Midwestern man began the second half by pressing Frank. He was satisfied that he could win, although experience had warned him that he could not win as easily as he had fancied before the engagement began.

For at least thirty seconds he kept Merry busy, and in that time he secured another touch.

Rattleton was almost in tears. He felt that he must leave the room. He could not bear to remain and see Frank defeated.

Darleton believed he had sounded Merry thoroughly and knew his style. He was on guard for every method displayed by the visitor up to this point.

But now, of a sudden, Frank attacked in a new line. He seemed to attempt a “beat.” When Darleton parried the first light thrust following the “beat,” Frank quickly changed to another point of attack and made a “re-beat” as his opponent met him. He followed with a second stroke that was quicker and harder than the first and reached home effectively.

Darleton showed a slight trace of confusion, but he was compelled to acknowledge the touch.

They now engaged in tierce; but in a twinkling Merry executed a double. He feinted a disengage into quinte. Darleton executed a counter, upon which Merry lifted the point of his weapon and circled round his opponent’s counter with a counter disengage, which brought him back into quinte, the line from which it was intended that he should be shut. Only by marvelously swift work did Darleton prevent himself from being scored upon.

Right on top of this Merry again executed the “re-beat” and scored.

The face of the Midwestern man flamed scarlet and then grew pale. His eyes burned with a light of anger that he could repress only with difficulty. Twice he had been outgeneraled, and he knew it.

In a twinkling the cloud returned to the face of François L’Estrange. His lips parted, but he did not speak.

“I knew he would do it!” muttered Bart Hodge, in satisfaction. “Keep your eyes on Merry! He’s getting there now!”

Darleton realized that he was losing his advantage. He sought to recover by feinting in high lines and attacking instantly in low lines. In this effort he placed himself at a disadvantage, for Merry seemed to read his mind and met him effectively.

Again Frank scored, but, in getting away, he appeared to lose his balance.

Darleton followed up.

Down went Merry, falling on his left hand, and Darleton uttered an exclamation of triumph as he attempted to count.

With a twist of his wrist, Frank parried the stroke. His left arm flung him up with a spring.

Dismayed and annoyed by his failure to improve such an opening, Darleton closed in and the fencers came corps-a-corps.

Immediately L’Estrange separated them.

Merriwell won a great burst of applause by the clever manner in which he had extricated himself from a position that seemed almost defenseless.

L’Estrange said nothing to his pupil, but their eyes met, and something in that glance stirred all the resentment in Darleton’s soul. It was a reproof. He saw that the fencing master was disappointed in him.

A concentrated fury took possession of Darleton. He went after Frank as if thirsting for his gore. The savageness of his attack would have overcome one less skillful and self-poised.

It did not overcome Frank. On the other hand, Merry turned his opponent’s fierceness to a disadvantage. He was not flustered or worried. He met every attack, and in rapid succession he began counting on the Midwestern man.

Darleton closed his lips and refused to acknowledge a touch.

Seeing this, L’Estrange finally began declaring each touch as two for the visitor.

The superiority of Merriwell was now apparent to every spectator who was not prejudiced, and round after round of applause greeted his beautiful work.

Darleton thrust furiously. Down went Frank, but he dropped lightly after having retreated. His right foot had made a long forward step, and barely two fingers of his left hand touched the floor. At the same moment he thrust and reached his opponent. In a twinkling he was erect and ready, if Darleton sought to secure a riposte.

From apprehension and fear Rattleton turned to delight and exultation.

“Frank is winning!” he exclaimed joyously. “He’s the best man!”

“Shut up!” hissed Hodge. “Don’t let everybody know you had any doubt about it!”

“Of course he’s the best man,” grunted Browning.

The real truth was that in mere knowledge of fencing Merry was not greatly Darleton’s superior, but in strategy, originality and mastery of himself he was far and away the superior. As well as a finely trained body, he had a finely trained mind. It was this master mind that was conquering.

Merry had not only probed Darleton’s weaknesses in the art of fencing, he had at the same time discovered his weaknesses in the art of self-mastery. And no man who cannot master himself can hope to master others of equal mental and physical equipment.

Merriwell had perfected his plan of campaign, as a great general prepares and perfects a plan of battle.

This he had done after sounding the strength and limitations of his antagonist. This plan in one or two details did not work out as prepared; but, like a successful general, he was resourceful, and when one style of assault was repulsed he changed swiftly, almost instantly, to another style that surprised and confounded the enemy and brought about the desired result.

In this manner he soon turned Darleton’s attack into defense, while he became the real assailant. He resorted to all the arts of which he felt himself the master. The failure of one method of assault did not lead him to permanently abandon that method, although he quickly turned to some other. At an unexpected moment he returned to the first attempted effort, making the change when least expected, and, in most cases, was successful the second time.

His success confounded and infuriated Darleton, who had entered into the contest in perfect belief that the outcome would be applause and glory for himself. The confidence of the Midwestern man fled from him and left him trembling with rage and chagrin.

At first on realizing that Merriwell was getting the best of the match toward the close, Darleton had fancied he might put up such defense that the visitor would be held in check to some extent, thinking if he did this that L’Estrange, out of self-pride and disinclination to confess his pupil outmatched, would give him the decision.

But when the spectators began to shout and cheer for Merriwell, Darleton realized that his case was hopeless. In the face of all this the fencing master could not give him the decision.

From this time to the finish, Merriwell seemed able to count on his antagonist at will. Frank gave the fellow no chance to recover, but pressed him persistently to the finish. Before the engagement was over Darleton quite lost his form and sought to score by stabbing and jabbing much like a beginner.

The timekeeper announced the finish.

Frank lowered his foil.

With savage fury, Darleton swung and slapped him across the mask, using such force that Merry was staggered.

From the witnesses a shout arose, followed by a volley of hisses and cries of, “Shame! shame! Dirty work!”

François L’Estrange sprang forward and snatched the bent foil from his pupil’s hand. Then he faced the audience and made a gesture that silenced their cries.

“Gentlemen,” he said, “I make not ze excuse for Meestare Darleton. He met ze defeat by Meestare Merriwell, an’ ze loss of his tempare made him forget to be ze gentleman. Meestare Merriwell is ze very fine fencer. He win ze match.”

Saying which, he wheeled and grasped Frank’s hand, which he shook heartily, while the room resounded with a thunder of applause.

CHAPTER VI
A FORCED APOLOGY.

“Merriwell, you astounded this club to-night,” said Hugh Morton, as Frank was finishing dressing, after a shower and rub down. “No one here expected you to defeat Fred Darleton. Any member of the club would have wagered two to one on Darleton. He acted like a cur when he struck you with his foil. Every one, except his own particular clique, is down on him for that. We regret very much that it happened, and the president of the club is waiting to offer apologies.”

“I’m not looking for apologies,” smiled Merry. “The club was not responsible for Darleton’s act.”

“But we feel greatly humiliated by it. He will be severely censured. He may be expelled.”

“Oh, that’s too much! I must protest against such an extreme measure.”

“He deserves to be expelled,” put in Hodge.

“You are right,” agreed Morton. “Between us, I believe it would be a good thing for the club.”

“How so?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

In the reception room of the club there was a great gathering waiting to get another look at Frank. The president of the club met him as he appeared and hastened to express regrets over the action of Darleton at the finish of the bout. Frank was sincere in making excuses for his late antagonist.

“But Darleton must apologize,” declared the president. “We cannot have any visitor insulted in such a manner without seeing that an apology is made.”

“I haven’t asked for an apology on my account.”

“We demand it on our own account. He has been told that he must apologize publicly, as the insult was offered publicly.”

“Well, he’ll find me ready to pardon him freely and just as willing to forget the occurrence.”

“You are generous, Mr. Merriwell.”

During the next thirty minutes Merry was kept busy shaking hands with those who were eager to express their good will.

That night in Omaha he made a host of admirers and friends who would never forget him, and who would ever stand ready to uphold him on any occasion.

Many of those present seemed lingering for something. A few departed, but the majority waited on.

Finally Fred Darleton, accompanied by Grant Hardy and followed by a number of boon companions, entered the room.

Darleton was pale and nervous. He glanced about the place, and an expression of resentment passed over his face as he noted the number who had lingered. For a moment he seemed to hesitate; then he advanced toward Frank, who sat near the centre of the room, with his comrades and the club members about him.

Merry rose as he saw his late opponent.

“Mr. Merriwell,” said Darleton, in a low tone, his words being almost inaudible at a distance of ten feet, “I have to offer you an apology for my hasty act of anger in striking you across the mask with my foil.”

“That’s all right,” declared Frank. “Forget it, Darleton.”

Merry offered his hand.

Darleton pretended he did not see this, and turned away at once.

Frank smiled and dropped his hand; but Bart Hodge gave vent to a suppressed exclamation of anger.

The action of the defeated fencer in declining to shake hands with his conqueror was noted by all in the room, and most of them felt annoyed and disgusted by this added slight after the forced apology.

Darleton left the room, without glancing to the right or left, and his companions followed closely.

“I knew he was a cur!” said Hodge, in a low, harsh tone.

The president and other members were annoyed and chagrined, but Frank found a method of passing the matter over by quickly awakening a discussion concerning the bouts of the finals.

A few minutes later François L’Estrange appeared. He advanced swiftly and grasped Frank’s hand.

“My dear sare,” he cried, “you give me ze very great astonishment to-night. You are ze—ze—what you call it?—ze Jim Dandy! Oui! You nevare learn so much about ze foil in ze American college. Eet is impossible!”

“Well,” smiled Merry, “I don’t think I told you I obtained all my knowledge and skill at college.”

“You mention ze school first. You begin young. Zat ees good! Zat is splendid! Zat ees ze way to make ze feenish fencer, ze same as ze feenish musician or ze feenish beelyarde player. But ze school, ze college, both together zey never gif you all you know. You have ze command, ze skill, ze technique! Eef you choose, sare, you make ze master fencer.”

“Thank you, professor,” said Merry. “I fear you are flattering me.”

“O-oo, no, no! I spik ze truth! You have traveled?”

“Yes.”

“You have visited France?”

“Yes.”

“I knew eet! In France you take ze fencing lesson from some famous master of ze art. You have ze French method. I do not say you have eet yet to completeness. I belief I could advance you to ze very great extent. But before you had finished ze engagement I knew you had received instruction from ze French master.”

“But not in France.”

“No? Zen where?”

“In New York.”

“O-oo!” L’Estrange threw up his hands. “Zen I know! Oui! Oui! Zere ees but one man—Pierre Lafont. You have from me ze congratulation, sare. I know Pierre Lafont in France. He fight three duel, and in not one did he get even ze scratch. Each time he seriously disable his antagonist. But his son, Louis—zey say he ees ze wondaire.”

For a time the professor rattled on in this enthusiastic manner, and his talk was very interesting. Although it was known to every one that he felt deep chagrin over the defeat of his finest pupil, he was now the soul of generosity in his behavior toward the victor. His manner was greatly in contrast to that of the churlish Darleton.

Before departing L’Estrange made an appointment to meet Merry in the club the following afternoon for the purpose of fencing with him.

“I wish to make ze test of your full ability, Meestare Merriwell,” smiled the affable Frenchman. “I theenk I discovaire one or two little weaknesses in your style zat may be corrected quickly. Eet will give me pleasure to make ze improvement in you—if you wish eet.”

“I’m always anxious to learn, professor,” answered Merry.

CHAPTER VII
THE ADMIRATION OF L’ESTRANGE.

“Wondaireful! wondaireful!” cried L’Estrange. “You are so ready to—to—what you call eet?—to catch on!”

The time was mid afternoon following the evening when the finals were “pulled off” at the great Omaha athletic club. Frank had met the fencing master, according to agreement, and for some time they had been engaged with the foils, Hugh Morton being the only witness. They were resting now.

“Look you, sare,” said the enthusiastic Frenchman, “in six month I could make you ze greatest fencer in ze country—in one year ze champion of ze world! Yes, sare—of ze world!”

“I fear you are putting it a little too strong, professor,” laughed Frank.

“O-oo, no, no! I did think Meestare Darleton very clever, but you are a perfect wondaire. You catch ze idea like ze flash of lightning. You try ze execution once, twice, three time—perhaps—and you have eet. Zen eet is only to make eet perfect and to combine eet with othaire work and othaire ideas. Three time this day you touch me by ze strategy. You work ze surprise. Twice I touch you in one way; but after that I touch you not in that way at all. I tried to do it, but you had learned ze lesson. I did not have to tell you how to protect yourself.”

“He seemed to hold you pretty well, professor,” put in Morton.

“Oui! oui!” cried L’Estrange, without hesitation. “He put me on ze mettle. Meestare Merriwell, let me make you ze greatest fencer in ze world. I can do eet.”

Merry smilingly shook his head.

“I am afraid I haven’t the time,” he said.

“One year is all eet will take, at ze most—only one little year.”

“Too long.”

“Nine month.”

“Still too long.”

“Zen I try to do eet in six month!” desperately said the fencing master. “In six month I have you so you can toy with me—so you can beat me at my own game. I know how to teach you to do that. You doubt eet?”

“Well, I don’t know about——”

“Eet can be done. You know ze man who teach ze actor to act on ze stage? He make of him ze great actor, still perhaps ze teacher he cannot act at all. He know how eet should be done. I am better teacher than zat, for I can fence; but I know ze way to teach you more zan I can accomplish. You have ze physique, ze brain, ze nerve, ze heart, ze youth—everything. In six month I do it.”

“But I could not think of giving six months of my time to such as acquirement.”

“You make reputation and fortune if you follow eet up.”

“And that is the very thing I could not do, professor.”

“Why not? You take ze interest in ze amateur sport. You follow eet.”

“Not all the time, professor. I have other business.”

“You have money? You are reech?”

“I am comfortably fixed; but I have business interests of such a nature that it would be folly for me to give six months over to the acquiring of skill in fencing.”

“What your business?”

“Mining.”

“O-oo; you have ze mine?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“One in Arizona and one in Mexico. I must soon look after those mines. I have been away from them a long time. All reports have been favorable, but a great company is soon to begin building a railroad in Mexico that will open up the country in which my mine is located. The mine is rich enough to enable me to work it and pack ore a great distance. When the railroad is completed I shall have one of the best paying mines on this continent. You will see from this explanation that I am not in a position to spend months in acquiring perfection in the art of fencing, and that it would be of little advantage to me in case I did acquire such a degree of skill.”

L’Estrange looked disappointed.

“I thought you were ze reech gentleman of leisure,” he explained.

“I am not a gentleman of leisure, although I occasionally take time to enjoy myself. When I work, I work hard; when I play, I play just as hard. I have been playing lately, but the end is near. I thank you, professor, for your interest in me and your offer; but I cannot accept.”

“Eet is a shame so great a fencer is lost to ze world,” sighed the Frenchman. “Steel, sare, if you evaire have cause to defend your life in a duel, I theenk you will be successful.”

Nearly an hour later Morton and Merriwell entered the card room of the club—not the general card room, but the one where games were played for stakes.

Two games were in progress. Several of the players had met Frank the night before, and they greeted him pleasantly.

Among the few spectators was Fred Darleton.

“I observe Darleton is not playing,” said Frank, in a low tone, to his companion.

“He never plays in the daytime,” answered Morton.

“Never in the daytime?”

“No.”

“But he does play at night?”

“Almost every night.”

“What game?”

“Poker. He is an expert. I’ll tell you something about it later. He’s looking this way.”

Darleton sauntered over.

“I presume you are quite elated about your victory over me, Merriwell?” he said unpleasantly.

“Oh, not at all,” answered Merry, annoyed. “It was not anything to feel elated about.”

“You are right,” said Darleton. “If we were to meet again to-night the result would be quite different. I confess that you gave me a surprise; but I was in my very poorest form last night. I am confident it would be a simple matter for me to defeat you if we fenced again.”

“Want of conceit does not seem to be one of your failings.”

The fellow flushed.

“I presume you are one of those perfect chaps with no failings,” he retorted. “At least, you are, in your own estimation. You are very chesty since you secured the decision over me.”

“My dear man,” smiled Merry pityingly, “that was a victory so trivial that I have almost forgotten it already.”

This cut Darleton still more deeply.

“Oh, you put on a fine air, but you’ll get that taken out of you if you remain in Omaha long. I shall not forget you!”

“You are welcome to remember as long as you like.”

“And you’ll receive something that will cause you to remember me, sir!”

“Look here,” said Frank earnestly, “I do not fancy your veiled threats! If you are a man, you’ll speak out what you mean.”

“I fancy I am quite as much a man as you are. You’re a bag of wind, and I will let down your inflation.”

“Hold on, Darleton!” warmly exclaimed Morton. “This won’t do! Mr. Merriwell is the guest of the club, and——”

“You brought him here, Morton—that will be remembered, also!”

“If you threaten me——”

“I am not threatening.”

“You hadn’t better! Perhaps you mean that you intend to lay for me and beat me up. Well, sir, I go armed, and I’ll shoot if any one tries to jump me. If you want a whole skin——”

“What’s this talk about beating and shooting?” interrupted one of the members. “It’s fine talk to hear in these rooms! Drop it! If we have any one in the club who can’t take an honorable defeat in a square contest of any sort, it’s time that person took himself out of our ranks. I reckon that is straight enough.”

“Quite straight enough, Mr. Robbins,” bowed Darleton; “but it doesn’t touch me. I can stand defeat; but I am seldom satisfied with one trial. The first trial may be for sport, but with me the second is for blood.”

Having said this, he wheeled and stalked out of the room.

“We’ll never have peace in this club while he continues to be a member,” asserted Hugh Morton earnestly.

“I beg your pardon!” exclaimed one of the card players. “Don’t forget that Mr. Darleton is my friend, sir!”

“I’ve not said anything behind his back that I am not ready to repeat to his face,” flung back Morton.

“Well, you’d better be careful. He can fight.”

“I think this is quite enough of this fighting talk!” said the man called Robbins sternly.

“That’s right!”

“Quit it!”

“Choke off!”

“It’s getting tiresome!”

These exclamations came from various persons, and Darleton’s friend closed up at once.

Morton looked both provoked and disgusted.

“This is what the Darleton crowd is bringing us to,” he said, addressing Frank, in a low tone. “They have formed a clique and introduced the first jarring element into the club. In the end they’ll all get fired out on their necks.”

Frank and Morton sat down in a corner by one of the round card tables.

“I don’t mind Darleton’s talk,” protested Hugh, “for I reckon him as a big case of bluff. You called him last night, and he’s sore over it. Usually he makes his bluffs go at poker. He’ll find he can’t always make a bluff go in real life.”

“You say he is a clever poker player.”

“Clever or crooked.”

“Is there a question in regard to his honesty?”

“In some minds it’s more than a question.”

“Is that right?”

“That’s straight.”

“Well, in that case, it doesn’t seem to me that it should be a very hard case to get rid of him.”

“You mean——”

“Crooks are not generally permitted in clubs for gentlemen.”

“But no one has been able to catch him.”

“Oh; then it is not positively known that he is crooked?”

“Well, I am confident that there is something peculiar about his playing, and I’m not the only one who is confident. He wins right along.”

“Never loses?”

“Never more than a few dollars, while he frequently wins several hundred at a sitting.”

“It seems to me that catching a dishonest poker player should not be such a difficult thing out in this country.”

“We’ve had some of our cleverest card men watching him, and all have given it up. They say he may be crooked, but they can’t detect how he works the trick.”

“You stated, I believe, that he never plays in the daytime.”

“Never.”

“Have you noted any other peculiar thing about his playing?”

“No, nothing unless—unless——”

“Unless what?”

“Unless it is his style of wearing smoked glasses.”

“He wears smoked glasses when he plays?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Well, he claims the lights here hurt his eyes.”

“That seems a very good reason why he should choose to play by day.”

“Yes; but he always has an excuse when asked into a game in the daytime.”

Merriwell’s face wore an expression of deep thought.

“It seems to have the elements of a Sherlock Holmes case,” he finally remarked. “I’d like to be present when Darleton is playing. I think it is possible I might detect his trick, in case there is any trick about it.”

“Are you a card expert?”

“I make no pretensions of being anything of the sort,” answered Merry promptly. “Still I know something about the game of poker, and I did succeed in exposing card crooks, both at Fardale and at Yale.”

Morton shook his head.

“I think I’m ordinarily shrewd in regard to cards,” he said; “but I haven’t been able to find out his secret. I don’t believe you would have any success, Mr. Merriwell.”

Merry persisted.

“There is no harm in letting me try, is there?”

“The only harm would be to arouse Darleton’s suspicion if he caught you rubbering at him. I know he has thought himself watched at various times.”

“Leave it to me,” urged Frank. “I’ll not arouse his suspicions.”

“But it won’t do a bit of good.”

“If he is cheating, I’ll detect him,” asserted Merry, finding that it was necessary to make a positive declaration of that sort, in order to move Morton.

Hugh looked at him incredulously.

“You’re a dandy fencer, old man,” he laughed; “but you mustn’t get a fancy that you’re just as clever at everything. Still, as long as you are so insistent, I’ll give you a trial. Meet me in the billiard room at eight o’clock this evening. Play seldom begins here before eight-thirty or nine.”

“I’ll be there,” promised Frank, satisfied.

CHAPTER VIII
AROUSED BY A MYSTERY.

It was nine o’clock that evening when Morton and Merriwell strolled into the card room. They seemed to be wandering around in search of some amusement to pass away the time.

“Come on here, Morton,” called a player. “Bring your friend into this game. It will make just enough.”

Hugh shook his head.

“No cards for me to-night,” he said. “My luck is too poor. Dropped more than enough to satisfy me last week.”

“The place to find your money is where you lost it,” said another player.

“I’m willing to let it rest where it is a while. I have a severe touch of cold feet.”

“How about your friend?”

“He may do as he likes.”

“I know so little about cards—so very little,” protested Frank. “What are you playing?”

“Poker.”

He shook his head.

“I have played euchre,” he said.

“Quite a difference in the games,” laughed a man. “I suppose you have played old maid, also?”

“Yes,” answered Merry innocently, “I have. Do you play that?”

“He’ll spoil your game, fellows,” laughed Morton quickly.

“How do you know I would?” exclaimed Merry resentfully.

“Reckon Hugh is right, Mr. Merriwell,” laughed the one who had invited Frank. “You had better keep out of the game.”

Fred Darleton was playing at one of the tables. He regarded Frank with a sneer on his face.

“An innocent stiff,” he commented, in a low tone. “They say he never takes a drink, never swears, never does anything naughty.”

“He’s rather naughty at fencing,” reminded a man jokingly; but Darleton saw nothing to laugh at in the remark.

Morton was heard informing Merry that he must not ask questions about the game while play was in progress, as by so doing he might seem to give away some player’s hand.

“Oh, I can keep still,” assured Frank smilingly. “I’ve seen them play poker before.”

“No one would ever suspect it,” sneered Darleton under his breath.

This fellow was wearing dark-colored glasses, after his usual custom.

Merry found an opportunity to inspect the lights. While they were sufficiently bright for all purposes, they were shaded in such a manner that Darleton’s excuse for wearing smoked glasses seemed a paltry one.

“His real reason is not because the lights hurt his eyes,” decided Frank.

What was the fellow’s real reason? Merriwell hoped to discover before the evening was over. He seemed to take interest in the play first at one table and then at another, but finally settled on the one at which Darleton was seated.

As usual, Darleton was winning. He had a lot of chips stacked up before him.

“Why did you drop your hand after opening that last jack pot, Darleton?” inquired one of the players.

“Because I was satisfied that you had me beaten,” was the answer.

“You had two pairs to open on, and you drew only one card.”

“What of that?”

“I took three cards.”

“I remember.”

“Well, you wouldn’t bet your two pairs, and I raked in the pot. How did it happen?”

“I decided that you bettered your hand. My pairs were small.”

“I did better my hand,” confessed the man; “but I swear you have a queer method of playing poker! I don’t understand it.”

“My method suits me,” laughed Darleton, fingering his chips.

“It is a successful one, all right; but I never lay down two pairs after opening a jack pot, especially if the only player who stays in with me draws three cards.”

“You lose oftener than I do.”

“No question about that.”

“Then my judgment must be better than yours. Let it go at that.”

Frank had listened to all this, and he, likewise, was puzzled to understand why Darleton had decided not to risk a bet after the draw. It happened that Merry had stood where he could look into the other man’s hand. The man held up a pair of kings on the deal and drew another king when cards were given out. His three kings were better than Darleton’s two pairs; but Darleton knew he had the man beaten before the draw. How did he come to believe the man had him beaten after the draw?

Frank found an opportunity to look round for mirrors. There were none in the room.

Darleton was not working with an accomplice who could look into the other man’s hand. Merry was the only person able to see the man’s cards as he picked them up.

“I don’t believe he’ll suspect me of being Darleton’s accomplice,” thought Frank.

This was only one of the things which increased the mystery of Darleton’s playing. The fellow seemed to know exactly when to bet a hand for all it was worth, and once he persisted in raising a player who was bluffing recklessly. Finally the bluffer became angry and called.

“I have a pair of seven spots, Darleton? What have you got? I don’t believe you have much of anything.”

“Why, I have a pair of ten spots, and they win,” was the smiling retort.

“Bluffers, both of you!” cried another player. “But I swear this is the first time I’ve ever known Darleton to bluff at poker. And he got away with it on a show-down!”

The entire party regarded Darleton with wonderment, but the winner simply smiled a bit behind his dark goggles.

Morton glanced swiftly at Frank, as if to say: “You see how it goes, but you can’t make anything of it.”

Merriwell was perplexed, but this perplexity served as a spur to urge him forward in his desire to solve the mystery. For mystery about Darleton’s success there certainly seemed to be.

With an inquiring and searching mind, Merry was one who disliked to be baffled by anything in the form of mystery that might be legitimately investigated. A mystery amid common things and common events aroused him to insistent investigation, for he knew there should be no mystery, and that which was baffling should, in case it was natural, eventually develop to be simple indeed.

He now felt himself fully aroused, for he did not believe it possible that by any occult power or discernment Darleton was capable of reading the minds of his companions at the card table and thus learning when to drop two pairs and when to bet one very ordinary pair to a finish.

“The cards must be marked,” decided Frank.

At this juncture the player who had called Darleton asked for a fresh pack.

Merry saw the cards brought in by a colored boy. They were still sealed. He saw the seal broken, the joker removed from the pack, the cards shuffled, cut, and dealt.

“Now we’ll note if Darleton continues to win,” thought Merry.

He knew the fresh pack could not be marked. They were sealed, just as purchased from the dealer, when thrown on the table.

Morton spoke to Frank.

“Are you getting tired?” he asked.

“Oh, no,” was the immediate reply. “I am enjoying watching this game. I have nothing else to do to-night.”

Hugh pushed along a chair, and urged Merry to sit down. Frank accepted the chair. Without appearing to do so, he continued to watch Darleton.

Morton leaned on the back of Frank’s chair.

“Have they ever looked for marked cards after playing with Darleton?” asked Frank, in such a low tone that no one save Hugh could hear and understand him.

“Frequently.”

“Never found them marked?”

“Never. They are not marked. I fancied you might think they were. We’ve had experts, regular card sharps, examine packs used in games when he has won heavily.”

Still Merry was not satisfied on this point.

“If they are not marked,” he thought, “Darleton must have an accomplice who gives him tips. The latter seems utterly impossible, and, therefore, the cards must be marked.”

Occasionally Darleton glanced at Merriwell, but every time it seemed that Frank was giving him no attention at all.

Yet every move on the part of the successful player was watched by the young man who had resolved to solve the mystery.

For some time after the appearance of the fresh pack of cards Darleton did little betting. Still he seemed to examine each hand dealt him, and his manner of examining the hands was very critical, as if weighing their value. The cards interested him greatly, although he did not bet.

“Your luck has turned,” cried one of the players. “You haven’t done a thing since the fresh pack was brought.”

“Oh, I’ll get after you again directly,” smiled Darleton. “I’m waiting for the psychological moment, that’s all.”

Frank noted that the fellow frequently put his hand into the side pocket of his coat. Although he did this, he did not seem to take anything out of that pocket. Still, after a while, the watcher began to fancy these careless, but often repeated movements had something to do with the mystery.

At last, Darleton seemed to get a hand to his liking. It was on his own deal, and two other players held good hands, one a straight and the other a flush.

When Darleton was finally called he exhibited a full hand and raked in the money.

“You see!” muttered Morton, in Merry’s ear.

“No, I don’t see,” admitted Frank; “but I mean to.”

Morton was growing tired. He yawned, straightened up and sauntered about.

Frank rose, stretched himself a little, looked on at another table a few moments, and finally brought himself to a position behind Darleton’s chair without attracting Darleton’s attention.

From this point he once more began to watch the playing in which he was so keenly interested.

Morton observed this change, but said nothing, although to him it seemed like wasted time on Frank’s part.

From his new position Merriwell was able to see into Darleton’s hands, and the style of play followed by the fellow surprised him even more. At the very outset he saw Darleton drop two pairs, kings up, without attempting to bet them and without even showing them to any one. In the end it developed that another player held winning cards, having three five spots; but this player had drawn three cards, and before the betting began there seemed nothing to indicate that he could beat kings up.

On the very next hand something still more remarkable happened. The first man after the age stayed in and all the others remained. Observing Darleton’s cards, Merry saw he held the deuce, six, seven, and king of diamonds and the seven of spades. He split his pair, casting aside the seven of spades, and drew to the four diamonds.

The card that came in was the ace of diamonds, giving him an ace-high flush.

Two of the other players took two cards each; but Merry decided that one of them was holding up a “kicker”—that is, an odd card with his pair. This estimation of his hand Frank formed from the fact that the man had not raised the original bettor before the draw, although sitting in a fine position to do so. Had the man held threes he would have raised. It was likely he had a small pair and an ace, and also that he knew the style of play of the original bettor and believed this person was likewise holding a “kicker,” probably for the purpose of leading the other players into fancying he had threes.

This being the case, Darleton’s ace-high was a fancy hand and would be almost certain to rake down the pot.

Even supposing it possible that both players who called for two cards held three of a kind, it was not, in the natural run of the game, at all likely they had improved their hands.

Still when the original bettor tossed four blue chips into the pot and one of the others called, Darleton dropped his handsome flush, declining to come in and, remarking:

“I didn’t catch.”

He lied, for he had “caught” and filled a flush.

What was his object in lying?

A moment later the original bettor lay down three jacks and a pair of nine spots.

The hand was superior to Darleton’s flush.

Beyond question Darleton knew he was beaten, and therefore he chose to pretend he had not filled his hand.

But how did he know?

CHAPTER IX
THE TRICK EXPOSED.

“The cards must be marked!” was the thought that again flashed through Frank Merriwell’s mind.

But if they were marked and it was impossible to detect the fact, there was no way of exposing the crooked player. If they were marked, however, Merry believed there must be some way of detecting it.

Frank kept very still. Slipping his hand into an inner pocket, he brought forth something he had purchased that very afternoon, after talking with Morton concerning Darleton’s success at poker and his methods. Quietly he adjusted his purchase to the bridge of his nose.

He had bought a pair of smoked glass goggles!

The cards were being shuffled. The goggles changed the aspect of the room, causing everything to look dim and dusky.

The man who was dealing tossed the cards round to the different players. As this was being done, Frank detected something hitherto unseen upon the cards.

On the backs of many of them were strange luminous designs, crosses, spots, circles, and straight lines. These marks could be distinctly seen with the aid of the smoked glasses.

Lifting his hand, Merry raised the glasses.

The glowing marks vanished! A feeling of satisfaction shot through the discoverer.

“I have him!” he mentally exclaimed. “I have detected his clever little trick!”

It happened that Darleton received a pair of jacks and a pair of sixes on the deal.

One of the players “stayed” and Darleton “came up.”

On the draw Darleton caught another six spot, giving him a full hand.

He seemed to be looking at his cards intently, but Frank observed that he had watched every card as it was dealt.

In the betting that followed Darleton pressed it every time. At the call he displayed the winning hand.

But just as he reached to pull in the chips his wrist was clutched by a grip of iron.

Frank Merriwell had grasped and checked him.

“Gentlemen,” cried Merry, “you are playing with a crook! You are being cheated!”

Instantly there was a great stir in the room. Men sprang up from their chairs.

Darleton uttered an exclamation of fury.

“What do you mean, you duffer?” he snarled. “Let go!”

Instead of obeying, Merry pinned him fast in his chair, so he could not move.

“Yes, what do you mean?” shouted one of Darleton’s friends, leaping from another table and endeavoring to reach Frank. “Let go, or I’ll——”

Hugh Morton grappled with the fellow.

“I wouldn’t do anything if I were you,” he said. “Take it easy, Higgins. We’ll find out what he means in a minute.”

“Find out!” roared Higgins. “You bet! He’ll get all that’s coming to him for this!”

“Explain yourself, Mr. Merriwell,” urged one of the players. “This is a very grave charge. If you cannot substantiate it——”

“I can, sir.”

“Do so at once.”

“These cards are marked.”

“It’s a lie!” raged Darleton.

“You must prove that the cards are marked, Mr. Merriwell,” said another player. “They were but lately unsealed, and it seems impossible.”

“They have been marked since they were opened.”

“How?”

“With the aid of luminous marking fluid of some sort, carried in this man’s pocket. I have watched him marking them.”

“Liar!” came from the fellow accused; but he choked over the word, and he was white to the lips, for he had discovered that Merry was wearing smoked goggles, like his own.

“Let me get at him!” panted Darleton’s friend; but Morton continued, with the assistance of another man, to hold the fellow in check.

“Under ordinary conditions,” said Frank coolly, “the marking cannot be detected. Mr. Darleton has pretended it was necessary for him to wear dark-colored goggles in order to protect his eyes from the lights. Why didn’t he play in the daytime? Because he would then have no excuse for using the goggles, which he does not wear as a rule. With the aid of the goggles he is able to see and understand the marking on the backs of the cards. This makes it possible for him to tell what every man round the table holds. No wonder he knows when to bet and when to drop his cards!”

“It’s false!” muttered the accused weakly.

“If any one doubts that I speak the truth,” said Merry, “let him feel in Mr. Darleton’s coat pocket on the right-hand side.”

A man did so at once, bringing forth a little, tin box, minus the lid, which contained a yellowish, paste-like substance.

“That is the luminous paint,” said Frank.

“Further doubts will be settled by taking my goggles, with which I detected the fraud, and examining the backs of the cards.”

He handed the goggles over, releasing his hold on Darleton, who seemed for the moment incapable of action.

The excited players tried the goggles and examined the cards, one after another. All saw the marks distinctly with the aid of the smoke-colored glasses. They discovered that the four aces were marked, each card with a single dot, the kings bore two dots, the queens three dots and the jacks four dots. The ten spot was indicated by a cross, the nine spot showed two crosses, the eight a straight line, the seven two parallel lines, the six a circle, and there the marking stopped. Evidently Darleton had not found time to finish his work on the remainder of the pack.

And now Darleton found himself regarded with intense indignation and disgust by all save the fellow who had attempted to come to his aid. Indeed, the indignation of the men was such that they threatened personal violence to the exposed rascal.

It seemed that the fellow would not escape from the room without being handled roughly. Before the outburst of indignation, his bravado and nerve wilted, and he became very humble and apprehensive.

No wonder he was alarmed for his own safety. Several of those present had lost heavily to him, and they demanded satisfaction of some sort.

“He has skinned me out of hundreds!” snarled one man. “I’ll take it out of his hide! I’ll break every bone in his dishonest body!”

Two men placed themselves before the infuriated one and tried to reason with him.

“What are you going to do?” he shouted. “Are you going to let him off without doing anything?”

“We’ll make him fork over what he has won to-night.”

“Little satisfaction that will be!”

“We’ll find how much money he has on his person and make him give that up.”

“That doesn’t satisfy me!”

“Then we’ll expel him in disgrace from the club.”

“That sounds better, but it isn’t enough. Just step out of the room, all of you, and leave him to me. While you’re outside, you had better call an ambulance for him.”

“I warn you not to offer me personal violence,” said Darleton, his lips quivering and his voice unsteady.

“You warn us, you cur!” snarled one, shaking his fist under the rascal’s nose. “Why, do you know what you deserve and what you would get in some places? You deserve to be lynched! There was a time in this town when you would have been shot.”

Frank stood back and let matters take their course. He had done his part, and he felt that he had done well in exposing the scoundrel. It was not for him to say how the man should be dealt with by the club.

Darleton drew forth a pocketbook and flung it on the table.

“There’s my money,” he said. “Go ahead and take it.”

“You bet we will!” was the instant response.

The money was taken and divided before his eyes.

Then the men of cooler judgment prevailed over their more excitable companions, whom they persuaded to let Darleton depart in disgrace.

The fellow was only too glad to get off in that manner, and he hastily slunk to the door.

There he paused and looked around. His eyes met those of Frank Merriwell, and the look he gave was pregnant with malignant hatred of the most murderous nature.

The Midwestern lost little time in calling a meeting for the purpose of considering Darleton’s case. In short order the fellow was declared expelled in disgrace from the organization. Following this, it was agreed that Frank Merriwell should be tendered a vote of thanks for his service to the club.

The outcome of the affair gave all of Merry’s friends a feeling of satisfaction, for they believed that the scoundrel had received his just deserts.

Bart Hodge expressed a feeling of intense regret because he had not been present to witness Darleton’s humiliation.

“I sized him up at the start,” declared Bart. “I knew he was a crook, and I knew no crook could defeat Merry.”

That afternoon Frank came face to face with Darleton in front of the post office. The fellow stopped short, the glare of a panther that has been wounded leaping into his eyes.

“You—you—you meddling dog!” he panted huskily.

Frank would have passed on without speaking, but the rascal stepped before him.

“Kindly stand aside,” said Merry. “I don’t wish to soil my hands on you.”

“Oh, you’re very fine and lofty! You think you have done a grand thing in putting this disgrace on me, I suppose.”

“I’m not at all proud of it; but I did my duty.”

“Your duty! Bah!”

“It is the duty of any man to expose a rascal when he can do so.”

“Bah! You did not do that from a sense of duty, but to win applause and lead people to think you very cunning and clever. You’re a notoriety seeker.”

“I don’t care to waste words with you.”

“You have ruined my good name!”

“You ruined it yourself by your crookedness. Don’t try to put the blame on me.”

“You did it!” panted Darleton; “but you shall suffer for it!”

“If you make too many threats, I’ll call a policeman and turn you over to him.”

“No doubt of it! That’s the way you’ll try to hide behind a bluecoat! You’re a coward, Frank Merriwell!”

“Your opinion of me does not disturb me in the least, sir.”

“I’ll disturb you before I am through with you! You have ruined me; but I’ll square it!”

“I don’t care to be seen talking with you.”

“One moment more. I’ll have my say! You triumphed and gloated over me when I was humbled at the club.”

“I never gloat over the fallen.”

“Oh, you are very fine and lofty in sentiment! You try to make people believe you are a goody-goody. You play a part, and play it well enough to deceive most persons; but I’ll wager there are spots in your career that will not bear investigation. If some of your admirers knew all about you they would turn from you in disgust. I’ve seen chaps like you before, and they’re always disgusting, for they are always hypocrites. You pretend that you do not play cards! How was it that you were clever enough to detect my methods? You claim you do not drink, but I’ll bet my life you do drink on the sly.

“You seem to have no vices, but no chap travels about as you do and keeps free from little vices. Small vices make men more manly. The fellow who has no vices is either cold-blooded or more than human. If I had time I’d follow you up and expose you. Then I’d strike you as you have struck me. But I haven’t the time. Still you needn’t think you’re going to get off. I’ll strike just the same, and I’ll strike you good and sufficient! When I land you’ll know it, and I’ll land in a hurry.

“That’s all. I don’t care to say anything more. I have some friends who will stick to me. Don’t fancy for a moment that I am friendless. I’ll see you again. If you get frightened and hike out of Omaha, I’ll follow. I’ll follow until I get my opportunity!”

Having expressed himself in this manner, he stepped aside and walked swiftly away.

“He’s the sort of chap to strike at an enemy’s back,” thought Merry.

That evening Frank took dinner with Morton at the latter’s home. He met Hugh’s mother and sister, and found them refined and pleasant people. After dinner he remained for two hours or more, chatting with them and enjoying himself.

Kate Morton was a cultured girl, having attended college in the East. She talked of books, music, and art, yet she was not stilted and conventional in her conversation, and she proved that she had thoughts and ideas of her own.

When he finally arose to leave, Merry felt that he had passed a most agreeable and profitable evening. He had met a girl who thought of something besides dress, society, and frivolity, yet who must appear at advantage in the very best society, and who undoubtedly enjoyed the pastimes which most girls enjoy.

Hugh was inclined to accompany Frank, but Merry dissuaded him, saying he would catch a car at the first corner and ride within a block of the hotel.

Merriwell whistled as he sauntered along the street. His first warning of danger was when he heard a rustle close behind his back. Before he could turn something smote him down.

CHAPTER X
STEEL MEETS STEEL.

“Here we are,” said a low voice.

The hack had stopped. Several persons sprang down from the top. The door was flung open and others issued from within.

“Drag him out.”

At this command a helpless figure was pulled forth.

The night was dark and the place the outskirts of the city of Omaha. Near at hand rose the black hulk of a silent and apparently deserted building.

“All right, driver.”

The door of the hack slammed, the driver whipped up his horses, and the men were left with the helpless one in their midst.

“Make him walk,” said the first speaker. “He’s conscious, for he tried to get his hands free inside.”

They moved, forcing along their captive. Close up to the wall to the wall of the building they halted.

“Have you the key?” asked one.

“Yes; here it is.”

“Open the door. Hurry up. The watchman may see us, and it will be all off.”

“That’s right,” put in another. “You know somebody tried to burn this place a week ago.”

Soon the man with the key opened a door and the captive was pushed into the building. Every man followed, and the door was closed.

Ten minutes later all were assembled in a bare room of the old building. One of them had brought a number of torches, which were now lighted. The light showed that there were ten of them in all, and with the exception of the captive, whose hands were tied behind his back and whose jaws were distended by a gag, they wore masks which effectually concealed their features.

The captive was Frank Merriwell.

One of the men stepped before Frank.

“Well, how do you like it?” he asked tauntingly. “What do you think is going to happen to you?”

It was impossible for Merry to reply.

“Remove that gag,” directed the taunting chap. “Let him talk. Let him yell, if he wants to. No one can hear him now.”

The mask was removed from between Frank’s teeth.

“Thank you,” said Merry, after a moment. “That’s a great relief to my jaws.”

“Oh, it hurt you, did it?” sneered the taunting fellow. “Well, you may get hurt worse than that before the night is over.”

“I suppose you contemplate murdering me, Darleton,” said Frank, his voice steady.

Immediately the other snatched off his mask, exposing the face of Fred Darleton.

“I’m willing you should know me,” he said. “You do not know any of the others.”

“I am quite confident that your chum, Grant Hardy, is one of them.”

“You can’t pick him out. You couldn’t swear to it.”

“If you put me out of the way, like the brave men you are, I’ll not be able to swear to anything.”

“Oh, we’re not going to murder you, you fool!”

“You surprise me!”

“But I have had you brought here in order that I may square my account with you.”

“In what manner? Are you going to mutilate me?”

“I may carve you up some before I am through with you. You think you are a great fencer, but I am satisfied that you are a coward. If you were forced to fight for your life you would show the white feather.”

“Do you think so?”

“I know it.”

“Give me half an opportunity.”

“I will, and you shall fight me!” cried Darleton viciously. “You did some very fancy work on exhibition. Now you can show what you’re capable of doing when your handsome body is at stake.”

“What do you mean?”

Darleton turned to his companion.

“Where are the rapiers?” he asked.

One of the masked men held out something wrapped in a black cloth.

“Here they are.”

“All right. Set him free. He can’t get away. Release his hands.”

A moment later Frank’s hands were freed.

“Strip down for business, Merriwell,” commanded Darleton, flinging aside his coat and vest and removing his collar. “You are going to fight me with rapiers.”

“A genuine duel?” asked Merry.

“That’s what it will be.”

Frank did not hesitate. He flung aside his coat and vest, removed his collar and necktie, and rolled back the shirt sleeve of his right arm.

The readiness with which he accepted the situation and prepared for business, surprised some of the masked men.

Before long Darleton and Frank were ready.

In the meantime, the cloth had been removed from the rapiers, revealing two long, glittering weapons.

“Give him the choice,” cried Darleton, with a flourish.

The man with the weapons stepped forward, holding them by the blades and having them crossed. Frank accepted the first that came to his hand. His enemy took the other.

“On guard!” cried Darleton savagely; “on guard, and defend your life!”

Steel met steel with a deadly click.

There was no fooling about that encounter. From the very start it was deadly and thrilling in its every aspect. The duelists went at it keyed to the highest tension.

Merry saw a deadly purpose in Fred Darleton’s eyes, and he knew the fellow longed to run him through.

On the other hand, only as a last resort to save himself did Frank wish to seriously wound his enemy.

Aroused by his fancied wrongs, Darleton handled the rapier with consummate skill. He watched for an opening, and he was ready to take advantage of the slightest mistake on the part of his opponent.

The torches flared and smoked, casting a weird glow over the scene. The fighters advanced and retreated. The rapiers glinted and flashed.

“Do your best, Merriwell!” hissed Darleton.

Frank was kept busy meeting the swiftly shifting attacks of the fellow, who was seeking to confuse him.

“I know your style,” declared the vengeful chap. “You can’t work the tricks you played on me at the Midwestern. Try any of them—try them all!”

Frank made no retort. He was watching for a chance to try quite a different trick.

Suddenly the opening came. He closed in. The rapiers slipped past until hilt met hilt. With a snapping twist Frank tore the weapon from the fingers of his foe and sent it spinning aside.

Darleton was at Merry’s mercy. Frank had been forced into this engagement in a way that made it something entirely different from an ordinary affair of honor. He was surrounded by enemies. No friends were present. He could have ended Fred Darleton’s life with a single stroke.

Instead of that, he stepped quickly aside, picked up the rapier and offered it to his foe, hilt first.

Chagrined by what had happened, Darleton snatched it and made a quick thrust at Merry’s throat.

By a backward spring, Merry escaped being killed.

Instantly a wonderful change came over Frank. He closed in and became the assailant. Twice he thrust for Darleton. He was parried, but he guarded instantly and prevented the fellow from securing a riposte.

Merry’s third attempt was more successful.

He caught Darleton in the shoulder and inflicted a superficial but somewhat painful wound.

Exclamations came from the masked witnesses.

Infuriated by his poor success and the wound, Darleton threw caution to the winds and sailed into Merry like a tornado.

“It’s your life or mine!” he panted, as he made a vicious thrust at Frank’s heart.

The thrust was turned.

Then a cry of horror broke from the spectators, for Frank seemed to have run his antagonist clean through the body.

Darleton fell. One of the masked men, who seemed to be a surgeon, knelt at once to examine the wound.

“I’m sorry,” said Frank grimly; “but I call on you all to bear witness that he forced me to it. As he said, it was his life or mine.”

The following day Frank visited Darleton in the hospital whither the unfortunate fellow had been taken. The wounded man’s injury had been pronounced very serious, but not necessarily fatal. The course of the steel had been changed by a rib, and only Darleton’s right side had been pierced.

The moment they were left alone, Darleton said:

“You did the trick, Merriwell. I didn’t believe you could, but you were justified in defending yourself. I made every man there take a solemn oath that he would keep silent no matter what happened.”

“I have been expecting and waiting for arrest,” said Frank. “I supposed you would have me arrested.”

“You’re wrong. You’ll never be arrested for this affair unless you go to the police and peach on yourself. They say I’ll get well, all right. I want to. Do you know what I mean to do?”

“No.”

“I’m going to practice until I can defeat you with the rapiers, if it takes me years. When I am confident that I can do the trick, I’m going to find you, force you to fight again and kill you. It would be no satisfaction to me to see you arrested for last night’s work. Unless you’re a fool, you’ll not be arrested. If you were arrested and told the truth, you could not be punished for defending yourself.”

“That’s the way I feel about it,” said Frank; “but I regret that you still thirst for my blood. I came here to find out if there is anything I can do for you.”

“I wouldn’t take a favor from you for worlds. I know I’m in the wrong, but that makes me hate you none the less. Go now. But expect to face me again some day and fight for your life.”

And thus they parted, still deadly enemies, much to Frank’s regret, for, in spite of Darleton’s dishonesty, there was a certain something in the make-up of the man that had won for him a feeling of sympathy in Merry’s heart. More than that, the courage displayed by Darleton in the duel caused Frank to think of him in a light of mingled admiration and regret. Although a scoundrel, not all the elements of his nature were unworthy.

CHAPTER XI
THE RECEPTION AT CARTERSVILLE.

The town of Cartersville is situated in the southern part of the State of Iowa. This was the first stop Frank and his party made after leaving Omaha. Their first view of the town was not particularly inviting, as the railway station, after the disagreeable habit of nearly all railway stations, was situated in the most unsightly and forbidding portion of the place. In the immediate vicinity were unpainted, ramshackle buildings, saloons, cheap stores and hovel-like houses. In front of the saloons and stores lounged a few slovenly, ambition-lacking loafers, while slatternly women and dirty children were seen in the doorways or leaning from the open windows of the wretched houses.

On the station platform had gathered the usual crowd, including those who came to the train from necessity and those drawn thither by curiosity. There was also a surprisingly large gathering of boys of various ages, from six to eighteen.

Frank walked briskly along to the baggage car and noted that the baggage belonging to his party was put off there. Then he glanced around, as if in search of some one.

“I wonder where Mr. Gaddis is?” he said. “He was to meet us at the station.”

A big, hulking six-footer, with ham-like hands and a thick neck, stepped forward from the van of a mixed crowd of about twenty tough-looking young fellows who had flocked down the platform behind Merry and his party.

“Are you Frank Merriwell?” asked the huge chap, who was about twenty years old, as he held the butt of a half-smoked cheroot in the corner of his capacious mouth.

“Yes, sir,” answered Merry promptly. “Do you represent Joseph Gaddis?”

“I should say not!” was the retort. “Not by a blame sight.”

“I thought not,” said Frank.

“Oh, ye did? What made ye think not, hey?”

“You are not just the sort of man I expected to meet. Do you know Mr. Gaddis?”

“Do I? Some!”

“Isn’t he here?”

“I reckon not.”

“Where is he?”

“Ask me!”

Although the manner of the big fellow was openly insolent, Merry did not seem to notice it.

The motley crowd accompanying this man were grinning or scowling at Merriwell and his friends, while some of them made half-audible comments of an unflattering sort. They were tall, short, stout, and thin, but one and all they carried the atmosphere of tough characters.

“It’s rather odd, Bart,” said Frank, speaking to Hodge, who was surveying the crowd with dark disapproval, “that Gaddis should fail to keep his appointment to meet us here.”

“No it ain’t odd,” contradicted the big chap. “He knowed better than to be here. You made some sort of arrangement with him to play a game of baseball in this town, didn’t ye?”

“Yes.”

“Well, fergit it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Fergit it. You’ll be wastin’ a whole lot of time if you stop here, an’ you’ll put yourselves to a heap of inconvenience. You won’t play no baseball with Gaddis’ team, so you’d better hop right back onter the train and continue your ride.”

Merry now surveyed the speaker from his head to his feet.

“I happen to have a contract with Mr. Gaddis,” he said. “How is it that you have so much authority? Who are you?”

“I’m Mat Madison, and I happen to know what I’m talkin’ about. Joe Gaddis has changed his mind about playin’ baseball with you. He ain’t goin’ to play baseball no more this season.”

“Did he send you here to tell me this?” demanded Frank, his eyes beginning to gleam with an ominous light.

“No, he didn’t send me; I come myself.”

“Then you haven’t any real authority.”

“Is that so! You bet I have! I’m giving it to you on the level when I say you won’t play no baseball game in Cartersville, and the wisest thing you can do is to step right back onter this train and git out. In short, I’m here to see that you do git back onter the train, and I brought my backers. If you don’t git we’ll have to make ye git.”

By this time Frank’s friends were gathered at his back, ready for anything that might happen. They scented trouble, although they could not understand the cause of it.

“I have no idea of leaving Cartersville until I see Mr. Gaddis,” said Merry, with cool determination. “If he fails to keep his agreement with me, I propose to collect one hundred and fifty dollars forfeit money.”

“Oh, haw! haw! You do, do ye? Well, when you collect a hundred and fifty from Joe Gaddis you’ll be bald-headed. There ain’t no time for foolin’. The train will pull out pretty soon, so you want to hop right back onto it and go along. If you don’t, I’ll make you hop. Git that?”

“If you bother me I’ll feel it my duty to make you regret your action. Get that?”

“Why, you thunderin’ fool, you don’t mean to fight, do ye? I’ll knock the head off your shoulders!”

“I don’t think you will.”

“Then take this!”

As he snarled forth the words, Madison struck viciously at Frank’s face with his right fist.

Merry ducked like a flash, at the same time throwing up his left hand and catching the fellow’s wrist. With this hold, he gave a strong, sharp pull in the same direction that Madison had started, at the same time jerking the fellow’s arm downward. While doing this, Merry stooped and thrust his right arm between the ruffian’s legs, grasping Madison’s right leg back of the knee. In this manner he brought the bruiser across his back and shoulders in such a way that the fellow had no time to recover and was losing his balance when Frank suddenly straightened up with a heaving surge.

To the amazement of Madison’s friends, the fellow was sent flying through the air clear of the platform, striking the ground on his head and shoulders.

Merry calmly turned to look after the baggage, not giving his late assailant as much as a glance after the latter struck the ground.

Madison was somewhat stunned. He sat up, holding his hands to his head and looking bewildered. A number of his friends sprang from the platform and gathered around him.

The young toughs were astounded by the manner in which Merry had met Madison’s assault. If before that they had contemplated an attack on Frank and his party, the sudden disposal of their leader caused them to falter and change their plan.

Hans Dunnerwurst chuckled as he looked after Madison.

“Maype you vill holdt that for a vile,” he observed.

“There is something wrong about this business here in Cartersville, fellows,” said Frank; “but we’ll find out what it is. If Gaddis squeals on his contract with me, I’m going to see if he cannot be compelled to pay the forfeit.”

“That’s business,” nodded Hodge. “I’ll wager he sent these thugs to frighten us away, so he wouldn’t be compelled to pay the money. If we didn’t stop, he could get out of it.”

“Whereupon we’ll linger,” murmured Jack Ready.

“Somebody’s gug-gug-going to fuf-fuf-find out we mean bub-bub-business!” stuttered Gamp.

“I opine one chap has found it out already,” observed Buck Badger dryly.

“It must have been a shock to him,” said Dade Morgan, a gleam of satisfaction in his dark eyes.

“Glad he tackled Frank,” yawned Browning, with a wearied air. “I don’t feel like exerting myself after that infernally uncomfortable car ride.”

“The gentleman experienced a taste of jutsuju—I mean jujutsu,” laughed Harry Rattleton.

“Sorry Merry had to soil his hands on the big loafer,” said Dick Starbright, taking off his hat and tossing back his mane of golden hair.

“It was a clever piece of business,” admitted Jim Stretcher; “but two years ago, at a fair in Tipton, Missouri, I saw a little piece of business that——”

“Don’t tell it—don’t dare to tell it!” exclaimed Badger. “I’m from Kansas, and I’m sick of hearing these powerful extravagant tales about Missouri. If you mention Missouri in my hearing for the next three days you’ll be in danger of sudden destruction. That’s whatever!”

“You’re jealous, and I don’t blame you,” said Jim. “If I lived in Kansas I’d never acknowledge it. It was the last place created, and made out of mighty poor material. Everybody in Kansas worth knowing has moved out.”

“Which is a genuine Irish bull,” said Morgan.

“All aboard,” called the conductor.

A few moments later the train pulled out.

In the meantime, Mat Madison had recovered and regained his feet. The result of his attack on Merriwell had astonished him no less than it did his followers. Even after recovering from the shock he could not understand just what had happened to him, although he realized that, in some manner, he had been sent spinning through the air. It had dazed him. After regaining his feet he asked one of the young toughs what had happened.

“Why,” was the answer, “he just grabbed you and throwed you, that’s all.”

“Oh, he throwed me, did he?” growled Madison, a vicious look on his face. “Well, I ruther think I’ll throw him next time. He’ll git all that’s coming now!”

“That’s right, Mad!” encouraged his followers. “You didn’t hit him because he dodged. Go for him again. Grab him this time before he can grab you.”

“Just watch me,” advised the thug, as he sprang to the platform.

Without warning, Madison came quickly up behind Merry, throwing his arms round Frank, in this manner pinning the arms of the latter to his sides.

“Now I’ve got ye, burn your hide!” snarled the ruffian. “You worked a slick trick on me t’other time, but you can’t do it aga——”

He did not finish; Frank gave him no further time for speech.

Down Merry dropped to one knee, causing the man’s arms to slip up about his neck. Before Madison could get a strangle hold, even as he dropped to his knee, Frank caught the ruffian’s right hand and twisted it outward, bringing the palm upward. With his other hand Frank secured a hold on Madison’s wrist, and then he jerked downward, bending far forward.

Mat Madison’s feet left the ground, his heels flew through the air and he went turning over Merry’s head, landing flat on his back in front of the undisturbed young man.

The town toughs, who had fancied their leader had the stranger foul, were even more astonished than by Madison’s first failure.

Merriwell rose to his feet, stood with his hands on his hips and regarded his fallen assailant with a pitying smile.

Frank’s friends—the most of them—seemed amused over the affair, and either smiled broadly or laughed outright. Hodge and Morgan were the only ones who betrayed no mirth.

“Jee-roo-sa-lum!” cried one of the tough youngsters. “Did you see that, fellers?”

“How did he do it?” gasped another.

“Why, he throws Mad just as e-e-easy!”

“He’s a slippery chap!”

“Slippery! He’s quicker’n lightnin’!”

“Strong as a bull!”

“Full of slick tricks!”

The astonishment of Madison’s friends was somewhat ludicrous. They had expected the bully to handle the clean, quiet young man with perfect ease, especially when he seemed to obtain such a great advantage by seizing Merry from the rear.

Madison’s arm had been given a severe wrench, but the fellow rose quickly, not yet subdued or satisfied.

“I ain’t done with ye,” he snarled; “I ain’t done yet!”

“That’s unfortunate—for you,” declared Frank, wholly undisturbed.

“I’ll kill ye yet!”

“You frighten me.”

But the tone of voice in which Merriwell spoke the words told he was not frightened in the least.

Madison was breathing heavily, his huge breast heaving, as he rose and confronted Frank. With his hands hanging at his sides, the young man who had twice taken a fall out of the bully seemed utterly off his guard and unable to defend himself quickly.

The thug stepped in, suddenly shooting out his left fist toward Merry’s solar plexus, hoping to get in a knockout blow.

Merriwell sidestepped in a manner that caused the bruiser to miss entirely. With his right hand Frank caught the fellow’s left wrist, giving the middle of his arm a sharp rap with the side of his left hand, thus causing it to bend. Instantly twisting the man’s arm outward and bending it backward, Frank placed his left hand against Madison’s elbow and pushed toward the thug’s right side. In the meantime, Merry had placed his right foot squarely behind Madison’s left. Madison found himself utterly unable to resist, and, almost before he realized that he was helpless, he was hurled over backward with great violence.

“Maype dot blatform vill lay sdill on you a vile,” observed Dunnerwurst, as Madison fell with a terrible thud.

“Three times and out,” murmured Jack Ready.

“It ain’t no use!” exclaimed one of Madison’s backers. “Mat can’t do this chap on ther level. He’s up against a better man.”

Madison thought so, too. He was beginning to realize that he had encountered his master, although the thought filled him with rage he could not express. For some time he had been the bully of Cartersville, universally feared by the younger set of hoodlums, and in that period he had not encountered any one who could give him anything like an argument in a fight. He had expected to handle Merriwell with ease, and the ease with which he was defeated made the whole affair seem like an unreal and unpleasant dream. Furthermore, he knew that never after this would he be regarded with the same degree of respect and awe by the young ruffians of the town. Having seen him handled in such a simple manner by a calm, smiling stranger, they would never again look on him as invincible.

The encounter had been witnessed by others besides those immediately interested. Madison was well known and feared in Cartersville, and the loafers about the station, as well as those who had business there, saw him defeated for the first time in his career of terrorism. Although some of them rejoiced over it, yet nearly all were still too much awed by his record to express themselves.

The treatment he had received at the hands of Merriwell had wrenched and bruised the ruffian, whose arms and shoulders felt as if they had been twisted nearly out of their joints. The fellow got up slowly after the third fall.

Some fancied he would attempt to get at Merriwell again, but he had been checked and cowed most effectively. He stood beyond Frank’s reach and glared, his face showing his fury, while his huge hands twitched convulsively.

The language that flowed from the lips of the ruffian was of a character to make any hearer shudder in case he possessed any degree of decency.

“That will do!” interrupted Merry sharply, the pleasant expression leaving his face. “Not another word of it! Close up instantly!”

“What if I don’t?” demanded Madison.

“Then what you have received from me is a mere taste beside what you’ll get,” promised Frank.

Madison turned to his followers.

“What’s the matter with you?” he snarled. “What made you stand round and see him do stunts with me? Why didn’t you light on him, you muckers?”

“We were waiting and pining for them to make some such movement, gentle sir,” observed Jack Ready.

“Yah!” cried Dunnerwurst. “Id vould haf peen very bleasing for us to seen id did.”

“You told us you’d do ther whole thing when we came down to the station, Mad,” reminded one of the gang.

“We was waitin’ for ye to do it,” said another grimly.

“Of vaiting you haf become tiredness,” observed Hans. “You don’d blame me vor dot.”

Madison started to pour forth vile language again, but Merry took a single step in his direction and he stopped, lifting his hands to defend himself.

“I don’t care to touch you again,” said Frank; “but if I hear two more words of that character from your lips I’ll take another fall out of you.”

“You’re mighty brave now!” muttered the tough; “but I ain’t done with ye. No man ever flung Mat Madison round like a bag of rags and didn’t regret it. You’d been better off if you’d took my advice and left on that train. Now you can’t leave before to-morrer, and I’m going to square up with you before you git away.”

“I don’t fancy your threats, any more than your vile language. I’ll take neither from you. We came to this town to play baseball, and we propose to do so—or know the reason why.”

“You won’t play no baseball here, and don’t you think ye will. That’s all settled. There won’t be no more baseball in this town as long as Joe Gaddis tries to run things.”

“What’s the matter with Gaddis?”

“You’ll find out—mebbe. There ain’t no baseball team here now.”

“No ball team?”

“No.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“It don’t make no difference whether you believe it or not. You go ahead and investigate. Mebbe you’ll have a good time stopping in Cartersville, but I don’t think it.”

“Oh, they’ll have fun!” sneered one of the crowd.

“Carey Cameron will see about that.”

“Shut up, Bilker!” snapped Madison. “You ain’t to call no names.”

“Who is Carey Cameron?” asked Merry promptly.

But no one would answer the question.

Madison turned away, after giving Merriwell another glaring look of hatred, and the young ruffians flocked after him.

“Well,” said Merry, “that incident is closed for the present. Now we’ll find a hotel and secure accommodations.”

CHAPTER XII
TURNED DOWN.