“You don’t have to dig down into your personal history, Darrel,” said Frank, “in order to convince me that you’re straight goods. I’ll take your word for it.”
“Much obliged, Merriwell. Not many fellows would take the word of a perfect stranger—especially as you’re from Ophir, and I was from Gold Hill—once.”
“I’m only temporarily from Ophir.” laughed Frank. “Mr. Bradlaugh asked me to coach the Ophir eleven for the Thanksgiving Day game with Gold Hill, and we’re doing a certain amount of practice work every afternoon up on the mesa back of camp.”
“Wow! And I came right along and jumped into the thick of you! Well, anyhow, there’s something about you that makes a big hit with me; and it’s been so long since I’ve had a friend I could trust that I’d like to have a heart-to-heart talk with you. You see, I’ve been in a heap of trouble, and now that I’m back from Nowhere, I’m guessing a lot as to which way the cat’s going to jump. I’d like to get a little of that trouble out of my system, and, if you don’t mind, I’ll begin to unload.”
“Go ahead,” said Frank. “I’m sure you’re the right sort, and if I can help you any I will be glad to do it.”
“Shake!” exclaimed Darrel, reaching out his hand.
The professor was under a cottonwood with his book, and the rest of the campers, seeming to realize that Merriwell’s talk with Darrel was of a private nature, kept away from them. Darrel pushed farther back into the tent and sat on a cot. Merriwell fallowed him and took possession of a camp stool.
“I’ve been over a good bit of the country during the past year,” said Darrel, “but in all my wanderings I’ve never let out a whisper of what I’m going to tell you. I said that Jode Lenning was my half brother. My father, John Darrel, died, when I was a little shaver, and a year later my mother followed him. Darrel was my mother’s second husband, and David Lenning, Jode’s father, was her first. I’m over seventeen, and Jode’s close to twenty. My mother’s maiden name was Hawtrey, and after her death, Jode and I went to live with her brother, Colonel Alvah Hawtrey.”
“Why,” exclaimed Frank, “Colonel Hawtrey is a big man over in Gold Hill! There’d be nothing to the Gold Hill Athletic Club if you took the colonel out of it. At least,” he added, “that’s what I’ve heard over in Ophir.”
“Well, that about hits the thing off. Uncle Alvah is a fine old chap. He saw to it that Jode and I got our share of physical training. I was just a little bit better than Jode at pretty nearly everything in the athletic line, although he could give me cards and spades in book learning, and then leave me at the quarter post. The colonel insisted that our mental and physical training should go on side by side, but he’s got a sportsman’s love for athletics, and I think he was secretly pleased because of my good showing on the field and track. While he tried to be impartial in his dealings with Jode and me, yet it became pretty clear that I was his favorite nephew. Jode didn’t like that at all; and when the colonel took us to an athletic meet in Los Angeles, and I won a silver cup in the two-twenty dash, Jode was soured completely.