The Medal Library

Famous Copyrighted Stories
for Boys, by Famous Authors

PUBLISHED EVERY WEEK

This is an ideal line for boys of all ages. It contains juvenile masterpieces by the most popular writers of interesting fiction for boys. Among these may be mentioned the works of Burt L. Standish, detailing the adventures of Frank Merriwell, the hero, of whom every American boy has read with admiration. Frank is a truly representative American lad, full of character and a strong determination to do right at any cost. Then, there are the works of Horatio Alger, Jr., whose keen insight into the minds of the boys of our country has enabled him to write a series of the most interesting tales ever published. This line also contains some of the best works of Oliver Optic, another author whose entire life was devoted to writing books that would tend to interest and elevate our boys.

To Be Published During March

250. Neka, the Boy Conjurer. By Capt. Ralph Bonehill.
249. The Young Bridge Tender. By Arthur M. Winfield.
248. The West Point Boys. By Lieut. Frederick Garrison, U.S.A.
247. Frank Merriwell’s Secret. By Burt L. Standish.
246. Rob Ranger’s Cowboy Days. By Lieut. Lounsberry.

To Be Published During February

245. The Red Rover. By J. Fenimore Cooper.
244. Frank Merriwell’s Return to Yale. By Burt L. Standish.
243. Adrift in New York. By Horatio Alger, Jr.
242. The Rival Canoe Boys. By St. George Rathborne.

To Be Published During January

241. The Tour of the Zero Club. By Capt. R. Bonehill.
240. Frank Merriwell’s Champions. By Burt L. Standish.
239. The Two Admirals. By J. Fenimore Cooper.
238. A Cadet’s Honor. By Lieut. Fred’k Garrison, U.S.A.

237. Frank Merriwell’s Skill. By Burt L. Standish.
236. Rob Ranger’s Mine. By Lieut. Lounsberry.
235. The Young Carthaginian. By G. A. Henty.
234. The Store Boy. By Horatio Alger, Jr.
233. Frank Merriwell’s Athletes. By Burt L. Standish.
232. The Valley of Mystery. By Henry Harrison Lewis.
231—Paddling Under Palmettos. By St. George Rathborne.
230—Off for West Point. By Lieut. Fred’k Garrison, U.S.A.
229—Frank Merriwell’s Daring. By Burt L. Standish.
228—The Cash Boy. By Horatio Alger, Jr.
227—In Freedom’s Cause. By G. A. Henty.
226—Tom Havens With the White Squadron. By Lieut. Orton.
225—Frank Merriwell’s Courage. By Burt L. Standish.
224—Yankee Boys in Japan. By Henry Harrison Lewis.
223—In Fort and Prison. By William Murray Graydon.
222—A West Point Treasure. By Lieut. Fred’k Garrison, U.S.A.
221—The Young Outlaw. By Horatio Alger, Jr.
220—The Gulf Cruisers. By St. George Rathborne.
219—Tom Truxton’s Ocean Trip. By Lieut. Lounsberry.
218—Tom Truxton’s School Days. By Lieut. Lounsberry.
217—Frank Merriwell’s Bicycle Tour. By Burt L. Standish.
216—Campaigning With Braddock. By William Murray Graydon.
215—With Clive in India. By G. A. Henty.
214—On Guard. By Lieut. Frederick Garrison, U.S.A.
213—Frank Merriwell’s Races. By Burt L. Standish.
212—Julius, the Street Boy. By Horatio Alger, Jr.
211—Buck Badger’s Ranch. By Russell Williams.
210—Sturdy and Strong. By G. A. Henty.
209—Frank Merriwell’s Sports Afield. By Burt L. Standish.
208—The Treasure of the Golden Crater. By Lieut. Lounsberry.
207—Shifting Winds. By St. George Rathborne.
206—Jungles and Traitors. By Wm. Murray Graydon.
205—Frank Merriwell at Yale. By Burt L. Standish.
204—Under Drake’s Flag. By G. A. Henty.
203—Last Chance Mine. By Lieut James K. Orton.
202—Risen From the Ranks. By Horatio Alger, Jr.
201—Frank Merriwell in Europe. By Burt L. Standish.
200—The Fight for a Pennant. By Frank Merriwell.
199—The Golden Canon. By G. A. Henty.
198—Only an Irish Boy. By Horatio Alger, Jr.
197—Frank Merriwell’s Hunting Tour. By Burt L. Standish.
196—Zip, the Acrobat. By Victor St. Clair.
195—The Lion of the North. By G. A. Henty.
194—The White Mustang. By Edward S. Ellis.
193—Frank Merriwell’s Bravery. By Burt L. Standish.
192—Tom, the Bootblack. By Horatio Alger, Jr.
191—The Rivals of the Diamond. By Russell Williams.
190—The Cat of Bubastes. By G. A. Henty.
189—Frank Merriwell Down South. By Burt L. Standish.
188—From Street to Mansion. By Frank H. Stauffer.
187—Bound to Rise. By Horatio Alger, Jr.
186—On the Trail of Geronimo. By Edward S. Ellis.
185—For the Temple. By G. A. Henty.
184—Frank Merriwell’s Trip West. By Burt L. Standish.

Frank Merriwell’s
Danger

By BURT L. STANDISH

Author of “Frank Merriwell’s School Days,” “Frank
Merriwell’s Chums,” “Frank Merriwell’s Foes,” “Frank
Merriwell’s Trip West,” “Frank Merriwell Down
South,” “Frank Merriwell’s Hunting Tour,” “Frank
Merriwell’s Bravery,” “Frank Merriwell in Europe,” etc.

STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS
238 WILLIAM STREET, NEW YORK CITY

Copyright, 1904
By STREET & SMITH
Frank Merriwell’s Danger

FRANK MERRIWELL’S DANGER.

CHAPTER I.

OUT FOR A CRUISE.

Spring!

All through the long winter the only green thing to be seen on the Yale campus was the festive freshman, but now, on this mild, sunny April day, which was a promise of June soon to come, a few blades of grass were struggling to appear.

It was a day to bring everybody out. For the first time one could realize that winter was really a thing of the past.

At noon the campus swarmed and the fence was lined with roosters. The juniors came out and smoked their big English pipes, and did their best to imitate the graveness and dignity of the seniors. The sophomores loaded their line of fence, joking, laughing and guying the freshmen. And the freshmen gamboled like young colts just turned out to pasture, betraying their absolute “newness” by every word and act.

Big Bruce Browning smoked in lazy abandon, leaning against a post, feeling far too tired to climb to a seat upon the top rail. Bink Stubbs was whittling with a brand-new knife, while Danny Griswold whistled a rollicking tune. Dismal Jones actually wore an expression on his face that was as near perfect satisfaction and happiness as anyone had ever seen on his long countenance. “Lucy” Little, with a necktie “loud enough to jar the bricks out of South Middle,” was doing his best to see how many packages of cigarettes he could smoke in five minutes.

Everywhere the talk was baseball. Who would make the team? Would it be as strong as the year before? and would they win out from Harvard?

It was pretty certain Harvard would have an exceptionally strong team. The material to choose from was better than ever before, and Harvard was “making a brace” in all directions. Yale had won the last football game from Harvard more by the wonderful work of one man than by the superior strength of her eleven, and the Cambridge lads were thirsting for revenge.

The man who seemed to stand head and shoulders above all others in Yale sports and athletics was Frank Merriwell. But Merriwell had become a “greasy grind” during the winter, and there were those who prophesied that he was satisfied with his fame, and would retire on his laurels. It was even reported that he was ambitious to be valedictorian, and it was known that he could go to either Bones or Keys, as he might choose, which was a most remarkable state of affairs, as there were hundreds of good men and true, with hearts full of ambition, who could not reach either.

All along Merriwell had refused to say anything about his plans, and he would not talk baseball. He had been drawn into the football game with Harvard through force of circumstances, and against his inclination, so it was not strange that the general belief was that he might refuse to become the leading “twirler” for Yale that season.

It was generally conceded by Merriwell’s friends and foes alike that his refusal to play would be a great blow to Yale. Hugh Heffiner and Dad Hicks, the old timers, were gone, and Merriwell was the only man left who had been tried by Yale and not found wanting.

True, there was some new material. Walbert, an Andover man, was a promising candidate; and Haggerty, who had come to Yale after being dropped at straight-laced little Williams for some thoughtless prank, was said to be a great “southpaw” twirler.

But what Yale wanted was steady, reliable material in which confidence could be placed. The new men might show up all right when the time came, but what if they did not? The “if” was in the way.

So baseball was the theme on this bright April day, and the enthusiasm which the game always arouses among the “cranks” was beginning to make itself manifest.

While they were talking of him, Frank Merriwell appeared. He looked trim and well-groomed. It was one of his peculiarities that he always looked as if he had just emerged from a bath.

Barely was Frank upon the campus before Harry Rattleton, his old-time chum, rushed up and caught him by the arm.

“Looking for you, old man—looking for you!” he excitedly sputtered. “There’s tomething on sap—I mean something on tap.”

“You know I never drink beer,” smiled Frank.

“Never mind—t’ain’t beer,” Harry rattled on. “This is just the day, isn’t it?”

“Just the day for what?”

“Cruise.”

“What sort of a cruise?”

“On the sound. I’ve got a cat.”

“A cat? Well, what has a cat to do with a cruise on the sound?”

“I mean a batcoat—no, no, a catboat! Bought her yesterday.”

“Oh! I must say you are starting early.”

“None too early. And this is just the day for a sail. We can have a glorious afternoon on the sound. What do you say to it, old man?”

“Who is going?”

“Anybody you want. We’ll take along Browning and Diamond.”

“I don’t think I ought to spend the time.”

“Oh, come off! You have been cramming like a fiend all winter, and an afternoon’s outing is just what you need. You can’t say no. Think of the sport.”

Frank did think of it. He knew it was true he had become a “dig,” and he felt that a sail on the sound would do him good. It would serve as a relaxation for half a day, and he could return to his studies with fresh energy on the morrow.

All at once he turned on Harry, exclaiming:

“I am with you, old fellow!”

“You will go?”

“Dead sure. I’ll be able to study all the better for it afterward.”

“That’s the talk, Merry! Who’ll we take?”

“Name your own crew.”

“Diamond and Browning.”

“They’re all right. What say if I get Hodge and take him along?”

“Get him. That will make just the right sort of a crew. I’ll get a lunch, and we’ll meet at the New Haven Yacht Clubhouse. The Jolly Sport is moored off the clubhouse. We’ll all get down there as soon as possible. I know Browning and Diamond will go when they know you are coming along, Frank. You go for Hodge, and I’ll look after the others.”

In this way it was settled. Frank started to get Bart Hodge, another old chum, who roomed at a distance. Hodge had passed examinations successfully, and was a Yale student at last. Rattleton made for Browning, who still leaned in solemn stateliness against the fence.

Rattleton and Diamond were on the Jolly Sport, getting her in trim, when Frank and Bart appeared.

“Where’s Browning?” shouted Frank.

“Coming,” Harry called back.

“So’s Christmas, but it’ll be a long time getting here. If you really expect that fellow to sail with us this afternoon, you should have brought him along.”

“We can’t waste the afternoon waiting for him,” said Jack, impatiently.

Frank and Bart got on board the boat, and then Bruce appeared, perspiring and staggering under a heavy load, for he carried a huge basket in either hand.

“Dat the whickens—I mean, what the dickens has he there?” cried Harry. “Oh, I know, the lunch!”

“That’s it!” exclaimed Frank. “We were smart not to think of that. But he has brought enough to provision the Jolly Sport for a week’s cruise.”

“Hurry up, Browning!” shouted Jack, testily. “We’ve waited long enough for you.”

“Oh, fall overboard and cool off!” flung back the big fellow, who seemed a bit out of sorts himself from the exertion. “You’re always in a hurry.”

“What have you there, anyway?” asked Frank, as Bruce came on board.

“Beer.”

“Beer?” shouted all the lads.

“Sandwiches.”

“Then it’s not all beer?”

“Most of it is.”

“That’s all right,” said Diamond, beginning to look satisfied. “We’ll take care of it.”

“Oh, I don’t know!” grunted Browning. “I brought it along for myself. Supposed you chaps would bring your own beer and provisions.”

“You don’t mean to say you brought all that stuff in those two great baskets for yourself and no one else?”

“Why not?”

“How long do you think this cruise will last?”

“Can’t tell about that.”

“You’ll divvy, or we’ll put you in irons and cast you into the hold!” declared Rattleton. “I’m owner and captain of this vessel, and what I say goes. See?”

To this Bruce simply grunted.

The baskets were stowed as snugly as possible, and then Rattleton began to give orders.

“Haul away!” he cried. “Haul away on the throat halyards! Up with the peak! That’s right. Slack off the sheet a bit, Diamond. Lay her a bit more to port! Steady, so!”

The tide was running out, and the wind was light, but the Jolly Sport seemed eager to get out into the sound, and was soon running down past an anchored fishing vessel at good speed.

“Well, this is great!” muttered Hodge, as he lay back comfortably, lighting a cigar.

Down past the fort in Indian Hill they slipped, steered across to the old lighthouse, and tacked into the sound.

“Hurrah!” cried Skipper Rattleton. “The breeze is with us, boys!”

Then he sang a snatch of “A Life on the Ocean Wave.”

“What do you think of my singing?” he asked. “It’s entirely by ear.”

“Great heavens!” cried Merry, tragically. “That explains it!”

“Explains what?”

“Why, I didn’t think it possibly could be by mouth.”

Browning grunted. It was as near as he could come to laughing without exerting himself.

The boys took off their coats and prepared to enjoy life. All fell to smoking, with the exception of Frank.

“Going to pitch on the nine this spring, Merry?” asked Bart.

“I may,” answered Frank. “I was practicing yesterday, and I threw the ball a mile.”

“What’s that? Threw a baseball a mile? Oh, come off!”

“You see, I threw it at a mark.”

“Well?”

“I missed the mark.”

“What of that?”

“Isn’t a miss as good as a mile?” chuckled Frank.

Rattleton came near having a fit.

“If this keeps up,” said Diamond, “there will be a lot of maniacs on board before the Jolly Sport sails back to New Haven.”

As they passed a puffing tug, an old salt hailed them:

“Better be careful, boys,” he called.

“Careful? What for?”

“There’ll be a reg’ler nor’wester to-night. This is a weather breeder.”

“All right, cap,” returned Frank. “We’ll be back before night.”

And they did not think of the warning afterward.

Away down the harbor ran the Jolly Sport. The boys smoked, laughed, sang and joked. It was like a midsummer day. They took the East Channel out toward Brandford Point, and then set their course toward the Thimble Islands.

After a time the wind freshened a little, and they put on their coats. The Thimbles were seen glistening in the bright sunshine. Harry had brought along a glass, and they took turns peering off toward the islands, of which there are said to be three hundred and sixty-five, one for each day in the year.

The wind rose steadily till they had a “spanking breeze,” and the catboat danced along right merrily.

“Perhaps we hadn’t better try to make the islands,” said Frank, but the others cried him down.

“What’s the matter with you?” they demanded. “This is a beautiful breeze. Of course, we’ll go to the Thimbles.”

They were enthusiastic, for the way the Jolly Sport reeled along was exhilarating. Soon the glistening islands grew to bits of green and then took on definite shapes.

“Look at that schooner yonder,” said Jack. “Isn’t she a queer-looking craft?”

He pointed out a black two-master that was running up into the sound. There was something rakish about the slant of the masts, and the vessel seemed to creep over the water in a stealthy fashion. The boys watched her with increasing interest.

“Makes me think of some of the stories of pirate vessels,” said Bart.

“Jingoes!” exclaimed Diamond. “She does look like a pirate!”

“But the days of pirates are past,” said Harry. “Probably she is a fishing vessel.”

“Guess not,” said Frank. “She does not look like a fisherman. There is something mysterious in her appearance.”

“You know Capt. Kidd ran in here something over a hundred years ago and landed on the Thimbles,” Harry reminded. “He hid his vessel behind the rocky islands and buried his treasure where he and no one else has since been able to find it. His ‘punch bowl’ and initials remain to prove that he really did come in here.”

“Imagine we are living in the days of pirates,” said Diamond, his eyes sparkling. “Imagine that fellow coming yonder is one.”

“We’d be headed the other way, instead of bearing down to cross close under his stern,” declared Hodge.

“I don’t believe that schooner is much of a sailor, for all of her rakish appearance,” said Harry.

“She’s running under light sail,” observed Frank. “It would make a difference if she were to crack on every stitch.”

At the wheel a man seemed half asleep. Another man was at work forward, and those were all the boys could see.

“Don’t believe she carries a heavy crew,” said Browning, surveying the schooner with lazy interest.

Somehow or other as they drew nearer to the black vessel they lowered their voices and all seemed to feel an air of awe stealing over them.

“Do you make out her name, Merry?” asked Harry of Frank, who had the glass.

“Yes. There, you can all see it now.”

The schooner swung to port, and the white letters on her stern were distinctly seen.

“P-i-r-a-t-e,” spelled Diamond.

“Pirate?” gasped Harry, doubtfully.

“Pirate!” exclaimed Hodge, excitedly.

“Pirate,” came languidly from Browning, who showed no remarkable interest.

“That’s right,” nodded Frank. “An appropriate name for her, sure enough.”

“I should say so!” nodded Rattleton. “She looks like a pirate.”

“And I’m hanged if the man at the wheel don’t look like one!” half laughed Frank, passing the glass to Harry.

Rattleton took a look through the glass.

“Both men are tough-looking fellows,” he declared. “They have the appearance of men who would not hesitate to cut a throat for a sawbuck. I wouldn’t—— What’s up now?”

There was a commotion on board the black schooner.

CHAPTER II.

THE MAN WITH THE GUN.

“Something’s wrong!”

“Sure pop!”

The boys heard a scream. It sounded like the voice of a woman.

Then there was a hoarse shout. The man at the wheel woke to a show of interest, and the man forward started aft.

Suddenly a girlish figure appeared on deck. She ran to the rail and tried to leap overboard, but two men, besides those already on deck, appeared in pursuit, grasped and held her.

The girl seemed to see the small sailboat.

“Help!” she wildly cried. “Save——”

One of the men clapped a hand over her mouth, and she was carried away, struggling.

Then there was excitement on board the Jolly Sport.

“The Old Nick is to pay on board the Pirate!” exclaimed Rattleton.

“It’s a girl, boys!” cried Diamond, all his natural gallantry awakened and aroused. “She is in distress. We must aid her!”

“Bring her round, Hodge—bring her round, and we’ll——”

“Lay her up, Hodge, lay her up, and we’ll make a run after the schooner!” came promptly from Frank. “I want to know something more about this.”

“That’s right,” nodded Rattleton, who did not resent the manner in which Frank took command. “What right have they to treat a girl like that! There’s something wrong going on!”

Even Browning was aroused.

“I believe Rattleton is right,” he said. “Maybe that girl has been kidnaped.”

The Jolly Sport was headed in pursuit of the black schooner, without immediately attracting the attention of anyone on board the Pirate.

The girl had been overpowered with ease and carried below.

“What are we going to do when we overtake them?” asked Browning.

“We’ll do something if we get on board!” exclaimed Hodge.

“But it’s not likely we’ll be able to get on board.”

“Oh, I don’t know!”

It was not long before the man at the wheel saw the boat in pursuit. He called to another man, who went below, after coming astern to take a look at the pursuing catboat.

In a short time two men came up from below and took a survey of the Jolly Sport. One of the men seemed to be captain of the schooner. He betrayed uneasiness.

Coming to the rail, the captain harshly shouted:

“What are you lubbers chasin’ us fer? Go about, and mind your own business!”

“We wish to talk with you, captain,” returned Frank.

“Don’t want to talk,” was the surly retort. “Keep off.”

“We want to talk, I tell you. What’s the use to be so unsociable. Make yourself agreeable.”

“What do you want?”

“We saw you were having a little trouble on board and so——”

“Ain’t havin’ no trouble. Tell yer to mind your own business! If you nose round us, you’ll get hurt.”

“Who was the young lady who tried to jump overboard?”

“That was my gal,” answered the man, after some hesitation.

“Why did she try to leap over the rail?”

“She’s been sick, an’ she’s a little daffy in her upper deck, that’s all.”

“He’s lying!” exclaimed Hodge, in a low voice. “You can tell that he is lying by the way he says it!”

“We’ve got a doctor here,” fibbed Rattleton. “We’ll come aboard and he’ll prescribe for her.”

“Keep off!” roared the man on the schooner. “We don’t want no doctors botherin’ round here.”

“But we are coming aboard!” flung back Diamond. “We want to see that girl.”

“You can’t see her! If you come round here, you’ll get yer heads broke!”

The black-bearded sailor was angry. He shook his fist at the boys, and used language that would not look well in print.

Still the Jolly Sport kept after the Pirate, as if the youthful crew of the former had determined to overhaul the schooner and board her.

There was a consultation on board the schooner, and then one of the men hastily went below.

The Jolly Sport was drawing close to the other vessel when the man reappeared, bringing a gun, which he handed to the black-bearded man who had done all the talking.

“Jee whiskers!” gurgled Rattleton. “That means trouble!”

“He won’t dare use it!” declared Diamond.

The man with the gun leaned over the rail of the schooner.

“Now, look here, you fresh young lubbers,” he roared, “if you don’t go round and git, I’ll fill you full of duck-shot, or my name’s not Cyrus Horn!”

The way he said it seemed to indicate that he meant business.

“Hanged if I don’t think he’ll do it!” grunted Browning. “He is a genuine old pirate, for sure.”

“Are you the captain of that schooner?” asked Frank Merriwell.

“I be,” was the answer.

“Well, what’s the use to be touchy, captain! We’ve got some beer on board, and you must be thirsty. You’ll find us a jolly crowd.”

“I don’t drink beer and I don’t want nothing to do with yer. Git!”

Capt. Horn leveled his big gun at the pursuing boat.

“Don’t be hasty, captain, for——”

“Git!”

“Listen to reason.”

“Git!”

The captain of the schooner was not to be beguiled by smooth words. They could see his greenish eyes glaring along the barrel of the gun he held, and he looked like a person who would not hesitate to shoot.

“I’ll give ye till I count three to go about,” he roared. “If ye don’t do it, I’ll begin shootin’.”

Then he counted:

“One!”

The boys looked at each other undecidedly.

“Two!”

“It’s no use,” said Frank, quietly. “If the man is in such a mood, it’s worse than folly to try to board his boat. He could claim that he took us for robbers, and——”

“Down with your helm!” cried Rattleton, and the Jolly Sport was put about.

None too soon, for the captain of the schooner was seen taking aim with great deliberation.

“Now git!” he roared. “If I see anything of yer again, I’ll take a shot at yer jest for the fun of it.”

“Well, if that man isn’t a genuine pirate, it’s not his fault,” growled Browning. “It’s certain he was cut out for one.”

“He’d cut a throat with pleasure,” nodded Hodge.

Merriwell was silent, with his eyes fastened on the receding schooner. There was a troubled expression on his handsome face, and it was plain enough that he regretted their inability to solve the mystery of the girl who had tried to leap overboard.

It was not like Frank to give up so easily, but he had realized that it was the height of folly to attempt to board the schooner in the face of the enraged man with the gun.

It might be true that the girl was crazy, but Frank could not help feeling that it was not true. Something seemed to whisper that she was a captive in the hands of wretched and unscrupulous men.

Such a thought was quite enough to arouse within Frank’s heart a strong desire to rescue her, but it seemed that he was utterly helpless to render her any assistance.

Had our hero been sure the girl was a captive, he would have felt like following the Pirate at a distance and making an attempt to have the proper authorities render the girl assistance when Capt. Horn ran into some port.

If it was true she was crazy, the boys would make themselves objects of ridicule by interfering in her behalf.

The situation was discussed, and they finally decided to continue on their course to the Thimbles.

They steered for Pot Rock and the cove, where it was said Capt. Kidd had hidden his vessel, and near which, it was supposed, his treasure was buried.

It was past three in the afternoon when they ran into the little steamboat dock.

CHAPTER III.

ON THE ISLAND.

Under a tree they lunched, drank their beer and smoked cigars and cigarettes. They were jolly, seeming to have forgotten the adventure with the mysterious black schooner.

Browning stretched his massive frame on the ground and puffed away in serene laziness.

“I’d like to stay right here the rest of my life and do nothing but eat and drink and sleep,” he grunted.

“You’d miss the ball games this spring,” said Diamond.

“Go to!” said the big fellow. “What are the ball games? A lot of fellows get up and bat a ball around, while another lot of fellows chase it. They run and whoop and throw the ball and get covered with perspiration. It is a most distressing spectacle. Ball games, indeed! Go to, I say—go to!”

“And the spring boat race—you’d miss that,” said Harry.

“Another distressing spectacle. Nine men in a boat, eight of them working, working, working as if their lives depended on it. They strain every muscle, their faces are contorted with the agony of it, their eyes bulge with distress, their breasts heave as they try to breathe, and when the race is over some of them are like rags run through a wringer. Again I say, go to!”

“But you used to be enthusiastic over such things. You played football yourself.”

“Which goes to show what a fool a fellow can make of himself. Of all things football is the worst. That is a real battle for life between twenty-two mad and furious fools, every one of whom is thirsting for gore. They tear at one another, like famished wolves, buck one another, fling one another to the ground, jump on one another. Did I play football?”

“Surely you did.”

“It’s a far reach from such folly to the wisdom of to-day. Ten thousand dollars would not induce me to engage once again in a real game of football.”

“But think of the excitement—the glory.”

“The excitement is the delirium of fools. The glory—what is glory? How long does it last? Last fall, when Merry carried the ball over the line for a touchdown on Jarvis Field, with half the Harvard team on his back, he covered himself with glory. For a little time he was the talk of the college. His picture was in the papers. He was dined, and he would have been wined—that is, if he would have been. But now—now how is it? Spring has come, football is forgotten and his glory is fading. Everybody is talking of baseball and the way the nine will be made up.”

“And you’ll find they are talking of Merry just the same,” declared Harry. “They haven’t forgotten that he twirls the sphere.”

“Oh, no, they haven’t forgotten; but what if he were not available—what if he should refuse? How long would his glory last! Another would arise to fill his place, and he would be forgotten. Glory! It is the dream of fools. Give me plenty to wear, plenty to eat and lots of time to rest, and the world may have its glory.”

Frank laughed.

“The same old Browning,” he said. “And yet you are as much of a football and baseball enthusiast as any man at Yale. It breaks your heart when Harvard or Princeton wins from Old Eli. You go into mourning and don’t recover for a week. Oh, you put up a good bluff, old man, but I can read you like an open book.”

Bruce grunted derisively.

“Very astute,” he commented, and then relapsed into silence, as if it were a great effort to speak, and he had already exerted himself too much.

“And think of the pretty girls Merry wins by his popularity,” said Jack. “He has opportunities to kiss lots of them.”

“If a fellow has an opportunity to kiss a pretty girl he should improve it,” declared Hodge.

“Ah!” cried Rattleton; “such an opportunity could not be improved.”

To this all agreed, laughing, with the exception of Browning, who had closed his eyes and seemed to have fallen asleep instantly.

The boys talked of Yale’s prospects on the diamond, and Harry said:

“It strikes me that we are going to be weak behind the bat this year. What do you think, Merry?”

“There are several fellows who will try for the position.”

“Yes; but what do you know about them?”

“I don’t like to say.”

“Oh, come! You are with friends, and you may talk freely. What do you think of Ned Noon?”

“He is, in my estimation, one of the most promising men, but he can’t run, and bats weakly. Behind the bat he might work very well, but he would be weak in other directions.”

“That’s string as a straight—I mean, straight as a string,” cried Harry. “If Ned Noon stands a show to get on the ’varsity nine, there is hope for me.”

“Well, there’s Roger Stone,” put in Diamond. “What about him?”

“He can bat like a fiend,” said Frank, “but he is weak on his throwing. He’ll stop anything he can reach, but it takes him so long to get a ball to second base that a good runner can steal down from first every time. That is a big fault. Stone will not do.”

“Right again,” nodded Rattleton. “And those two men are the strongest of the new candidates.”

“Some man may show up who is not talked of at all now,” said Jack.

Harry gave Hodge a quick glance.

“Old man,” he cried, “why don’t you make a try for the nine?”

An embarrassed flush showed in Bart’s dark cheeks.

“That would be pretty fresh for a freshman, wouldn’t it?” he asked.

“Not so confounded fresh. Merry got on the first year he was in Yale.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“I am not Frank Merriwell, and there are not many fellows his equal.”

Frank laughed merrily.

“Come off!” he cried. “The world is full of them. In order to get on at anything, a fellow must seize his opportunities. At the time that I got on to the nine there was a great cry for a change pitcher. I laid out to fill the bill, and I managed to fill it. That’s all. Now there’s a cry for a catcher, as well as for pitchers. It will be somebody’s opportunity.”

Hodge was silent, but there was an eager look on his face.

“I have pitched to you, Bart,” Frank went on, “and I know what you are. We work well together. You are a dandy thrower, a good batter, and a bird on the bases. Take my advice, get into gear and make a try for the nine.”

“I don’t know how to do it.”

“There’ll be plenty of fellows to coach you,” said Diamond, quickly. “I am going in for a shot at third bag. I may get there, although several good men are looking in the same direction. If I fail, it won’t kill me. I know I am not the only cake of ice. There are others just as cool. Make a bluff at it, Hodge. It won’t hurt you to get left.”

“Perhaps not,” said Bart; but he felt in his heart that he would be cut keenly if he made a desperate try to get on the nine and some other fellow was chosen.

Browning sneezed and awoke.

“You’re catching cold, old man,” said Frank.

“No danger,” said Rattleton. “He’s too lazy to catch anything.”

“That’s got a long gray beard on it,” grunted Bruce, with an air of disgust.

The wind, chill and raw, began to blow. Black clouds were piling up in the west, and the sun was shut out. This came so suddenly that the boys were startled.

“Jove!” cried Hodge. “There’s a storm coming!”

“Remember what the old fellow on the tug said when we came out?” exclaimed Diamond. “He warned us.”

“That’s so!”

Frank was on his feet taking a survey of the sea and sky.

“If we want to get back to New Haven to-night we’d better get a hustle on,” he declared.

Then there was a hasty gathering of such things as they wished to carry back and a hurrying down to the Jolly Sport. They clambered on board, stowed things away, cast off from the pier, ran up the sails, and made the first tack out to sea.

The sky became dark and overcast. Down near New York somewhere great rollers started and seemed to gather force and size as they surged along the sound.

The spray began to fly as the catboat plunged from roller to roller, and the boys saw a prospect of getting “good and wet.”