Frank Merriwell's danger

by Burt L. Standish

Everywhere the talk was baseball. Who would make the team? Would it be as strong as the year before? and would they win out from Harvard?

It was pretty certain Harvard would have an exceptionally strong team. The material to choose from was better than ever before, and Harvard was “making a brace” in all directions. Yale had won the last football game from Harvard more by the wonderful work of one man than by the superior strength of her eleven, and the Cambridge lads were thirsting for revenge.

The man who seemed to stand head and shoulders above all others in Yale sports and athletics was Frank Merriwell. But Merriwell had become a “greasy grind” during the winter, and there were those who prophesied that he was satisfied with his fame, and would retire on his laurels. It was even reported that he was ambitious to be valedictorian, and it was known that he could go to either Bones or Keys, as he might choose, which was a most remarkable state of affairs, as there were hundreds of good men and true, with hearts full of ambition, who could not reach either.

All along Merriwell had refused to say anything about his plans, and he would not talk baseball. He had been drawn into the football game with Harvard through force of circumstances, and against his inclination, so it was not strange that the general belief was that he might refuse to become the leading “twirler” for Yale that season.

It was generally conceded by Merriwell’s friends and foes alike that his refusal to play would be a great blow to Yale. Hugh Heffiner and Dad Hicks, the old timers, were gone, and Merriwell was the only man left who had been tried by Yale and not found wanting.

True, there was some new material. Walbert, an Andover man, was a promising candidate; and Haggerty, who had come to Yale after being dropped at straight-laced little Williams for some thoughtless prank, was said to be a great “southpaw” twirler.

But what Yale wanted was steady, reliable material in which confidence could be placed. The new men might show up all right when the time came, but what if they did not? The “if” was in the way.

So baseball was the theme on this bright April day, and the enthusiasm which the game always arouses among the “cranks” was beginning to make itself manifest.

While they were talking of him, Frank Merriwell appeared. He looked trim and well-groomed. It was one of his peculiarities that he always looked as if he had just emerged from a bath.

Barely was Frank upon the campus before Harry Rattleton, his old-time chum, rushed up and caught him by the arm.