Transcriber’s Notes:

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

101—Frank Merriwell’s Nomads

102—Dick Merriwell on the Gridiron

103—Dick Merriwell’s Disguise

104—Dick Merriwell’s Test

105—Frank Merriwell’s Trump Card

106—Frank Merriwell’s Strategy

107—Frank Merriwell’s Triumph

108—Dick Merriwell’s Grit

109—Dick Merriwell’s Assurance

110—Dick Merriwell’s Long Slide

111—Frank Merriwell’s Rough Deal

112—Dick Merriwell’s Threat

113—Dick Merriwell’s Persistence

114—Dick Merriwell’s Day

115—Frank Merriwell’s Peril

116—Dick Merriwell’s Downfall

117—Frank Merriwell’s Pursuit

118—Dick Merriwell Abroad

119—Frank Merriwell in the Rockies

120—Dick Merriwell’s Pranks

121—Frank Merriwell’s Pride

122—Frank Merriwell’s Challengers

123—Frank Merriwell’s Endurance

124—Dick Merriwell’s Cleverness

125—Frank Merriwell’s Marriage

126—Dick Merriwell, the Wizard

127—Dick Merriwell’s Stroke

128—Dick Merriwell’s Return

129—Dick Merriwell’s Resource

130—Dick Merriwell’s Five

131—Frank Merriwell’s Tigers

132—Dick Merriwell’s Polo Team

133—Frank Merriwell’s Pupils

134—Frank Merriwell’s New Boy

135—Dick Merriwell’s Home Run

136—Dick Merriwell’s Dare

137—Frank Merriwell’s Son

138—Dick Merriwell’s Team Mate

139—Frank Merriwell’s Leaguers

140—Frank Merriwell’s Happy Camp

141—Dick Merriwell’s Influence

142—Dick Merriwell, Freshman

143—Dick Merriwell’s Staying Power

144—Dick Merriwell’s Joke

145—Frank Merriwell’s Talisman

146—Frank Merriwell’s Horse

147—Dick Merriwell’s Regret

148—Dick Merriwell’s Magnetism

149—Dick Merriwell’s Backers

150—Dick Merriwell’s Best Work

151—Dick Merriwell’s Distrust

152—Dick Merriwell’s Debt

153—Dick Merriwell’s Mastery

154—Dick Merriwell Adrift

155—Frank Merriwell’s Worst Boy

156—Dick Merriwell’s Close Call

157—Frank Merriwell’s Air Voyage

158—Dick Merriwell’s Black Star

159—Frank Merriwell in Wall Street

160—Frank Merriwell Facing His Foes

161—Dick Merriwell’s Stanchness

162—Frank Merriwell’s Hard Case

163—Dick Merriwell’s Stand

164—Dick Merriwell Doubted

165—Frank Merriwell’s Steadying Hand

166—Dick Merriwell’s Example

167—Dick Merriwell in the Wilds

168—Frank Merriwell’s Ranch

169—Dick Merriwell’s Way

170—Frank Merriwell’s Lesson

171—Dick Merriwell’s Reputation

172—Frank Merriwell’s Encouragement

173—Dick Merriwell’s Honors

174—Frank Merriwell’s Wizard

175—Dick Merriwell’s Race

176—Dick Merriwell’s Star Play

177—Frank Merriwell at Phantom Lake

178—Dick Merriwell a Winner

179—Dick Merriwell at the County Fair

180—Frank Merriwell’s Grit

181—Dick Merriwell’s Power

182—Frank Merriwell in Peru

183—Frank Merriwell’s Long Chance

184—Frank Merriwell’s Old Form

185—Frank Merriwell’s Treasure Hunt

186—Dick Merriwell Game to the Last

187—Dick Merriwell, Motor King

188—Dick Merriwell’s Tussle

189—Dick Merriwell’s Aero Dash

190—Dick Merriwell’s Intuition

191—Dick Merriwell’s Placer Find

192—Dick Merriwell’s Fighting Chance

193—Frank Merriwell’s Tact

194—Frank Merriwell’s Puzzle

195—Frank Merriwell’s Mystery

196—Frank Merriwell, the Lionhearted

197—Frank Merriwell’s Tenacity

198—Dick Merriwell’s Perception

199—Dick Merriwell’s Detective Work

200—Dick Merriwell’s Commencement

201—Dick Merriwell’s Decision

202—Dick Merriwell’s Coolness

203—Dick Merriwell’s Reliance

204—Frank Merriwell’s Young Warriors

205—Frank Merriwell’s Lads

206—Dick Merriwell in Panama

207—Dick Merriwell in South America

208—Dick Merriwell’s Counsel

209—Dick Merriwell, Universal Coach

210—Dick Merriwell’s Varsity Nine

211—Dick Merriwell’s Heroic Players

212—Dick Merriwell at the Olympics

213—Frank Merriwell, Jr., Tested

214—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Conquests

215—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Rivals

216—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Helping Hand

217—Frank Merriwell, Jr., in Arizona

218—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Mission

219—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Ice-boat Adventure

220—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Timely Aid

221—Frank Merriwell, Jr., in the Desert

In order that there may be no confusion, we desire to say that the books listed below will be issued during the respective months in New York City and vicinity. They may not reach the readers at a distance promptly, on account of delays in transportation.

To be published in July, 1929.

222—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Fight for Right

223—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Team Work

To be published in August, 1929.

224—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Athletic Team

225—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Peck of Trouble

226—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Ordeal

To be published in September, 1929.

227—Frank Merriwell, Jr., Birdman

228—Frank Merriwell, Jr., at the Old School

To be published in October, 1929.

229—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Repentant Enemy

230—Frank Merriwell, Jr.’s, Gridiron Honors

To be published in November, 1929.

231—Frank Merriwell, Jr., on the Border

232—Frank Merriwell’s Diamond Foes

To be published in December, 1929.

233—The Merriwell Company

234—Dick Merriwell and June Arlington

Frank Merriwell’s Diamond Foes
OR
STRAIGHT OVER THE PLATE

By
BURT L. STANDISH

Author of the famous Merriwell stories

STREET & SMITH CORPORATION
PUBLISHERS
79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York

Frank Merriwell’s Diamond Foes

Printed in the U. S. A.

FRANK MERRIWELL’S DIAMOND FOES.

CHAPTER I.
COLONEL CARSON, OF CARSONVILLE.

Chip Merriwell, in running togs, had just taken a rail fence at a flying leap. As he dropped into the road beyond the fence, he halted suddenly and gave vent to a startled exclamation.

Almost at the same instant, a second figure in athletic shirt and track pants came hurtling over the fence, pulled up abruptly, and stood hanging on to Merry’s shoulder. This second person was Billy McQuade, with whom Frank Merriwell, junior, was spending a few days of the spring vacation.

The two friends had left home for a cross-country hike together. It was now the middle of the forenoon, they were on their way back, and had still four miles to go before reaching Carsonville.

The crisp spring air of morning gave the two runners new life at every breath. To many a languid youth it spelled laziness and lack of all effort, but Merry and his friend knew from experience that “spring fever” is only a convenient name for doing nothing. Both of them were looking forward to a luxurious relaxation in the long grass by the Carsonville mill pond that afternoon, but they intended to make it all the more enjoyable by an honest physical weariness.

At the point where the two friends struck the highway, it curved in a wide horseshoe bend in order to avoid a tongue of undrained swamp land that struck up from the river. Merriwell had come to the road on one side of the curve, intending to follow the highway back to town.

As he took the hedge bordering the road with a flying hurdle, he had caught sight of a buggy in the white stretch directly ahead of him. That one flashing glimpse had shown him a man in the buggy, and, as he came to earth, he saw the horse give a sudden leap, shying frantically at sight of the flying figure.

Merriwell regretted instantly that he had not looked before he had leaped, but it was now too late. Before Billy McQuade took the leap in turn, the mettlesome steed hitched to the buggy was tearing around the bend of road, while the lone occupant stood up sawing savagely at the reins.

“That’s a lesson I should have learned before this,” Merriwell murmured regretfully. “The horse shied when I came over the hedge, and he’s run away.”

“No doubt about that,” commented Billy, watching with startled eyes. “He looks as if he didn’t intend to stop this side of Fardale.”

The course of the runaway was anything but reassuring. The startled horse was racing madly around the horseshoe bend, with the buggy leaping and rocking behind him, threatening at every instant to go over.

The driver still stood erect, however. He was shouting in an angry tone of voice, and trying vainly to curb the frightened animal. Disaster was imminent at any moment.

“My eye!” Billy ejaculated soberly. “We’ve done it this time, Chip!”

“Then we’d better undo it,” snapped Merriwell, rousing himself. He pointed across the marshy land to the opposite bend of the road.

“Come along, Billy! We can cut straight across over there, and beat the horse to it. He’s forced to go clear around the bend.”

“Practical lesson in geometry,” murmured Billy, with a resigned look at the boggy strip. “The shortest distance between two points is a straight line. Go ahead, old man, I’m with you. Hope the buggy will still be with the horse when it gets there!”

Chip Merriwell leaped across the road, Billy close behind him. They vaulted the rail fence on that side, and set off across the marsh land at the best possible speed.

It did not seem that Billy McQuade’s hope would be fulfilled. The runaway had by this time reached the central point of the curve, and the driver’s efforts seemed to have no effect, for the buggy was careering and bouncing as if ready to smash up at each wild leap.

Merriwell took a glance over his shoulder, and increased his speed. But it was difficult to cover the ground rapidly; pools of water lay here and there, the soft grass and soaked soil sucked at every step, and only by jumping from tussock to tussock could progress be made.

The two runners made it, however. They were nearly across the neck of sunken land when Merriwell heard a startled cry from his friend, and glanced around.

He was just in time to see the driver flung from the buggy!

With a thrill of fear that his carelessness had brought about an irreparable injury, Chip Merriwell dashed forward. The horse was almost upon him as he scrambled up and swung himself across the fence, but the frightened beast had no time to swerve. Taking a few long running steps, Merry flung himself sideways and caught at the bridle.

Almost directly, the horse stopped, trembling and heaving. With a breath of relief, Merriwell began stroking his muzzle, patting his neck, and uttering soothing words. The animal perceived that he was a friend, and stood quiet.

One swift glance showed that the buggy was uninjured, then Merriwell looked around for the driver, stepping back from the horse to get a clear view.

He saw Billy McQuade meeting the driver, who had risen to his feet. It was evident at once that he had suffered from nothing worse than a severe shock, for, as Merriwell turned and approached the two, he heard the driver cursing furiously. With a feeling of distaste, he inspected the man, whose clothes Billy was hastily brushing.

The driver of the rig was a tall, spare, stoop-shouldered man. He was very well dressed, and wore a gray mustache and goatee. There was a hard set to his face, and a pouchiness beneath his black eyes, that denoted self-indulgence, and a life that was anything but what it should be.

“You good-for-nothin’ loafer!” he roared, turning furiously on Billy, as Chip Merriwell came up. “You done this a-purpose! You——”

“It was not Billy’s fault at all,” broke in Merry warmly. “I was the first one over the fence, and your horse shied at me.”

The driver whirled on him, his rage becoming a cold fury as he met Merriwell’s firm, steady gaze.

“What are you doin’ in them duds?” he demanded. “So it was you, hey?”

“Yes,” and, although Merry’s eyes flashed at the tone of the man, he kept his voice cool. “Yes, and I’m very sorry about it. Of course, I’ll be glad to settle for whatever damage was done.”

“Lot o’ good that’ll do!” growled the other, who seemed to be eying him with anything but liking. “What you chasin’ around in them duds for?”

“We were doing a bit of cross-country running,” Merriwell said quietly. Billy McQuade was flashing him queer looks which he interpreted as warnings, but he took no heed of them. “As I said, I’ll expect to make good any damage, and I’m very sorry the accident occurred. My name is Frank Merriwell, junior, and you’ll find me at the McQuades’ residence, if you want me.”

The man flung Billy a hard look, then laughed sneeringly.

“Mebbe I will and mebbe I won’t,” he jeered. “They ain’t goin’ to have a residence very long, I reckon. I s’pose he put you up to scarin’ that hoss, eh?”

“He did not!” cried Merry indignantly. The insinuation made him angry clear through. Billy flung him an imploring glance, but he was a chip of the old block, and showed it in his next words.

“I don’t know who you are, my friend, but you’ve got a disposition that I wouldn’t like to be let loose with. We’ve caused an accident, or, rather, I have, and I’ve apologized and offered to do all in my power to make it right.

“Instead of throwing slurs and curses into the atmosphere, it’d be a whole lot more decent if you’d try to act white. I don’t blame you for being mad. I’d probably be mad myself in the same circumstances. But that’s no reason for your acting in this way.”

The stranger gave him a black look, then moved off.

“Humph!” he grunted sarcastically. “I guess you’re like your dad, if all I’ve heard say is correct. Let’s see what damage was done. I reckon the buggy was smashed up.”

Merriwell and Billy McQuade followed him to where the horse stood. The man went over the buggy, then examined the horse.

“Ain’t nothing busted,” he said, almost regretfully, it seemed. “But you kids are too gay, runnin’ around the country in them duds. It’s goin’ to be stopped.”

“Don’t let our clothes worry you,” retorted Merry. “You know where to find me if you want damages. Come along, Billy.”

He promptly turned his back. Billy threw a dubious look at the man, then followed slowly. Once more the deep voice reached Merriwell.

“You’ll be sorry for this, mind my words! You ain’t a-going to talk to me that way and get off with it, you young scoundrel!”

Chip Merriwell’s cheeks flamed a little, but he kept a firm grip on himself and walked on. After a moment he turned to see the man climb into his buggy and give the horse a savage cut with the whip.

“The brute!” he murmured indignantly. “What that horse needs is a kind word, instead of the lash. More than likely that fellow had him whipped into such a temper that he would have shied at a dead leaf.”

Billy nodded. To his surprise, Merry saw that his friend’s usually clear, frank features were overcast and troubled.

“What’s the matter, old man? You seemed to know that fellow.”

“I do.”

Billy cast a worried look at the rig, now disappearing around the curve of the road.

“Here’s a go!” he muttered gloomily. “I guess we’re all in for it now, Chip.”

“Why? That man isn’t the sheriff, is he?” asked Merriwell, with a laugh.

“No. He’s a whole lot worse. That chap is Colonel Carson, who owns most of Carsonville, and he’ll make the old burg plenty hot for us now, believe me!”

CHAPTER II.
WHY BILLY LEFT SCHOOL.

Chip Merriwell looked curiously at his friend and host.

“Has this Colonel Carson anything to do with your leaving Fardale—or, rather, with your writing that you would not be back?”

“Yes,” Billy said, in a low voice. “Let’s walk along, Chip, and I’ll tell you about it. It might as well come out now as any time, I s’pose.”

It was Merry’s second day in Carsonville. Billy McQuade, or, as he was more generally known, “Billy Mac,” was a plebe at Fardale Academy. During the preceding summer he had shown remarkable ability as backstop on the scrub nine, and it was reported that he was in line to catch for the regular team during the coming season. Billy Mac was also good at first, however, so that Fardale had been in no little doubt.

Shortly before the spring vacation began, Billy had been called home to Carsonville. His father was dead, and his mother had merely written that she needed Billy’s presence to settle up some portions of the estate. Then had come a letter from Billy himself—a heartbroken letter, stating that he would be unable to return to Fardale.

He assigned no definite cause, and the reason remained pretty much a mystery. It was a most disconcerting mystery, also. Owen Clancy, Chip Merriwell’s regular backstop, was somewhere off in the Southwest. It had been pretty generally settled that Billy Mac would don the mask this season, and his sudden withdrawal was a body blow to Fardale hopes.

These had been swiftly raised, however, when on the last day of school before the vacation Clancy had appeared without warning. He had retrieved his family fortunes, and was ready to pitch into work at Fardale once more. This, none the less, did not throw any light upon the mystery of Billy Mac’s dropping out.

Both Merry and his father had been no little worried. Frank Merriwell, senior, had finally suggested that Chip drop around to Carsonville during vacation. Although head over ears in track and field work, Chip had assented gladly. Billy Mac sent him a cordial invitation to come along, and he had promptly arrived.

The McQuade home was a comfortable, old-fashioned residence on a hill near the river, just outside of town. During his first day, Merry had asked no questions, but his eyes had been busy. He noted the worried, uneasy air of hospitable Mrs. McQuade, and the nervousness of his friend. It was not hard to guess that the estate of the senior McQuade had fallen into difficulties, though not a word had been said on the subject.

“Let’s have it, old man,” said Merry gravely. “Nothing helps a fellow so much as being able to spout out his trouble to some one else.”

“I know,” sighed Billy Mac hopelessly. “But this is different. I s’pose you remember about—about dad dying just before Christmas holidays?”

“Yes,” said Chip sympathetically. “And we were all mighty sorry to hear of it, old fellow.”

“Well,” went on the other, “things didn’t look so bad just then. Mother had a thousand dollars of insurance money, while the house and orchard was ours. We’ve got some mighty fine fruit trees there, and they promised to take care of things pretty well.”

“I should think they would! Those apples you dug up yesterday were something fine, Billy Mac.”

“They were the last of the ones we buried last fall, Chip. We shipped off some of them, for with the apples and other things we get high prices from the city. They seem to appreciate getting extra fine fruit.”

“Of course they do. The trouble with most farmers is that they don’t take pains enough to market their crop right, and take care of it on the way. But go ahead.”

Billy sighed again, and glanced heavily at the river.

“This here Colonel Carson,” he broke out, “suddenly produced a mortgage on the house and orchard for two thousand dollars. That was just before vacation, when mother wrote for me to come home.”

“But you knew that he had the mortgage?” queried Chip, frowning.

“We thought dad had paid it. You see, dad—well, dad was kind of careless about money. Just the same, we knew he had paid that mortgage. Mother could find no receipt, however, and Carson vowed that it had never been paid.”

“Somebody ought to teach him something,” said Merry warmly. “Hadn’t you any proof whatever?”

“Not a scratch, Chip. We couldn’t find a single thing. Mother pleaded with him, and he agreed to give us a little time in which to pay it—over again. It hit us pretty hard, you see. We knew that dad had paid it, but that villain Carson only wants to get hold of the place.”

“Looks as though the scoundrel had you,” said Merriwell thoughtfully. “Can you pay it, Billy?”

“Maybe. Mother has that thousand insurance money, and—well, to tell the truth, I’ve arranged to get a job as clerk in the Carsonville general store. If we can hold the colonel off a while, I guess we can fix it.”

“Pretty hard lines, just the same,” commented Merry. “So that’s why you wrote that you wouldn’t be back to Fardale, eh?”

“Yes,” said Billy Mac miserably. “It’s all off, Chip. And now, after what’s happened this morning—well, you can guess that Carson won’t have much mercy.”

Merriwell whistled softly. Now he began to see the possible disaster he had brought upon the McQuade family through scaring Colonel Carson’s horse. Recalling the man’s face, he was forced to admit to himself that he could not see much hope in it. Every line spelled hardness, cold unscrupulousness.

There was good cause for Billy Mac’s worry—yet he had cast no word of blame on Chip, whose lack of caution seemed to have brought wreck upon him. Merry appreciated this fact. It was only another indication of the sterling qualities of his friend.

At the same time, it gave him serious food for thought. If Colonel Carson did come down upon Mrs. McQuade, in his rage, Chip knew that he would be morally responsible for it.

“I’m mighty sorry about this, old man,” he exclaimed soberly, “What kind of a fellow is this Carson? Is he well off?”

“Got slathers of money,” said Billy Mac, with added gloom. “The burg was named after his family, and he owns most of the main street, the bank, and everything else, even the baseball team.”

“Baseball team?” inquired Merriwell sharply. “A professional team?”

“No, the Clippers are made up of amateurs, and stand pretty high in the Amateur League. But it’s like everything else, Chip. The colonel is said to be mighty careless about methods in everything he does, so long as he gets what he wants. The Carsonville Clippers are amateurs, all right, but I notice most of ’em have jobs in Colonel Carson’s bank, or on his farms, or somewhere. And the jobs don’t need much attention.”

“So that’s it, eh?” Merriwell looked thoughtful. “Are they a good bunch?”

There was no doubt that the Clippers could play ball, and play it well enough to win most of their games. Carsonville, of course, was not a large-enough place to support such a team, but, where his one great hobby was concerned, Colonel Carson was willing to spend money like water.

One reason for this was that his own son was the star pitcher of the Clippers. Another was that Colonel Carson had a consuming ambition to make such a showing with his amateur team, that he could buy into one of the larger professional-league teams as a well-known follower of the sport.

Transcriber’s Notes:

Frank Merriwell’s Diamond FoesORSTRAIGHT OVER THE PLATE

CHAPTER I.COLONEL CARSON, OF CARSONVILLE.

CHAPTER II.WHY BILLY LEFT SCHOOL.

Frank Merriwell’s Diamond Foes
OR
STRAIGHT OVER THE PLATE

CHAPTER I.
COLONEL CARSON, OF CARSONVILLE.

CHAPTER II.
WHY BILLY LEFT SCHOOL.