A CONTRAST IN ENEMIES.
It was a wild night on the Yale campus. Even the worst old "grind" in the college came out and looked on while the hilarious students made merry, even if he did not join in the riotous proceedings.
A bonfire was built. Once there had been rules prohibiting such fires, but of what use were rules now! Boxes, barrels, lumber, fencing, almost anything that would make a blaze was brought in and heaped up there. It was done in a rush in a manner that showed all preparations had been made in advance, although the combustible material had not been piled up till the time arrived when the fire was required.
Around the great fire the students with the instruments belonging to the band marched and tooted and sang. Bink Stubbs had knocked in one end of the bass drum, but he continued to hammer away on the other end, apparently doing his best to break that in also. Bruce Browning "tore off" music and other sounds with the trombone, while Puss Parker astounded those who knew him best by his skill with the cornet, for he really could play at some tunes.
About twenty fellows tied handkerchiefs over their faces, turned their coats, and attempted to rush the band and capture the instruments.
Then there was war, and the real owners of the instruments looked on in horror, wondering what would become of the horns.
The police were called upon to regain the instruments for the proper owners. A dozen of them attempted to do the trick, but they were not permitted to come onto the campus.
There were rumors of a rush. It was reported that the freshmen were coming out with canes.
But the freshmen were not fools, and they knew it was a bad time to bring about a cane rush. They mingled with the rejoicing crowd, but sported no canes.
Some of the band instruments were ruined in the struggle, but a cheap band had been engaged, and the instruments were of poor grade, so the boys did not mind their destruction, although all felt that somebody would have to settle the bill for damages.
Some one placed Danny Griswold on a box and yelled for a speech. Danny never made a speech in his life, but he felt elated, and he started in to say something. The moment he opened his mouth everybody cheered. When they stopped cheering, Danny started again.
"This is——"
Not another word was heard. Again they cheered, drowning his voice. He waited for them to stop. They stopped.
"This is——"
"'Rah! 'rah! 'rah! Whooper up! whooper up! 'Rah! 'rah! 'rah!"
Danny waited again. Now he felt that he wanted to make a speech. He was determined to make a speech.
"This is——"
He couldn't get beyond "is," and he was growing disgusted. He longed for a fireman's hose and good head of water.
As they began to cheer all at once, they stopped all together.
Once more Danny tried it:
"This is——"
It was no use. The mere sound of his voice seemed to arouse them to the wildest enthusiasm. He shook his fist at them.
"Go to thunder!" he screamed, getting black in the face.
But they laughed and cheered so he could not hear the sound of his own voice.
Some fellows found Frank and carried him around and around the fire. They tried to induce him to get on the box in Danny's place, and say something, but he was too shrewd to try that, even if he had wished to do so.
Sport Harris, holding aloof, his heart sour with disappointment and disgust, saw a fellow swinging himself along on crutches, but refraining from taking any part in the celebration.
"It's Marline," thought Sport. "He must be somewhat sore himself."
Then he approached and spoke to the unlucky student, who had lost the opportunity to play full-back when he sprained his ankle.
"Hello, Marline!" called Harris. "Why aren't you whooping her up with the others?"
Marline looked at him in doubt, and then remembered that Harris and Merriwell had never been good friends.
"Why should I celebrate?" he asked, sourly.
"Yale won."
"Yes, and I sat where I could see the fellow who filled my place secure the opportunities to win, which must have been mine had I played."
"It was hard luck for you to be knocked out in such a manner."
"Hard luck! It was beastly! But it was worse luck to have that fellow, Merriwell, run into the game and get all the opportunities to cover himself with glory."
"Well, he got 'em, and he improved 'em."
"Any fellow fit for the position could have done the same thing."
"Think so?"
"I know it."
"How about carrying three men on his back the way Merriwell did?"
"That was nothing."
"Everybody seems to think it was a great trick."
"It was nothing, I tell you. Those Harvard chumps tackled him in the most foolish manner possible. Not one of them tried to get low down on him, but all piled upon his back."
"Still, it seems that three of them ought to have crushed him into the ground."
"Not if he had any back at all. You could have stood up under it."
"Thanks!" said Harris, dryly. "I don't care to try."
"I know I could."
"But Merriwell carried them right along on his back."
"What of it?"
"Wasn't that something? He scarcely seemed to slacken his speed in the least, for all of their weight."
"Rot! They came upon him from behind, and when they leaped on him they hurled him forward still faster than he was going, if anything."
"It's a wonder they didn't hurl him forward on his face."
"Wonder—nothing! Are you stuck on that fellow?"
"Well, I should say not! I have no reason to admire him."
"Nor I! I despise him, and I am willing he should know it. Wait till my ankle gets well."
"What will you do then?"
"I am making no talk about what I'll do," said Marline, lowering his voice and hissing forth the words; "but Frank Merriwell had better steer clear of me."
"He is a bad man to have for an enemy," said Harris, "I know, for he is my enemy."
"How does he happen to be your enemy?" asked Marline. "You are not in athletics. What made him your enemy?"
Harris hesitated, and then said:
"Some time ago he wrongfully accused me of cheating at cards. I have hated him ever since."
A sudden change came over Marline. He remembered now. He had heard something about it at the time, but it had slipped his mind. He remembered that he had heard from a reliable source that Merriwell had exposed Harris in a crooked game.
Involuntarily, Marline drew away from Harris. The lad from South Carolina had very high ideas of honor, and he could feel nothing but contempt for a card sharp. Sometimes he played cards himself, but he would have died rather than do a crooked or dishonorable thing. A moment before, he had seemed to feel a bond between himself and Sport, as they were both enemies to Merriwell, but now there was a feeling of repulsion.
No matter what Rob Marline's faults might be, and he had many of them, there was not a dishonest streak in him.
Harris seemed to see the change come over the other, and regretted that he had told the truth, for he knew Marline was "encumbered" by a fine sense of honor. He tried to set himself right by fiercely declaring he had been unjustly accused by Merriwell.
"That's what makes me hate the fellow so," he said. "He has injured me by leading some fellows to think I was crooked, and that is the worst injury he could do anybody."
"I agree with you on that point," nodded Marline.
"Some time I'll square it up with him," grated Harris. "We both hate him, and I see no reason why we shouldn't pull together."
Marline hesitated a moment, then shook his head.
"No," he said, "I'll not make a compact with any one against him. I hate him, and I am willing he should know it. I'll meet him face to face and man to man, and I'll make him crawl, or I'll fix him so he won't play football for a long time to come!"