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BOOKS FOR YOUNG MEN

MERRIWELL SERIES

Stories of Frank and Dick Merriwell

Fascinating Stories of Athletics

A half million enthusiastic followers of the Merriwell brothers will attest the unfailing interest and wholesomeness of these adventures of two lads of high ideals, who play fair with themselves, as well as with the rest of the world.

These stories are rich in fun and thrills in all branches of sports and athletics. They are extremely high in moral tone, and cannot fail to be of immense benefit to every boy who reads them.

They have the splendid quality of firing a boy’s ambition to become a good athlete, in order that he may develop into a strong, vigorous, right-thinking man.

ALL TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT

Dick Merriwell’s Glory

OR,

Friends and Foes

BY

BURT L. STANDISH

Author of the famous Merriwell Stories.

STREET & SMITH CORPORATION

PUBLISHERS

79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York

Copyright, 1901

By STREET & SMITH

Dick Merriwell’s Glory

(Printed in the United States of America)

All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign languages, including the Scandinavian.

DICK MERRIWELL’S GLORY.

CHAPTER I.
FRIENDS AND FOES.

In more ways than one Dick Merriwell had become the wonder of the Fardale Military School. His astonishing work in the football-game against White Academy was the talk of Fardale. By running with the ball the length of the field, he had made both of Fardale’s touch-downs in the game, and, to crown these thrilling plays, he had kicked two clean goals.

Naturally, at the conclusion of the game, the delighted cadets had rushed onto the field, raised the hero of the day aloft, and carried him about on their shoulders, cheering until they were hoarse.

But there were some who took no part in these demonstrations, and they were the jealous enemies of the remarkable young plebe who had created such a sensation. Singularly enough, not a few of these enemies were in Dick’s own class, being such envious chaps as Uric Scudder, Zeb Fletcher, and Jim Watson.

However, Dick’s most dangerous enemy was Jabez Lynch, a first-class man, whose ambition had been to play half-back on the eleven—a position that had been given to Merriwell.

On account of a treacherous attempt to injure Dick, Jabez had been nearly forced to leave school. In Dick’s heart there had been no thought of mercy toward Jabez, but his brother Frank had been more forbearing, especially as Jabez might bring a serious complaint against Old Joe Crowfoot, the Indian, who had threatened him with torture and death because of his action toward Dick.

When Dick fully understood that Jabez might retaliate by having Old Joe arrested, in case he was forced out of Fardale, he agreed to keep still concerning the treachery of his enemy. But he told Frank that he could never feel anything but contempt for Lynch, and he did not believe it possible that such a fellow could reform and become decent.

In his heart Frank Merriwell doubted if Jabez could change his natural inclinations; but, at the same time, he was confident that the course chosen was the proper one, for he did not wish Old Joe to come to harm through his affection for Dick and his desire to punish the boy’s enemy.

There was something about the old redskin that Frank admired. Joe knew little of white men’s laws, and cared less. "An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth" was the law that appealed to him, and in which he firmly believed. To Joe there seemed nothing particularly wonderful in the feat of Dick. For years the old Indian had trained the lad to be fleet of foot, keen of eye, and quick of hand, and it had been his expectation and belief that Dick would excel in feats and games calling for these qualities.

Frank had quickly understood the immense good the training of Old Joe had done the boy, who might have been weak and sickly but for his free, open-air life, with the redskin as his chief tutor.

But Merry saw that there were points Old Joe had neglected, and Dick was far from perfect physically when Frank took him in hand. In a short time Frank had wrought an improvement, but he was keeping the work up at Fardale, seeking to develop his brother into a youth who should be an absolute physical model.

Frank believed he could accomplish the work, though he realized that it could not be brought to a successful conclusion at once. It would take time and patience to make Dick Merriwell as near perfect as possible; but time and patience Frank was ready to give.

At first Old Joe regarded Merry’s work with silent disdain. There was something of a look of scorn in his beady black eyes when he saw the magnificent Yale athlete instructing the boy in the use of dumb-bells and Indian clubs to strengthen and round out certain muscles; but the beady eyes were keen to detect the slightest improvement, and it finally happened that the old fellow nodded and pronounced it "heap good."

It must not be supposed that Frank’s only thought was to make his brother perfect physically. On the contrary, he had entered Dick at Fardale because he was satisfied that the course of mental instruction there would be the very best the lad could obtain.

Fortunately for Dick, he was much like his famous brother in one respect. He had a wonderfully active and retentive mind, so that he could learn almost anything quickly and well when he applied himself fixedly to the task of doing so. Thus it happened that in this respect, as well as others, he was a wonder to his classmates, many of whom, discovering somehow that he had never attended a regular school, had felt positive he would have a difficult time at Fardale, even if he was able to get along at all after being admitted.

Until her death, Dick’s mother had been his tutor, and her instructions were of the very best.

It was with untold satisfaction that Frank Merriwell had taken up the task of developing his brother into perfect manhood; and it was now his great aim in life to make a complete success in this work, into which he had entered with all his heart and soul.

At first the boy had not understood how fortunate he was in having such a brother and friend, but, little by little, his eyes had been opened, and at last he was coming to know just what it meant. Dick had been frivolous to a certain extent, and he had seemed wild and untamable; but his journey from the Rockies to the Atlantic coast had opened his eyes and filled him with respect for Frank. He had found that Frank was known everywhere, and that by the youth of the United States he was regarded as a model young American.

This knowledge had brought about something of a change in Dick, in whose heart was born a desire to emulate his brother and become like him, in some degree, at least. And the lad’s modesty—which at first he had not seemed to possess in any degree—had led him to doubt his ability to ever rise to the heights attained by Frank.

At one time Old Joe had sought to turn Dick against Frank, being consumed by the belief that Merriwell meant to carry the boy away where they would never meet again; but Merry had found a way to conquer the jealous Indian, and Crowfoot became one of his greatest admirers. Then it was that the Indian had said to Dick:

"Do what um broder, Steady Hand, say for um to do. Him know best. Him got heap big head, all right. Ugh! Him heap mighty young white chief."

And these words of the old Indian had been, to a great extent, instrumental in the change that came over the lad. Not that Dick was able to at once fling off all his wild ways; not that he became immediately sober and serious. Far from it. He was still a boy, with a boy’s love of sport and play and pranks. The advent at Fardale had cast him into a life far different from anything to which he had been accustomed, and for a time he had seemed reserved and distant, which led many to think him haughty and overbearing.

In time they were to learn that he was anything but haughty. In time, when he came to know them better and they to understand him, they were to find in Dick Merriwell a frank, honest, companionable, whole-souled, fun-loving boy, who would make friends and keep them.

Already Dick had made a few stanch friends. Hugh Douglass, one of his roommates, an uncouth, farmerish plebe, was one of these. Douglass had seen beneath the surface, and he was convinced that Dick was all right.

Brad Buckhart, "the Texan Maverick," as he delighted to call himself, was another friend Dick had found. At first Buckhart did not take to young Merriwell, but a change quickly came over him when he found Dick beset by envious and jealous enemies, and the breezy chap from the Lone Star State soon evinced a hot desire to fight for Dick on the slightest provocation.

And now, since Dick had astonished everybody by his amazing work in the game against White Academy, scores of fellows were praising him, and many who had held aloof were willing to know him and become friendly. But Dick did not like to be patronized, and he found that the men of the classes above him were inclined to praise him in a manner that was not wholly unoffensive. Some of them had a way of speaking compliments as if they were patting a precocious boy on the head and offering him a penny.

This caused Dick to shun them still more, and thus it came about that he was thought "stuck up." His enemies knew how to make capital of this, and they did not lose the opportunity to do so.

Dick kept about the even tenor of his way, however, studying, drilling, training, and practising on the football-field. He had tremendous energy, and the number of things accomplished by him continued to astound and anger his jealous foes, who soon found a new method of striking at him.

CHAPTER II.
A SCHEMING TRIO.

"It’s a mean shame!" declared Zeb Fletcher, trying to look at Uric Scudder with his crooked eye, but seeming to glare at a fatigue-cap hanging on the wrong hook.

"That’s right," nodded Scudder, rubbing his weak chin with an air of indignation. "It’s favoritism, that’s what it is."

"Of the rankest sort," piped Jim Watson, in his weak, effeminate voice. "And all because the fellow is Frank Merriwell’s brother."

"What can we do about it?" questioned Uric. "We ought to do something."

"We will do something!" declared Fletcher.

"What will we do?" questioned Scudder and Watson together.

"Kick!" exclaimed Zeb.

"I’m afraid that won’t do much good," said Watson. "He has a pull, and he can do just about as he likes. The rest of us fellows have to attend drill regularly, while Merriwell is excused from taking anything but enough to make a showing. Now, I hate drilling as much as any fellow can, yet I have to take my dose right along, and it’s mighty disgusting."

"It is disgusting," agreed Fletcher. "And inspection makes a fellow sick! Why, think of those stuck-up corporals calling a fellow down for having a little dust on his old gun, or for not being just as prim and starchy as they are! It’s too much! They want a chap to be all the time brushing and cleaning and doing such foolishness."

"If I’ve got to do it, I’m going to raise a howl at the let-up on Merriwell," said Scudder.

"Of course," piped Jim, "they’ll say it was because he’s on the eleven, and he doesn’t have time enough to practise and drill, too. But we know how he got onto the eleven, and——"

"We won’t stand for it!" cried Fletcher, jumping up and striding about the room.

"Still," said Scudder, "no one has suggested what we can do."

This trio were three of young Merriwell’s most persistent and most obnoxious plebe enemies. Two days after the football-game with White Academy they had learned that Dick was excused from drill, being required to appear only at inspection, and it made them very wroth. Then they gathered in Fletcher’s room to talk it over.

Both Scudder and Watson were roommates of Merriwell, who, after the rule of the academy, had been placed in a "cock-loft" room with three companions. Of these companions, Hugh Douglass was the only one who had shown an inclination of friendliness toward Dick.

Watson was a sly fellow, and he had very little to say in the presence of Merriwell. At times he even pretended to be Dick’s friend; but Dick was able to read him like an open book, with the result that Watson’s hypocritical blandishments were taken for exactly what they were worth.

Scudder was also sneaky, and, on first entering Fardale, he had sought to gain favor with the yearlings by playing spy for them. As a result, he had been forced into an encounter with Dick, and had been soundly thrashed. This made him the persistent and scheming foe of the successful young plebe.

It made no difference to Uric that Merriwell had also thrashed Big Bob Singleton, the champion boxer of the school, and that Singleton had seemed to think all the more of Dick because of this feat. Uric desired to "get even." And now he suddenly exclaimed:

"Wait! I have an idea."

"What is it?" questioned the others.

"You all know what an old duffer Professor Gooch is."

"Sure thing."

"I hear that he is raising a rumpus because too much athletics have been introduced in the school."

"Yes; we’ve heard about that."

"He is down on football."

"Yes."

"Says it’s a brutal game, and should be abolished by the school."

"Yes."

"He’s the one for us to get at."

"How can we do it?" questioned Fletcher eagerly.

"Get up a petition, a round robin, or something of the sort, protesting against Merriwell being excused from drill in order to take part in football practise. What do you think of that?"

"All right!" piped Watson. "It’s a great idea!"

"Oh, I have a great head!" said Uric loftily.

"But can we get enough signers?" questioned Fletcher. "That is to be considered."

"We can try hard. I know some fellows who will sign. If we can work old Gooch up, he may make a big kick against this business."

"And if Merriwell is compelled to attend drill regularly, it’s certain he can’t keep up in his classes, for, with drill and football, he won’t have time for study. By Jove! Scudder, I believe it is possible that you have struck on a scheme to force Merriwell to drop out of the eleven! That will be a corker on him."

"And on his brother, too; for Frank Merriwell wants Dick to make a good showing at football this fall."

"Who’ll draw up the document?"

"Let’s all have a hand in it. Bring out ink and paper and the things needed, Fletch. Let’s get right down to work."

So, in a very few moments, these three youthful schemers were hard at work framing a protest against Dick Merriwell being excused from drill that he might practise on the football-field. They stated, as well as they could, that it was not fair to others of the class to favor a certain one in such a way, taking care, as they thought, to make their language impressive without being offensive.

"There!" cried Scudder, when it was finished; "that ought to be a regular bombshell!"

"If it doesn’t raise a rumpus, I’m no prophet," chuckled Fletcher.

"Merriwell will be angry," said Watson faintly.

"What the dickens do we care!" said Uric.

"His brother will be sore when he hears of it."

"His brother is nothing to us. Besides, it will be a good thing to show Mr. Frank Merriwell that he does not run things here at Fardale."

"Who signs first?" questioned Jim timidly.

"Scudder," said Fletcher positively.

"No," said Uric, "you are the one to sign first, as you do not room with Merriwell."

There was some argument over this matter, but Zeb seized the pen at last and wrote his name with a flourish. Scudder followed, his handwriting being rather hazy. Then Watson tried to get out of signing until more names were added to the paper, but Fletcher and Scudder would not listen, and he was compelled to be third on the list.

Then came an argument as to who should take the paper and seek more signers. At last, in exasperation, Fletcher snatched it up, exclaiming:

"I’ll do it! I know a few fellows who will back us up, anyhow. We ought to have the whole class; but some fellows will be afraid to put their names to anything like this. All the same, there are several on the football-team that played the regular eleven that first game who are sore because they were not given a trial on the eleven, and we’ll get them. Oh, there are more ways than one of making things warm for Mr. Dick Merriwell!"

The trio broke up in great satisfaction.

CHAPTER III.
THE TWO PROFESSORS.

Professor Barnaby Gooch, thin, wrinkled, crabbed, and bald, rapped sharply on the door of Professor Zenas Gunn’s private study. As the knock was not answered at once, Professor Gooch rapped again, sharply, nervously, and in a manner that denoted irritation. Then he pushed the door open and walked in.

Professor Gunn, dignified, old-fashioned, yet kindly in appearance, stepped from behind a screen and came forward. Before he could speak, however, Professor Gooch rasped forth:

"I’ve nearly beaten the skin from my knuckles rapping on your door. Are you deaf, professor—are you deaf, sir?"

"I hope not, professor," was the answer.

"But you didn’t answer me—you didn’t answer. You let me pound away—you let me hammer."

"I was engaged when you first rapped, sir," said Professor Gunn somewhat stiffly. "I was about to answer your knock."

"Ah-a!" rasped Professor Gooch. "You were about to answer! But you were in no hurry."

"You seem to be in a bad humor this morning, Professor Gooch. Is there anything wrong? Will you have a chair?"

"No; I won’t have a chair. Yes, there is something wrong. I have come to speak to you about it, sir."

"Very well."

"It’s not very well; it’s very bad," declared Professor Gooch, rapping on the floor with his cane and glaring at the head professor. "It’s a disgrace, I say! It’s all wrong! It’s a matter to which we must give our immediate attention."

"If there is anything so very bad that requires our attention it shall have it."

"Ah-a! I hope so—I hope so! I have seen it coming on for some time. I have on several occasions expressed myself as opposed to it. Now—now, sir, something must be done!"

"As yet I am not aware of what you are speaking. Will you kindly enlighten me?"

"I’m speaking of this matter of permitting football and athletics and such frivolous things to interfere with the regular course of studies and drill at this academy—that’s what I’m speaking of. And it is high time somebody spoke up. The tendency of our day to permit such things at schools and colleges is deplorable—deplorable, sir. I mean it!"

Professor Gooch shook his cane at his companion, as if threatening him. When Professor Gunn started to speak, he went on:

"Wait sir—wait! Hear me! I say it’s deplorable. Do young men go to school and to college to be trained to break one another’s bones in a murderous game called football? Is that why parents send their sons to school? Is that what fathers desire their sons should be taught? You know it is not; you cannot say it is. In former times such games were not given prominence here. True, they were played some, but those who took part in them were not encouraged and shown special favors by the faculty and officers of this school. Such is not the case now. Baseball, football, and kindred dangerous sports and games are encouraged here. You know it is true, Professor Gunn. You will not say it isn’t true!"

"Still," said the head professor calmly, "I am at a loss to understand why you are making all this fuss."

"Fuss!" gasped Professor Gooch, throwing up both hands and waving his cane dangerously near the other’s head. "Fuss, sir! Is that what you call it? Well, it’s high time to make a fuss! It’s time to see if something cannot be done to check this tendency to go football crazy. I mean to see if something cannot be done. There is altogether too much of this business at Fardale. Next I shall hear that inducements have been offered students to come here because they can play baseball or football unusually well. That is what we’re coming to, sir."

"Do you think so?" said Professor Gunn, still with perfect calmness.

"Hey?" exclaimed Professor Gooch. "I know it! I see it approaching! Now, what do you think of that? What do you think of this craziness for athletics? Answer me, sir!"

"Excuse me," said the head professor, "if I sit down. Of course, you may stand if you prefer. You ask me what I think of athletics. I will answer you briefly. I think that athletics as practised in our schools and colleges is doing a great work for the young men of our country."

"Hey?" again squawked Professor Gooch. "Great work! What kind of work, may I ask?"

"Making stronger, healthier, manlier men, and truly that is a good work."

"Fudge!" snorted Professor Gooch.

"Truth," asserted Professor Gunn.

"Fudge!" again burst from Professor Gooch. "I say fudge, and I mean fudge! Does it make a stronger and manlier chap of a fellow to put him into a game of football and break his leg or his collar-bone? Bah! Don’t talk to me, Professor Gunn! It makes that boy just so much weaker. Yes, sir!"

"The youth who is properly trained and prepared for the game of football rarely meets with a serious accident."

"Fudge, sir—fudge! What is the good of all this training and preparing for a game so brutal?"

"The training and preparing helps build up the physical powers of the lad, gives him health and strength to fight the battles of life. It prepares him for success in the world."

"Tut! tut! tut! What nonsense! It’s education, sir, that prepares the boy for the battle of life."

"But what is education without health, Professor Gooch? Give a man a fine education and a weak body, and he has not the energy or courage to make the most of his education. I’m an old man, sir, and I can remember the time when I entertained ideas similar to your own. But I have studied and sought to advance with the advance of time. I have endeavored not to become antiquated and a back number. I have seen that it is the young man with the strong and healthy body who wins in the battle of life. Of course, he must have education to go with his health and strength, and, therefore, the two things go hand in hand. I believe, sir, the time is coming when physical training will be compulsory in nearly all the schools of our land. I hope the time is not far distant when it will be compulsory here at Fardale. A boy cannot be a successful football-player unless he is something of an athlete. Thus football encourages a certain class of aspirants to train their bodies and to become athletic, as the only way they can get on the teams. In that way alone, regardless of any other, it is a good thing."

Several times Professor Gooch had sought to interrupt the head professor, but Professor Gunn checked him and persisted in speaking till he had finished.

"He! he! he!" laughed Professor Gooch sneeringly. "That’s fine talk, but it’s nothing but talk. I’d like to know what good it would have done me to train and become an athlete when I was a boy?"

"It would have filled out your flat chest, professor, and it would have given you better arms and shoulders and legs. It would have made you a handsomer man, and it might have prevented your becoming sour and crabbed in your old age."

"Yah!" snarled Professor Gooch. "Are you trying to make sport of me, sir? If you are, I won’t stand it! I’m opposed to all this athletic nonsense, and I shall remain so. But, more than anything else, I am unalterably against favoritism, which is creeping into this school."

"I do not understand your meaning."

"I’ll make you understand. I have reliable information that a member of this school has been excused from drill in order that he might have time to practise with the football-team. What do you think of that, sir? Now, I think you’re surprised."

"He must be a very good football-player, else such a thing could not happen."

"What has that to do with it? Drill is a regular part of the course here, and football is something entirely foreign. I hold that no one should be excused from drill, much less a scholar who has just entered here. Such a course is bound to produce dissatisfaction and arouse protest. In fact, it has done so already—already, sir. I have in my pocket such a protest. It was that which brought me to you, and I hope you will do something about it. It is a protest against the excusing of Richard Merriwell from drill in order that he may practise with the football-team. There is much feeling over it. You can see what football has done here, sir—you can see."

Professor Gooch brought out the protest.

"Permit me to examine it," said Professor Gunn, adjusting his spectacles and taking the paper from the hand of the other. "Ah! I see there are only five names attached out of a very large class."

"That’s enough—that’s enough! It shows the feeling!"

"Um-mum!" came from Professor Gunn, as he read the protest. "I fancy I see something of a personal feeling in this."

"Well, there seems to be reason for such a feeling. The statement is made that Richard Merriwell is insolent and overbearing toward his classmates, that he makes sport of his superiors, that he mocks and derides the faculty, and that he has sought to bring disgrace upon at least one cadet by circulating false and malicious reports concerning him."

There was a sudden stir behind the screen, a quick step, and a boy, with flushed cheeks and flashing eyes, appeared.

"I demand to know," cried Dick Merriwell, "the names of my accusers!"

CHAPTER IV.
DICK MAKES ANOTHER ENEMY.

Professor Gunn had invited Dick to call at his room. The head professor was very friendly toward Frank, whom he greatly admired, and he had taken the first opportunity to have a talk with Frank’s brother.

It happened that Professor Gooch had called while Dick was in the room, but the screen had prevented him from becoming aware of the presence of the boy until Dick stepped out.

Professor Gooch was somewhat staggered by the appearance of the lad, but he quickly recovered, his wrinkled old face twisting into hard knots.

"Yah!" he exclaimed. "So you were listening behind there! Yah! Listening!"

"I was here when you came," returned Dick. "I did not come here to listen to anybody, sir."

"Insolence!" grated the professor. "It’s plain there are good grounds for the charges."

"I beg your pardon," said Dick, restraining himself with not a little difficulty. "I have no intention of being insolent. I simply demand my right. False charges have been made against me, and I ask to know the names of those who have made them."

"What would you do if you knew?"

"I’d make the chaps who said such things retract, or I’d——"

"You’d what?"

"Thrash every one of them!" exclaimed the boy hotly.

"Ah-ha!" exclaimed Professor Gooch, with satisfaction. "That’s the kind of spirit football breeds! It makes fighters, Professor Gunn—brutal fighters!"

"Unless a man is ready to fight for his rights, he stands little show of amounting to much in this world," said the head professor. "I don’t blame the boy for wishing to fight."

"I’m astonished at you—astonished, sir!" cried Professor Gooch, with a pretension of being aghast.

"At the same time," said Professor Gunn, "I do not believe in giving him, at present, the names on this paper."

"At least, you show judgment in that," said Professor Gooch, with sarcasm.

"Why am I not to know the names of those who have made these lying charges against me?" demanded Dick. "I have never been overbearing or insolent toward any one, I have never made sport of my superiors, I have not mocked or derided the faculty, and I have circulated no false reports against anybody."

"In short," said Professor Gunn, "you deny the entire list of charges?"

"I do."

"And I believe your denial," said the head professor.

"It’s simply one against five," said Professor Gooch. "I choose to believe the five."

"Have they offered you any proof of the truth of their charges?" asked Dick.

"It makes no difference. You have not proven the charges are not true."

"Until there is some evidence against the boy he is supposed to be innocent."

"By you, sir, perhaps; but me——"

"You have no right to believe me guilty!" flashed Dick, his indignation breaking all bonds.

"Don’t talk to me that way!" flared the professor—"don’t dare! I will not have it! You must keep your place, sir!"

"You are not my master!" he cried. "You cannot tell me what I shall do!"

Gooch flourished his cane, with the intention of shaking it at the lad, but, quick as a flash, Dick snatched it from his hand.

"Don’t you dare!" he blazed. "Why, if you do——"

He took a step toward Professor Gooch, who fell back, uttering a little squawk of alarm. His appearance was so comical that a sudden and surprising change came over the lad. The look of anger was chased from his face by one of merriment, and he cried:

"Oh, dear! Don’t be frightened! Ha! ha! ha! Oh, ha! ha! ha! I won’t hurt you, sir!"

"Professor Gunn!" gasped Professor Gooch, "will you stand here and see me insulted and threatened like this? Isn’t this just cause to have this boy expelled? I demand that he be brought to book for this conduct! I demand it, sir! He shall be turned out of this school! I will see that it is done!"

Dick tossed the cane at the feet of the excited professor.

"Turn me out!" he said. "What do I care for your old school? I didn’t wish to come here, in the first place. I’ll go back to my home—back to Felicia! Old Joe will go with me, and I’ll be free again. Then I can do as I like, and I’ll have plenty of friends in the birds and the wild creatures that know me. There I’ll have no mean and lying enemies who are trying to hurt me! You may believe the lies about me! I don’t care!"

He turned as if to leave the room, but suddenly whirled toward Professor Gunn, whose hand he quickly grasped.

"You have been kind to me," he said, his voice soft and musical. "I’ll never forget it, sir—never!"

Then, before Zenas Gunn could stop him, he had dashed from the room.

"Why, he’s a perfect young wildcat!" gasped Professor Gooch. "He is not safe to have round! It will be a good thing for the school if he should go!"

Zenas Gunn gave Professor Gooch a look that contained a meaning that was far from complimentary.

"What you need, professor," he said, "is something for your liver. I don’t blame the boy."

"You—you don’t? Why, he snatched the cane from my hand!"

"When you shook it at him."

"But I didn’t mean to strike him."

"How did he know? I have talked with his brother, and he has asked me to bear with any peculiarities of the lad, who was raised alone and without playmates, save one little girl. He is not like other boys. You do not understand him at all."

"I don’t want to; the young wildcat! I think it a shame to have such a boy in the school!"

"And I think it a shame there are not more like him. He is honest and open, and he——"

"But these charges against him, professor?"

"I take no stock in them. I understand that the boy has made enemies because he has been successful in doing remarkable things since entering Fardale. His success has made others envious and jealous. They are trying to down him. Are you going to help them, professor? Are you going to become the instrument of these enemies?"

"Oh, you have a slick way of putting things, Professor Gunn; but you know the boy insulted me in this very room and before your eyes. You know it, sir!"

"He dared stand up manfully and defend himself, for which I confess my admiration."

"Your admiration?"

"Exactly."

"Yah! His actions were admirable! Oh, yes! The young spitfire! I’d like to have the handling of him! He’d play no more football for one while! I’d put him in the guard-house, and he’d live on bread and water for a week, a month, a year, if necessary! I’d break his spirit! I’d show him I was his master!"

"Professor Gooch, you are so angry that you talk childish. When you have cooled down, you may regard this matter in a different light."

"No, sir—no! I have placed in your hands the charges against that boy! I demand that they be investigated!"

"Very well," said the head professor. "They shall be, and if I find they are not true, the ones whose names are signed here must suffer for it. That is all, professor."

"All right, all right! I’m willing to have it stand that way. But that boy must apologize to me, whatever the result of the investigation. I demand it!"

"Very well."

"I demand it!" repeated Professor Gooch. "He must apologize! He must say he is sorry!"

"Very well. I have other matters that require my attention now, professor. You will excuse me."

Zenas Gunn accompanied the visitor to the door, which he held open for the angry professor to pass out.

The result of this affair was that Dick Merriwell had made an enemy in Barnaby Gooch, and one who might cause him serious trouble at Fardale.

CHAPTER V.
THE PLOT AGAINST MERRIWELL.

Again there was a meeting in the room of Zeb Fletcher, but this time five nervous, frightened boys had gathered there. Of course, Zeb was on hand, and both Uric Scudder and Jim Watson were present. The others were Mart Reid and Gus Wade, two fellows who, through the blandishments of Zeb, had been induced to sign the protest against permitting Dick Merriwell to be excused from daily drill. Fletcher was trying to reassure Reid and Wade, but was not succeeding very well.

"I tell you," said Reid, "old Gunn has announced his intention of probing the matter to the bottom."

"I didn’t want to sign the paper, anyway," said Wade. "I thought it might get us into trouble."

"Now, how can it get us into trouble?" exclaimed Zeb.

"Why, old Gunn says we’ve got to prove the charges against Merriwell."

"And that we’ll be made examples of if we do not," put in Reid.

"Which means that we’ll be expelled," faltered Wade.

Jim Watson looked frightened, but said nothing.

"Oh, nothing of the kind!" declared Zeb, with attempted bravado. "They can’t expel you for a little thing like that."

"But they say it’s a mighty serious offense to deliberately try to damage a fellow’s character here at Fardale."

"You’re in just as bad a hole as we are," said Reid, "and you are to blame for the whole thing. You made me believe it was a joke more than anything else."

"Me, too," asserted Wade. "It’s a pretty serious joke—for us. My mother sent me here, and it will be hard on her if I’m expelled."

Uric Scudder rubbed his weak chin and looked at Watson, who returned the glance with interest. Then Fletcher turned to them, and his expression was an appeal for backing.

"Don’t you worry," he urged. "Old Gunn won’t do anything."

"It’s no use to say that," said Wade. "He’s doing something now. He’s begun an investigation on his own hook, and I’ll bet anything we’ll all be hauled up before him within a week."

"In which case," said Scudder, attempting to help Fletcher out, "we must be prepared with a slick little story, to which we can all stick."

"Not for me!" cried Reid.

"Nor me!" said Wade.

"Why, you don’t mean you will welch, do you?" snapped Zeb, in apparent amazement.

"I mean that I shall tell the truth," said Mart Reid. "I shall confess that I was sore because Merriwell made the eleven and I was not given a trial."

"You fool!" snarled Zeb, his crooked eye blazing and looking very wicked.

"That will be cutting your own throat," averred Scudder. "You can’t do it!"

"I shall, all the same," persisted Reid.

"And I shall do the same thing," said Gus Wade. "I’d give a hundred dollars this minute, if I had it, if I had never put my name to your old paper!"

"I’d give two hundred!" cried Mart.

Zeb saw that Watson was frightened, as well as Reid and Wade, and, for the first time, he began to fear that the charges against Merriwell might result in injury to the ones who had made them. He tried to think of the proper course to pursue, but he was bewildered and uncertain until Reid said:

"Wish I could get my hands on that old paper. I’d soon fix it so it would not serve as evidence against me."

A light that was new came to Fletcher’s crooked eye.

"Look here, fellows!" he said, "don’t you worry about this matter any more."

"How are we going to help it?" questioned Wade.

"Just don’t. It will be all right, I promise you that. I’ve got a scheme of fixing it."

"What is the scheme?"

"That’s all right. Leave it to me. Your Uncle Fletch knows a thing or two. That paper never will be used as evidence against any of us."

"Why, it’s in old Gunn’s hands. How can——"

"Never mind that. Forget it. No matter what you hear, keep your faces closed, and you’ll be all right. Now, we had better break this meeting up, and you fellows trust in me, that’s all."

Neither Reid nor Wade seemed satisfied, but Zeb made them promise to keep still and wait, after which he hustled them out of his room.

When they were gone, he turned to Scudder and Watson.

"Those chaps are squealers," he said, in a disgusted way.

"But they’ll get us in a bad scrape if we don’t look out," said Uric, still fumbling at his chin with his fingers.

"It’s a desperate case," nodded Watson. "I’m sorry myself that we did it. We can’t back up our charges with proof."

"We might if those chaps who were here just now had backbone," said Zeb. "We could fake up a nice little story and stick to it till the cows came home."

"But they’ll never do that," from Scudder.

"I know it, and there is where the difficulty rises."

"What’s your scheme?"

"A desperate one."

"Tell us."

"Can I trust you? I’ve got to trust you. I wouldn’t think of doing it if it wasn’t that those chaps will squeal, but I’m going to try to—sh-h-h!—to get hold of that paper."

Zeb whispered the final words.

"How?" whispered both Uric and Jim.

"I know a way. I have a key to the door of old Gunn’s den. How did I get it? Made it. He leaves the key in the outside of his door sometimes, you know. I noticed that. Thought I might want to get into his department some time, and so one day I slipped it out when I was passing the door, and took a wax impression of it. I’ve done the thing with other keys just for sport, and I’ve got the trick down fine. I slipped the key back into the lock and got away. Then I made a key from the impression. Here it is."

The crooked-eyed young rascal held up the key he had made. Scudder looked at him in admiration.

"You’re a dandy, Fletch!" he exclaimed.

"Oh, I have a little way of preparing for emergencies," said Zeb, with a swagger. "This key is all right, and I’ll bet my life on it. I can open the door of that room first pop."

"But what good will that do you?"

"I know just when old Gunn goes out late in the afternoon for a walk."

"You’ll go there then?"

"If I get the chance. I’ll get into his den, and I’ll bet you anything you like I’ll find that paper. He keeps his important papers on his desk, and the one I want will be there. I’ll get my hands on it, and then it will disappear."

"Pretty desperate!" commented Watson. "If you’re caught——"

"I won’t be. But I’ve got another idea."

"What’s that?"

"We don’t want anybody to think any of us swiped the paper."

"Of course not."

"But it would be clever of us to make it seem that a certain fellow did the job."

"What fellow? You mean——"

"Dick Merriwell. We might make it seem as if he got in there somehow and carried off the complaint against him."

"How can that be done?"

"You fellows room with him?"

"Yes."

"Get into his clothes and bring me one of his handkerchiefs. All linen is marked here, so it can be readily identified. Bring that handkerchief to me."

"What will you do with it?"

"Drop it."

"Where?"