Frank Merriwell's Return to Yale

by Burt L. Standish

To Frank this seemed a cowardly thing to do, and nothing but the knowledge that the eleven was weak and really needed him could have induced him to go on the field.

He did not want to fight Marline, and he was determined not to fight Marline if he could avoid it. Still he realized that his enemies would say he feared the lad from South Carolina, and his friends might believe it was true.

"Well," thought Frank, after meditating on the situation, "it will not be the first time I have been thought a coward. I can stand it. If Forrest says he needs me I shall play for the love of dear old Yale. Rather than have Yale lose through my failure to do everything in my power, I'd be branded a coward for life!"

This settled in his mind, he went to bed that night and slept peacefully, quite unaware that at Morey's a gay party had gathered about Rob Marline, who was "opening things" and vowing publicly that he would drive Frank Merriwell off the gridiron forever.

In case Frank showed a determination to get into the game again, Marline swore he would never give him a moment of peace till they met face to face on the "field of honor."

"I come of fighting stock, gentlemen," said Rob, his face flushed, his legs unsteady, his tongue unloosed, and a glass of "velvet" held aloft. "My grandfather killed his man, and my father has been concerned in more than one affair of honor. I am an expert with the sword, and I can shoot as well as the mountaineers of my native State—the fairest spot on the American continent Merriwell will not have a chance with me if we ever do meet. With the blades, gentlemen, I'll run him through in less than thirty seconds; with pistols I'll lodge a ball in his heart at the first fire. But he'll never dare to meet me. The way he took water to-day proved that. He will crawl like a whipped dog."

If Marline had not been drinking freely he would not have said so much. The wine was in his head, and he was not responsible. But he meant every word he spoke, and he did not require "Dutch courage" in order to back up his talk.

In the morning Frank awoke refreshed by a good night's sleep, took a cool dip, scrubbed down hastily, got into his clothes in a hurry, and was away to chapel, looking as fresh and rosy as a healthy youth should.

Merriwell took such care of himself that he was in perfect condition. He had not given up physical exercise, although he had thought of keeping out of football that season. Every day he spent a certain amount of time in the gym, and not a minute of that time was wasted.

Under no circumstances did Merriwell believe in radical dieting. At the same time he believed in common sense, and he knew a fellow could do himself no more harm than by overloading his stomach. The gourmand makes himself heavy of body, and dull of brain.