Transcriber’s Note:

The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.

Frank Merriwell’s Prosperity
OR
TOIL HAS ITS REWARD

BY

BURT L. STANDISH

AUTHOR OF

“The Merriwell Stories”

STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS

79-89 SEVENTH AVE., NEW YORK CITY

Copyright, 1899

By STREET & SMITH

Frank Merriwell’s Prosperity

FRANK MERRIWELL’S PROSPERITY.

CHAPTER I.
WHEN RAGE RULES.

The scene was the stage of the Star Theater in Atchison, Kansas, and the occasion the rehearsal of Frank Merriwell’s company in his new play, “True Blue.” From the first night “True Blue” had been a success; the playgoers of Puleob, Colorado, who had witnessed the failure of its first version, welcomed “True Blue” enthusiastically and assured Frank, as Roscoe Havener, his stage manager, had put it, that he had a “winner.”

Frank had chosen to turn back toward the East, instead of continuing on to the Pacific coast, for it was late in the season and business was on the decline. It would be better for the members of his company if the play closed its run in the East, leaving them on the ground when the time came to make engagements for the coming season. Besides that consideration, Frank had other reasons in turning Eastward. The failure to keep the dates made for “John Smith” and the partial failure of “For Old Eli” had made it difficult for him to secure theaters for “True Blue” on the Western route, while it was comparatively easy to secure good bookings on the way Eastward.

So it happened that the “True Blue” company had jumped from Puleob straight across Colorado and Kansas to Atchison, where they were to open that night.

All the actors, except Frank, were on the stage carefully rehearsing, as Havener was determined that only by constant drill could slips be avoided, and he aimed to have a perfect performance.

As the afternoon waned, more than one glance of comment had been exchanged by the other players as they witnessed Bart Hodge’s repeated acts of insubordination. Bart seemed to be in a very unpleasant frame of mind, favoring everybody with savage glances and paying absolutely no attention to the directions of the stage manager. In the eyes of actors there is no more unpardonable offense than to treat the stage manager thus.

And Havener was not the man to overlook such offenses. Obviously he was incensed. But he understood how close to Frank Bart was, how strong were Frank’s feelings of friendship and loyalty to the dark-haired youth, and he controlled his wrath until finally he could tolerate the behavior of Hodge no longer.

He called out sharply:

“Hodge!”

“Sir?”

“Come back!”

“Well?”

“Now, make your exit properly, please.”

Bart Hodge gave Roscoe Havener an angry, resentful look.

“Did you call me back for that?” he asked.

“I certainly did,” answered the stage manager, grimly.

“Why, sir?”

“Because you took the wrong exit. I have told you repeatedly to use the right upper at the close of that scene, and you persist in leaving the stage by the right tormentor.”

“It is the most convenient,” came sullenly from Bart.

“That makes no difference.”

“It makes considerable difference to me.”

Havener was angry, but he held himself in restraint. He did not curse, after the manner of most stage managers, but he showed that he meant what he said when he spoke again.

“You will do as I tell you at rehearsals, Mr. Hodge.”

“Oh, will I?” said Bart, in a manner that was decidedly insolent. “Oh, I don’t know!”

“I know. Further than that, I will have no further back talk from you.”

“I don’t see how you will prevent it.”

“You are fined ten dollars.”

“Is that so?”

“It is. Now you will make your exit in the proper manner.”

Instead of that, Hodge walked off the stage by the tormentor.

Havener did not call him back again, but his face turned pale with anger.

Frank was in a dressing room, and did not hear what took place on the stage between Havener and Hodge.

Deep in his heart Bart felt that he was wrong, but he smothered the feeling, refused to pause to reason, and hurried to the dressing room, where he knew he would find Merriwell.

Frank was laying out his costumes and preparing for the evening performance.

Hodge entered without knocking, and Merry knew in a moment, on looking up, that something was wrong.

“Look here, Merriwell!” he flared.

“What’s the matter, old man?”

“I’ve stood enough of this! It’s the limit!”

“What are you talking about, Bart? What’s the limit?”

“Havener is the limit.”

“I don’t think I understand you, my dear fellow.”

“Don’t ‘dear fellow’ me! I am in no mood to take it now.”

Plainly enough something serious had happened, for Bart was not in the habit of talking that way. Frank straightened up and looked at him steadily without speaking. Bart’s eyes dropped before that gaze, but the sullen look did not leave his face, and he stared at the floor as if glaring at a deadly enemy.

“What is this, anyway?” Merry asked, after some moments. “What has gone wrong between you and Havener?”

“I am tired of being bulldozed by him.”

“Havener is not in the habit of bulldozing anybody, Hodge, as you very well know.”

“I know he is in the habit of trying it on me. He doesn’t like me, and he doesn’t miss an opportunity to try to call me down. I’m dead sick of it!”

“You are altogether too sensitive, old man. Havener is the stage manager, and a good one he is, too. He has aided me immensely in getting the play into shape.”

“Oh, you’re inclined to give other people too much credit. I’ll guarantee there is not another playwriter who is starring in his own piece who will say that his stage manager has done much of anything for him.”

“I am not patterning my actions on those of others, Bart. I detest chaps who ape others. I believe in individuality. Be what you are. That is the maxim I go by. If others are selfish and ungrateful, it is no reason why I should be so.”

“Gratitude! gratitude! gratitude! It makes me tired! Has a fellow got to go through the world being grateful to everybody who is decent to him?”

“You know I did not mean that. You have a way of distorting what I say so that it does not mean what I intended.”

“Oh, yes; of course I do something I shouldn’t do! I’m always doing something I shouldn’t do! It’s been the way all my life! At home I was forever doing something I shouldn’t do! At school it was the same. At college it was no better. And now, in trying to be an actor, I am still doing something I should not do. Oh, what’s the use to try to do anything! A fellow might as well bump along and not give a rap what he does or what happens to him.”

“You are getting in a bad way, Hodge,” said Merriwell, seriously. “I believe your liver is out of order.”

“This is no joking matter!” Bart snarled. “Don’t poke fun at me, Frank Merriwell! It doesn’t go with me for a cent!”

“If you had been given a sense of humor it might be better for you. Unfortunately, you never see the humorous side of anything. You take everything seriously, much to your own discomfort. Happy is the man who can see and understand the humor in everyday life.”

“Well, I’ll guarantee there is nothing humorous in what just happened on the stage.”

“You haven’t told me what happened.”

“Havener gave me a call down.”

“Did he?”

“Did he! did he!” panted Bart. “You say that as if it were of no consequence.”

“Havener is not in the habit of giving anybody a call down unless they deserve it.”

“Oh, it’s plain you think that fellow knows it all. But I’m going to tell you now that I can’t stand his insolence, and I won’t stand it!”

Frank sat down on the lid of his trunk.

“We’ll have to talk this matter over, Bart,” he said. “If Havener has given you a call down without cause, you may be sure I shall have something to say to him. Now, tell me just how it came about.”

But, of a sudden, Hodge did not feel like telling. He began to realize that the truth would not put him in a very favorable light. Instead of quieting his anger, however, this made him feel still more angry.

“Oh, I haven’t anything to say about it!” he exclaimed, turning away. “I’ll pay the fine.”

“What fine?”

“Ten dollars.”

“Then it is rather serious, for he fined you.”

“Oh, you are just beginning to realize there is something serious about it, are you!”

“I wish you wouldn’t blaze at me like that, Hodge. Anyone would imagine we were the bitterest of foes, instead of the firmest friends.”

“Friends! Ha, ha! Are we?”

“Are we?” echoed Merry, in amazement.

“Yes, are we?”

“Why, of course we are!”

“I don’t know about that. I have no friends. I wasn’t built to have friends. I believe I was intended for an Ishmael.”

“Now, drop that, Hodge!” commanded Frank, not a little shocked. “You were built for just what you choose to make yourself. If you select to become an outcast, you can do so.”

“That is what you believe. I don’t believe anything of the sort. I believe a fellow must be what he becomes. I believe everything is predestined, and, try as he may, no man can change the course that it has been destined that he must follow.”

“You are getting into a bad way, Hodge, for that is the argument of every evil-doer and criminal since the days of Cain.”

“And it’s an argument that cannot be refuted!” shouted Bart, fiercely. “I suppose that you claim God is all-wise—that He knows everything?”

“Of course.”

“Then, if He knows everything, He must know before a man is born just what that man will become, what he will do, every act he will commit. You can’t deny that. If He knows just what a man will do, then it must be that the man’s actions are foreordained. You can’t deny that. Every act that man does he was compelled to do because God knew what he would do, and he could not do differently.”

“And you would argue that a man should not attempt to make himself better and nobler because he cannot be any better if he tries? As I said before, that is the argument of bad men and criminals for centuries.”

“That’s enough!” Bart hissed. “I understand you, Frank Merriwell. You—you, who have pretended to be my friend—you have called me a criminal to my face. Ha, ha, ha! I didn’t think it would come to that. Never mind. I understand it all now. For all of our apparent friendship, I know now that you have doubted me deep down in your heart. You have not wanted to doubt me, but you could not help it, and so——”

Frank started toward Bart, his hand outstretched protestingly, crying:

“Stop! Has it come to this between us?”

“Yes, it has come to this!” snarled the angry, unreasoning youth. “Didn’t you know it would? Didn’t you know I was a worthless fellow? Oh, yes, you knew it.”

“Have you forgotten——”

“Nothing. I have not forgotten what you have done for me, but I am sorry you ever did it. You have chosen between me and Havener.”

“You are wrong in——”

“I will not take a call down from any man living!” shouted Bart. “Havener called me down. Havener is your stage manager. He fined me. If you do not stand by him, go out there and tell him he must apologize to me—tell him he must retract that fine.”

Hodge had not thought of making such a demand when he entered the dressing room, but his anger had led him on blindly till now reason was quite smothered by passion.

“I do not know the facts of the case,” said Frank.

“Confound the facts! You say you have not chosen between us? Then you must stand by me. I tell you I cannot take this call down from Havener. If you stand by me, go out at once and inform him that he must apologize.”

“When you are cooler you will look at this matter in a different light. I’ll have a talk with you, then. I’ll learn what has happened, and you may be sure I’ll not uphold Havener if he is in the wrong.”

“That’s not what I want. You have said you would stand by me, even though you knew I might be in the wrong. You are put to the test.”

“Again you distort the meaning of my words. If you were charged with a wrong deed, I would stand by you—defend you—do everything in my power for you. This is different, and——”

Hodge cut Frank short with a bitter laugh.

“You have been put to the test,” he again declared, “and you have failed. It’s no use, Merriwell. I am an Ishmael. Every man’s hand is against me, and my hand is against all mankind. I don’t care what happens to me now.”

He flung himself out of the dressing room before Frank could say another word.

Frank was not left in a pleasant mood. He realized that his arguments had been rather weak against those made by Hodge, for he had been overwhelmed for the moment by a tempest of angry words, and his modesty had not permitted him to speak of the many instances of his unswerving fidelity to the passionate, erring fellow in the past. He had not been able to recall the many times he had stood by Bart alone, even when the proof had seemed overwhelming that Hodge had committed an evil action or a crime.

Frank had been astounded by the seeming burst of ingratitude from Bart, but he quickly decided that the dark-faced youth would come to his senses if given time to cool down and think over all the events that had transpired since their first meeting on the little platform of the railway station at Fardale.

Hodge, hot-blooded, passionate, unreasoning, had become his enemy on their first meeting. In various ways he had tried to injure and disgrace Merriwell, but he had failed in all his efforts. When they had both become cadets at the military academy, Hodge’s enmity had continued till, being charged with a disgraceful deed of which he was not guilty, Frank Merriwell had defended him and proven his innocence.

Then these singularly assorted lads had become roommates and chums, and time after time since had Frank proved his loyalty by standing true to Hodge under the most trying circumstances. In his calm reasoning moments, Bart knew this and was grateful. He had been ready enough to show his gratitude, but now anger had overcome everything, and, in his burst of passion, he had spoken words Frank had never expected to hear from his lips.

At first Merry felt like following him. His own blood was throbbing hotly in his veins on account of the injustice with which he had been treated, but he had held himself in check with a firm hand. Frank had learned that the man who can master himself can master others, and his self-control was something remarkable.

He quickly decided that it would be best to give Bart a chance to cool down somewhat. In the meantime, he would learn exactly what had happened on the stage. Merry hoped Bart’s sense of justice would reassert itself and would bring the hot-blooded fellow back with a desire to retract.

As for Bart, he was so blind with passion that he actually stumbled against Stella Stanley as he hurried across the stage behind the rear setting.

“Look out!” she exclaimed, with a short laugh. “Do you want to kill me?”

“I feel like killing somebody!” panted Bart, glaring at her; “but not you—not you, Miss Stanley,” he quickly added.

“Oh, you don’t want to take it that way,” she said. “You’ll get used to it after you have been in the business longer. We don’t get many call downs from Havener. I’ve been in companies where the stage manager would swear and tear around, and no member of the cast escaped being hauled over the coals.”

“No man can call me down that way!” exclaimed Bart. “I won’t stand for it!”

“What will you do?”

“Quit.”

“When?”

“Now.”

“You can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Your contract.”

“Haven’t any.”

“How’s that?”

“Never had one.”

“Why, I supposed every member of the company had a contract with Mr. Merriwell. How is it that you have none?”

“Never made any with him.”

“That’s queer; but you are friends, and I suppose he thought it was not necessary. You are bound by——”

“Bound by nothing! Do you think I’ll stay to take such bullying? No! What difference did it make at rehearsal whether I made the exit by the tormentor or right upper?”

“You know Havener insists on every member going through rehearsal exactly as he will play so far as entrances, exits and business are concerned. He is a stickler for that. He may allow some of us to chew our lines at rehearsal, but the business must be correct. Merriwell has given him entire charge of the stage, and——”

“And he has chosen me to bully. That’s the size of it, Miss Stanley.”

“Nonsense!”

“There is no nonsense about it.”

“Now, look here, Mr. Hodge, I like you——”

“Do you?” exclaimed Bart, in mingled eagerness and doubt.

“Of course I do, and I don’t want to see you make a bad break. What are you going to do if you quit the company?”

“I don’t know. I don’t care.”

“Oh, yes, you do care. Don’t make a mistake. We need you.”

“No; I am not an actor—never was meant for one.”

“You play the part you have been given.”

“Because it does not require acting. It is a part that comes natural to me.”

“Well, there’s nobody to fill your place now.”

“It won’t be hard work to get somebody.”

“I’m afraid it will.”

“Oh, is that it!” muttered Bart, suddenly growing fierce again. “You take such an interest in me because you think it may be difficult to find somebody to fill my place!”

She laughed a little.

“No, it is not that, my dear fellow—really it isn’t, I told you I liked you, and it is true. I didn’t like you much at first. I’ll confess that, but there’s something about you that makes me take to you. I rather like your way of getting hot under the collar when somebody rubs you against the grain. I’m pretty independent myself, but I don’t blaze up as you do.”

“Look here, Miss Stanley,” said Hodge, seriously. “I want to know something.”

“What is it?”

“Are you throwing a bluff when you say you like me?”

“Not a bit of it.”

“And you want me to stay with the company?”

“I do.”

“I’ll stay on one condition.”

“What is that?”

“You must give me a promise.”

“What promise?”

“That you will throw over Lester Vance and Billy Wynne.”

Stella Stanley was astonished.

“Throw them over?” she exclaimed. “What are you talking about, my dear fellow?”

“I am talking what I mean,” breathed Hodge, hurriedly. “One thing you will acknowledge, Miss Stanley—I have not been very forward.”

“Indeed, not. You have always acted as a gentleman toward me, Hodge.”

“I have not forced my presence. I have not flung myself in your way?”

“No.”

“No!” exclaimed Hodge. “I am going to tell you something, Stella Stanley. I am something of a woman hater, although I do not go round prating about it and making myself offensive. I believe all women are treacherous—not to be trusted.”

The leading lady laughed again.

“Well, I must say you are frank, to speak the least!” she exclaimed, showing her handsome, white teeth.

“I am truthful,” asserted Bart. “Others might lie about it; I tell you the simple truth.”

“And not so simple at that!”

“I have come to believe what I do about women through what I have seen of them. They have disgusted me.”

Stella stood smiling. She was two or three years older than Bart, and inwardly she was thinking that he was very young, indeed, to have and utter such opinions.

“My dear boy!” she exclaimed; “I’m sorry for you!”

“Don’t call me a boy!” panted Bart. “I don’t like it. Don’t be sorry for me. I don’t like that.”

“Well, what do you like?”

“You, you, you!” he hoarsely whispered, leaning toward her, so that she retreated a bit in sudden surprise.

“But I thought you were a woman hater?” she said, maliciously. “What is the matter with you? Why aren’t you consistent?”

“Don’t ask me to be consistent!” he exclaimed. “I tried to hate you, like all the others. I tried not to pay any attention to you. I tried to avoid you. I couldn’t do it.”

“I don’t know whether to be flattered or offended.”

“Don’t be either, Miss Stanley. I am not trying to flatter. I hope I shall not offend. I didn’t mean to say this to you. Oh, I meant to keep my mouth shut, but I can’t.”

“That’s what ails lots of us,” she observed, with a flippancy that jarred on his nerves.

He went on:

“Despite myself, I would think of you when you were not near. Despite myself, I would be watching you when you were in sight. I saw you laughing and talking with that addle-pated boy, Wynne, and I wanted to spank him. I saw you smiling on Lester Vance, and I wanted to knock his head off.”

“And all the while I never dreamed of this. Oh, say, Hodge, don’t get sentimental now. I don’t like it, my boy. I didn’t stop you to have you tell me all this, but——”

“I am going to tell it just the same!” he shouted, his eyes blazing. “I did not mean to, but I’ll not be stopped now. I am going to tell it, and, by Heaven, you must listen.”

She shrugged her shoulders.

“It’s a pretty bad case with you, that’s plain; but you’ll get over it, my dear fellow.”

Again Hodge ignored her words and manner.

“I have seen you walking with Vance,” he said. “You went to church with him in Puleob. You have permitted him to show you all kinds of attentions.”

“I’ve simply been polite to him, in return for his kindness to me.”

“Polite! Kindness! I tell you I can’t stand it. That’s what ailed me to-day. That’s why I would not obey Havener. It has gnawed on me—gnawed, gnawed. I have felt like kicking that fellow. Sometimes I have found it hard to keep my hands off him. Stella—Miss Stanley, you must quit him.”

“Really! Well, now, Hodge, you are going beyond the limit.”

Still he did not heed. He paid no attention to the flush that rose to her cheeks. The words continued to pour from his lips:

“You have said you liked me. Prove it! Now is your chance! You want me to stay with the company. I’ll stay if you throw both Vance and Wynne over—give them the cold shoulder. I’ll stay for all of the call down Havener gave me. I’ll swallow my pride and let the matter drop.”

“That will be sensible of you, but you must not be foolish about me, my boy—really you mustn’t. I am older than you, and it is my place to give you advice. You have lost your head, not your heart, my dear fellow.”

Bart’s hands clinched and unclosed.

“Don’t talk to me that way!” came hoarsely from his lips. “Don’t talk to me as if you regarded me as a stripling! Answer me, Stella Stanley—will you drop those fellows?”

“I couldn’t think of giving them the marble heart, Hodge. It wouldn’t be right, you know.”

“And you’ll go on laughing and chatting with them! You will walk with Vance! You’ll eat at his table! Do you think I can stay and stand that? No! Oh, you are like all the others, and I hate you—hate you!”

He caught her in his arms and pressed his lips to hers. She was startled by his sudden fierce action and cried out.

A man came springing forward.

“What’s this?” he cried. “Hands off, Hodge!”

It was Vance.

Bart straightened up, still with an arm about the actress, who seemed to hesitate whether to laugh or be angry. His eyes met those of Lester Vance, and they were filled with the most deadly hatred. He did not speak, but suddenly he stooped and kissed Stella once more.

Vance sprang forward.

“Why, you insulting dog!” he shouted.

Quickly Bart swung the woman behind him, and squarely he met Vance. His arm shot out, his fist landed with a crack and Vance lay stretched on the floor.

Then, without a word, with simply a look of unspeakable scorn and contempt toward the fallen actor, unmindful of the others of the company who came rushing to the spot, Bart walked down the stairs and out of the theater by way of the stage door.

CHAPTER II.
THROUGH THE TRANSOM.

Lester Vance got up. At first he was too dazed to speak, but he recovered his tongue after a little and began to swear.

Frank Merriwell came forward, saying sharply:

“That will do, Mr. Vance! You know I do not permit any such language on the stage or around the theater. There are ladies present, too.”

Vance put his hand over his eye and gave Merry an ugly look. The other members of the company were around, asking what had happened.

“Yes, I know your rules,” he admitted; “but that cursed cur assaulted me—struck me in a treacherous manner when I was not looking!”

“To whom are you referring in such a manner?”

“Hodge.”

“He struck you?”

“Yes, the dirty, sneaking, miserable——”

“Stop!” rang out Merry’s clear voice. “That will do, sir! Bart Hodge is my friend, and I will not permit you to apply such epithets to him!”

Vance showed his teeth, much after the manner of a snarling dog.

“But I suppose you permit your friend to assault and insult the ladies of this company?” he said, scornfully.

“Not if I know it; but Bart Hodge is not in the habit of assaulting and insulting ladies.”

“He did so a few moments ago, the miserable whelp of a——”

Frank took a quick step toward the fellow, and Vance stopped instantly.

“I have warned you once,” said Merry, speaking in a low tone. “I shall not speak again. Be careful!”

“Oh, you stand up for him, Frank Merriwell, without hearing what he has done!”

“I am willing to hear what he has done, but you must use proper language in relating it.”

“Proper language! I don’t know how proper language can be found to fit the occasion. I tell you your friend of whom you boast has insulted one of the ladies of the company!”

“Which one?”

“That one!”

Vance pointed at Stella Stanley, who, to his unspeakable surprise, broke into laughter.

Frank turned toward her.

“Is this true, Miss Stanley?” he asked, gravely.

“Of course, it isn’t true!” she exclaimed. “Not a bit of it.”

“What?” cried Vance, astounded, glaring at her. “Surely, Stella, I saw the miserable fellow clutching you in his arms. I heard you scream for help.”

“I heard that,” declared Granville Garland.

“Yes, I heard her scream,” said Agnes Kirk.

“So did I,” nodded Billy Wynne, “and I came running to this spot as soon as I could. I saw Hodge strike Vance.”

“Others saw that,” said Lester. “There were plenty of witnesses to his assault upon me.”

“Methinks thou didst attempt to swipe him first,” murmured Douglas Dunton, “else these faithful eyes much deceived me.”

“Gol darned ef Vance warn’t tryin’ to dew somethin’ ter Hodge,” grinned Ephraim Gallup; “but he didn’t seem ter do it very much.”

“I simply attempted to protect Stella from his attack,” asserted Lester. “I saw him seize her and kiss her in the most violent and offensive manner, and——”

Stella interrupted him with a laugh.

“Offensive to whom?” she asked.

“To you, of course, for you struggled to throw him off.”

“Now, you saw that in your mind, Lester, my boy,” she declared. “I did not struggle.”

Vance was astounded.

“But you—you screamed,” he fluttered, hesitatingly.

“Yes, I think I did.”

“Why did you do that?”

“Well, Hodge was a trifle abrupt, and he took me by surprise.”

“Then you acknowledge——”

“That—no more.”

“But it was an insult.”

“Nonsense! It was nothing of the sort.”

Vance was pale, and he began to glare at her, anger and jealousy in his eyes.

“I hope, Miss Stanley,” he began, stiffly, “that you are not going to say that you liked it? If you——”

“That is exactly what I am going to say,” laughed the actress, to the surprise of all and the fury of Vance. “I’d just been taunting him—having sport with him, you know. He had his revenge by seizing me and kissing me.”

“In a most offensive and insolent manner,” sneered Vance.

“Offensive to you, perhaps,” she commented, cheerfully; “but not to me. As I said before, I rather liked it. I like a fellow who has the nerve to take things by storm when he cannot get them otherwise.”

She smiled on Vance in the most tantalizing manner as she said this, and he well understood her meaning. He ground his teeth with impotent rage.

“If you liked it so well,” he panted, “you should not have screamed as you did.”

“That was an accident,” she declared. “Didn’t mean to do it, you know, but it slipped out.”

“By gum!” chuckled the youth from Vermont. “It don’t seem to me that Bart done anything so very bad. I think he was a purty gol-darn lucky feller!”

“I hardly think Mr. Merriwell, who is so rigid in regard to the deportment of the members of his company, can approve of the behavior of some of them,” said Vance, with something like a sneer.

At that Stella Stanley threw back her head and gave him a withering look.

“Is it possible you mean me by that?” she said.

“Not so much as Hodge,” mumbled the jealous actor, weakly.

“Not so much?”

“No.”

“But some?”

“Well, I was surprised to hear you confess that you liked the treatment you received from that low fellow.”

“Oh, you were!” came scornfully from the woman’s lips. “I understand you, Mr. Vance, and I do not like your language! Any insinuation against my character I will not stand! I see I have been wrong in thinking you a gentleman! I see I have made a mistake in permitting you to pay me some attentions! Now you are ready to presume on our friendliness.”

“No, not that! You are——”

She cut him short with a gesture that might have been given by a tragedy queen.

“You have said enough, Mr. Vance! You cannot remedy it now. Let me tell you something—let me tell you all something! Bart Hodge has acted as a gentleman toward me. Anything that has happened that may seem to contradict my statement I could account for—if I chose. Let me say something more. I admire Bart Hodge. He is young, but he doesn’t care for any living thing, and that is something that I admire in any man. When he is angry he looks as if he’d enjoy killing somebody, and I admire him for that! If he started to do a thing men or devils could not keep him from doing it, and I admire him for that! When I attempted to have sport with him, he seized me, held me, forcibly kissed me—and I admire him for that! When some one attempted to interfere in my behalf, he promptly knocked that person down, and I admire him for that! There—I’ve said my say. You know what I think of Hodge.”

“I suppose you admire him for acting like a cad on the stage?” hissed Vance. “Havener must admire him, too! Oh, he is a fine chap to admire!”

Stella looked at him and began to laugh again.

“My dear fellow,” she said, in a most provoking way, “you had better attend to that eye without delay. It’s turning black. It’ll be closed if you don’t look after it.”

Then she turned and walked away, leaving Vance almost frothing with jealous fury.

Granville Garland was almost the only man who remained with Vance. The others moved away, talking about what had happened.

“You’ve got it in the neck, Vance,” said Garland, sympathetically. “She has thrown you down for Hodge.”

“Oh, don’t talk to me!” growled the discomfited actor. “I could murder that fellow! I’d do anything to get even with him, and I’ll find a way to do it, too!”

“Well, just now you had better take Stanley’s advice and attend to that eye. You’ll be a beauty if you don’t doctor it in a hurry.”

Snarling to himself, Lester Vance left the stage, and a second later, fuming with fury, hurried from the theater. At a market he bought a slice of beefsteak to use as a poultice on his eye, and then hastened to the hotel at which the company was stopping.

Entering as unobtrusively as possible, he hurried up to his room. Turning a corner of the corridor, he suddenly halted, catching his breath.

A short distance away, with his back toward Vance, Hodge was unlocking the door of a room.

“Why is he going in there?” thought the jealous actor. “That is not his room. It’s Merriwell’s!”

Bart opened the door and entered the room.

Vance stood irresolute in the corridor, wishing to do something to injure Hodge, but undecided concerning the course to pursue.

“He has secured the key from the office and entered Merriwell’s room,” muttered the actor. “I wonder what he is up to. I’d give something if I knew.”

Softly he stole along the corridor till he reached the door of the room. There he paused and listened. He could hear Hodge moving about inside.

“Wish I might get a peep through the keyhole,” thought Vance. “I believe he is up to something queer. If I had time, I’d bring Merriwell here, so that he might catch the fellow in there.”

He looked up at the transom.

“If I could get a peep through that!” he mentally exclaimed.

A moment later he was tip-toeing along the corridor, almost on the run. He had the key to his own room, and he quickly and silently unlocked the door and entered. Soon he came out, bearing a chair, and leaving the door of his room standing wide open.

“I may want to get back there in a hurry,” he muttered.

Reaching Merriwell’s room, he placed the chair before the door and quickly sprang upon it. Then, by standing on his toes, he was able to look through the transom glass.

What he saw did not give him satisfaction just then, for Bart was sitting at a little table, writing swiftly.

“Pshaw!” thought Vance. “He’s writing a letter—that’s all! He isn’t doing anything out of the way.”

The fellow was filled with disappointment. Still he continued to stand on the chair and watch the youth within the room.

After a time Bart finished his writing. He took out his watch and looked at it, muttering:

“I must hurry if I want to catch that train.”

Vance pricked up his ears. He knew nothing of the quarrel between Merriwell and Hodge, if quarrel it could be called, and still instinct told him that something was wrong.

“Wonder why he’s going to catch a train?” he speculated.

Hodge had risen, leaving what he had written on the table. He now picked up Frank Merriwell’s leather grip.

“It’s a good thing I know how to spring this lock,” said Hodge, “else I’d not be able to get out of Atchison unless I walked, and I’d do that before I would stay here now. I have cut clear from everybody now, and I’m going to go it alone in the future. If I go to the dogs who cares!”

The eyes of the spy beyond the transom began to glitter and he was in a flutter of excitement. Now he was certain that Hodge was up to something crooked, and he eagerly awaited developments.

Bart worked at the lock of the leather bag. It was some time before he succeeded in opening it, but succeed he did at last.

The man outside the door rose on his tiptoes and peered through the glass. In his excitement he nearly lost his balance, but he recovered without falling with a crash that would have alarmed the man he was watching.

Vance felt his heart fluttering and throbbing; it was not easy for him to control his breathing, which now was loud and hoarse. A sense of exultation was growing in his bosom.

“So that is the chap Frank Merriwell trusts!” he thought. “That is the friend in whom he has so much confidence! Ha!”

Hodge was taking things out of the grip. He scarcely looked at them as he dumped them out. He was eager and in great haste.

Vance recognized the grip as being beyond a doubt the one Merriwell always carried. He had observed that Frank seemed to think a great deal of that plain leather bag. He remembered hearing Merriwell say once on a time that the grip was very valuable to him, even though it might not be worth much to anybody else.

Bart did not seem to be looking for any particular article in the grip, for he did not examine the things he dumped out so carelessly. Evidently he was after something that lay at the bottom.

What was it?

The spy choked down his heart, which seemed rising into his throat. The glitter in his eyes became exultant. His lips were drawn back from his teeth, and they quivered with a movement like the lips of a snarling dog that is watching a hated enemy.

Everything was out of the grip at last; it was empty. The spy expected Hodge would begin sorting the articles over in search of what he desired, but nothing of the kind happened.

Bart picked up the leather bag, and then, with one hand inside it and one outside, he made some singular movements.

“Jove!”

Vance almost shouted the word. Out from the grip Hodge had taken a false bottom!

The spy dropped down and listened. He was aware that some sort of sound had issued from his lips in his intense excitement, and he wondered if the youth within the room had heard it.

After some minutes, hearing nothing to warrant him in believing he had alarmed Bart, the fellow arose again on his toes and peered through the glass of the transom.

Hodge was taking something out of the grip.

Money!

Yes, money—paper money! There was no doubt of it. In that grip, hidden by the false bottom, Merriwell carried his money, and Hodge was removing it!

Now the spy’s excitement was so great that he could hear his own teeth chattering.

“I’ve got him!” he thought. “I’ll settle him now!”

Hodge partly turned toward the door, and Vance ducked down, listening again. It was several moments before he dared peer through the glass again.

Hodge had restored the false bottom to the grip, and was putting back the various articles he had taken out in the first place.

“He’s got the money!” exulted Vance. “He’s a thief! This is Frank Merriwell’s trusted friend! Oh, but I have him foul! I’d better skip, for he’ll be coming out directly.”

Vance slipped down from the chair, and hurried toward his room, taking the chair with him. Safely within his room, he watched and waited till Hodge came out, locked Merriwell’s door and hurried along the corridor.

Dodging out from his room, the spy sped the length of the corridor. Reaching the turn, he peered cautiously round.

The door of Hodge’s room was standing open, and Hodge was within.

Not more than two minutes did Vance have to watch. Hodge came out of his room, carrying his light overcoat and a heavy valise. With these he descended the stairs.

“By heavens! he is going,” muttered Vance. “He has robbed Merriwell, and he is going to skip! What shall I do?”

He thought of stopping Bart and having him arrested, but quickly decided that was not the best course to pursue, as he was not yet certain Bart had really committed robbery. It was possible Hodge had given Merriwell his money to keep, knowing it would be concealed in the bottom of the grip.

Lester’s heart sank at that, for, if it were true, Hodge was simply skipping the company, which was not such a serious crime.

“It’ll be best to let him go,” Vance decided. “That will queer him with everybody, and I shall have no more trouble with him. If he has robbed Merriwell, so much the better. Oh, but it will be my turn to triumph now! Somebody’ll hear from me! Stella shall acknowledge that this slippery chap is not such a fine fellow after all. Merriwell will not stand up so proudly and claim Bart Hodge as his friend. Things have turned my way!”

CHAPTER III.
BART’S WILD MOVE.

It was nearly an hour later that Vance returned to the theater, wearing a bandage over his eye, and having his hat pulled well down to hide the fact.

He was decidedly nervous, and still there was something of triumph in his manner. He did not seem to feel the disgrace of his misfortune as keenly as it had been fancied he would.

“Hang it all,” said Garland, finding an opportunity to speak with Lester alone. “You actually act as if you thought you had come off best in your encounter with Hodge! What ails you?”

“I rather think I’ll come off best in the end,” grinned Lester, in a peculiarly knowing manner.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“Yes, you do. I can see a peculiar under-meaning in your manner. What has happened?”

“Nothing that I know about.”

“You did not see Hodge after leaving the theater?”

“Yes.”

“Did? Where?”

“At the hotel.”

“What was he doing?”

“Coming out of a room.”

“What room?”

“Merriwell’s.”

“What had he been doing in there?”

“How do I know?”

Garland looked at Vance steadily for some moments.

“You know something you are not telling,” he declared.

“On my word, I do not!” protested Lester, in sudden alarm. “What could I know?”

“Well, you are acting rather queer. Has Hodge been up to anything?”

“Been up to anything?” repeated Bart’s enemy, as if he did not understand. “What do you mean by that?”

“Oh, nothing! Let it drop. But I wonder why you think you will come out best in the end.”

“Because I think this Hodge is a rascal, and I believe others will find it out. That’s all.”

“I don’t understand what there is to warrant such a belief.”

“Oh, I fancy I have read him pretty thoroughly. I know just about how he is made up.”

“I’m afraid you are off your trolley. Hodge is not popular in the company, but I’m inclined to believe he’s on the level, for otherwise Frank Merriwell would not have anything to do with him.”

“Merriwell may be fooled in the fellow, you know.”

“Not likely.”

“Why not?”

“They have been friends a long time. I believe they were schoolmates together. That is why Merriwell sticks by Hodge as he does. He’s a chap who will never turn his back on old friends, no matter what they may do.”

Vance grinned.

“I’ll bet the time will come when Frank Merriwell will turn his back on Bart Hodge,” he declared.

“I do not understand what reason you have for thinking that.”

“I suppose not.”

“Explain.”

“I can’t. It’s a sort of feeling I have, that’s all.”

“Well, I wouldn’t advise you to bank much on that feeling. It will fool you. You feel that way because you hate Hodge. I don’t wonder you hate him, but, take my advice and let him alone. He is a dangerous fellow.”

“Thank you for the advice. He isn’t half as dangerous as you think, Garland. In fact, I regard him as perfectly harmless.”

“That eye doesn’t proclaim him to be. He must have given you that in short order. There was a squall from Stanley, and I rushed to see what had happened. Heard a heavy fall, and you were picking yourself up when I arrived on the scene, while Hodge was gone.”

“That’s it!” growled Vance. “He didn’t stay to face me! He took to his heels, like the sneak he is!”

“I hardly think he ran away.”

“I don’t care what you think; he did run away, just the same, and I’ll bet he’ll take care not to meet me again.”

“He’ll have to meet you.”

“Perhaps not.”

“Of course, he will. You are both in the same company, and you have business with each other in the play.”

“All the same, I don’t think Bart Hodge will dare meet me again,” boasted Vance.

Garland turned away with an impatient gesture. He did not like Hodge, but the seeming conceit of Vance was too much for him.

Vance saw the look on Garland’s face, and it cut him somewhat. He longed to tell Granville something more and he opened his lips to do so, but prudence bade him keep still, and so he did not speak.

With Hodge lacking, the rehearsal went on as well as possible, special attention being given to the specialties.

Frank was restless and nervous. He longed to go in search of Bart, for he fancied it was possible the hot-headed fellow had cooled down enough to listen to reason. He observed Vance was swaggering around in a rather remarkable manner under the circumstances.

“I wonder if he saw anything of Bart?” thought Frank.

Merry did not like Vance, but he resolved to question him, and so he asked him if he had seen Hodge; doing so quietly in order not to attract attention.

“Yes,” answered Lester, speaking loudly, “I saw Hodge at the hotel. He was coming out of your room, too.”

“Coming out of my room?” questioned Frank, lifting his eyebrows.

“Yes, sir.”

“Where did he go?”

“I don’t know.”

Frank did not question the fellow any more concerning Bart. Just then, Lester, who was looking down at his left hand, as if examining his finger nail, gave a start, exclaiming:

“That’s queer!”

“What is queer?” asked Frank.

“My ring is gone.”

“Perhaps you left it somewhere.”

“No, I had it a while ago. I have been wearing it next to my little finger, and I had a hard time to get it on, so I put it on my little finger, although it was too large.”

“When was that?”

“Just before rehearsal began.”

“Then it’s likely you have lost it.”

“By gracious! I’m afraid so, and I valued it highly. It had my monogram set in fine stones, you know, and it was a present to me. I wouldn’t lose it for any amount of money!”

“It may be around the stage somewhere.”

In a few moments nearly everyone was searching for Lester’s ring. Although they looked all around the stage and in the dressing rooms, it was not found.

“You must have lost it after you left the theater, Vance,” said Rufus Small.

“If I lost it on the street, I’ll never see it again,” said Lester, dolefully. “It’s mighty tough!”

“Where did you go from here?”

“To a market, and then straight to the hotel.”

“Perhaps you lost it in the hotel. It may be in your room.”

Vance started and looked somewhat agitated.

“That’s so!” he cried. “I’ll look for it there if you’ll let me go, Mr. Havener.”

“We’ll all go,” said Havener. “We can’t do anything more this afternoon.”

“Needn’t hurry on my account,” said Vance, anxiously.

But rehearsing was over, and, not a little to Lester’s uneasiness, Frank Merriwell left the theater at once and hurried toward the hotel. Vance was unable to get ahead of Merry without running, and this he did not do.

Presenting himself at the desk, Frank asked if Hodge was in his room or around the hotel.

“No,” answered the clerk, “he has left.”

Merry caught his breath, a queer sensation striking through his heart.

“Left?” he exclaimed.

“Yes, sir.”

“You don’t mean——”

“He has settled his bill and departed.”

“Impossible!” cried Frank, in great consternation.

The clerk lifted his eyebrows, but said nothing.

“I beg your pardon,” said Merry, quickly. “I did not mean to contradict your statement, but it does not seem possible for me to believe it. Will you give me the particulars?”

“There are no particulars, save that he asked for his bill, paid it, took the key to your room to get something he said he had in there, came down very soon with his grip and coat, and left.”

It was a rare thing for Frank Merriwell to be dazed, but he seemed so just then.

A little distance away stood Lester Vance, a look of intense satisfaction and triumph on his face.

“Bart has gone crazy!” thought Frank, his lips being pressed together. “He’ll be sorry for this. Unless I can stop him, there is no telling what may become of him. I’ll not be likely to see him again for a long time, and he is in such a reckless mood now that it will be dangerous for him to go by himself.”

He took his key and went up to his room.

“I must have a chance to think,” he decided. “I must conclude what to do.”

He closed the door of his room, and then he noticed a sheet of paper, covered with writing, lying on the table. Hastily he caught it up.

“From Bart!” he breathed. “Wonder what this will tell me.”

His eyes ran over the written lines hurriedly, and this is what he read:

“Frank: It’s no use—I quit! I suppose you will say it is a mean trick for me to leave you this way, but I don’t care if you do! It’s my nature cropping out. I think the devil is in me. I have taken all the money I need, and it will be useless for you to attempt to follow me up. You may as well let me go this time. I take the money in place of my salary, which you have not yet paid me. Hodge.”

Frank stood there, staring at the paper—staring, staring. The words ran together and danced before him. Something was tugging at his heart.

“Poor Hodge!” he murmured. “He cannot conquer himself.”

Then he crushed the paper and threw it on the floor.

“I’ll wager he didn’t take enough money to keep him a week!” came hoarsely from Frank’s lips. “He should have taken twenty-five dollars, at least, and it’s likely he hasn’t taken more than ten.”

He picked up his grip and quickly emptied it upon the bed. Then he soon removed the false bottom and looked into it.

Frank stood there, as if turned to stone. On his face was a look of mingled astonishment and pain.

“Gone!” he finally said, his voice cold, hard and metallic. “Every dollar gone—eight hundred and sixty dollars in all!”

Rat-tat-tat!—a knock on the door.

Before Frank could speak the door swung open, and Granville Garland, Douglas Dunton and Lester Vance entered.

“Mr. Merriwell,” cried Vance, “Dunton has heard something about Hodge!”

“Has he?” said Frank, with perfect coolness, as if nothing had happened to disturb him in the least.

“I have,” nodded Dunton, looking serious. “I heard that he was seen purchasing a ticket for St. Joseph.”

“Is it true he has gone?” asked Garland. “I could hardly believe it when Vance told me.”

“I’m afraid he has been foolish enough to leave,” admitted Merry.

“And all because Havener called him down! My, my! How foolish! He oughtn’t to mind a little thing like that.”

“That was not all,” said Vance significantly.

“No?”

“Remember what I told you?”

“Yes.”

“What was that?” asked Frank, sharply, causing Lester to start a bit.

“Eh? Oh—oh—nothing much. Only—only——”

“Only what?”

Vance stiffened up.

“I said Hodge would sneak,” he declared, attempting to be bold.

“Oh, you did?”

“Yes. He ran away after hitting me and I said he would not stay to face me again. I knew he would sneak.”

“Remarkable!” exclaimed Frank, with a short laugh. “So you think Hodge ran away to keep from meeting you again?”

“I am sure of it. He is a coward!”

“Mr. Vance,” said Frank, “whatever else Bart Hodge may be there is not a drop of cowardly blood in his body. If you were a thousand instead of one he would not have run away from you.”

Vance colored.

“You think so,” he said; “but I don’t fancy you know him very well for all that you have been acquainted with him so long. I’ve never liked his looks. To me he seemed to be a chap who would hesitate at no crime.”

Vance saw that Merry had been investigating the grip, and he fancied his words would give the young actor-playwright a start, but Frank’s nerve was unruffled.

“What are we going to do?” demanded Garland.

“Yes, that’s the question,” said Dunton, anxiously. “We can’t play without Hodge to-night.”

“It strikes me that he has played you dirty, Mr. Merriwell,” said Granville. “And he is the fellow with whom you have been so friendly!”

“A nice friend!” muttered Vance, sneeringly.

Frank was sick at heart, but his calm face did not betray the pain he felt.

“It is possible you do not understand how matters stood,” he said. “I had no contract with Hodge.”

“Didn’t?” cried Dunton.

“Really?” exclaimed Garland.

“That’s queer!” ejaculated Vance, in disappointment.

“No,” said Frank, “I had no contract with him, and so he has broken no pledge to me in leaving in this manner.”

“Still,” said Dunton, “there must have been some sort of understanding between you, and Hodge was pretty cheap to skip out without giving any sort of notice.”

“Not exactly the act of a friend of whom one can be proud,” broke from Garland. “I think you’ll have to acknowledge that, Mr. Merriwell.”

Frank was determined to defend Bart as far as possible.

“You do not know all that happened at the theater to-day,” he said. “Hodge and I had some words.”

It was galling for him to make that confession, but he felt that something must be said to explain the sudden desertion of Bart.

Garland whistled a bit.

“Then that must have happened before the unpleasantness between Hodge and Vance?” he said.

“It did,” nodded Merry. “Hodge left me in anger. He is hot-blooded and impulsive, and he did not stop to reason about the matter. He has skipped out, it is evident, but I believe he will cool down and come back when he comes to think it all over.”

“But he’ll be treating you dirty if he doesn’t come back in time for the performance to-night,” said Garland. “You would not be likely to take him back if he returned to-morrow. I’m sure you wouldn’t take back any of the rest of us if we served you such a trick.”

“You can’t be sure of anything of the sort,” said Frank, sharply. “You were not with the company when Leslie Lawrence deserted and returned to beg pardon. I did not fancy Lawrence, he was not a friend, and yet I took him back. If Bart Hodge returns to-morrow, I shall take him back.”

“Oh, you can do as you like about that,” said Garland.

“I suppose you would take him back if he had stolen your clothes from you?” asked Vance, jeeringly.

“If I chose to I certainly should,” answered Merry, his eyes seeming to bore Bart’s enemy through.

“Hodge didn’t have much money yesterday,” said Vance, staring at the open grip. “I wonder how he happened to have enough to-day to settle his hotel bill and purchase a ticket?”

“How do you know he didn’t have money yesterday?”

Frank shot the question at Vance.

“Oh, he—I—I heard him say so on the train.”

“Did you?”

“Yes. Where do you suppose he got his money?”

“Perhaps I let him have it.”

Vance was disappointed and puzzled. He could not understand why Merriwell did not denounce Hodge, for he was certain Frank had discovered the money was gone. Was it possible Merry intended to keep silent and not charge Hodge with the robbery? Vance could hardly believe such a thing possible. He could not fathom the depths of such fidelity to a treacherous friend.

“What’s this?” said Garland, stooping and picking up the crumpled sheet of paper. “There’s writing upon it.”

“Yes,” said Frank, as he quickly took it from the man’s hand. “I threw it down there.”

Again Vance was disappointed.

“Merriwell is too proud to let us know,” he thought. “He doesn’t want us to think he was fooled by Hodge.”

“Well, I, for one, shall not feel very good toward Hodge if he does come back,” admitted Dunton. “What are we going to do, Mr. Merriwell? The town is billed for the play, the day has arrived for the performance, and there is a big advance sale.”

“We’ll have to lay off to-night,” answered Frank, as if that settled it without further talk. “I will attend to that. Don’t let it worry you.”

“How can you get a man to fill Hodge’s place?” asked Garland.

“That I do not know yet.”

“I wonder what he was after in this room,” came from Vance, in a last desperate effort to force Frank to speak out. “He sneaked out of here as if he had committed a crime. You haven’t lost anything, have you, Mr. Merriwell? He didn’t take anything from you, did he?”

“I haven’t looked around yet,” was the cool answer. “As for coming into this room, he had a right to do that at any time. It was a privilege I gave him, and it was always so understood by hotel clerks wherever we stopped. I know you do not like Hodge, but take my advice, don’t try to make him appear worse than he is. I don’t like it, and I won’t have it!”

Frank walked to the door and opened it.

“Gentlemen,” he said, “I beg you to excuse me. I have business to look after, and time is valuable now.”

They took the hint and filed out. The door closed after them. Vance wheeled about and looked toward the door, his lips curling in scorn.

“Merriwell is a fool!” he declared.

CHAPTER IV.
“TRUE AS STEEL.”

Shortly after the three actors departed, Ephraim Gallup came bursting into Frank’s room, looking excited and agitated.

“Gol-darn my pertaturs!” he spluttered. “Whut’s this I hear abaout Hodge?”

“I don’t know,” said Frank. “What do you hear?”

“He’s gone!”

“Yes.”

“Skipped?”

“Yes.”

“’Thout notifyin’ yeou?”

“Yes.”

“Jee-roo-sa-lum!”

Gallup was stricken dumb for the moment. He stood there, his mouth yawning and his eyes bulging, utterly incapable of expressing his emotions.

Frank was packing some articles into his grip. He seemed to be making arrangements to depart.

“Jee-roo-sa-lum!”

Again the Vermont youth uttered the exclamation. He straightened up and cleared his throat. His mouth came together, and he began to look angry.

“By gum!” he exploded. “That’s whut I call a darn mean trick! I swan to man I never thought Hodge’d go back on yeou, Frank!”

Merry was silent, calmly continuing the packing of his grip.

“An’ they’re sayin’ daown in the office that he swiped somethin’ wut didn’t b’long to him,” said Ephraim.

That gave Frank a start.

“Who says so?” he asked, his heart giving a leap and seeming to drop back heavily, as if weighted down with sudden dread.

Was it possible Bart had stolen something from the hotel? Frank could not believe it.

“Why, some of the comp’ny.”

“Ah!”

It was a breath of relief that came from Merry’s lips, and still the suspense was not fully removed. What if Hodge had taken something belonging to some other member? Under the circumstances, it would brand him as a thief, even though actors frequently appropriated articles belonging to others of the craft, without seeming to regard it as stealing. In this case, nearly every member of the company would be against Bart, and they would magnify any little occurrence that might damage him.

“What were they saying?” asked Frank, with apparent unconcern. “What do they claim Bart has taken?”

“They say Vance knows he tuck somethin’ frum yeou, Frank.”

“Oh, is that the yarn! Well, I wonder how Lester Vance knows so much?”

“I dunno.”

“It would seem more manly for him to be silent about Hodge under the circumstances. If he talks too much it will look like a case of spite.”

“That’s so.”

Frank was relieved, and still he wondered how Vance could be certain enough to make such a charge against Hodge. He soon decided that it must be no more than suspicion on the part of Bart’s foe. Lester had seen Bart leave Merry’s room, and he had decided that Hodge had been in there for no honest purpose. That must be the explanation of the accusation against the erring youth.

“Hodge didn’t take ennything of yeou, did he, Frank?”

Ephraim threw the question fairly and squarely at Merry.

Instantly Frank straightened up, giving the Vermont youth a look that seemed full of resentment and indignation.

“How can you ask such a question, Ephraim Gallup!” he cried. “I am astonished! Have you forgotten how many times Bart has been unjustly accused of such things? Have you forgotten how I have always stood by him without ever once being mistaken? Do you think Bart Hodge would stoop to do me a deliberate injury now?”

Ephraim was abashed for a moment, and then he said:

“Waal, he’s doin’ yeou an injury by jumpin’ aout an’ leavin’ ye in this air kind of way, by thutter!”

“He didn’t stop to think what he was doing. That’s what’s the matter. If he had, wild horses could not have dragged him away.”

“Mebbe so.”

“You know it, Ephraim—you know it! Hodge is passionate and hot-headed. After his call down by Havener to-day he came to me in my dressing room. We had some words.”

“Great juniper!”

“Hodge was unreasonable. I found it impossible to talk the matter over with him properly. When I tried to do so, he flew off the handle. For the first time since we became chums I was unable to control him. His hot temper had burned his reason out. He left the theater and rushed here to the hotel. Without delay he packed up and took a train out of town. If he had given himself time to cool down he would not have thought of doing such a thing.”

“I don’t like somethin’ they’re sayin’ about him naow.”

“What?”

“That is kainder looks ez if he run away to git rid of meetin’ Vance ag’in.”

Frank laughed.

“That is the worst kind of foolish talk,” he said. “Hodge would not run from an army of fellows like Lester Vance.”

“I don’t b’lieve he would, uther,” nodded Ephraim.

“If Vance had such a fancy in his head he is fooling himself.”

“I kainder think he b’lieves it hisself, by thutter!”

“He doesn’t know the kind of material Bart Hodge is built from.”

“Whut yeou goin’ to do, Frank?”

“I shall attempt to follow Hodge and bring him back.”

“No? Yeou don’t mean it!”

“Certainly I mean it. Do you think I am going to let the poor fellow go to ruin? To-morrow he will be overwhelmed with shame for his hasty act, but that very shame will keep him from returning unless I find him and bring him back.”

“Frank,” said Ephraim, “yeou are the kaind of a friend to hev! Yeou stick to yeour friends to the last gasp. Be yeou goin’ right erway?”

“Yes.”

“Do yeou know where Bart’s gone?”

“No; but I have a fancy that he has struck for St. Joseph first. I shall try to trace him there.”

“Will yeou be back to-morrer?”

“I hope to, but I am not coming back till I find Bart Hodge!”

“But whut be we goin’ to do?”

“I’ll make arrangements about that. I want you to find Havener and send him here to this room without delay. I have some instructions to give him.”

“All right,” said Ephraim. “I’ll hunt him up an’ tell him.”

He hurried from the room. Outside the door he paused a moment.

“By gum!” he muttered. “Was there ever another feller that stuck to his friends same as Frank Merriwell does? He’s true ez steel!”

Havener came up and found Merriwell all ready to leave. The stage manager looked rather dejected.

“I’m sorry about this business, Mr. Merriwell,” he said, humbly. “I’m sure I didn’t think it would end this way. If I had dreamed it would I should have permitted Hodge to do just as he liked.”

“And thus ruined the discipline of the entire company,” said Frank. “You would have made a great mistake, Havener.”

“But he’s gone—he’s skipped.”

“Yes.”

“And he has done it because I spoke to him on the stage. I might have taken another opportunity.”

“Mr. Havener, when I made you stage manager of this company I did so with the full intention that you should manage the stage and the people on it. I made no reservations. At rehearsal I am under you, and I thoroughly understand that. It is the only way to run a company as it should be run. A stage manager must have absolute authority in his province, or he is of very little value. I tried to tell this to Hodge, but he was too hot to listen.”

“But Hodge is your friend.”

“Yes.”

“And you always stand by your friends.”

“Always. At the same time I will not uphold a friend to the absolute injury of somebody else. I will stand by him and endeavor to convince him of his error, if he has made one; but I will not aid him in injuring another person.”

Havener brightened and the downcast look left his face.

“I was afraid you would blame me in this matter,” he said. “It’s pretty rough to be upset just like this, after all the troubles you have had and just when there seemed to be plain sailing ahead.”

“I do not blame you at all, Havener. I have heard just what took place on the stage, and I have no complaint to make.”

“Thank you,” said Havener, much relieved.

“You have nothing to thank me for. I am going away. I am going to make an attempt to overhaul Hodge and bring him back.”

“The performance to-night——”

“Will not take place.”

“The manager of the theater will be furious.”

“I can’t help that.”

“What will you do about it?”

“I want you to attend to that matter.”

“You will give me instructions?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“You are to notify the box office without delay that sale of seats must stop.”

“Oh, but there will be a flurry!”

“Tell the manager just what has happened. Here is a check which I have made out for you. It is for five hundred dollars.”

Frank handed Havener the check.

“What’s this for?” asked the stage manager.

“To settle with the manager of the opera house and to pay bills here till I return.”

Havener slowly shook his head.

“I’m afraid this won’t do,” he said.

“Not enough?”

“Yes.”

“Then what do you mean?”

“It’s a check on a Denver bank, and it’s for five hundred dollars. I don’t think I can get it cashed in this place, Mr. Merriwell. You have plenty of ready money. You had better give me some of that.”

Just a bit of color added its flush to Frank’s cheeks.

“Unfortunately, Mr. Havener,” he said, “I have not plenty of ready money at the present time.”

“But—but you told me on the train——”

“I know what I told you. I said I was carrying several hundred dollars with me so that I’d not get in a tight corner.”

“Yes, you told me so.”

“I have disposed of that money since coming to Atchison.”

Havener stared.

“Disposed of it?” he muttered as if he did not understand.

“Yes. I have none of it handy now. For myself, I have less than a hundred dollars, which I was carrying on my person, but that will be enough for the present.”

“Remarkable!” exclaimed Havener. And then, all at once, a singular expression came over his face. “It isn’t possible that what they are saying about Hodge is true?” he exclaimed. “You don’t mean to admit that——”

“I do not mean to admit anything of the sort!” Merry cut in, without waiting for him to finish. “Vance was here with his unpleasant hints and suggestions. I will make that check good.”

“Make it good?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“By getting the name of the hotel proprietor on the back of it.”

“Can you?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know?”

“I know that Mr. Kent Carson, who knows the proprietor of this house very well, has vouched for me here, and the word of Kent Carson goes anywhere in Kansas or Colorado.”

“If that’s right, you are lucky. I believe I understand why you are determined to follow Hodge up. I hope you catch him, Mr. Merriwell. I didn’t think it of him!”

“That is the kind of talk I do not like,” declared Frank, sharply. “I have a favor to ask of you.”

“I shall be glad to grant it, you may be sure of that.”

“You are to inform the company that I have left five hundred dollars with you to keep things straight and as a guarantee that I will return.”

“All right.”

“But you are not to say that I left you a check for five hundred dollars. You are to let them infer that I left the cold cash. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You are to permit no member of the company to see you cash that check.”

“Very well.”

“If anyone hints that there is anything queer about this business you are to silence that person without delay.”

“I’ll do it, all right.”

“You know what to do in relation to the theater here.”

“But what if you do not return in time for us to play in Leavenworth?”

“I will cancel with Leavenworth by wire. No: if you do not hear from me by ten o’clock to-morrow forenoon you cancel. That will be better, for I might be where I could not wire you.”

“Say, but this is tough!” exclaimed Havener. “I hoped there would not be any more of this kind of business.”

“So did I,” nodded Frank; “but we can’t help it. It’s pretty ragged, but we’ll have to swallow it.”

“I don’t understand how it is that you still hold a feeling of friendliness toward a fellow who could put you in such a bad box.”

“That is because you do not understand Hodge and our relations. If I let him go now without an attempt to bring him back, I should regret it always.”

“It’s a lucky fellow who wins such friendship as yours,” said Havener, admiringly. “But I’m afraid Hodge doesn’t deserve it.”

“I don’t like that kind of talk!” exclaimed Frank, with a slight show of impatience. “I have upheld you in the matter of the affair at rehearsal, but I don’t like to hear you say anything against Hodge now.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“All right. Now we will go down and find the proprietor of the hotel. I believe he will put his name to that check. I’ll take my deposit book along, to show him that I have a little something in the bank at Denver.”

They descended the stairs, Frank carrying his grip, but leaving his handsome light overcoat behind. The proprietor of the hotel was found, and in less than five minutes Merry had talked him into putting his name on the check, although he regretted doing so as soon as Frank was gone.

CHAPTER V.
ON THE TRACK.

An evening train bore Frank Merriwell into St. Joseph. He had learned of a certainty that Hodge had purchased a ticket and taken a train for that city, and he hoped to find Bart there, although he feared he should not.

If Bart kept on for Chicago, as he might do, there was little chance of overtaking him.

After starting, Frank began to realize that such a blind pursuit seemed foolish in the extreme.

His one hope was that Hodge would step off in St. Jo. If Bart did not——

Frank did not like to think of that. And still the conviction that it was more than likely Hodge would continue his flight grew stronger and stronger.

“Well,” muttered Merry, as he stepped off the train, “I’ll make a search for him here. It’s the best I can do.”

He had known all along that he might have stopped Hodge by means of telegrams to the police departments of various places through which the fugitive must pass; but, even though Hodge had taken the money from the grip, Frank’s soul revolted against recovering it by bringing about the erring fellow’s arrest.

Already Bart was on the downward road—the road to ruin! Frank felt certain of that. Was it possible to stop him—to save him? It did not seem possible. It appeared as if Bart’s downfall were complete.

After leaving the station Frank found a policeman and asked a number of questions. Then he proceeded to a hotel, where he registered and left his grip. He examined the register, but Bart’s name was not there. He scarcely expected to find it, for something told him Hodge would not register under his own name.

Frank believed he could recognize Bart’s handwriting at a glance, no matter what the name might be, and it was in this manner that he hoped to trace the fugitive.

He set out on a weary round of hotels, examining the register at each one. He could not run over the list of arrivals swiftly, for he knew it was possible Hodge might attempt to disguise his handwriting, as well as assume a fictitious name. This made him scrutinize each signature closely and carefully. It was a tiresome task, but he plodded on, hoping against hope. His nature revolted against such crude detective work, but this did not seem to be a case at which he could work in a systematic manner. If he found Hodge it would be a case of good fortune as much as anything else, and he knew it.

At last he had visited all the hotels and his search had been unrewarded.

“It’s no use!” he muttered, in disgust. “A detective would laugh at me for trying to find a fugitive in such a manner. Yes, he would laugh at me for thinking a chap who had just stolen more than eight hundred dollars would stop so soon after taking to flight.

“Still, to me there seems two reasons why Hodge may have stopped here. If he had not taken money he might not have thought it necessary to get further away. If he did take it, he may have thought it would be easier to stop him by means of telegrams if he continued his flight by train than it would if he dropped off here and lost himself in this city.”

This reasoning did not give Merry much comfort. He began to realize that he was hungry. He had not felt the need of food before, so eager had he been to investigate the hotel registers.

Coming to what seemed like a respectable restaurant, he went in and gave an order.

He sat down near a table at which two men were eating. He noticed that, although they made a display of flashy jewelry, they were rather tough-looking chaps, decidedly sporty in their dress. One of them had a thick neck and close-cropped hair, while his face resembled that of a bulldog. The other addressed him as “Mul,” or “Muldoon.”

It soon became evident that the other man’s name was Rafferty. He had long, slim hands, with fingers that squirmed in a snakish manner. His eyes were restless and watchful.

Frank had a theory that most men betray the profession they follow by the language they use. While he was waiting for his order to be served he unconsciously listened to the talk of the two men.

“Well, Muldoon,” said the fellow with the snaky fingers. “I’ve taken your tip and shoved up a good wad on the sucker.”

“An’ yer all right, my boy,” asserted the owner of the bulldog face. “Dat chap ain’t so much of a sucker as some folks take him fer. Jest ’cause he comes from Chicago dey gives him dat name.”

“You feel sure he’ll brand the Maverick?”

“Do I? Well, say, ef I had a million I’d put it on dat. If he ever lands dat left maul on Kansas Jim’s neck der Maverick won’t know wot hit him.”

“There is no cold deck in this game, is there? It’s to be a square game with no holdout?”

“Say, want me ter tell yer somethin’?”

“Sure.”

“Der Maverick’s up ag’in it.”

“No?”

“Dat’s straight.”

“How do you know? Won’t he have a show?”

“He’ll never do up Hanks.”

“Then he’s playing against marked cards?”

“It’s dis way: It’ll be on der level jest as long as it can be, but if dey see Jim’s gittin’ der woist of it—well, he’ll be t’rowed down.”

“How?”

“Dunno yit.”

“How do you know so much?”

“I’m on der inside, I told yer. I can’t give erway der boys wot puts me onter der game, but dey’ve tole me ter tip me friends off ter lay their long green on der Sucker.”

“Well, Mul, I don’t forget this turn if the game does run my way. I’ll see that you get a chance to go against Tommy the Terror, just as I promised, if I rake in the chips to-night. I don’t suppose there is any danger that the police will interfere?”

“Well, dere was danger, but I rudder t’ink der cops has been put off der scent. Dey dunno jest when der little bout’s goin’ ter come off.”

“But they must have seen the sports coming into town to-day. Lots of them have struck St. Jo. within the last ten hours.”

“I should guess yes! It’ll be a good t’ing fer der club.”

“I don’t believe there is any other city in the United States where this sort of game could be played to a finish. It’s to be a regular prize fight under pretension of having a private sparring exhibition.”

“Dat’s wot.”

“But the way the sports have come into town should be enough to tell the police that something more than usual is to take place.”

“Aw! der perlice here are dead slow! Den dey don’t care much, anyway. Was dere menny sports come on der train wid you, Rafferty?”

“Several. One young fellow had got onto the fight somehow, and he was dead crazy to see it, but didn’t know how to get there. I think he had a roll to blow, too.”

“Well, why didn’t yer give him der tip if yer t’ought he was on der level?”

“I did. I sent him to Mike Kelley and told him Kelley would get him in.”

Frank had decided that the fellow with the bulldog face was a slugger and prize fighter, while his companion, the owner of the squirming fingers, was a gambler. The language of the men had revealed this plainly enough.

“Did yer give der young duck der word?”

“Yes. I told him to say ‘upper cut’ to Kelley and shove out his fiver.”

“That was all right. Who was yer friend?”

“I didn’t get his name. He was carrying a heavy grip, with a long slip of paper pasted on the side of it. On the paper were printed the words ‘True Blue,’ but I don’t know what that meant.”

It was impossible for Frank Merriwell to repress a start. He came near leaping to his feet with an exclamation of satisfaction, but quickly closed his mouth and dropped back into his seat.

“On the track at last!” he mentally exulted. “That young fellow who seemed to have a roll to blow and who was so eager to see the prize fight was Bart Hodge!”

Frank Merriwell was on the alert now, his ears open to catch every word of the conversation to which up to that point he had listened with the idlest sort of interest.

Frank wondered why he had not thought of tracing Bart by means of the strip pasted on Hodge’s grip. In a moment, however, it seemed natural enough that he had not thought of such a thing, for it had not seemed probable a fellow who had just stolen over eight hundred dollars would travel around with a conspicuous label by which he might be spotted and recognized. It was rather remarkable that Hodge had not removed the words in some manner from his traveling bag.

And Hodge had acted as if he had a “roll to blow!” In the midst of his feeling of satisfaction, Frank was stricken by a sharp pain. He was glad to be on the track of Bart, but the evidence of his former friend’s complete depravity filled him with distress.

Hodge had taken the money, and he was bound to have a gay time while it lasted. At least, everything seemed to indicate that.

Merry fancied that Bart had given up at last in his attempt to be honest and upright. For a long time he had struggled against his natural inclinations and against the unjust suspicions of others. He had grown tired fighting fate, for it had seemed that fate was determined that he should go wrong. No one save Frank Merriwell had shown absolute confidence in him.

Merriwell had ever seemed to believe that Bart would turn out well in the end, but now it appeared that his faith had been sadly at fault and his confidence woefully misplaced.

Frank could understand how a proud, sensitive fellow like Hodge could be driven to dishonesty by suspicion and mistrust. But there was one thing Merry could not understand.

How had Hodge smothered his conscience and his sense of justice and gratitude enough to permit him to rob the best and truest friend he had ever known?

That was a puzzle to Frank. He did not like to think of it. He could not bear to believe he had been entirely wrong in his estimate of Bart’s character.

Somehow Frank had hoped in the face of all the evidence of Bart’s culpability that it was not really true—that Hodge had not taken the money.

But now it seemed there could no longer be a doubt of it. This gambler Rafferty had fallen in with Hodge, and had given him a “tip” concerning the proper manner to get to the prize fight that was to take place in St. Jo.

Hodge had seemed to have a roll and he was aiming straight in the proper direction to get rid of it. Having cut clear from Frank, it was plain he was seeking the low and vicious.

Although a youth who could “handle his dukes” and take care of himself in a fight, Frank Merriwell thought very little of prize fights and prize fighters. He regarded professional pugilism as brutal, and the “sports” who followed it up and took delight in it as a low type of humanity. It was his belief that such affairs should be prevented by law, and the participants in them should be severely punished by fines and imprisonment.

Not that Frank wished the encounters stopped for the sake of the principals, but because he believed such spectacles aroused the worst instincts in the witnesses of them and tended to lower and degrade human beings who saw them.

Frank knew there was not a little that was cruel in Bart Hodge, but he had suppressed this instinct in his endeavor to model after Merry. He was one, however, who would have no mercy on an enemy, should it happen that that enemy fell into his power. And always had he seemed to take great satisfaction in a square standing fight.

Merry thought of his first battle with Hodge one moonlight night in an old pasture at Fardale. That fight had not been finished, but Frank recalled how like a fiend the black-haired boy had struggled. Since that time he had seen Bart in many encounters, and always Hodge had fought with the same terrible fierceness, as if he was burning with a desire to kill his antagonist.

Such a fellow would take pleasure in witnessing a bloody and brutal prize fight—a fight to a finish.

Somehow Frank’s sympathy for Hodge lessened. Had Bart taken the money because he was in need of it, had he taken it to pay debts, had he taken it with the hope of going somewhere and starting in business for himself, then Frank could have been more lenient. But for Hodge to seem to hasten with the stolen money straight to the companionship of “sports,” gamblers, prize fighters and men of that order—it was too much!

“These men must not get away,” thought Frank. “I must follow them. I must find out where this fight is to take place and I must get into it.”

The waiter brought his order.

“If I could find this man Kelley of whom they were speaking,” thought Merry. “I know how to get there through him. Five dollars and the password, ‘upper cut,’ would do the trick.”

He began to eat in haste, for he heard Muldoon remark:

“We’d better be hustling, Rafferty. Der game will open at ten o’clock.”

“I’ll be ready to go in a minute,” said the gambler. “Here, waiter, what’s the check?”

Frank was very hungry, but he would have left his food untouched rather than to lose sight of them then. He bolted down a few mouthfuls and drank the cup of coffee he had ordered.

By that time Muldoon and Rafferty had risen and were preparing to go.

Frank called the waiter the moment the two men started for the door.

“Check—quick!” he exclaimed. “Got to catch a train. Didn’t know it was so late.”

The waiter gave him his check and he paid it in a hurry, flinging down a quarter extra, and, grabbing his hat, bolted for the door.

Out on the street he was relieved to see Rafferty and Muldoon a short distance away, walking rapidly.

Frank followed them.

“I rather think you will lead me straight to Hodge,” he thought, exultantly. “If this was not a piece of luck! And it came just when I seemed wholly off the scent.”

Neither of the men seemed to imagine they were followed, and so Frank had no trouble in shadowing them.

At length the men turned into a side street. There it was somewhat more difficult to keep track of them, but Merry shadowed them without seeming to be doing anything of the sort. He kept track of all their twists and turns, unfamiliar with the city, though he was, and, at last, he saw them enter a saloon by a side door.

Frank was not far behind them. He noticed that others were flocking into that saloon by the same side entrance.

Inside, the saloon was packed. Men were smoking, drinking, swearing and exchanging sporting talk. Most of them were loudly dressed, and the saloon lights glinted on many huge diamonds, of which there was a decidedly vulgar display. A good number of the men were of the thick-necked, beefy sort.

It was such a saloon as Frank would regard as a “beer joint,” but beer was not the beverage there that night. It was either whisky, champagne, or nothing—and where was the man who was taking nothing?

“Kansas Jim will win in a walk.”

“Go on, you bluffer! He ain’t in it with the Sucker!”

“Hanks won’t last three rounds.”

“What have you got that says so besides your mouth?”

“I’ve got good horse sense.”

“But no rino. Back your talk—back it up!”

“Where’s your money?”

“Here—right here.”

The speaker flourished a “roll.”

This talk did not seem to attract much attention, for everybody seemed talking in a similar manner. One man was pounding on the bar. He had a huge red nose and a diamond in his shirt bosom that was as large as an acorn.

“I’m Ned Carter of Kansas City!” he cried. “I reckon you gents know me! If any of you has money to throw away just back the Maverick. That steer will get branded deep to-night.”

“And I’m Col. McGraw of Topeka!” roared a tall man, who wore a slouch hat thrust far back on his head, and whose drooping mustache and long imperial were iron-gray. “I don’t give a dern whether you gents know me or not; but I’ll bet a cool thousand even that the Maverick will put the Sucker to sleep inside of fifteen rounds if he’s given a square deal.”

“Where’s your long green?”

“Money talks!”

“Put up, colonel!”

“Or shut up, colonel.”

“Oh, I’m here to back my talk,” declared the Topeka man, fishing into an inside pocket. “Here’s the—— Well, I’m blowed!”

“What’s the matter?”

“I’ve been touched! Gents, I’ve been robbed of five thousand dollars I took to back the Maverick!”

“Ha! ha! ha!” roared the crowd. “Colonel, it won’t go! You are a squealer!”

To this the Topeka man roared a vigorous protest, but his words were drowned.

Frank’s breath was almost taken away.

“Well, this beats!” he gasped. “It must be the police of this city are dead slow, or else they are standing in with the parties who are running this fight. If they were not, they’d be dead certain to catch on.”

He looked around for Rafferty and Muldoon, but could see nothing of them.

“I’m certain they came in here,” he muttered. “They must be somewhere in this crowd.” He moved about to find them, being obliged to crowd his way about.

“Hi, there, young feller! ye’re treadin’ on my toes!”

“I beg your pardon,” said Frank, as politely as he could.

“Waal, ye’d better!” growled the big man, glaring at him. “What’re you in here fer, anyhow? Ye’re nothin’ but a boy. This ain’t no place fer you.”

Frank attempted to move away, but the arm of the man shot out, and Merry was collared.

“You go home to your mammy, youngster,” advised the fellow, starting to drag Frank to the door.

“Toss him out, McGinty!”

“Give him the bounce, slugger!”

“Spank the mother’s boy and send him home.”

“Does his mother know he’s out?”

The door was reached, and the big fellow started to swing Frank round to get a better hold of him. At that moment Merry broke away with a sudden twist and yank, caught the surprised ruffian behind, gave him a strong shove, and planted his foot with all his strength under the tail of the man’s coat.

McGinty, the slugger, was fairly lifted by that kick and sent spinning through the swinging doors, which opened before him and closed behind him.

CHAPTER VI.
RUN TO EARTH.

“Great ginger!”

“Holy smoke!”

“Did yer see that!”

“It’s dr’amin’ Oi am!”

“The young feller kicked the slugger out!”

“That’s what he did!”

“And it’s the first time anything like that ever happened to the slugger.”

“McGinty’ll come back for his gore!”

“Young chap, you’d better skip out by the other door, or he’ll kill you.”

“Thank you,” said Frank, quietly, his eyes flashing. “I am minding my business, and I shall not run away from that tough. If he bothers me again I’ll kick him so hard he won’t be able to walk for a week.”

“That’s the stuff!” roared Col. McGraw of Topeka. “The boy is all right! He’s no baby, and anybody who thinks he is makes a mistake. What’ll you have, young man? If I have been touched, I’ve got enough red money left to buy the drinks, and you can have anything you want.”

“I never drink, sir,” answered Frank, calmly.

“Wh-wh-what?” exploded the colonel. “Never drink?—and you kicked McGinty? Oh, say——”

But Frank could not be induced to drink.

“What do you think of that, Kelley?” asked the Topeka man, in apparent disdain, addressing one of the barkeepers.

The man spoken to seemed so busy that he paid no attention to the question.

“Kelley! Kelley!” Frank mentally exclaimed, taking good note of the man who had been called that. “This must be the Kelley Rafferty directed Hodge to see.”

He felt that the scent was growing hot.

McGinty did not return, and two or three men went out to see what had become of him. They came back carrying the man Frank had kicked through the door.

“He’s done,” one of them said. “Found him lying outside, and he said he couldn’t get up.”

“Well, why in blazes did you bring him in here?” shouted one of the barkeepers. “Take him into the back room, now.”

As McGinty was carried along he saw Frank.

“Say, young fellow,” he feebly asked, “do your legs run by steam? I was kicked by a mule once, but that wasn’t a patch to this!”

Then they bore him into the back room.

Much to his dismay, Frank found that this little incident had sufficed to draw attention to him. Again and again he was urged to drink. At length, in order to get up to the bar and find a chance to speak to Kelley, he consented to take a plain seltzer.

He reached the end of the bar and Kelley served him. As he did so, Frank thrust a five-dollar bill over the bar, saying:

“Upper cut.”

“No good,” answered Kelley, shoving it back, to Frank’s dismay. “All gone.”

“But Mr. Rafferty said——”

“Rafferty? Are you one of his?”

“Yes, he told me——”

“Then you’ve got the last one there is.”

The bill was taken, and a piece of pasteboard was tossed at Merry, who caught it deftly.

On the pasteboard it said:

Union Athletic Club.

Sparring Exhibition.

Admit Bearer.

There was no date upon it.

“Is this good for to-night?” asked Frank.

“Sure,” nodded Kelley. “If you ain’t drinking anything but seltzer you’d better be getting in so that you’ll have a chance as near the ropes as you can get.”

“I am going in now,” said a man. “You can come along with me, young fellow.”

Frank gladly availed himself of the opportunity.

“Well, if this isn’t luck!” he thought. “I am bound to get there now, and I think I’ll be sure to find Hodge.”

He followed the man through a swinging door, and they passed along a dark wall till they came to another door. Then they ascended a flight of stairs, turned to the right, seemed to enter another building, traveled another passage, ascended more stairs, and came to a door where their tickets were taken.

“How long before the go?” asked the man with Frank.

“Not long,” was the doorkeeper’s response. “Fifteen or twenty minutes, perhaps.”

They were admitted, and Frank soon found himself in quite a large room, with something like a pit in the center. In this pit was a raised platform, which was surrounded by ropes. All around this platform were rows of seats, rising tier on tier, as they do in a theater.

From at least six different entrances people were streaming into that room, and already a great crowd occupied the seats. Men were smoking everywhere, but a huge fan ventilator seemed to carry off most of the smoke and keep the air fairly clear.

Frank wondered if Hodge was there. He began to look around for Bart at once.

“Come on,” urged his companion. “We must get as good a place to see as possible. Let’s get down in front.”

But Frank was not so eager to get down toward the front, for he wished to be where he could overlook the crowd of spectators. He permitted the man to go ahead, but lingered behind.

It was wonderful how swiftly those seats filled up. It was not long after Merry entered before every seat seemed taken and many were standing. Betting talk was being made on all sides. The odds seemed in favor of the “Sucker.”

Still Frank could see nothing of Hodge, and it seemed that he had surveyed the face of every person present. He began to fear that Hodge was not present and would not appear.

“If he ever dreams I have followed him he will stay away from here—he’ll get out of St. Jo.,” thought Merriwell.

Although the seats were taken, still the spectators came pouring in.

A loud-voiced fellow appeared and made an announcement. He delivered quite a speech, explaining how the referee had been chosen, and finally introduced the referee, who followed with a speech of his own, in which he boasted so much of his squareness that Frank decided he must be a great rascal.

Then there was a howl from the assembled crowd:

“There comes the Maverick!”

Swathed in a blanket, one of the principals entered the roped arena, accompanied by his second. The crowd thundered its applause, and he bowed his bullet head several times in acknowledgment, finally sitting down in a corner.

Then came the other fighter, also wrapped about by a blanket, and the audience howled still more hoarsely.

Frank paid very little attention to this. He scarcely noted what followed. Finally he heard the clang of a gong, and then he knew the fighters were at it. He glanced toward the “squared circle” and saw them sparring, lunging, dashing, retreating and dancing about each other, but his heart was sinking more and more as he failed to see anything of the one person he sought.

And then, right in the midst of the very first round, came a startling cry:

“The police! the police!”

“We’re raided!”

There was a hammering at the doors.

At that very instant Frank Merriwell’s eyes rested on the face of the one he sought. There he was, almost directly opposite.

“Bart!” he shouted—“Bart Hodge!”

Hodge must have heard the cry, for he looked across and his eyes found Frank’s.

A moment later Hodge was swept out of sight by the stampeding crowd.

Frank felt himself lifted, carried, whirled about, borne onward despite himself. He struggled to run back, to force his way toward the spot where he had seen Hodge. It was useless.

Bang! bang! bang!—the police were hammering at the heavy doors.

Crash!—a door fell.

The police rushed in and the lights went out!

How it happened Frank Merriwell was unable to tell, but in the darkness he was swept along through a doorway, down a flight of stairs, carried onward again by the rushing men, to finally stumble down another flight and grope his way out into the street by a basement door.

He had escaped arrest, but had lost Hodge. He found his way back to the saloon where he had purchased the ticket, but that was in the hands of the police.

Evidently the officers of St. Jo. were not so slow, after all. They had made a goodly haul, and patrol wagons were bearing the prisoners away by the twenties.

“I’ll bet anything Hodge was nabbed!” thought Merry. “If so, that will be all the better, for I’ll be able to reach him when he is arraigned in court to-morrow morning.”

Till midnight he remained up trying to find something of Hodge, and then he sought his hotel, more than satisfied that Bart had been captured by the police.

In spite of his exciting adventure, Frank slept well after retiring to bed. He had a way of relaxing his nerves and throwing off all worry and care, enabling him to sleep under the most trying circumstances.

In the morning Merry arose much refreshed, even though he had retired late. The theatrical business had accustomed him to late hours.

He ate a good breakfast, and was on hand when court opened. He saw the prisoners arraigned, and, to his unspeakable disappointment, Bart Hodge was not among them.

“But Hodge is here in St. Jo.,” thought Frank. “That is, he is here unless, after seeing me last night, he took alarm and fled. It’s probable he may have done that. It was foolish for me to shout to him just as the police were breaking in.”

It was useless, however, to regret this action.

Frank went to Kelley’s barroom. The place was wide open and doing business, as if nothing had happened.

Merry inquired about Hodge, and, after a time, Kelley seemed to remember Bart.

“Dark-faced chap,” said Kelley. “Rafferty sent him here, same as he did you?”

“Yes,” nodded Frank, eagerly.

“You want to find him?”

“Yes.”

“I dunno how you will.”

“I’ll give twenty-five dollars to find him!” cried Merry.

A man who had been listening stepped forward.

“Do you mean that, young feller?” he asked.

“I do!” declared Frank.

“Will you give me that to tell you where to find him?”

“I will.”

“All right. I know the fellow you mean. He said he had a lot of money, or he made some of Mike Roper’s gang believe he had. But the gang got left on him, for they didn’t find enough on him to pay them for doping him.”

“Then Hodge has fallen in with a tough crowd?”

“He’s the only one to blame for it. They’d let him alone if he hadn’t put up such a bluff about having a lot of money.”

“And he didn’t have any?”

“Well, Frosty Ike said he didn’t have enough to buy drinks for the crowd all round.”

“Take me to him. You shall have the money I said I would give.”

Frank followed the man from the saloon.

“Now, look here,” said the stranger, who was rather disreputable in appearance, “you’ve got to promise not to blow to a living soul that I put you onto this.”

“I’ll agree to that,” said Frank.

“And you’ve got to agree not to pull me into court over it.”

“If you are pulled into court it will be well worth your while.”

The man stopped, irresolutely.

“I don’t reckon I’ll go along with ye,” he said. “I can’t afford to get Frosty Ike down on me.”

“Who’s Frosty Ike?”

“The worst man in St. Jo. He eats railroad iron when he’s hungry! I wouldn’t make him a bite.”

“Well, now, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. If you lead me to my friend you shall have the twenty-five dollars. If it is true that this Frosty Ike and his gang have not robbed my friend there will be no danger of your getting into court. If they have robbed him I’ll give you a hundred dollars to testify against them, in case I think it best to prosecute. I may not prosecute.”

“You will have to agree not to prosecute before I’ll go any further. I wouldn’t get mixed up with Ike for two hundred dollars.”

Frank was not long deciding. He realized that he could not prosecute Frosty Ike’s gang without having all the facts come out concerning the manner in which Hodge obtained the money, and he concluded to give the man the desired pledge.

He was led to a low quarter of the city near the river. Down among a lot of storehouses they went, and entered one of the old buildings.

“He’s in here somewhere,” said Merry’s companion. “We’ll have to hunt for him.”

Frank was on guard for a trap, for it seemed quite possible he had been led into a snare. The search began. From room to room they went. At last they came to a wretched room, filled with old boxes and barrels. Frank was in advance. He entered the room, and there lay Hodge on the floor, drugged or—drunk!

It was hours later that Bart came to himself in a respectable room of a hotel. He opened his eyes, and they rested on Frank Merriwell, who was sitting there, watching and waiting.

Bart did not speak. He lay there, wondering where he was and if he had been dreaming.

After a little, Frank moved nearer the bed, smiling in his old, pleasant way, and said:

“Well, old man, I expect you feel pretty rocky?”

Still Hodge did not speak.

“The doctor said he thought you’d come round all right in a short time,” observed Merry. “He hasn’t been gone long.”

“Frank!”

“What is it, old man?”

“Have I been ill?”

“Well, you were about as ill as knockout drops could make you without doing you serious damage.”

“Knockout drops! Then it was no dream! Then I did talk like a fool to you in Atchison and run away! Then I did resolve to go straight to the devil in a hurry and try to make a start on the road! Then I really saw you at the prize fight just as the police broke in! Then I really did get in with a gang after that and drink with them! I have betrayed you, Frank! I ran away from you, like a miserable sneak! I felt I was doing a mean thing after I had started, but it was too late then!”

“It is never too late to mend, you know.”

“A fool said that! In my case, it is too late!”

Still he had said nothing of taking the money. Frank wondered at that.

“What made you follow me, Frank?” said Bart. “Why didn’t you let me go? You have bothered with me enough. There is no reason why you should do so any more. You must despise me now. Why did you follow me?”

“I thought I might overtake you in time to save you, but you fell into the hands of those toughs, and they stripped you. You did not have coat, hat, watch or money when I found you.”

“They didn’t get much money,” said Bart, “for I didn’t have much. My watch was valuable, of course, but——”

“What became of the money you had?” asked Frank.

“Why, I didn’t have much,” said Bart, “though I put up a bluff with the sports that I did. I took only twenty dollars, you know, and I left the note telling you I had taken that. I thought that was not too much for my work.”

Frank sat still some seconds, staring at Bart. Then he rose to his feet, and the look on his face caused Hodge to rise to his elbow and cry:

“What is it? What is the matter, Merriwell?”

“Bart,” said Frank, slowly, “every dollar I had in that grip was gone when I looked for it after your departure.”

That brought Hodge out of bed.

“Gone?” he gasped, in horror. “Gone? Why, how could that be?”

“I don’t know.”

“Frank—Frank, you don’t think I took that money? My God! you don’t think I took it? I have fallen pretty low, but you don’t think I would rob you—you who have been the only true friend I had in all the world? Why, Merry, I’d starve—I’d suffer the tortures of hell before I’d do such a thing!”

Frank did not doubt him then; he felt in his heart that Bart spoke the truth. And Merry’s heart leaped with joy and triumph. Hodge was not guilty!

Who was?

But Bart was completely “broken up” by what he had heard. Never had Frank seen him look so overcome by horror.

“Merry, Merry!” he gasped, “did you think I had stolen your money? Was that why you followed me?”

“No!” cried Frank. “That was not why I followed you, Hodge. I followed because I hoped to overtake you and bring you back—because I wished to save you from the consequences of your folly.”

“But you thought I had taken the money?”

“I hoped not.”

“Still, you thought I had! Oh, heavens! Frank, Frank, this is enough to break a fellow’s heart!”

He dropped down on the bed, burying his face in his hands and shaking all over.

Frank’s distress was great, but it was mingled with a feeling of triumph.

“Bart,” he said, speaking swiftly, “I could not account for the loss of the money. It was gone, and on the little table was your note, in which you said you had taken enough to meet your needs. What was I to think? It was your handwriting—I knew that. How could I account for the disappearance of the money?”

“How can you account for it now?” groaned Hodge. “Frank, are you sure it was gone—are you sure you made no mistake?”

“Yes, sure.”

“It doesn’t seem possible!” panted Hodge.

Then he caught sight of Frank’s grip, sprang for it, caught it up.

“Open it, Frank!” he cried—“open it and let me see! I shall not be satisfied till I look!”

“It is no use,” said Merry. “The money is gone.”

“Open it!” Hodge shouted.

Frank did so. Bart tore out the contents. He sprang the fastening that held the false bottom in and removed the bottom.

“Yes, gone!” he groaned, thrusting in his hand and feeling about. “But as there is a God, I swear I did not take it! Do you believe me, Frank?”

“Yes, Bart, I believe you.”

“Thank Heaven!”

“More than that, I never did believe that you took it. My doubts caused me to keep silent when I made the discovery. Not a single person knows I lost the money.”

“You—you kept silent—for my sake?”

“Yes.”

“Ah, Frank, again you have shown yourself the noblest fellow in the whole wide world. But I was not worth it! Oh, I am so ashamed of myself! I am such a mean, degraded creature!”

“You are nothing of the sort, Bart. You are too quick and passionate, and you have made a false step, but there is plenty of time to turn back.”

“I’ll never rest till I bring the real robber to justice!” vowed Hodge.

Then he gave a sudden cry:

“What’s this?”

He took something out of the grip—a ring!

Frank snatched it from Bart’s fingers and looked at it. Then, with remarkable coolness and a feeling of unspeakable satisfaction, he said:

“This is the evidence that will convict the real robber! Look at the monogram on that ring—‘L. V.’”

“‘L. V.’ Why, that stands for——”

“Lester Vance!”

Frank and Bart returned to Atchison. Of course Merry provided Hodge with a coat and hat. Fortunately, Bart had left his overcoat at a lodging house where he had stopped, so that was not stolen from him.

As soon as possible Merriwell summoned Lester Vance to his room. Vance came in, looking rather uneasy. Hodge was there.

“Mr. Vance,” said Frank, “have you found your ring which you lost yesterday?”

“No, I have not,” confessed Lester.

“I have.”

“You?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“Under the false bottom in my grip, where I used to keep my money!”

Lester was thunderstruck. He turned deathly white and trembled all over.

“Vance,” said Merriwell, his eyes seeming to flash fire, “you can save yourself from disgrace, exposure and imprisonment by returning every dollar of that money. Otherwise, you go to prison!”

Vance broke down immediately and confessed. He told how he had slipped down to the office after Hodge and obtained the key to Frank’s room when the clerk was not looking, and how he had been able to take the false bottom out of the grip and secure the money. He restored the whole of it, and left the company suddenly and mysteriously.

The various members of the company, with the exception of Frank and Bart, believed Vance had departed thus hurriedly because of Hodge’s return.

Frank did not betray Vance, and he caused Hodge to keep silent.

CHAPTER VII.
FOOLISH GIRLS.

“Say!”