Frank Merriwell's Son; Or, A Chip Off the Old Block

by Burt L. Standish

"But hasn't Frank put you onto the other event?" asked Bart. "There's a new Merriwell in Bloomfield."

"A new Merriwell?"

"Three weeks old."

"And you never sent me word, Frank!" said Berlin, with a slightly injured air.

"How could I? Didn't know your address. Last I knew you were not on the ranch."

"No, I haven't stayed on the ranch much since father's death and since——"

Carson broke off abruptly, as if his lips had nearly uttered something he did not care to speak about.

"You were en route when I received your wire, Berlin," explained Merry. "You couldn't expect me to answer it, you know."

"Of course not. It's all right, Merry."

Merriwell led Carson toward the waiting surrey. Toots was standing on the platform, holding the horses.