BOOKS FOR YOUNG MEN

MERRIWELL SERIES

Stories of Frank and Dick Merriwell

PRICE, FIFTEEN CENTS

Fascinating Stories of Athletics

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

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

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

ALL TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT

1—Frank Merriwell’s School Days By Burt L. Standish

2—Frank Merriwell’s Chums By Burt L. Standish

3—Frank Merriwell’s Foes By Burt L. Standish

4—Frank Merriwell’s Trip West By Burt L. Standish

5—Frank Merriwell Down South By Burt L. Standish

6—Frank Merriwell’s Bravery By Burt L. Standish

7—Frank Merriwell’s Hunting Tour By Burt L. Standish

8—Frank Merriwell in Europe By Burt L. Standish

9—Frank Merriwell at Yale By Burt L. Standish

10—Frank Merriwell’s Sports Afield By Burt L. Standish

11—Frank Merriwell’s Races By Burt L. Standish

12—Frank Merriwell’s Party By Burt L. Standish

13—Frank Merriwell’s Bicycle Tour By Burt L. Standish

14—Frank Merriwell’s Courage By Burt L. Standish

15—Frank Merriwell’s Daring By Burt L. Standish

16—Frank Merriwell’s Alarm By Burt L. Standish

17—Frank Merriwell’s Athletes By Burt L. Standish

18—Frank Merriwell’s Skill By Burt L. Standish

19—Frank Merriwell’s Champions By Burt L. Standish

20—Frank Merriwell’s Return to Yale By Burt L. Standish

21—Frank Merriwell’s Secret By Burt L. Standish

22—Frank Merriwell’s Danger By Burt L. Standish

23—Frank Merriwell’s Loyalty By Burt L. Standish

24—Frank Merriwell in Camp By Burt L. Standish

25—Frank Merriwell’s Vacation By Burt L. Standish

26—Frank Merriwell’s Cruise By Burt L. Standish

27—Frank Merriwell’s Chase By Burt L. Standish

28—Frank Merriwell in Maine By Burt L. Standish

29—Frank Merriwell’s Struggle By Burt L. Standish

30—Frank Merriwell’s First Job By Burt L. Standish

31—Frank Merriwell’s Opportunity By Burt L. Standish

32—Frank Merriwell’s Hard Luck By Burt L. Standish

33—Frank Merriwell’s Protégé By Burt L. Standish

34—Frank Merriwell on the Road By Burt L. Standish

35—Frank Merriwell’s Own Company By Burt L. Standish

36—Frank Merriwell’s Fame By Burt L. Standish

37—Frank Merriwell’s College Chums By Burt L. Standish

38—Frank Merriwell’s Problem By Burt L. Standish

39—Frank Merriwell’s Fortune By Burt L. Standish

40—Frank Merriwell’s New Comedian By Burt L. Standish

41—Frank Merriwell’s Prosperity By Burt L. Standish

42—Frank Merriwell’s Stage Hit By Burt L. Standish

43—Frank Merriwell’s Great Scheme By Burt L. Standish

44—Frank Merriwell in England By Burt L. Standish

45—Frank Merriwell on the Boulevards By Burt L. Standish

46—Frank Merriwell’s Duel By Burt L. Standish

47—Frank Merriwell’s Double Shot By Burt L. Standish

48—Frank Merriwell’s Baseball Victories By Burt L. Standish

49—Frank Merriwell’s Confidence By Burt L. Standish

50—Frank Merriwell’s Auto By Burt L. Standish

51—Frank Merriwell’s Fun By Burt L. Standish

52—Frank Merriwell’s Generosity By Burt L. Standish

53—Frank Merriwell’s Tricks By Burt L. Standish

54—Frank Merriwell’s Temptation By Burt L. Standish

55—Frank Merriwell on Top By Burt L. Standish

56—Frank Merriwell’s Luck By Burt L. Standish

57—Frank Merriwell’s Mascot By Burt L. Standish

58—Frank Merriwell’s Reward By Burt L. Standish

59—Frank Merriwell’s Phantom By Burt L. Standish

60—Frank Merriwell’s Faith By Burt L. Standish

61—Frank Merriwell’s Victories By Burt L. Standish

62—Frank Merriwell’s Iron Nerve By Burt L. Standish

63—Frank Merriwell in Kentucky By Burt L. Standish

64—Frank Merriwell’s Power By Burt L. Standish

65—Frank Merriwell’s Shrewdness By Burt L. Standish

In order that there may be no confusion, we desire to say that the books listed below will be issued during the respective months in New York City and vicinity. They may not reach the readers at a distance promptly, on account of delays in transportation.

To Be Published in July, 1923.

66—Frank Merriwell’s Set Back By Burt L. Standish

67—Frank Merriwell’s Search By Burt L. Standish

Frank Merriwell’s Trust

OR,

NEVER SAY DIE

BY

BURT L. STANDISH

Author of the famous Merriwell Stories.

STREET & SMITH CORPORATION

PUBLISHERS

79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York

Copyright, 1901

By STREET & SMITH

Frank Merriwell’s Trust

(Printed in the United States of America)

All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign

languages, including the Scandinavian.

FRANK MERRIWELL’S TRUST.

CHAPTER I.
JACK DIAMOND’S FRIENDS.

“Jack Diamond—am I dreaming?”

Frank Merriwell uttered the exclamation. He was in front of the Hoffman House, in New York. Three young men in evening dress had just left the hotel, and were about to enter a cab that had drawn up to the curb for them. Frank stared in astonishment at one of them. He was a slender, clean-cut, handsome fellow.

“Jack Diamond!” he repeated; “can it be? Why, I supposed he was in London!”

One of the men, his silk hat thrust recklessly back on his curly yellow hair, was speaking to the driver. The other, with a mustache black as midnight, was holding the door open for the third to enter the cab. Frank sprang forward.

“Diamond!” he called, “is that you?”

The youth who was already half-way into the cab drew back and turned round.

“Who is it?” he asked, his voice sounding a trifle thick and unnatural.

Frank was before him. It was eleven o’clock at night, but the bright lights of Broadway made it almost like day.

“Merriwell!” exclaimed the young fellow in the evening suit and opera-coat. “Is that you?”

“Sure as you live!” cried Frank, with outstretched hand. “But I thought I was dreaming. I wasn’t sure it was you.”

Their hands met, while Diamond’s two companions looked on in silence, as if not quite pleased.

“Man alive!” came from Frank, “I thought you on the other side of the pond. What does this mean?”

“It means that I’m back here,” said Jack. “But I supposed you in New Haven. How do you happen to be here?”

“Various things have combined to keep me here since I came down from college. The story is too long for me to tell now, but I’ve had some rather interesting adventures.”

“Well, old man, I’m right glad to see you again. Let me introduce my friends. Mr. Herrick, Mr. Merriwell; Mr. Madison, Mr. Merriwell.”

Herrick was the older of the two, and the possessor of the black mustache. Madison had a smooth, almost boyish face, with a head of curly yellow hair. Frank took an instant dislike to Herrick, who had the air of a rounder. Madison seemed more like a rather gay young fellow, although there was a dissipated look on his face and his eyes met Frank’s with an effort.

Frank could see that these men had been drinking, although Herrick gave little evidence of it. The latter shook hands politely, simply repeating Frank’s name; but Madison grasped Merry’s hand, crying:

“Glad to know you, Mr. Merriwell. Glad to know anybody who is Jack Diamond’s friend. Let’s have a drink.”

“Steady, Billy,” warned Herrick, in a low tone. “Don’t slop over, my boy.”

“Oh, to blazes with that!” returned Madison, laughing. “What do we care? We’re out for a time, and we don’t give a rap who knows it. Let’s all go in and take a drink.”

“We haven’t time,” asserted the man with the black mustache, looking at his watch.

“Time! Great Scott! we’ve got all the time there is! Don’t anybody own any of my time till ten o’clock to-morrow.”

“And I’ve got time to burn,” asserted Diamond, his voice again sounding thick. “I think I need another drink. Fact is, I know I need it. Let’s have it.”

“All right, if you will have it,” said Herrick, as if giving in with great reluctance. “But I think you’ve taken enough for the present.”

Frank thought Jack had taken altogether too much. He was surprised and distressed to find his college comrade in such a condition.

“See here, Jack,” he said, taking Diamond’s arm, “you had better drop this. You’re on a spree, and you must stop drinking at once.”

“My dear boy,” said Diamond, with a reckless laugh, “I’ve been on it for a week now, and I’ve just begun.”

To Merry’s surprise, the Virginian did not show the least sign of shame. This was all the more astonishing, as Jack was ever proud and sensitive, and had never seemed to be a drinker.

“Something has happened to start him off this way,” Merriwell instantly decided. “He is in a reckless mood.”

“I have to return to college in the morning, old man,” he said persuasively. “We haven’t seen each other for a long time. Come round to my room in the Fifth Avenue and let’s have a talk.”

“Excuse me,” Herrick spoke up. “Mr. Diamond has an important engagement.”

“That’s right, Merry,” agreed Jack, at once. “Just come along with me. I’ll show you the town to-night.”

“Yes, we can take Mr. Merriwell along,” said Herrick.

“Of course we can,” cried Madison. “The more the merrier. But it won’t be our fault if he gets scratched with the tiger’s claws.”

“No danger of that,” asserted Diamond. “He never fools with the tiger.”

Herrick seemed disappointed. “Is that so? Then I’m afraid he won’t find it very interesting to come along.”

“Yes, he will,” declared Jack. “Besides, he has always been a mascot to me, and I need one just now.”

Frank’s ears were wide open, and he fancied he understood the meaning of this talk, in which case he was more than ever alarmed for Diamond.

“If I could get him away and have a talk with him,” thought Frank, “I’d soon be able to learn the truth.”

But the Southerner was “out for a racket,” and Frank soon saw it would be useless to try to induce him to go quietly to a room in the Fifth Avenue Hotel.

“We’re fooling away lots of time here,” said Herrick impatiently. “We’ve hired this cab, too.”

“Well, I can pay!” cried Diamond sharply. “Don’t let that worry you, Charley.”

“That’s the stuff!” declared Madison. “Now will you be good? Come on, I want that drink. Bring Mr. Merriwell along, Jack. We’ll fill him to the chin.”

“You’ll have a hard time to do that,” asserted Diamond, as he permitted Madison to pull him across the sidewalk, at the same time clinging fast to Frank’s arm.

“Why?” asked the yellow-haired chap. “Is he a tank?”

“No; he’s a total abstainer.”

Herrick was heard to mutter something beneath his breath.

“Total fiddlesticks!” gurgled Madison. “Then he’d better get out of New York right away. If he doesn’t, they’ll have him on exhibition.”

“Of course he will take one drink with us,” said Herrick persuasively. “One never hurt anybody, and he’ll consent to take a drink with an old friend like you, Jack.”

“Tell me if he does!” said Diamond. “It will be soft stuff.”

“Soft stuff is good only for soft persons,” declared the man with the black mustache, as they entered the hotel and approached the bar. “I hope he isn’t in that class.”

Merriwell’s dislike for the man was growing, and he had noted with surprise and dismay that both of these men spoke to the Virginian in a most familiar manner, addressing him as Jack.

“He’s in bad company,” Merry decided.

They lined up at the polished bar.

“Oh, gimme a highball!” chirped Madison, his silk hat on the back of his head. “What are you absorbing, gentlemen?”

“I’ll take a little whisky,” said Herrick.

Frank was watching Diamond, and now Jack said to the barkeeper:

“I want a mint julep, Ned; you know how to put ’em together.”

“And our friend Mr. Merriwell,” spoke Herrick, placing a hand on Frank’s shoulder, “will he have a mixed drink, or will he take his straight, with me?”

“I told you he didn’t drink!” Diamond somewhat petulantly cried. “What’s the use to keep asking him, Charley?”

“But I have decided to take a drink this time,” said Frank, causing the Virginian to nearly collapse. “Barkeeper, I’ll take a gin.”

Frank had decided that Jack Diamond was in danger. He could not understand how the Virginian happened to be in New York, and in such a condition. No more could he understand the familiar friendship of Diamond and his two companions. Jack was not a fellow to pick up friends anywhere, and get on “first-name terms” with them in short order.

Ordinarily, Merriwell’s influence over Diamond was complete, but now he had failed in his attempt to take the Southerner from these companions and carry him away to a place where he could be brought round to reason. Having failed thus, Merry quickly decided to stay with Jack and see what was going on. He knew he would be an object of suspicion to Herrick and Madison unless they fancied he was drinking with them, and in order to divert their attention he agreed to take a drink.

But Frank had no intention of swallowing a drop of liquor. He had chosen gin because, in past experiences, he had discovered that, being the color of water, it was easy to make companions believe the gin had been taken when, in fact, the water “chaser” was the only thing swallowed.

“Hoo—yee!” whooped Madison, in delight, slapping Diamond on the shoulder. “There goes your total abstainer, Jack! He’s going to take his medicine like a little man.”

The Southerner looked at Frank in half-intoxicated reproach.

“Don’t do it, Merry!” he exclaimed huskily. “You’re too good a man to meddle with booze. Don’t do it!”

“Well, you’re a dandy to be giving advice!” shouted Madison. “Oh, quit your kidding and corral your mint julep!”

“Please be good enough to quit that, sah!” said Diamond, with a touch of his original Southern accent. “I am talking to my particular friend, and I’ll thank you not to interfere, sah.”

“Oh, thunder!” gasped Madison. “All right; didn’t suppose you were so touchy to-night, Jack, old sport. It’s all right; talk to him all you want to. I won’t come into the game.”

The Virginian bowed gravely, and again turned to Frank, who had poured some gin in a glass and received a chaser of water from the barkeeper.

“We are old friends, Merriwell,” said Diamond, still with the same air of polite intoxication, “and I’d do anything for you. You know it. You’re the best all-round man in Yale—the best man that ever entered the college. You have no vices. You are clean from your toes to the tip-ends of your hair. You’ve never poisoned yourself with tobacco or drink or high living of any sort. You’ve always taken the very best of care of your body and your mind. Now, don’t tell me you are going to spoil it all by making a fool of yourself and drinking gin!”

“That’s right,” muttered Madison, with a chuckle, unable to keep still longer. “For the love of goodness, drink something besides gin! Have a highball with me.”

“Please, sah—please!” frowned Jack, with a gentle gesture of his right hand, turning his eyes toward the irrepressible chap with the yellow hair.

“Shut up, Billy!” advised Herrick. “Let Jack talk to his friend. Of course, the man will take a drink just the same after Jack has wasted his breath, but that’s none of your business.”

Frank felt like hitting the sneering fellow. He was tempted to shove back the stuff onto the bar, and inform Herrick that he had made a mistake. Then he told himself that by so doing he might throw away his chance of learning the real meaning of Diamond’s actions and condition, and he simply pretended that he did not hear the man’s words.

“You’re a nice fellow to talk to me, Jack!” laughed Frank.

“That’s all right, Merry,” asserted Diamond unsteadily, his fine face flushed and his eyes gleaming redly. “It’s different with me.”

“I fail to see it. You are a gentleman, and the son of a gentleman.”

“Thank you, Merriwell; I hope, sah, that I am. But my father could take his medicine, and he always remained a gentleman. It doesn’t make so much difference about me. The fact is, it doesn’t make any difference what becomes of me now. I am up against it, and I’m going to play this streak through to the end.”

More than ever was Frank alarmed, for now he saw that Diamond was in a desperate mood, and, being in such a condition, the hot-blooded Virginian would not easily listen to reason.

Merry knew it would do little good to argue with Jack just then, for argument with a man under the influence of drink is generally a waste of words and the height of folly.

“I’d like to know why it doesn’t make any difference what happens to you,” Frank smiled. “It makes a difference to me. You are my friend.”

“True, true!” said Jack, with deep feeling. “And you are mine. That’s why I do not want to see you take that drink. If you ever get started fooling with the cursed stuff, Merriwell, you can’t tell where you’ll stop. I know you’ve got a stiff backbone, but drink has drowned many a fine man. It would be the first thing to overthrow you, so you hadn’t better fool with it. Come, now, old chum, make it something soft, and let it go at that.”

Herrick laughed harshly.

“We’re a long time getting round to that little drink, Jack,” he put in. “I’m getting awfully dry.”

“Dry!” croaked Madison. “Why, my throat is parched. Come on, Jack, break away and let’s irrigate.”

“Go ahead, gentlemen, and drink,” said the Southerner. “You annoy me.”

“Drink!” squawked Madison. “Without you? Not if I crack open with thirst! I’ll never be guilty of it!”

Frank had a hope that he could shame Diamond so that he would stop then and there.

“Come on!” he cried, taking up a glass in each hand. “We’re with them, Jack, and I’m with you till morning! Just you go ahead, and see if I don’t chase you.”

“One last appeal,” insisted Diamond earnestly. “You don’t know where you’ll stop if you begin it, Merry.”

“No more did you.”

“Well, you see the shape I’m in. Been this way for a week. Just take me as a horrible example, old man.”

“You seem to be having a good time.”

“All on the surface, my boy.”

“What makes you keep it up?”

“Have to.”

“Why?”

“So I won’t stop to think. I don’t want to think, Merriwell, and I won’t do anything else the minute I get sober.”

“What has happened? Tell me, Jack.”

“Not now. Good Lord! it drives me to drink! I’ve got to take this stuff, Merry! I’m afraid I’m getting sober.”

“Here we go!” chirped Madison. “Everybody drink. Here’s happy days.”

Diamond’s hand shook as he lifted his glass. His flushed face showed lines of care and dissipation. Merriwell’s heart was filled with pity and sorrow at the spectacle.

“I’ll save him from his own folly!” Frank vowed. “But I must seem to play into the hands of these fellows, in order to find out just what they are doing with him.”

Then he dashed off the contents of one of the glasses, which contained nothing but water, pretended to drink as a “chaser” from the other, but did not swallow a drop, and so deceived them all.

“Too bad!” Diamond almost sobbed, thinking Frank had taken the gin. “Suppose it’s all my fault. Been better for you, Merry, if you’d never known me.”

“Oh, say! don’t talk that stuff! It’s all right! Why, a fellow’s got to have a time once in his life!”

“That’s the talk!” nodded Herrick, evidently well pleased.

But Diamond shook his head sadly, at the same time pulling from his pocket a huge roll of bills, stripping off a twenty and flinging it on the bar.

“This is on me, Jack,” said Madison mildly.

“I’m paying the bills to-night, gentlemen,” asserted the Virginian, with dignity. “I insist.”

Merry decided that they were perfectly willing that Jack should pay. He could not help wondering at the amount of money in Diamond’s possession, but the sight of it gave him a conviction.

“They have seen his roll, and they are looking to bleed him. Now I stick by him for sure.”

“Come, gentlemen,” urged Herrick; “that cab is still waiting outside.”

“Let it wait, sah,” returned Diamond. “We’re going to have another drink.”

And have another they did.

CHAPTER II
THE GAMBLER’S VICTIM.

“Now,” said Madison, “let’s away to the lair of the tiger.”

To the surprise of all, Herrick showed reluctance. He held back and made a show of embarrassment.

“What is the matter, Charley?” asked Diamond, in surprise. “I thought you were in a hurry.”

“But we’ve added another to our party,” said the man with the dark mustache, in a guarded tone, looking slantwise at Merry.

“Well, he’s all right,” declared Jack indignantly, his face flushed and his breath heavy with the fumes of liquor.

“You know Dick is mighty particular.”

“What is it, gentlemen?” demanded Frank, stepping forward. “If I am in anybody’s way——”

“Not at all,” Herrick hastened to say; “but we were going to a certain place where the proprietor is very particular about his guests. Every man who enters there must be vouched for.”

“Well, I can vouch for Merriwell,” asserted the Virginian.

“Yes, but you are not very well known there. You’ve visited the place only once, you know.”

Jack was indignant.

“I’m a Diamond, of Virginia,” he said. “My word will go anywhere. When I say Frank Merriwell is all right, that goes.”

Herrick smiled.

“I have no doubt but you are right in most cases, but this is different. You see, you have had little to do with men like Canfield. You have no standing in his class.”

“Well, perhaps I ought to thank God for that,” muttered the Southerner. “But I’ve introduced you to my friend, and I give you my word he’s all right. You have the run of that place, and you can make it right there.”

“Yes; but you know I am held responsible if anything unpleasant happens.”

Frank had leaned against the rail of the bar. Herrick drew Diamond aside, and at this moment one of the barkeepers touched Merry on the elbow, saying in a low tone:

“Are you Frank Merriwell, of Yale, the athlete I’ve read so much about in the papers?”

“I presume I am the same,” answered Merry.

“Then I want to give you a tip, but don’t ever let out that I did so. Look out for yourself to-night if you chase that gang and keep your money in your pocket. That’s all.”

“Thank you,” nodded Merry quietly. “I’ll take your advice.”

“Don’t drink too much.”

“No danger. You threw out the gin I called for both times; I drank the water.”

The barkeeper looked surprised.

“Well,” he gasped, “I didn’t tumble to that. I guess you’re all right.”

“Oh, all right, all right,” Herrick was saying. “That’s all I ask. I don’t want to put myself in a hole with Dick, you know. He’s a white man.”

Then they came over to Merry and he was urged to come along. Frank pretended to hang back a little.

“I’m not in the habit of forcing my company onto anybody,” he said. “If I’m in the way, all you have to do is——”

“That’s all right,” quickly asserted the man with the black mustache. “I have to be careful, and so I wanted a square assurance from Jack. He says you are on the dead level, and I’m to stand for you at Can’s.”

Herrick passed his arm through that of Merriwell and the four proceeded out to the street, where the patient cabman still waited. Frank felt like shaking the black-mustached fellow off, but refrained from doing so.

Madison plunged into the cab with a whooping laugh, dragging Diamond after him, robbing Jack for the time of some of his dignity. Herrick politely held the door while Frank got in, coming last himself. The door slammed, and away went the cab.

Herrick offered cigars. Madison took one and Diamond followed suit. Merry was on the verge of refusing, but changed his mind and accepted one. Then Herrick struck a match and held it solicitously for Merry to start his cigar.

“I think I’ll take a dry smoke,” said Frank. “Anyhow, I’ll not light up now.”

“Hold steady!” cried Madison, plunging the end of his weed into the flame and beginning to puff at it.

Diamond also lighted his cigar, and Herrick joined them, observing:

“You’ll find the smoke rather thick, Mr. Merriwell, if you don’t fire up.”

They were on Fifth Avenue, rolling northward. The theaters were out, and cabs and hansoms were thick on the avenue, taking home those who had visited the different playhouses. Their gleaming yellow lamps flitted hither and thither, blinking and vanishing and blinking into view again like huge fireflies. Pedestrians were plentiful. The night was clear and cool, with millions of white stars scattered over the blue vault of the sky. Madison began to sing.

“Stop it!” commanded Herrick.

“I’m offended,” declared the yellow-haired youth. “You are very rude, Charley. I want to warble; I long to warble; I must warble! There is a pent-up warble within me, and I must let it forth. I long to sing some sad, sweet thing like ‘Down Went McGinty,’ or ‘Little Annie Rooney.’”

“If you get into this condition so early, you’ll be in nice shape to buck the tiger,” said Herrick. “My boy, I’m afraid you are loaded.”

“Base calumny! I could drink as much more and bob up serenely at ten to-morrow. But I’m happy. Better let me be happy now. I was feeling sore enough the last time after I visited Dick’s. Hope my luck’ll change to-night.”

All at once it dawned on Frank of whom they were speaking of. He had thought the name of Dick Canfield familiar, and now he remembered hearing something of the history of the man who was known as proprietor of the biggest gambling-house in New York.

So they were on their way to a gambling-den! Now Frank knew he had made no mistake in thinking Jack Diamond in danger, and he was glad he had decided to accompany the party.

Merry had sized Herrick up as a sharp, but he was not sure about Madison. Either the latter was a clerk of some sort, or he was playing a part, and playing it well. But, without doubt, the Virginian was the chief game of the wolf that evening, for he had revealed that he possessed plenty of money.

Madison chattered on as they rolled northward along New York’s most fashionable thoroughfare. Diamond smoked steadily, but nervously, while Herrick was calm and sedate.

They turned into a side street and then halted almost immediately. Apparently they had stopped in front of a respectable private house in a most respectable portion of the city.

“Here we are,” said Herrick, and he was the first to leap out to the sidewalk, holding the door open for the others. Madison followed, then came Frank, and Jack got out last. Herrick was preparing to pay the driver.

“Excuse me, Charley,” put in the Virginian. “I think I informed you a while ago that I am paying to-night. I’ll settle this, and the man who bothers has to fight me at sunrise.”

Then he settled and they followed Herrick up the steps. The building might have been taken for the home of a retired banker, or the abode of a family physician in good standing.

They passed the first door, but a second, of oak and heavy enough to withstand a battering-ram, confronted them. Herrick pushed a button and they waited.

Across the heavy oaken door there was an opening, barred by a grill of ironwork that covered the entire paneling.

When Herrick pushed the button, a buzzer sounded somewhere inside the house. There was a moment more of waiting. Then the panel opened noiselessly, and a heavy-faced man, with a dark, drooping mustache, looked at them.

The light in the vestibule fell full on Herrick’s face, the man having thrust back his silk hat.

Clink!—the panel closed. Snap!—the door opened.

Herrick walked in at their head, and they followed. The heavy-faced man who had opened the door said:

“Hello, Charley,” and Herrick returned, “Good evening, Mike.”

The door closed behind them, and they had crossed the portal of one of the most palatial gambling-houses in New York.

At the pressure of the button the buzzer within had sounded its warning, as the deadly diamond-back rattler of the Bad Lands sounds a warning before striking its victim.

Frank had heard that Dick Canfield’s place was in every way different from others of its sort; he had heard that there was nothing about it suggestive of commonness and vulgarity. That buzzer was a disappointment to him. In his rovings round the world, fate had led him once or twice to the doors of gambling-dens, and in every instance the pressure of a button had been followed by the sound of the buzzer within. This was true at the door of Dick Canfield’s, in the aristocratic neighborhood close to Fifth Avenue, and it was also true at the doors of cheap dens which flourished on Sixth Avenue.

Herrick led the way to a reception-room at the right of the entrance. The door of this room was flanked by heavy porphyry columns, and the room was a marvel of decorative art. A fireplace of exquisite design faced the door. It was a fine, big, open fireplace, handsomely carved and supported by onyx columns.

This room had the appearance of an upholstered and decorated cell. The windows were masked and the doors sunk into the walls. Overhead were handsome bronze chandeliers, fitted with incandescent lights, each gleaming coil hidden and softened by ground-glass bulbs. Under foot was a carpet of texture so deep and velvety that one’s footfalls were perfectly noiseless. Here their top-coats and hats were taken.

As Herrick led them into this reception-room and paused for Frank to admire its impressive beauty, three men came down the stairs from the gaming-rooms above. All were dressed in evening clothes. Two of them had faces that told of dissipated lives. The third was a youth with clear, clean-cut features, but now pale as death, while in his eyes gleamed a wild light of despair.

The three men paused a moment before going out. One of them was coolly drawing on his gloves, but he kept his eyes on the lad with the marble face and glaring eyes. The other man also watched the youth, whose lips were beginning to tremble, and he suddenly said:

“Don’t welch, Harry! Keep a stiff backbone! Be a man!”

The youth turned on him fiercely, his somewhat weak chin quivering.

“That’s all right for you to say!” he spoke, in a shaking voice—a voice that struck straight to Frank Merriwell’s heart. “What do you care for me now! You brought me here, and——”

“You wanted to come. Don’t squeal like a sick baby!”

“You brought me here,” repeated the youth, “and I’ve lost a fortune in this accursed place! I’m ruined! It’s worse than that! I’m a criminal, for I’ve gambled away thousands that did not belong to me! It will kill my poor mother!”

It was the remorseful cry of a weak, heart-sick youth who realized when too late the folly of his acts.

Frank quietly took a step nearer the three.

“I never thought you a welcher!” exclaimed the man, giving the pale-faced lad a look of reproach. “I did think you had nerve.”

“Nerve! Bah! It’s the fool who has nerve to sit at a gambling-table and play away money he does not own! Nerve! That is a false appearance, assumed to make other men regard you with admiration. But what does it amount to when a man has made a criminal of himself? What does it amount to when he knows the hand of the law will be outstretched to grasp him and drag him to a prison cell? What does it amount to when he knows that the result of his madness and folly will be the shameful death of his poor old mother, who has been so proud of him—who believed him good, and true, and honest? Don’t talk to me about welching! What is the difference now if I do squeal? I’m done for!”

Frank saw a shaking hand fumble at a pocket, and he stood ready to make a spring.

“This cursed place has ruined me, just as it has ruined hundreds before!” the youth went on. “It is run under police and political protection! Some of my money, some that I took without permit and lost here to-night, will be paid into the hands of men elected to offices of trust by the people. But for the silence of those men, this place could not run.”

“You’re ratty, Harry; come out of it. Let’s get out into the air. You need it to brace you up.”

“Hold on!” cried the lad, drawing back and flinging off their hands. “Don’t touch me! I’m not going yet! What is my life to me now! I may be able to call attention to this place and force public opinion to close it. Perhaps in that way I’ll save some other poor fool who might be lured here to his destruction. The disgrace will force Canfield to close! The notoriety will shut his doors. When I leave this place I’ll be carried out—feet first!”

His hand came from his pocket with a jerk, and he placed a shining revolver at his head, leaping backward to escape their hands. In another moment he would have fallen dead or dying, but Frank had suspected his design, and was on the watch for that move. The youth sprang back into Merry’s arms, and the hand of the young Yale athlete closed on the revolver.

The nerve-broken young gambler was like a helpless child in the hands of Merriwell. With ease Frank took away the deadly revolver.

When the two men would have clutched the would-be suicide, Frank waved them back with the gleaming weapon, supporting the panting lad on his shoulder.

“Hands off!” he cried, his voice clear and steady, yet not loud. “Aren’t you satisfied with what you have brought the poor devil to? You shall not touch him!”

“Give me that revolver!” pleaded the shaking youth, reaching out for it.

“Wait a minute,” said Merry. “I want to talk to you.”

Then, half-leading, half-supporting the miserable boy, he crossed the room to a cushioned seat by the fireplace. The two men looked on, uncertain as to what course they should pursue.

“You have made a terrible blunder,” said Frank, as he sat beside the white-faced lad, a hand on his shoulder; “but you cannot undo it by taking your own life.”

“At least, I can escape the consequences, the shame, the disgrace!”

“And prove yourself a coward. You spoke of your mother. Will she be left in poverty by this act of yours?”

“No; she has the income of property that will take care of her. But the shame will kill her!”

“Do you think it will be any less if you were to take your own life? Do you think the blow would be less severe to her?”

“No, no; but——”

“Then it is only because you fear to face the consequences of your act that you wish to die?”

“I can’t face it—I can’t! I’ve gambled away ten thousand dollars that do not belong to me! That means prison!”

“And you cannot restore one cent?”

“Would to God I could!” sobbed the youth, from the depths of his heart.

“If you could, you would?”

“Yes, yes, yes! I’d slave like a dog to pay that money back! I’d do anything! I’d work to the day of my death! But who would believe me if I said so?”

“I believe you,” declared Frank Merriwell, in a way that gave the other a strange thrill.

“But you—what can you do? You are a stranger to me.”

“Yes, I am a stranger to you; but by the eternal Heavens! I am not going to see a human life go to wreck on the rocks if I can help it!”

“How can you help it?”

“I may find a way. What is your name?”

“Harry Collins.”

“Well, Collins, how long do you think it will be before it is discovered that you have taken this money?”

“It may be discovered to-morrow; it may not be discovered for a week.”

Frank took a card-case from his pocket, removed a card and wrote on the back of it with a lead-pencil.

“There is my address,” he said. “Come to me to-morrow at one o’clock.”

“But you—you—what will you do? You can’t do——”

“I hope to be able to save you from the consequences of your folly. I have asked you only a few questions about yourself, because I do not wish to pry into your private affairs. For your mother’s sake, and in the hope that you have learned the lesson of your folly, I am going to do all I can for you.”

The youth shook his head.

“It’s a trick!” he said. “It’s a trick to get me out of this place. I’ll not find you when I call.”

Frank flushed.

“Perhaps I should not blame you for thinking so,” he said kindly. “Please read the name on that card.”

“I see it—‘Frank Merriwell.’”

“Perhaps you read in the papers some time ago about Charles Conrad Merriwell, who was called the American Monte Cristo?”

“Yes, yes! Why, you——”

“I am his son. My father has plenty of money, and, if I can communicate with him, I believe he will loan you ten thousand dollars.”

The youth gasped.

“Loan—me—ten—thousand—dollars?”

“Yes; at least, I shall ask him to do so, stating your case plainly. I am confident he will not refuse me. With the money you are to make square your debt, and then you must go to work to pay back to my father every dollar of it. He will demand that.”

The overjoyed lad would have fallen on his knees before Frank; he tried to kiss Frank’s hands, while the tears rained from his eyes.

“God bless you!” he sobbed. “I know you will save me, Frank Merriwell! And I swear to pay back every cent!”

Merry lifted him to his feet.

“Now, go,” he said. “Get out of this place, and keep away from all places like it. Come to me at the time set, and I’ll be waiting for you. Steer clear of those two men over there. Quit them at once, and never have anything to do with their like again.”

“I will! I will! But do not fail me, Frank Merriwell! My life depends on it! My mother’s life——”

“There, there! Say no more, but come to me to-morrow. Don’t doubt for an instant that I’ll meet you. I surely will. Good night.”

Merry had walked across that noiseless carpet, his arm about the unfortunate youth. The two men started toward the door, as if to join the lad, but Frank gave them a look that stopped them in their tracks.

At the door Frank gave the misguided lad his hand.

“I know,” breathed Collins—“I know by the grip of your hand that you are true! I know you will save me! Thank God!”

Then he left Dick Canfield’s to return no more.

Frank turned to his companions, quietly saying:

“Come, gentlemen, let’s take a look at the tiger.”

CHAPTER III
GILDED VICE.

They ascended a staircase that turned at right angles upon itself. This led to the gaming-rooms above. A fretted partition concealed it from the doorway, and until one had ascended to its crest he had no intimation of the play that was going on. The top being reached, however, there could be heard the busy clatter of the ivory ball speeding about the wheel and the rattle of ivory chips.

When the gaming-room was entered Frank’s keen eyes took in the general appearance of the place, and a glance showed him that it was furnished for gambling alone. There were the roulette-tables, double-banked, with the wheel in the center. Against the walls were the tables for faro. Chairs for the players, the dealers, and the croupiers were the only furnishings on the floor.

A collection of quiet, well-dressed men were playing at the various tables. They were polite and gentle in their movements, quiet of speech and apparently engaged in an occupation to which they were well accustomed and familiar.

It was the air of Canfield’s place. Every one entering there was supposed to act like a gentleman and to betray little emotion, no matter what his losings or his winnings might be.

And the play was high. Canfield was too impatient to bother with men who bet five or ten dollars. He cared nothing for small fry, but his lines were out constantly for big fish. The white checks cost a dollar each in that room.

The mural decorations of the room prevailed in Pompeiian red, and all about were panelings and other furnishings of a wood corresponding to unstained mahogany.

In this room hung an excellent example of the painter’s art, for Canfield was a connoisseur in fine paintings and rare prints, about which he would gladly talk by the hour. The handsome painting in the gambling-room he called a “Simmons.”

When they reached the gambling-room Herrick motioned toward a rear apartment, saying:

“Let’s have something to eat before we begin playing, gentlemen. I am hungry.”

“And I’ve got a terrible thirst on me,” murmured Madison, who had been strangely quiet and subdued since the appearance of the desperate and despairing youth in the reception-room. Frank saw Madison’s face was pale, and there was a look of dread in his eyes. All his rollicking manner had departed from him.

“He’s in trouble,” thought Merry; “and the sight of the other fellow has given him a start. I don’t think he stands in with Herrick.”

They moved toward the dining-room at the rear of the gambling-apartment. This room Frank found to be in keeping with the rest of the place. The paneling was handsomely carved, and the napery on the table was the best that could be procured. Beneath the softened lights, cut glass gleamed like diamonds. Overhead it was tastefully decorated in bronzed leather.

Herrick led the way, and they were shown to a table by polite waiters, who placed the chairs for them.

Frank looked at the menu in surprise, for he saw quickly that it compared in its range with the very best places of the city. There were all sorts of salads, cold salmon and cold roast meats. A bird, a bit of game, or a cutlet might be ordered.

The wine-list seemed to include everything choice and extravagant.

“Order what you like, gentlemen,” said Herrick. “Everything is free here to Canfield’s customers.”

“Do you mean to say there is no charge for this?” asked Merry, not a little surprised.

“No charge at all,” assured the man with the dark mustache.

They gave their orders, which were soon filled by the attentive servants. Herrick took pains to order plenty of wine; but, to his surprise, he suddenly found that Frank Merriwell would not drink.

Frank had a reason, for now it would not be easy for him to lead his companions into believing he had drunk the same as the others. They did not know that he had not touched a drop, and he had accomplished his purpose in keeping close to Jack Diamond and watching Herrick.

It was useless for Herrick to urge; Frank could not be moved.

“That’s right, Merriwell!” exclaimed the Virginian. “You keep sober and let me do the drinking for both of us.”

Madison, too, hastened to put away a bottle of wine, and the color began to come back to his face.

“Didn’t know I had so little nerve,” he said. “Been cold ever since that chap pulled the gun and tried to blow the top of his head off.”

“Oh, hang a welcher!” sneered Herrick. “His squealing made me sick! But it’s lucky Mr. Merriwell grabbed him just as he did. Canfield ought to thank him for that.”

“I ask no thanks from Canfield,” said Frank coldly.

“Don’t talk about it!” implored Madison.

Herrick was cool, but it became plain that his declaration that he was hungry had not been true, for he ate only a few mouthfuls. Frank ate more, but Diamond seemed in a hurry to get back to the gaming-room. Madison was strangely troubled, sometimes flushing, only to pale again.

“Curse it!” Madison finally cried. “Why did that fellow come down there and make a scene with his pistol!”

“Forget it,” laughed Herrick.

“That’s all right to say, but it isn’t easy to do. I’m a fool! I’ll be in the same way that chap is if I don’t look out!”

“Nonsense! Luck was against you the last time, Billy, but you are almost always a winner.”

“I believe my luck has turned. But I’m in the hole.”

“Got to find your money where you lost it, my boy,” purred the tempter.

“That’s right!” exclaimed Madison, rising. “Come on, gentlemen; let’s go out there and see if fortune will smile on us to-night.”

They left the dining-room, returning to the apartment where quiet, well-dressed men were gambling.

“What shall it be, jack?” asked Madison. “Will we go against the roulette wheel, or try faro a whirl? I leave it to you.”

“I lost two thousand at the faro-table last night,” said the Virginian. “I am going back to the same table.”

“I’m with you,” laughed Madison.

Diamond seated himself at the table, feeling for his money. He did not find it at once, and he continued to search through other pockets. At length, he rose, saying:

“I believe I have lost my money!”

He was very quiet and cool about it.

“What’s that?” asked Herrick, who had also taken a seat at the table. “How could you have lost it?”

“I don’t know.”

“You had it at the Hoffman House?”

“Yes.”

“He had it just outside the door here,” said Madison, “after he paid the cabman there.”

“I did that from loose money in my trousers pocket,” said the Southerner. “I am not certain the rest of my money was with me then. But I remember putting it in my pocket at the hotel.”

“My money is all right,” said Madison.

Herrick was looking at Frank in a very suspicious manner, but Merry was watching Jack. Diamond again went through his pockets, but with no better result.

“It’s gone!” he declared, with forced calmness. “It’s plain I shall not be able to play here to-night.”

“I can let you have some money on your paper, old man,” said Herrick.

“No; I think I’ll not take it. I’ve dropped enough to-night. There was about five thousand dollars in that roll.”

The Southerner was keeping his nerve in an admirable manner.

“How do you suppose you lost it, Jack?” asked Frank, with anxiety expressed on his face.

“I haven’t the least idea,” confessed Diamond.

“Perhaps it was lost in the cab. Do you know the driver?”

“The cab-driver is all right,” said Herrick. “It wasn’t lost in there, unless——”

“Well, it will do no harm to look for it without delay,” said Frank. “Come, Mr. Madison, will you go with us?”

Madison looked surprised, doubtful, hesitating. He did not seem able to make up his mind at once.

“You have your chance to get square to-night, Billy,” said Herrick. “Mr. Merriwell can help Jack look for his money. We’re here; let’s play the game.”

Merriwell touched Madison on the shoulder.

“You had better come with us,” he said.

“Get out!” hissed Herrick, scowling. “What are you trying to do, Merriwell? Let him alone, will you!”

“You see, Mr. Madison, that your friend is very anxious for you to play. Perhaps he has a reason. You know there are ‘stools’ for places like these.”

Herrick jumped up and thrust himself between Merry and Madison.

“Look here!” he panted; “if you mean to insinuate that I am a ‘stool,’ you’re a liar!”

Then, quick as a flash, the young Yale athlete grasped him by the collar, lifted him, gave him a whirl and swept the faro-table clean with his body.

As Herrick dropped off at the other end of the table, Merriwell quietly grasped Madison’s arm, speaking calmly:

“Take the advice of one who would be your friend; play no more in this place. Remember the young fellow who tried to blow a hole in his head, a short time ago.”

Madison turned pale.

Men had leaped up as Charley Herrick was flung across the faro-table. Servants rushed forward. Frowning faces surrounded Frank Merriwell. Somebody said:

“Put him out!”

Herrick jumped up and started for Frank, but three men held him off, speaking to him in a warning way. Other men attempted to take hold of Frank.

“Be kind enough to keep your hands off!” spoke Frank quietly, clearly, distinctly, his eyes flashing and the hot color flaming in his cheeks. “If you want a nasty row, just grab me. If you will have it quiet, keep off!”

There was something in his manner that held them off for a moment. Herrick tried to break away.

“If I could get hold of him, I’d break the young pup in two!” he snarled.

“I’ll be pleased to give you an opportunity to try that trick, sir, anywhere outside of this house. I do not care to get into trouble here, for I’d not have it known for any amount of money that I visited such a place.”

Frank spoke quietly, but his meaning could not be misunderstood. He seemed to regard with pity the victims of the gambler who were looking on.

“Who are you, that you are so particular about your reputation?” somebody asked.

“He’s Frank Merriwell, of Yale, and I’m his friend, gentlemen!” declared Diamond, at Frank’s side.

“Here comes Canfield!”

They parted to permit the serene, calm, well-dressed man to advance. His immobile face was inscrutable. He bowed slightly to Frank, speaking in a gentle, gentlemanly voice:

“I am sorry, Mr. Merriwell, that you should have any trouble with a patron of my house. I do not like to have such disturbances here.”

Frank looked at the keeper of the gambling-house. Canfield was interesting to him.

“The fellow brought it on himself,” said Merry. “I had no intention of making a disturbance, for I have partaken of your hospitality, though I have left none of my money here. I think you made a mistake, Mr. Canfield, in having any dealings with a man of his caliber. He is altogether too eager for his percentage.”

Canfield’s face did not change, though it seemed that a shade of color rose to his cheeks.

“Your insinuation is unpleasant, Mr. Merriwell,” he spoke, in the same restrained voice.

“Because it strikes home, I presume. But I am not going to make a scene here, Canfield. I am sorry for you, but you are not nearly as much to blame as the wolves who hold office in this city and take your hush-money, for which they give you protection. Some day they will hear the outcry of the indignant people; they will find they are cornered; they will realize that they can protect you no longer with safety to themselves, and then they will stand back and let the hand of outraged virtue fall on you. In your extremity you need not look for aid to those men in high places—those men whose pockets you have lined with gold. They will turn their faces from you; they will not know you. You will suffer; they will hold the offices they have betrayed. They will say, ‘We have cleaned the city!’ but as long as the blind people permit such harpies to retain their positions of trust and go unpunished, vice will still flourish.”

Frank stopped suddenly, and then said:

“Excuse the lecture! I didn’t mean to do it, Canfield; it was an accident, I assure you!”

The faintest smile curled the gambler’s lips.

“Never mind,” he said. “I see Harvard will have to hustle in her next debate with Yale. Without doubt you have shot off lots of truth, Mr. Merriwell; but you are damaging my business. Would you mind going out quietly, without further demonstration?”

Frank could not help admiring the fellow.

“I’ll go.”

“Thank you,” bowed the gambler. “The man at the door will be notified not to admit you again, so you can save time by not taking the trouble to call.”

“And you might have spared your breath, for there was not the least danger that I would ever again present myself at your door.”

“Still, I wish you to understand that I have no feelings against you. In fact, having read about you in the papers, I learned to admire you some time ago. If we were to meet elsewhere, I’d take pleasure in chatting with you a while. Good night, Mr. Merriwell.”

“Good night, sir,” said Frank, slipping his arm through Diamond’s and turning away.

A hand gripped Merry’s other arm.

“Hold on!” panted a voice. “Don’t leave me! I’m going with you! I’m done for if I don’t get out of here now!”

It was Billy Madison, pale as a ghost, but determined to escape from the snare which had already tangled his wayward feet.

“Good!” said Frank, with keen satisfaction. “Come on!”

The flushed men in evening dress stepped back before them, and they walked from the room, descended the stairs, were helped on with their top-coats, and left the house.

CHAPTER IV
THE OPEN HAND.

Madison took in a deep breath when they were outside. Frank felt the fellow’s arm trembling.

“Perhaps I was a fool!” he said huskily. “Mr. Merriwell, I’m in a bad box!”

“How?” Merry asked.

“I’ve dropped considerable money in that place.”

“Too bad!”

“And I hoped to get it back.”

“Your chance of doing so was small.”

“I know; but there was a chance. Now there is none. And, by Heaven! I must get that money back!”

He stopped on the sidewalk.

“I’m going back!” he declared. “I must do it, Merriwell! I must win that money back!”

“You’ll lose more, Madison.”

“I must take the chance, for I might win. You don’t know—you don’t understand. I must win that money back!”

Frank fancied he did understand.

“Don’t forget Collins,” he warned. “Madison, if you are in need of a small sum, it may be that we can fix it, somehow.”

The darkness hid the flush that rushed to Billy Madison’s face.

“I couldn’t get what I need any other way than to win it where I lost it,” he declared huskily.

Then Frank knew that Madison was in a desperate strait, and he pitied the fellow.

“You shall not go back into that shark’s hole to-night,” he asserted, keeping hold of Billy’s arm. “We’ll talk it over. How much are you behind, man?”

“Nearly a thousand dollars,” answered the yellow-haired youth, all his false buoyancy gone now.

“No more than that?” asked Frank, with apparent relief.

“It’s as bad as ten times the sum. I can’t make it up.”

“Can you give any security?”

“My word, and I don’t know a man on earth who will take it for that amount.”

“I will.”

“You?”

“Yes.”

“Why, will you let me have the money?”

“If you will make me a promise.”

“What promise?”

They were walking down Fifth Avenue. Frank called a cab before answering Madison.

“To the Fifth Avenue Hotel,” he said, as they got in.

“No; the Hoffman House,” said Diamond. “We are going to look for my money there.”

“We’ll go to the Fifth Avenue first,” said Frank quietly.

Both Madison and Diamond were feeling quite different from a short time before as they rolled up that splendid street. Madison was anxious, and he could not wait for Merriwell to explain.

“What promise do you require?” he asked huskily.

“I know absolutely nothing about you, Mr. Madison,” said Merry; “and I do not mean to ask embarrassing questions. I do not know your occupation, or anything of that sort. You may hold a position of trust where you are permitted to handle large sums of money.”

Madison choked, but did not speak.

“Never mind that,” Merry went on. “You have squandered a sum of money that puts you in a bad place, and you feel that you must get that money back. Something tells me that you are a square man—that you are a man of your word.”

“Thank you,” gasped Madison huskily.

“I have a small bank-account on which I can draw. I will let you have any sum up to a thousand on your agreement to pay as much as possible monthly. But you must make the promise I ask.”

“I can pay you twenty-five dollars a month—yes, I might pay fifty by squeezing. I’ll do it—I’ll pay fifty.”

“Twenty-five is sufficient. I shall ask no interest. All I want is my money back.”

“You shall have it—every penny!”

“But you must make the promise and keep it.”

“What is the promise?”

“Never to gamble again as long as you live!” came impressively from Frank’s lips. “Do you give me that promise?”

“Yes;” cried Madison, without hesitation. “And, by Heaven! I’ll keep it!”

Frank grasped his hand.

“Good boy!” he said, in a tone of earnest satisfaction that impressed the yellow-haired youth strangely. “You will have to cut your friend Charley Herrick in order to keep that promise.”

“I shall cut all my friends of that set, Mr. Merriwell—I swear it! I have learned my lesson this night. That poor fellow who wanted to blow his brains out—ah! that turned my blood to water! It showed me the road I was traveling. I felt that I might stand in his place before the night was over!”

“And so you might had you stayed there to gamble. Had you won to-night, you would have come back. Some night you would have lost everything. That would have been the end.”

Madison shuddered.

“I know you have saved me, Frank Merriwell!” he said. “But who are you? Are you some good angel who goes round saving foolish fellows from the results of their folly?”

“Not exactly!”

“And how can you he sure you’ll ever get back one dollar of the money you have offered to loan me?

“I am sure because I believe in you.”

“But you may be deceived. You know that. You may not get the money back. How dare you take the other risk?”

“I dare not take the other risk!”

“Why—what do you mean?”

“If I did not take this risk I know what the result would be. If I did not let you have the money, I know you would go straight the downward road to destruction. I consider a human life and a human soul worth more than a paltry thousand.”

Billy Madison was dazed, for he had not believed there was in all the world one person like Frank Merriwell. Such unhesitating and unselfish generosity astounded and bewildered him.

“You must be very rich!” he said.

“I am not,” answered Frank. “Every dollar I own in this world I have made myself. The money I shall let you have is the royalty paid me by a theatrical manager who is handling a play I wrote.”

“But your father—the richest man in America?”

“Has never given me a dollar of money. I have no doubt that he would if I needed it; but I’ve never been forced to ask him for it.”

Madison’s wonder and admiration for this Yale man grew.

“It’s wonderful!” he muttered. “I don’t quite understand it.”

“I know some persons would call me easy,” said Frank; “but I’d rather be called that than think that I had the opportunity to save a single soul from destruction, and let it pass.”

“That’s Merriwell!” thought Diamond. “He’s the only man I ever knew who was not afraid of being sized up as a soft mark. He had rather everybody would think him a mark than do a thing he fancies is wrong. If this world had a few more Merriwells in it, it would be a better place.”

Diamond was right. The fear of being regarded as “soft” makes moral cowards of the most of us. We hesitate to extend a helping hand to a brother in distress for fear the world will look on, laugh, and dub us “silly.” And repeated refusals to offer aid renders us callous and hard and unfeeling, so that we give little heed to distress and do not seem to care when we see a human soul, like a disabled vessel, drifting down the stream of life to the cataract of destruction. “It’s none of our business,” we say, and let it go. It is our business—it is your business, my business, everybody’s business! It is our duty to stretch forth a hand to succor and save the unfortunate creature if it is in our power to do so.

Twice this eventful night the hand of Frank Merriwell had been stretched out, each time to men who were strangers to him, for Madison, like Collins, could not be regarded as anything more.

The cab rolled down to Broadway and the hotel was reached. They got out and Frank paid the driver.

Straight to Merriwell’s room they went, and there Frank wrote for William A. Madison a check for nine hundred and seventy-five dollars, which the curly-haired chap said would be enough to put him straight before the world.

Madison was grateful, but Frank cut short his thanks, saying:

“The future will talk far better than any words you can say now. I am willing to wait to see what it will say. Go straight home, my boy. When you wish to send me money, forward it to New Haven. You may also give me an address, where I may write to you.”

Madison pulled out his card-case at once, took a card and wrote upon it.

“Here is my address,” he said. “Anything you wish to know about me I will answer. You may find out by inquiry if I tell you the truth.”

Frank waved a hand lightly.

“I do not wish to ask questions. Had I intended to do so, I should have begun in the first place. But look out for Herrick. Remember my warning. When you meet him, you do not know him.”

“Never again!” vowed Madison.

Then he shook hands with Frank and Jack and left them.

“I believe you’ll receive that money back, Merriwell,” said the Virginian; “but you are taking a risk that few fellows would dare run.”

“And I could not have rested for a week if I hadn’t taken it,” declared Frank.

“Well,” said Diamond, “now that you have fixed him all right, perhaps you will go with me to look for the money I have lost.”

“No,” spoke Frank, “there is no need of it.”

The Southerner stared at him in amazement.

“No need of it?” he cried. “Why not? It’s the last ready money I have in my possession—or the last I had, for it’s gone now. Am I of less consequence than Billy Madison?”

“Not at all, my dear boy; but there is no need to search for your lost money.”

“No need?” repeated Jack. “Why not?”

“Because I have it here,” asserted Frank quietly, drawing a big roll of bills from his pocket and extending them to Jack.

“Am I dreaming?” gasped the Virginian, as he took the roll of bills and dropped limply on a chair, staring at it in a wondering, bewildered way.

Frank sat down, smiling.

“If you will run the money over,” he said, “I think you’ll find it’s all there.”

“But—but—how did it come here?” gurgled Jack. “I—I thought——”

“That it was lost.”

“Yes; and you—you——”

“Had it all the time,” finished Merry, still smiling quietly.

“But why—when——”

“I took it because I did not wish you to blow it in to-night at Dick Canfield’s.”

“You—you took it—when?”

“As we rolled up Fifth Avenue in the cab.”

“How did you take it, man?”

“You sat beside me. I had noted the roll, and observed the pocket in which you placed it.”

A light was beginning to break on Diamond.

“You confounded pickpocket!” he exploded, in mingled indignation, amusement, and relief. “That was a fine trick to play on a friend, sah! Now, wasn’t it, sah?”

“Yes,” nodded Merry, “under the circumstances, I regard it as a very clever piece of business.”

“How did you dare, sah?” fumed Jack, uncertain whether to be angry or delighted. “Why did you do it, Mr. Merriwell?”

“To save you from being robbed.”

“Robbed?”

“Yes.”

“When? Where?”

“In that gambling-den. The chances were against you, and you were bound to lose there if you played long enough. It is always so, for men do not run such places for charity.”

The Virginian sat quite still and looked at Frank in silence for some time. At last he rose, stepped over, and stretched out his hand.

“You are the same generous, far-seeing Merry as of old!” he exclaimed, the flush in his cheeks.

Frank grasped that hand, and they stood face to face.

“Jack,” he said, “I knew something was wrong the moment I saw you in company with those men. As soon as I discovered you were on a spree, I determined to stay with you and learn what was doing. I did not drink with you in the Hoffman House. I took the water, and the barkeeper flung out the gin that I had pretended to taste as a chaser.”

Diamond nodded.

“Just like you!” he said. “But what made you do it?”

“I wished to stay with you, and I had to quiet the suspicions of Herrick. Had I refused to drink, Herrick would not have taken me to Canfield’s. I wanted to make sure of that fellow.”

“I begin to think that he is a confounded scoundrel!”

“That is mild,” smiled Frank. “He is much worse than that. If I were to express my real opinion of him I should be compelled to use profanity, and I do not swear.”

“I have no doubt but you are right,” said Jack, sitting down. “By Jove! I’m feeling bad! I must have a cocktail.”

“Jack—no more.”

“Oh, what’s the use——”

“No more!” declared Frank. “You are going to stop now.”

Diamond looked into Merriwell’s eyes, and was conquered.

“I suppose I’ll have to do as you say,” he groaned rather resentfully; “but you might let me taper off.”

“The only way to taper off at anything is to quit at once,” asserted Merry. “The toper who attempts to taper off never succeeds. The man who has not mind enough to quit a bad habit instantly and at once never can quit. The fellow who confesses that he cannot quit without tapering off confesses that he is weak, wavering, a creature to be pitied—a poor thing who will never make a success at anything he may undertake. Jack, I know you are going to feel bad if you stop short, but the only way to do it is to stop. Brace up, shut your teeth, and take the consequences of your own folly.”

The Southerner nodded, his face gloomy, but beginning to show resolution.

“Oh, I’ll have an awful head to-morrow!” he muttered.

“You must go to bed,” said Frank, “and try to get some sleep.”

“Blamed if I believe I can sleep!”

“Then fight it out, and never give up. In the morning take a cold shower, and then get some exercise in the open air. Do not take a cab, but go out and walk, walk, walk. Rest, exercise, cold baths, and plenty of fresh air will bring you round to your old self, my boy.”

“If you had been with me——” murmured Jack dolefully.

“This would not have happened,” nodded Merry.

“But you could not have prevented her from throwing me down.”

“So she threw you down?” said Merry, who all along had suspected what ailed Diamond.

“Yes. She is a heartless, beautiful—angel!”

Merriwell knew he was speaking of Juliet Reynolds, the handsome English girl who had captured his heart.

“Merry,” said Diamond, his face lighting for a moment, “she is the fairest creature the sun shines upon! But she has black hair and eyes; so have I. That is fatal. I have known we could never be happy together. I told you the reasons in London, before we went out to Henley that time. I did not mean to go, and I should have remained away. I became her slave at Henley, and I can never love another woman. Oh, but those were happy days on that house-boat, Merriwell! It makes me thrill to think of them—and of her.”

“I agree with you, Jack. As a rule, opposites should marry; but you know there are exceptions to all rules.”

“There is no exception in this case. You remember that I told you of my mother’s warning. She knew, and she feared that what has happened might happen. I should have heeded that warning and kept away from Juliet Reynolds. I meant to keep away, but when she turned up in this country last summer, I fell under her spell again.”

“And I supposed everything was all right when you followed her to London.”

“I thought so, too; but I was wrong. For a time there was no cloud to hide the sun in our blue sky. Not even London fog could baffle it. But there came a change. I saw her smile on another. Merriwell, it gave me such a feeling down in my heart that I was ill. I wanted to kill him! Then came our quarrel. She pretended to be very indignant; I accused her. She grew white to the lips. Then and there she told me that from that time we were to be strangers. I declared that nothing could suit me better, and we parted. An hour after I was willing to throw myself at her feet and beg forgiveness.

“The following day I went back and tried to see her. She would not receive me. I went there time after time, and was turned away. I haunted the place, like a fool that I am, and she avoided me. One day I tried to speak with her as she was entering her carriage for a drive. She sprang in quickly, spoke to the driver, and left me on the curb. Another time I met her on Rotten Row. I was mounted, and so was she. I placed my horse across her path. She bent forward and struck it a cut with her whip, causing it to bolt with me. When I got the animal under control, she was gone. At last I realized it was no use and that I had lost her forever. When next I saw her she was at the play, and beside her in the box was the man at whom she had smiled. Then I left the theater and tried to drown my sorrow in the flowing bowl. I have kept it up ever since.”

“And you have found that the flowing bowl simply served to make you forget for a little while.”

“Right. Whenever I sobered up a little I remembered, and I felt worse than ever. That will be the way after this bout, old man. To-morrow I shall be ready to blow the roof of my head off.”

“But you are not ass enough to do anything like that?” asserted Frank.

“I hope not,” said Jack.

“You must have made a strike to have so much boodle with you.”

“An old aunt—a dear old soul—died and left me half her fortune. There were no restrictions. I was at liberty to do as I liked with it, and I have made a hole in it.”

Frank was glad he had stumbled on Jack Diamond that night, and he had resolved to stick by the Virginian till certain the misguided fellow was straightened out and again his old self. The hand that had been outstretched to succor falling strangers should hold tight to this youth who was wavering on the brink of a frightful abyss.

“Jack,” said Merry, “you shall not ruin your life for a woman. You may have been too hasty in quarreling with her——”

“I was—I know it now! I knew it an hour after the quarrel. But she would not see me, and all my letters to her came back unopened. I could not put myself right in her eyes.”

“She is very proud.”

“So am I! There are no prouder people in all Virginia than the Diamonds; but I was willing to humble myself before that girl, to confess that I was wrong, and to ask her forgiveness.”

“Having failed, your pride should keep you from going to the dogs. It is the weak man who gives up and goes to the dogs because a girl refuses him or casts him over.”

After a while Jack said:

“I believe you are right, Merriwell; yes, I know you are right. You’re always right.”

Merry was well satisfied with the turn of affairs.

“Then you promise me now and here that you will straighten out and be a man?”

“I promise.”

“And you will have nothing more to do with Herrick?”

A sudden cloud came to Diamond’s face.

“As soon as the McGilvay bout is over I will shake Herrick,” he promised.

“The McGilvay bout—what’s that?”

“A prize-fight. It is called a sparring exhibition, but it is to be a fight to the finish.”

“Well, how does that connect you with Herrick?”

“Herrick’s friends have an unknown who is to meet Pete McGilvay.”

“Well?”

“The unknown is said to be a middle-weight wonder, but is not a professional.”

“Go on.”

“Odds of two to one have been offered on McGilvay.”

“Yes?”

“Herrick was confident that the Unknown would have an easy thing with Pete.”

“And you bet on the Unknown?”

“Exactly.”

Frank took a breath.

“How much?”

“Five thousand dollars,” answered Jack quietly.

Frank looked grim and worried, shaking his head a bit.

Diamond observed this, and asked:

“You think—just what?”

“I am afraid you are in a trap, old man, to be frank about it.”

“I may be,” nodded the Virginian, “for I have trusted to Herrick’s word. I see now that I was a fool to trust the fellow in anything.”

“These fights, you know, are seldom on the level. In almost every case they are fixed in advance. Prize-fighters, like many politicians, may be bought easily if you have plenty of dough. Some of the recent fights in this city have been the most open cases of robbery ever recorded. Every square sport—and there are a few square men who call themselves sports—is disgusted with the rottenness of the affairs here. The man who puts his money on one of these bouts without knowing just how the land lays is taking a leap in the dark, with everything in favor of a terrible jolt when he strikes.”

“But I supposed I knew; I thought Herrick on the level.”

“And the chances are that you have put your foot in it. Is there no way to hedge?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps I might find somebody to put money on the Unknown if I offered odds enough.”

“It would be taking a desperate chance. When does the fight take place?”

“To-morrow night.”

“Well, it’s no use to worry over it to-night, Diamond. To-morrow we’ll see what can be done. You are to stop here with me.”

“But——”

“There are no buts about it. Just get out of your clothes and turn in.”

The Virginian made no further protest, and thirty minutes later he was sleeping heavily in Frank’s bed.

Merry came over to the bed, and stood there looking down at Jack.

“Poor boy!” he murmured. “It was great luck that I ran on you just when I did, for you were already well entangled in the snare. I must save you and put you on the right road again.”

Then he quietly left the room and descended to send a telegram to his father, addressing it to Charleston, South Carolina, and asking for ten thousand dollars.

For the first time in his life Merry had brought himself to make such an application to his father. And now it was not for his own sake, but for the unfortunate boy, Harry Collins.

Having seen that the message was despatched without delay, Frank returned to his room and turned in for the night, having seen that Jack was still asleep.

Diamond slept late the following morning, but Merry was up early, as usual, took a cold plunge, a rub-down, and some brisk exercise before awakening Jack.

The Virginian was dejected enough when he opened his eyes to the morning light. He had a splitting headache, while his mouth was dry as a chip, and there seemed to be a coat of fur on his tongue.

“Merriwell,” he said solemnly, “a man is a thundering fool to drink!”

“It’s a good thing you’ve found that out,” smiled Frank. “But you want to remember it. Lots of men find it out, but they have a way of forgetting quickly.”

“I think this will do me very well,” declared Jack.

“Wouldn’t you like a big drink of whisky?” Merry asked.

“Not on your life!” cried Diamond, with a look of repugnance.

“Then you are all right. When a fellow gets so he feels that he must have a drink the first thing in the morning he is on the road to a drunkard’s grave. I’m glad to hear you say you do not want anything.”

“But I do want something,” groaned Jack.

“What is it?” Frank asked, in apprehension.

“I want to drink about a barrel of good cold water. I’d like to be backed up to a watering-trough.”

Frank rang for ice-water at once. When the boy brought it, Jack seized the pitcher and came near drinking its entire contents without pausing to take breath.

“Now I have a good tub of ice-cold water waiting for you,” said Frank.

“Great Scott!” gasped the Southerner, in horror. “I can take a cold bath when I am feeling all right, but I don’t believe I have the nerve for it this morning, old man. You’ll have to let me off.”

“It can’t be done. You must take your medicine, my boy. It’s just what you need.”

“Have you no mercy, Merriwell?”

“Not in a case like this. You do not deserve mercy.”

With many protests, Jack was dragged out of bed and compelled to take a plunge in the icy water of the bath. After the rub-down he felt a little better, but he was ready to gulp down another pitcher of ice-water, which he easily accomplished before getting dressed.

“You’re a hard doctor, Merry,” he said, with a rueful grin; “but hanged if I don’t believe you will effect a cure.”

He did not want any breakfast, but Frank would not let him off till he had taken a glass of milk in which an egg had been beaten.

“Now,” said Merriwell, “for a good brisk walk in the open air.”

“Wait till I get a cigar,” said Diamond.

“Not much!” exclaimed Frank. “How much good will a cigar do you? How much good will a walk do you if you are making a smoke-stack of yourself? When a man goes out to take exercise in the open air he should keep tobacco out of his mouth. As he walks and smokes, the fumes of tobacco get into his lungs and taint the pure air that should be filling their every cell. Thus he robs himself of the beneficial effect he might receive from his walk.”

“All right, all right,” muttered Jack feebly. “Don’t lecture! I won’t smoke. But you’re not going to walk far, are you?”

“Not very.”

“About how far?”

“Five miles.”

Diamond protested; he was in no condition to stand it. His protests were unavailing; Merry said he must stand it.

So they set out, and Frank set the pace, which soon brought the color into Diamond’s pale cheeks. North-ward along Broadway they strode until the park was reached, and then Frank gave his companion a merry chase through the park, coming out at last on Fifth Avenue, by way of which they returned to the hotel.

Jack was pretty tired when they got back there, but he confessed that he was beginning to feel better.

Now Frank sought to find out if there had come a reply to the message he had sent his father. On inquiry, he was informed that Mr. Charles Merriwell had sailed from Charleston on the steam-yacht Petrel early the previous day.

“Sailed for what place?” asked Frank.

But that they could not tell him, only knowing that the gentleman had sailed and the message to him had not been delivered into his hands.

Frank looked troubled. After a little meditation, he sent other messages, in the hope of finding out his father’s destination.

“I need his money now if I am going to save Collins,” Merry thought. “I have not enough money of my own—not half enough. If I cannot reach father, I’m afraid Collins will be in a bad scrape.”

Languid and weary, Jack Diamond was resting when Frank went up to the room.

“Haven’t even energy enough to go to my own hotel,” he said. “You pumped it all out of me this morning.”

“But you’ll find it will come back in time. Why, man, can’t you see what the life you were leading was bringing you to? Here you are without life or ambition, exhausted, listless, languid—you who used to be full of fire and spirit and go. Do you like it?”

“It would be easy to put some fire into me now.”

“How?”

“Let me have a few drinks.”

“False fire—fire that burns out both body and soul. That fire has utterly destroyed many a fine fellow. The only way to be sure it will not enfold you in its consuming grasp is to keep away from it. The chap who plays with it is taking chances.”

“That’s so,” Jack nodded. “I know it well enough; you don’t have to tell me. Still, I think it may prove to be a good thing for me that you ran across me last night.”

The Virginian was willing to give Merry credit for everything due.

Frank paced the floor.

“How long are you going to stay in New York?” Jack asked.

“I don’t know. Yesterday I meant to leave this morning, but now—well, I cannot leave before to-morrow. I have to meet Collins at noon to-day, and I wish to hear something from my father. Jack, how much ready money have you?”

“What’s left in that roll you saved for me last night, about five thousand.”

“Not enough.”

“You want money?”

“Must have it.”

“What for?”

“Never mind; but I must have it.”

Diamond had not heard Merriwell’s talk with Harry Collins, and he did not know Frank was determined to give the boy a lift by letting him have such a large sum.

“You may have every dollar I’ve got,” said Diamond quickly.

“It will do me no more good than ten dollars would. I must have ten thousand. I expect to reach my father some time to-day, and I can get it from him.”

Jack was curious to know why Merry wished for such a large sum, but he knew better than to ask. If Frank meant for anybody else to know, he would tell.

“I’ve got to go to my hotel,” said the Southerner, rising. “I’ll settle and come back here to stop to-night, so that we may be together.”

“Do,” said Frank. “We must stick together while we are in this town.”

“Expect I’ll be likely to strike Herrick watching for me.”

Frank looked startled.

“If you do——”

“Don’t worry, Merry; I’m done. I pull up right here.”

“Stick to it, Jack. If you see Herrick, cut him cold.”

“You forget that the fellow has an interest in the Unknown. He might throw me down by fixing the fight and buying the Unknown off.”

“He’ll throw you down, anyhow. The Unknown is booked to lose that fight.”

Jack paled, and his lips were pressed together.

“Well, I’m out five thousand dollars if that is true,” he said. “I’m paying well for my foolishness.”

“Get back as soon as you can,” urged Frank, “and we’ll take lunch together. We can talk the matter over. It’s a shame to lose so much money—to be robbed of it! For you are being robbed, Jack!”

“Haven’t a doubt of that now; but what can I do?”

“You can knock Herrick down; but perhaps you had better wait till you are sure the game is lost.”

Diamond left, and Frank, not a little perplexed and troubled, waited for Collins to appear.

CHAPTER V
FRANK’S SURPRISING PROPOSAL.

Promptly at the time set Harry Collins was on hand. Frank had him brought up to the room and received him there.

Collins was pale and downcast, his whole appearance being one of extreme anxiety. Merriwell took the lad’s hand, studying him closely.

“Naturally honest, but young and susceptible,” Frank mentally decided. “If he escapes from this pitfall, he may make an upright man and a good citizen.”

He had feared that by daylight Collins might prove a disappointment to him. He had feared that on their second meeting he might feel that the chance of risking so much money to save the fellow was too desperate. Now he was satisfied, and he did not regret what had passed his lips the previous night.

“But the money—how was he to get it?”

Collins looked at him anxiously.

“Sit down,” invited Frank, “and let’s talk this matter over.”

The youth showed signs of apprehension, but accepted a chair.

“How much money must you have? What is the very smallest amount?” asked Frank.

The unfortunate boy blushed with shame.

“I need fully ten thousand dollars,” he said.

“You must hold a position of great trust?”

“I do. When my father died I was given a place in the bank of which he had been president for many years. I advanced rapidly, till now I am paying-teller.”

Merry had fancied the youth must be employed in a bank.

“And you have misappropriated funds?”

Collins’ face became crimson.

“That is a mild way of stating it,” he said huskily. “You are right. I have squandered the money trying to make more. It is gone, and I know I am on the very verge of ruin. I know discovery is certain within a day or two, at most. It is liable to come any time, and I feel that I am living over a deadly mine. It is terrible!”

The lad’s face had turned white as death as he thought of his peril, and Merry’s sympathy was again awakened to the fullest.

“I took desperate chances last night,” Collins went on, “hoping to make a strike in that cursed place and win back enough to set myself right at the bank. I failed, and but for you I should have blown my brains out there. I have clung to your promise to help me, but it seems too good to be true. I cannot understand how a stranger can do such a thing.

“As I have thought it over this forenoon I have turned hot and cold by turns. First I would be buoyed with hope, and then my heart sank in despair as I realized the impossibility of receiving aid in such a manner. I have feared that you simply gave me the promise in order to keep me from killing myself at the time. I have been in terror lest you would not be here when I called. And now I am shaking with the apprehension that somehow I misunderstood you. Did you offer me the money, Mr. Merriwell? For mercy’s sake say you did, and that you have it ready for me!”

Collins seemed on the point of flinging himself on his knees before Frank.

“Steady, my boy,” said Merry, with a reassuring smile. “I agreed to let you have the money.”

A cry of joy broke from the pale lips of the youth.

“And you have it—here?”

“Not now—not yet.”

“But great heavens! the danger—I have told you of the danger! I must have the money right away—if at all. My mother——”

“I am doing everything I can to get it. Unfortunately, it is far more money than I have of my own. I have sent messages to my father, but he sailed on my steam-yacht yesterday. The moment I can reach him I can make arrangements that will bring the money into my hands in a hurry.”

“And that may be too late!” groaned Collins.

Frank hurried to his side and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Keep up your courage,” said Merry. “I’ll do everything I can. You are not lost till the truth is discovered. Even then, if such a thing should happen, you might fix it by restoring every dollar taken.”

“But the shame—I could not live through it! I could not face those men who have trusted me!”

The youth broke down, covered his face with his hands, and sobbed. Frank longed to possess the money at that moment, but it was not at hand. He talked reassuringly to Collins, who braced up after a little, wiping the tears from his eyes and looking more ashamed than ever.

“I’m a poor, weak thing!” he exclaimed in strong self-contempt. “How you must despise me!”

Merry did not despise him, but was thrilling with sympathy and pity for him. He convinced Collins of this after a time, and then the unfortunate lad told the complete story of how he had obtained the money and kept the knowledge from the other bank officials. He told Frank the name of the bank, holding back nothing.

When the tale was finished, Frank was somewhat pale himself, for he saw that Collins was truly in constant danger of discovery. Indeed, the wonder was that exposure had not already overtaken him.

“Come to me here this afternoon immediately after the closing of the bank,” directed Frank.

“Will you have the money then? Do you think you will?”

“I hope to, but I cannot be sure. I shall do everything possible to obtain it. You will come?”

“Oh, yes. I will do anything as long as there is the least hope. I shall pray that you get the money—for my mother’s sake!”

When Collins had departed, Merriwell paced the floor for some time, his face wearing a look of deep thought and anxiety.

“If there were any honest way of getting possession of that money!” he muttered.

Diamond came back, and found Frank thus.

“Well,” Jack cried, “I’ve seen Herrick, and now I know you were right.”

“Eh?” said Merry, as if not quite comprehending. “About what?”

“That prize-fight business.”

“A put-up job?”

“Not a question about it.”

“What is the new development?”

“Herrick advises me to hedge.”

“Why?”

“He says the Unknown is ill and out of condition.”

“Well, how about hedging?”

“The thing has leaked, and bets cannot be made at any odds.”

“You are in a trap.”

“That’s right,” nodded Jack gloomily.

“I suspected it,” said Frank. “If the Unknown is not in condition, why not call the fight off?”

“Herrick claims that it has been tried, and that McGilvay will not agree.”

Again Frank walked the floor.

“It’s enough to drive a fellow to drink again!” said the Southerner despairingly. “I hate to be bled in this way.”

Frank said nothing, for he did not hear a word. He was walking up and down, his hands in his pockets and his eyes on the carpet. Of a sudden, he uttered an exclamation, stopped short, jerked his hands out of his pockets, and smote his clenched right fist into his open left palm.

“It might work!” he cried.

“What?” asked Jack, rousing up and showing some interest.

Frank strode over, grasped Diamond by the shoulder, jerked him to his feet, and cried:

“Take me to that fellow Herrick! Don’t lose any time about it, either!”

“What—what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to try to save that money for you.”

“How can you do that?”

“Never mind. If I do save it—if I fix it so you win this bet, will you loan me the amount you win?”

“Great Scott! If you fix it so I win, you will save me the money I have wagered. That’s all I ask, Merriwell. You may have every blamed dollar of the winnings to do with as you like.”

“Ten thousand!” exclaimed Frank. “Just what I need! Take me to Herrick!”

They found Herrick at the Hoffman House, and Herrick was surprised when Merriwell met him with a show of cordiality.

“Mr. Herrick,” said Frank, “Diamond tells me that your Unknown is not in condition and may lose the bout to-night.”

“That’s right,” nodded Herrick. “He’s as good as licked now. I’ve warned Jack to hedge.”

“You don’t want to see Diamond lose that money?”

“Well, I guess not!” exclaimed the man with the dark mustache, making a show of sincerity. “Jack is my friend.”

“This Unknown is entered simply as an unknown?”

“Yes.”

“Then why don’t you put another man in his place? Why do you fight him when it is a sure thing that he must be whipped?”

“I don’t know of another man who will fill the bill. He must be a middleweight amateur, and I do not know of a man in New York or within reach who can stand a show with Pete McGilvay.”

“Perhaps I know of such a man.”

“You?”

“Yes.”

Herrick looked startled.

“I don’t believe it, begging your pardon, Mr. Merriwell. But who is the man?”

“I am.”

Herrick’s jaw dropped; after a moment he looked amused, but attempted to hide a smile.

“Really, Mr. Merriwell,” he said, “I think you underestimate McGilvay’s fighting-ability. He is a wonder. I believe that he will some day stand a show of carrying off the championship of this country.”

Diamond had been astounded by Frank’s proposition. His hand fell suddenly on Merry’s arm, but Frank motioned for him to be silent.

“That is all right,” said the young Yale athlete; “but I am pretty clever with my hands, and I feel sure I can make a better showing than an Unknown who is on the sick-list. You profess to be Jack Diamond’s friend, and Jack has a wad of cold cash bet on your Unknown at your recommendation. I know he will be satisfied to lose it if I am permitted to take the place of this Unknown. In that way you will be showing that your professions of friendship are more than empty words.”

Herrick wavered. In his heart he believed that this smooth-faced, conceited youth would prove a snap for McGilvay—he had no doubt of it. There was not the least danger that the accomplished bruiser would meet his match in a mere college lad. If he refused to permit Merriwell to take the place of the Unknown, it would seem that he was determined to give Diamond no show. If he permitted this, it must seem that he was willing for Jack to win out if possible. That would set him right with Diamond, who was a bird worth plucking.

“If you really think there is a show, Mr. Merriwell——”

“You’ll do it?” nodded Frank. “Good! I will be on hand and prepared to go into the ring.”

“I’ll bring my influence to bear,” Herrick hastened to say. “You know I am not the only one interested. I’ll do what I can.”

CHAPTER VI
THE UNKNOWN WINS.

The Thor Athletic Club was packed to suffocation. Tier upon tier rose the mass of humanity on every side of the platform. There was a perfect babel of voices. The preliminary bouts had been “pulled off” after the usual manner, and the audience was waiting eagerly for the final event of the evening, a ten-round contest between Peter McGilvay and an Unknown.

“Who is this Unknown?” asked a stout, fat-faced man.

“Some say it’s Bob Emerson, of Brooklyn,” answered a gray-mustached gentleman in evening dress.

“Bob Emerson couldn’t stand up t’ree roun’s in front o’ McGil,” asserted a bullet-headed fellow. “Spot Herrick’s not fool enough ter back dat sort of a duffer.”

“Wot’s der matter wid yer, Denny?” contemptuously exclaimed another. “D’yer t’ink Herrick’s in dis on der level? W’y, I’ll bet me spuds he’s backin’ Pete.”

Suddenly the master of ceremonies entered the roped arena and enjoined silence by a gesture, after which he announced the final event of the evening.

As he retired from the platform there was a shout of welcome, and McGilvay, followed by his seconds, came on. The prize-fighter had a thick neck and huge, bunchy shoulders. His legs were not properly developed, and his appearance was anything but graceful. He bowed to the crowd, and then retreated to his corner.

All eyes were strained to catch a glimpse of the Unknown. There was a pause, and then he came on.

There were muttered exclamations of admiration, for never had a handsomer youth stepped into the squared circle. Chest, shoulders, arms, legs—every part of his body seemed perfectly proportioned. He had a fine, shapely head set upon a beautiful neck, which swelled gently at the base. His every movement was graceful and confident. About his waist was a sash of Yale blue.

McGilvay’s colors were green.

The seconds were professionals, and they had been astounded when Frank Merriwell stripped before them. In street-clothes he had not foretold his magnificent build.

“Who is he?”

That question buzzed everywhere, but no one seemed to know him.

There were the usual preparations.

“He’s handsome, but he’ll be meat for McGilvay.”

That was the general opinion.

The gong sounded its warning. Everything was ready. The men met in the center of the platform and shook hands. A moment later they were on guard, and then the fight began.

For a moment the men sparred and circled round each other. Then the professional rushed in. The amateur was away. He had avoided the rush with ease.

The professional followed the youth, who was smiling beneath the white glare of the arc-lights. He tried to rush Frank, but again he was baffled.

The amateur whirled and came back. Flash-flash went his white fists. He had struck twice, but the wearer of the green managed to avoid both blows.

McGilvay countered, and there was lively work in the center of the ring. At the end the amateur retreated again, hotly followed by his antagonist.

“Gil is rushing him,” flew from lip to lip. “He means to make it short.”

Neither man had been harmed. The professional did his best to corner his foe, but he was too slow. He counted on getting in a terrible blow with one of those hamlike fists.

Time passed swiftly, and the end of the round came with the amateur still running away and the professional pursuing, trying to corner him.

“He’s afraid of Pete,” was the universal decision. “He is clever on his feet, but Pete will corner him pretty soon, and end it with one punch.”

The professional sat in his corner and laughed. He felt certain that it was an easy thing.

“W’y, I kin do dat kid wid one t’ump!” he declared. “He’s scared ter deat’ now.”

“Stand up to him,” advised Frank’s second. “You’ll make the crowd sick running erway.”

Frank said nothing.

Clang! sounded the gong. The men were up and advancing. They met again. They were at it once more.

Again the green rushed the blue; again the blue retreated. It seemed to be the same old story over again.

“Oh, this is a sprinting-match!” cried somebody, in disgust.

Flash!—out shot a clean, muscular arm. Crack!—the blow sounded almost like a pistol-shot.

The professional had grown incautious and given his foe an opening. It had been accepted, and the blow sent Pete McGilvay clean across the ring, to fall like a log of wood.

“Ah!” shouted the astounded spectators, as they rose to their feet as one man.

The Unknown could strike a blow like the kick of a mule. This was the first surprise.

But McGilvay’s head was hard, and he got up before the referee could count him out.

He was amazed, and he had learned something. In the future he would be more cautious. But now the amateur came at him.

“He’s lost his head!” declared an old sport. “He thinks he can end it right here because he got in one blow. Now Pete will do him.”

But Pete wabbled, and the Unknown punished him severely. Blood began to flow, but the amateur had not been harmed in the least. The breast of the professional was heaving.

“By heavens! Pete is getting the worst of it!”

The man who uttered the words could scarcely believe the evidence of his eyes. It seemed impossible. But that handsome, stern-faced youth with the flashing eyes gave his antagonist not a moment to rest. The tables were turned, and the aggressor of a few moments before was making a poor defense.

The white arms of the amateur whipped the air; his hard fists pounded the ribs, neck, and jaw of the professional. McGilvay tried to counter, but he was bewildered. That first terrible blow had left his head singing and a wavering blackness before his eyes.

The seconds looked on in amazement. They were praying for the end of the round to come soon. It must come soon to save McGilvay.

Now the crowd was wildly excited. Amazed by the turn of affairs, the whirlwind style of fighting of the stranger threw them into tumultuous admiration.

“Look at that! He got Pete on the jaw! That was a heart-blow! He’s cutting Pete all up!”

The sound of the blows was plainly heard.

Suddenly McGilvay wavered, dropped his arms at his side, and seemed to lurch forward to meet the terrible fist that struck him fairly on the point of the jaw. He was hurled half-way through the ropes.

Then, amid the greatest uproar, the referee slowly counted the professional out.

Frank Merriwell, the “Unknown,” had won the fight, and by doing so had saved Jack Diamond’s money and won ten thousand with it.

Jack Diamond, literally overflowing with admiration and delight, had promptly turned his winnings over to Frank.

“It’s your money, every dollar of it,” he said. “Do what you like with it. Merry, you are a Twentieth Century marvel!”

“How is Herrick?” asked Frank.

“The sorest man I ever saw,” laughed Jack. “He had plenty of good money on McGilvay. I’ll bet the biggest part of what I won came from his pocket.”

“Then I’ll see if I cannot do some good with the stuff,” said Merry.

An hour later, in his room, he handed the money to Harry Collins, whose emotion choked him so that he could not utter his thanks or express his gratitude.

“Not a word now,” said Merry. “My boy, to get that money and save you I did something no man could lead me to do for myself. Use it to save yourself—and your mother. Perhaps it was more for the sake of your mother, whom I never saw, that I did it, than it was for yours. My mother is—dead!”

CHAPTER VII
FRANK EXPLAINS THE SITUATION.

“I have seen that face before,” declared Frank.

“I thought I had at first glance,” confessed Jack Diamond. “That’s why I stopped and stared. She must have thought me a chump.”

The two friends were at the corner of Sixth Avenue and Twenty-third Street. They had been sauntering along, when the attention of both was attracted by a strangely handsome face in the passing throng. A pair of midnight eyes flashed them one swift glance as the girl hurried on. Jack stopped in his tracks.

“Merriwell,” he said after a moment, “you can’t guess of whom she reminded me?”

“I shall not try to guess.”

“Juliet,” said Jack.

“She does look something like her. She has a fine figure. I am sure I have seen her before.”

“What made it seem more like Juliet,” muttered the Virginian, “was that she appeared startled by the sight of one or both of us.”

“I was startled,” confessed Frank, gazing after the retreating figure, “for it seemed to be the face of somebody I knew.”

The girl had been swallowed up in the throng on the south side of the street.

“She was like Juliet,” murmured Jack; “though not so handsome.”

“She was quite as handsome as Juliet Reynolds,” Frank thought, but he did not speak the words aloud. Instead, he said: “Let’s turn back, Jack. I’d like to get another glimpse of her.”

“You?” exclaimed the Virginian, in surprise. “Why, I thought Elsie——”

“There are a few things you do not know, old chum,” said Merry, forcing a smile, which was not quite free from regret and pain.

They had turned about.

“But Elsie Bellwood is in love with you, Merriwell,” Diamond insisted. “I know it, old man.”

“You think you do; but you have been abroad for some time, and things have happened while you were away.”

Jack was astonished.

“Why,” he breathed wonderingly, “you don’t mean to say—to say———— What do you mean, anyhow?”

“That it’s all off between Elsie and your humble servant.”

“Impossible!”

“True, just the same.”

“I can’t believe it now. You are joking, Frank!”

“Do you think I would joke about a thing like that?”

“Forgive me, Merry; I know you would not. You never boasted of your ‘affairs of the heart.’ You were not that kind. And you might have boasted truthfully, for all the girls seemed to get smashed on you. You never talked of such things.”

“And I did not mean to speak of this, but you——”

“I know—I brought it up. Pardon me, old man, I don’t like to seem curious about such things, but I can’t understand it. Do you mind telling me what has happened? If you do, all right—don’t say a word.”

“I couldn’t tell everything if I tried, Jack, so I won’t try. But there have been strange developments. Hodge saved Elsie from a burning steamer off the coast of Georgia. Rather, he attempted to save her, and they were shut in together by the flames so it seemed that neither could escape. Then and there the love for her that he had kept hidden in his heart—hidden even from himself—burst forth, and he told her everything. After that they were able to escape.”

Frank paused. He had not explained that it was he who had rescued Bart and Elsie from certain death.

“Hodge?” muttered Diamond. “That fellow? And he has——”

“He acted the man,” asserted Merry instantly.

“How?”

“By standing face to face with me and telling me everything. He would have withdrawn, though I know he is passionately in love with Elsie. With a word I could have sent him away from her, for he is as loyal a friend as man ever had. He would sacrifice himself for me. But why should I ask that of him?”

“Because it is your right!” declared Diamond earnestly. “Elsie knew you first—cared for you first. Hodge has no right to come between you.”

“That is one way of looking at it. There are other ways. I have never spoken plainly to her—that is, I have never made a definite and outspoken proposal. How could she be sure that I ever would? Why should she feel bound to me in any way, save by the tie of friendship, which has not been broken by anything that has taken place? There was no reason, Jack. You can see that.”

“Well, looking at it that way, perhaps you are right; but——”

“There are no ‘buts’ about it, my dear boy. It is hard, common sense. I had no real claim on Elsie, and I could not feel wronged if she were to marry Hodge to-morrow.”

“Hodge knew; confound him! He——”

“Even he could not be sure I cared more for Elsie than for Inza Burrage. You must remember that both of these girls have been very dear friends to me.”

“Well, the confounded cad should have waited till he was sure which you preferred! Hang it, Merriwell! I resent it that any one of your friends dared step between you and——”

“That’s where you are wrong, Jack. You do not pause to think of the circumstances. You must remember that they were on a burning steamer and facing what seemed certain death for both of them. For years Hodge had cared for Elsie deep down in his heart, but had smothered the passion and had even made himself believe it did not exist. The peril, his brave attempt to save her, their hopelessness, all led to the uprising of his love, so that at last he could no longer blind himself. He did not think he was betraying me, for death could not be avoided. He would not have been human had he kept silent then.”

“Perhaps you are right,” admitted the Virginian reluctantly. “But you know I’ve never fancied the fellow particularly. It does not seem right for him to win Elsie, and I do not believe he will make her happy. Think of his passionate disposition, his reckless ways——”

“And think of her moderation and gentleness. She will soften and change him. Her influence over him will be of the very best. I believe he will stand ready to lay down his very life for her. I am sure he will do everything in his power to make her happy. That is—if she ever accepts him.”

“Then she hasn’t——”

“Not yet.”

“Frank, she still——”

“She says she will never marry.”

“Frank, she still cares more for you than anybody living! All girls say they are going to be old maids. It gets to be a silly habit with them.”

“Elsie is not a silly girl.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean that; you know what I meant. But how about Inza Burrage—she remains true to you?”

“As a friend. She has been nothing more for a long time.”

“I know she’s a proud, jealous girl, and——”

“Don’t say a word against her, Jack!”

“What do you take me for? There was a time that I did not know which girl you cared for most.”

A strange, inscrutable smile flitted over Frank Merriwell’s fine face. Perhaps there had been a time when he was not sure in his own heart which he cared for most.

“But,” Jack went on, “I reasoned it all out, and I knew at last that you preferred Elsie.”

Did he know? He might have thought so, but what man knows all the secrets of another’s heart?

“I saw that you were fond of Inza, proud to be her friend, ready to fight for her to the last gasp, ready to do anything for her sake, but you did not love her.”

Had the Virginian read Frank’s heart better than Frank himself?

“Then,” Jack went on, as they turned up Broadway, “in my estimation, Elsie was better adapted for you in every way. It doesn’t seem right that Hodge should come between you, and I will not believe she really cares for him.”

“About that I am not certain, but my faith in him is absolute. I know he would make any true, womanly girl a most devoted husband—that is, a girl he really and truly loved.”

“Perhaps so, but there is a reckless streak in him, and something might send him to the dogs at any time.”

“Just so,” nodded Merry. “Knowing that, I was not the fellow to revile him and cause him to do something rash. It is to be a fair and open show, with no underhand methods.”

“Oh, well, you’ll win—you can’t help it. When she knows the truth she will turn to you. She cannot blame you for not tying yourself down by a regular engagement till after you leave college.”

They had come to one of the handsomest flower-stores on Broadway. Of a sudden, Frank touched Jack’s arm, calling the Virginian’s attention to a girl who was gazing at the handsome display in the window.

“There she is again!” said Merry.

“The same girl we saw back there,” breathed Jack. “Even now she looks something like Juliet.”

“I know her,” asserted Frank. “But I can’t think of her name at this minute. I feel certain I have seen her under far different circumstances and far from this city.”

“Well, I don’t think I ever saw her before,” confessed Diamond.

“I’m going to speak to her,” said Merry. “I shall puzzle over her identity if I do not, and I am absolutely certain I know her.”

He advanced to the window, lifted his hat gracefully, saying:

“I beg your pardon, but I think we have met before.”

Jack was standing a few feet away. The girl gave a little cry of alarm. Her cheeks a moment before had been flushed with a clear, healthy tint, but they turned very pale, and there was a gleam of fear in her eyes as she shrank from Merriwell.

The Yale man was astonished by this show of fear, for it was too intense, he fancied, to be that of a refined and timid girl, frightened by a stranger’s address.

Besides that, there was something in the rose-color natural to the rounded cheeks of the girl, something in her confident and graceful carriage, something in her easy and assured manner which seemed to indicate that she would not fear a strange man.

Although she was well dressed, her clothes being of expensive material, Merriwell’s discerning eyes discovered that her style was not the style of New York, and already he had decided that she was from some other place. This girl seemed more like a native of Boston than New York.

“You have no reason to fear me,” said Frank, in his most reassuring manner. “But I am sure you will recognize me if you stop to think a moment. If you assure me that you do not recognize me, I’ll leave you at once.”

Gradually the color was returning to her face, which, although refined, had a sort of wild beauty about it that was suggestive of woods and hills and outdoor life. She looked at Frank in surprise, but there came a quick flash of recognition.

“Why—why!” she gasped, and the sound of her voice seemed to stir echoing memories within him, “is it—are you—Frank Merriwell?”

He had made no mistake; she knew him.

“Yes,” he said; “but even now I cannot——”

A man dashed past Jack Diamond and went straight at Frank, who did not see him. Without a word, he struck Merry a blow that caused him to stagger and nearly fall. Then he clutched the girl by the wrist, his face contorted, as he hissed:

“So he is another one of them? How many are there?”

She gave a cry and tried to fling him off. Diamond had leaped forward, but Frank recovered and turned before the Virginian could interfere.

Merry saw the girl make a vain attempt to release herself from the grasp of the man, who was a tall, rugged, athletic-looking fellow about twenty-five years of age. Merry did not hesitate a single instant. He quickly snatched the girl from the man’s grasp, swinging her behind him, saying:

“I will protect you.”

The fellow gave an exclamation of fury and sprang toward Frank. Merriwell dodged the fierce blow delivered at his face, and his fist struck the man fairly on the chin, hurling him backward to the pavement. The assailant fell heavily to the hard stones and lay there, stunned for the time.

“That was a clever blow, Merriwell,” observed Diamond, his eyes flashing and his cheeks glowing. “Very much like the one that did McGilvay.”

Frank stepped forward and stood looking down at the man, who had the appearance of a countryman.

“I hope he is not severely injured,” said Merry. “He met my blow, which made it all the heavier.”

“Don’t worry about the dog,” advised Diamond, with a glance of contempt toward the fallen man.

“He must know the lady,” said Frank, turning about to speak to her.

She was gone. Both Frank and Jack stared in surprise. She had taken advantage of the first opportunity to get away. The Virginian whistled a little.

“Slipped away,” he said. “Which way did she go, I wonder?”

Frank could not tell, but several pedestrians had paused, and a crowd was gathering, one of whom declared the girl had entered a cab which carried her up Broadway. Merriwell looked disappointed.

“She knew my name, and I did not find out who she is,” he muttered. “I’m sorry about that.”

The fallen man was recovering. He opened his eyes and looked around, seeming greatly bewildered. Then he saw Frank and struggled to one elbow, glaring at the calm youth, who quietly waited for him to rise.

“You’re one of them!” muttered the fellow, his eyes full of hatred for Merry. “I’ll never forget you!”

“I am sorry I had to strike you that blow,” Merry confessed; “but you came at me like a mad bull, and I was forced to defend myself.”

“It ain’t the blow,” said the man. “I don’t care anything about that; but you shall pay for the wrong you have done her.”

“I think you must be a trifle daffy, my man. What are you talking about?”

“You know well enough, blame yer! I don’t want to talk about it—here; but I swear you shall pay dearly for it.”

He rose to his feet, and, for a moment, it seemed that he contemplated renewing his attack on Merry, at whom he stared in anger and bewilderment.

“I don’t see how you ever struck such a blow,” he finally confessed. “But next time it will be my turn to strike—for her sake!”

Then he walked away, turning into Twenty-fifth Street and going toward Sixth Avenue.

“What do you make of it, anyhow?” asked Diamond.

“I don’t know just what to make of it,” acknowledged Frank, with a frown on his handsome face. “It’s very unpleasant, and I am completely puzzled.”

The men who had gathered about were staring at them, and they moved away after the man with whom Merry had had the encounter.

“If I could recall the name of that girl, I’d feel better,” Frank declared. “I don’t remember when I’ve ever forgotten a name before this. But I cannot even remember under what circumstances we previously met, though I am certain there was something very striking about it. It is possible I may never have known her name, and still——”

“Still, she knew yours.”

“Yes.”

“The man—do you remember him?”

Merry shook his head.