CHAPTER XIII
THE POLO KING.
Saturday morning the Yale forces trooped to New London. The number of persons who went that morning, or said they were going later in the day, was really surprising. That such a mob should be drawn to New London to see a polo-game between Merriwell’s team and an unknown team of New London was, on the surface, unaccountable; yet Merriwell’s friends accounted for it by the fact that Merriwell and the men who composed his five were wonderfully popular, and that a tremendous interest had been aroused by the sky-rockety character of the betting.
But there was something below the surface that they did not see; the crafty hand and brain of Dade Morgan, and the mysterious man who was standing behind him urging him on. Santenel wanted the mob bound for New London to swallow up every Yale man who was likely to interfere with his plans concerning Charles Conrad Merriwell. Hence Morgan sent all of his friends and adherents, and all the enemies of Merriwell he could muster, knowing that this would cause a counter rally of the friends of Merriwell and take them to New London, also.
But the elder Merriwell himself was not going. He could not go, he told Frank, because he had received a telegram from a broker who was handling Western mining stock for him, and who was coming on from New York that day for a business interview.
The importance of the occasion seemed to demand music, and Dashleigh’s mandolin club invaded the New London train, loaded down with cases containing mandolins, guitars, and various other musical instruments. The crowd was very jolly and very musical, and bellowed such classics as “Good-by, Lady!” and “Good-by, My Lover, Good-by!” until many of the passengers who were not interested in such things, and particularly some Boston drummers on their way to Providence, who were investigating the mysteries of a jack-pot at the other end of the car, wished that mandolins had never been invented, or that musically inclined students had all been born dumb.
Dashleigh and his fellow musicians were supremely satisfied with themselves, however, and with the world in general, proving it by bubbling over with exuberant spirits. Dashleigh and Starbright had taken the first train, in order that they might get ahead of the crowd and secure good hotel accommodations. When New London was reached, and, finding there a great crowd assembled, Starbright put his bulky weight in the advance, with Dashleigh and the mandolin club trailing after him, and plowed a wide furrow through the crowd and escaped to a hotel in time to get the desired rooms and accommodations.
“There’s only one thing that can save my mandolin,” said Bert, when he and Dick were ensconced in comfort and security. “You’ll have to lend me another tenner. And, then, it may not save it.”
“What’s that?”
“Well, I haven’t money enough to liquidate for this gorgeousness.”
Starbright frowned.