Then it was that Frank nerved himself for one last great effort, and dashed forward with a fresh burst of speed that seemed little short of marvelous. That burst carried him to Mansford's side—carried him
into the lead—carried him over the line at the finish—a winner!
There was a grand supper in New York that night, at which Frank Merriwell was the guest of honor. He was toasted again and again by his admiring friends, and it seemed that everybody was his friend at last. There were speeches and songs and a general merry time. Old Yale had carved her way to glory once more, and among her standard-bearers Merriwell was the leader.
"Tell us, tell us, old man," cried Paul Pierson, "how was it that you happened to be so late in appearing at the garden? Really we had given up hope that you would come, and were for getting Yates into running rig. You barely got along in time. What kept you away?"
"I was unavoidably detained," answered Frank, smiling.
"Yes, but that is an unsatisfactory explanation. Rattleton and the fellows who were with you reported your mysterious disappearance, and we were for putting detectives on the case to-morrow. Can't you clear up the mystery?"
"Well, you see, it is like this: I fell in with some gentlemen who seemed to take a strong interest in me. Note the word strong there. In fact they were too strong for me. They seemed to like me exceedingly well, and they pressed me to stay all night with them. I was sort of roped into it, as it were. I found it difficult to get away without wounding their feelings."
This was said in a queer manner, and the lads about the table looked at each other inquiringly.
"But you managed to get away?" said Pierson.