“Think we’ll stand any show with them?”
“I don’t know about that. We’ll do our handsomest, and it won’t kill us if we’re beaten. Nevertheless, if they win we’ll try to leave them with the impression that they’ve been in a baseball game.”
“Surest thing you know, Dick. Say, old man, think of it! You and I playing together shoulder to shoulder—you and I, old foes of bygone days! I’m not especially proud of my record in those old days; but still, I can’t help thinking of it sometimes.”
“I think of it often, Chet. As an enemy you were the hardest fighter I ever got up against.”
“Absolutely unscrupulous,” said Arlington. “In those times it was anything to down you, Merriwell. I used to think you lucky, the way you dodged my best-laid traps and sort of ducked me into the pits of my own digging. After a time I got my eyes opened and realized that it wasn’t luck—it was sheer superiority. I was sowing the wind in those days, and it’s a marvel that I didn’t reap the whirlwind. I was the lucky man, after all.”
Indeed, Arlington had been fortunate; for a score of times, at least, he had been concerned in heinous plots and schemes which might have lodged him behind prison bars. His reckless career had carried him to the point of nearly committing homicide, and the shock of it, together with Dick Merriwell’s friendly eye-opening words, had finally caused him to turn over a new leaf.
The fight to regain his lost manliness and win an honorable standing in the world had been long and bitter; but, with those words from Dick’s lips echoing in his heart, he had struggled onward and upward. At last he had shaken himself free from the shackles of evil passions and bad habits, and, despite occasional falls and lapses, had risen to a man whom any one might proudly call friend.
In business, as in other things, Chester had shown himself to be a thoroughbred hustler and the worthy son of D. Roscoe Arlington, once known as the greatest railroad magnate of the country. This hustling had lifted him into financial independence, despite his youth, and placed him on the road to wealth. Mingled with remorse for his reckless past, there remained the regret that he had never been able to take a course at Yale.
“Buckhart, Tucker, and Bigelow are out somewhere with old Greg McGregor in my touring car,” said Dick. “They will be ready enough for the sport. Tommy and Bouncer spent a week, with headquarters here at the Springs, while Brad and I hunted up Scott Randolph, an old college acquaintance of my brother. We found Randolph in the foothills west of Denver. It’s a mighty interesting tale, Arlington, and I’ll spin it for you sometime when we’re sitting down comfortably at leisure.”
“Good! Think of it—you and I sitting down comfortably at leisure and chatting! But say, old man, I wish you would have a little chat with my mother.”