BOOKS FOR YOUNG MEN

MERRIWELL SERIES

Stories of Frank and Dick Merriwell

PRICE FIFTEEN CENTS

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

1—Frank Merriwell’s School Days By Burt L. Standish
2—Frank Merriwell’s Chums By Burt L. Standish
3—Frank Merriwell’s Foes By Burt L. Standish
4—Frank Merriwell’s Trip West By Burt L. Standish
5—Frank Merriwell Down South By Burt L. Standish
6—Frank Merriwell’s Bravery By Burt L. Standish
7—Frank Merriwell’s Hunting Tour By Burt L. Standish
8—Frank Merriwell in Europe By Burt L. Standish
9—Frank Merriwell at Yale By Burt L. Standish
10—Frank Merriwell’s Sports Afield By Burt L. Standish
11—Frank Merriwell’s Races By Burt L. Standish
12—Frank Merriwell’s Party By Burt L. Standish
13—Frank Merriwell’s Bicycle Tour By Burt L. Standish
14—Frank Merriwell’s Courage By Burt L. Standish
15—Frank Merriwell’s Daring By Burt L. Standish
16—Frank Merriwell’s Alarm By Burt L. Standish
17—Frank Merriwell’s Athletes By Burt L. Standish
18—Frank Merriwell’s Skill By Burt L. Standish
19—Frank Merriwell’s Champions By Burt L. Standish
20—Frank Merriwell’s Return to Yale By Burt L. Standish
21—Frank Merriwell’s Secret By Burt L. Standish
22—Frank Merriwell’s Danger By Burt L. Standish
23—Frank Merriwell’s Loyalty By Burt L. Standish
24—Frank Merriwell in Camp By Burt L. Standish
25—Frank Merriwell’s Vacation By Burt L. Standish
26—Frank Merriwell’s Cruise By Burt L. Standish

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 January, 1922.

27—Frank Merriwell’s Chase By Burt L. Standish
28—Frank Merriwell in Maine By Burt L. Standish

To Be Published in February, 1922.

29—Frank Merriwell’s Struggle By Burt L. Standish
30—Frank Merriwell’s First Job By Burt L. Standish

To Be Published in March, 1922.

31—Frank Merriwell’s Opportunity By Burt L. Standish
32—Frank Merriwell’s Hard Luck By Burt L. Standish

To Be Published in April, 1922.

33—Frank Merriwell’s Protégé By Burt L. Standish
34—Frank Merriwell on the Road By Burt L. Standish

To Be Published in May, 1922.

35—Frank Merriwell’s Own Company By Burt L. Standish
36—Frank Merriwell’s Fame By Burt L. Standish
37—Frank Merriwell’s College Chums By Burt L. Standish

To Be Published in June, 1922.

38—Frank Merriwell’s Problem By Burt L. Standish
39—Frank Merriwell’s Fortune By Burt L. Standish

FRANK MERRIWELL’S NEW COMEDIAN

OR,

THE RISE OF A STAR

BY

BURT L. STANDISH

Author of the famous Merriwell Stories.

STREET & SMITH CORPORATION, PUBLISHERS

79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York

Copyright, 1899 By STREET & SMITH

Frank Merriwell’s New Comedian

(Printed in the United States of America)

All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign

languages, including the Scandinavian.

FRANK MERRIWELL’S NEW COMEDIAN

CHAPTER I.—“NEVER SAY DIE!”

It is not a pleasant experience to wake up on a beautiful morning to the realization that one has failed. There seems a relentless irony in nature herself that the day that dawns on a night when our glittering hopes have become dead, dull ashes of despair and ruin should be bright and warm with the sun’s genial rays.

So Frank Merriwell felt this fine morning in Puelbo, Colorado. The night before, with high hopes, he had produced his new play, “For Old Eli.” He recalled the events of that first production with almost a shudder. “For Old Eli” had been a failure, a flat, appalling, stupefying failure. From the rise of the curtain everything and everybody had gone wrong; lines were forgotten, Ephraim Gallup had had stage fright, his own best situations had been marred.

How much of this was due to the lying handbills which had been scattered broadcast, asserting that he was not the real Frank Merriwell, but an impostor, a deadbeat and a thorough scoundrel, Frank could not tell. He believed that these efforts to ruin him had little effect, for when, at the close of the performance, he had made a speech from the stage, assuring the audience that he would bring his play back and give a satisfactory performance, his reception had been cordial.

But the play had failed. Parker Folansbee, his backer, had acted queerly, and Frank knew that, after the company had reached Denver, the relations between him and his backer would cease. “For Old Eli” had been well-nigh ruinous, and when they got back to Denver, Merry and his friends would be without funds.

Then the thought came to him of the prejudice expressed against a poor black cat he had allowed to travel with the company. He could not restrain a smile as he perceived that the superstitious members of the company would feel that the cat had hoodooed them. As if a cat could affect the fortunes of men!

The thought of the cat gave a pleasant turn to his reflections, and he cheered up immensely.

He had failed?

No!

He would not acknowledge failure, defeat, disaster. He would not lie down and abandon the struggle, for he was not built of such weak material.

Where was the fault? Was it in the piece, or in the way it had been played?

He realized that, although the piece was well constructed, it was not of a high, artistic character, such as must appeal by pure literary merit to the best class of theater patrons.

It could not be ranked with the best productions of Pinero, Jones, Howard, Thomas, or even Clyde Fitch. He had not written it with the hope of reaching such a level. His aim had been to make a “popular” piece, such as would appeal to the masses.

He fell to thinking over what had happened, and trying to understand the cause of it all. He did not lay the blame entirely on the actors.

It was not long before he decided that something about his play had led the spectators to expect more than they had received.

What was it they had expected?

While he was thinking of this alone in his room at the hotel, Bart Hodge, his old friend and a member of his company, came in. Hodge looked disgruntled, disappointed, disgusted. He sat down on the bed without speaking.

“Hello, old man,” said Frank, cheerfully. “What’s the matter with your face? It would sour new milk.”

“And you ought to have a face that would sour honey!” growled Bart. “I should if I were in your place.”

“What’s the use? That wouldn’t improve things.”

“If I were in your place, I’d take a gun and go forth and kill a few stiffs.”

“I always supposed a ‘stiff’ was dead. Didn’t know one could be killed over again.”

“Oh, you can joke if you want to, but I don’t see how you can feel like joking now. Anybody else would swear.”

“And that would be foolish.”

“Perhaps so; but you know, as well as I do, that your play was murdered and mangled last night.”

“That’s so, b’gosh!” drawled a doleful voice, and Ephraim Gallup, another of the company, Frank’s boy friend from Vermont, came stalking into the room, looking quite as disgusted and dejected as Hodge. “An’ I’m one of the murderers!”

Frank looked Ephraim over and burst out laughing.

“Why,” he cried, “your face is so long that you’ll be hitting your toes against your chin when you walk, if you’re not careful.”

“Whut I need is somebuddy to hit their toes against my pants jest where I set down, an’ do it real hard,” said Ephraim. “I wisht I’d stayed to hum on the farm when I went back there and giv up the idee that I was an actor. I kin dig ’taters an’ saw wood a darn sight better’n I kin act!”

“You’re all right, Ephraim,” assured Merry. “You had to fill that part in a hurry, and you were not sure on your lines. That worried you and broke you up. If you had been sure of your lines, so that you would have felt easy, I don’t think there would have been any trouble as far as you were concerned.”

“I dunno abaout that. I never felt so gosh-darn scat as I did larst night. Why, I jest shook all over, an’ one spell I didn’t think my laigs’d hold me up till I got off ther stage. It was awful!”

“You had an attack of stage fright. They say all great actors have it once in their lives.”

“Waal, I never want to feel that air way ag’in! An’ I spoilt that scene in the dressin’ room of the clubhaouse. Oh, jeewhillikins! I’m goin’ aout of the show business, Frank, an’ git a job paoundin’ sand. It don’t take no brains to do that.”

“Cheer up! You are going to play that same part in this play, and you’ll play it well, too.”

“Whut? Then be yeou goin’ to keep right on with the play?” asked the Vermonter, in astonishment.

“No,” said Merry, “I am not going to keep right on with it. I am going to put it into shape to win, and then I’m going out with it again. My motto is, ‘Never say die.’ You heard what I told the audience last night. I promised them that I would play in this town and would make a success. I shall keep that promise.”

Hodge shook his head.

“You are smart, Frank, but there’s a limit. I’m afraid your luck has turned. You are hoodooed.”

Just then a coal-black cat came out from under the bed and walked across the room.

“And I suppose you think this is my hoodoo?” smiled Merry, as the cat came over and rubbed against his leg. “That’s where you are away off. This cat is my mascot, and she shall travel with me till the piece wins. She has stuck to me close enough since she walked onto the stage where we were rehearsing in Denver.”

“The cat is not the hoodoo,” said Bart, shaking his head. “I know what is.”

“You do?”

“Sure.”

“Name it.”

“I am!”

“You?”

“Yes.”

Frank stared at Bart in surprise, and then burst out laughing.

“Well, how in the world did you happen to get such a foolish notion into your head?” he cried.

“It’s not foolish,” declared Bart, stubbornly. “It’s straight, I know it, and you can’t make me think differently.”

Frank rose and walked over to Hodge, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Now you are talking silly, old man,” he said. “You never were bad luck to me in the past; why should you be now. You’re blue. You are down in the mouth and your head is filled with ridiculous fancies. Things would have happened just as they have if you had not joined the company.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“You always were superstitious, but I believe you are worse than ever now. You have been playing poker too much. That’s what ails you. The game makes every man superstitious. He may not believe in luck at the beginning, but he will after he has stuck to that game a while. He will see all the odd things that happen with cards, and the conviction that there is such a thing as luck must grow upon him. He will become whimsical and full of notions. That’s what’s the matter with you, Hodge. Forget it, forget it!”

“I think you are likely to forget some things altogether too early, Merriwell. For instance, some of your enemies.”

“What’s the use to remember unpleasant things?”

“They remember you. One of them did so to an extent that he helped ruin the first presentation of your play.”

“How?”

“It isn’t possible that you have forgotten the lying notices circulated all over this city, stating that you were not the real Frank Merriwell, accusing you of being a fake and a thief?”

Something like a shadow settled on Merry’s strong face.

“No, I have not forgotten,” he declared, “I remember all that, and I’d like to know just who worked the game.”

“It was a gol-dinged measly trick!” exploded Ephraim.

“You thought it would not hurt you, Frank,” said Hodge. “You fancied it would serve to advertise you, if anything. It may have advertised you, but it did you damage at the same time. When the audience saw everything was going wrong, it grew angry and became convinced that it was being defrauded. Then you had trouble with that big ruffian who climbed over the footlights with the avowed purpose of breaking up the show.”

“Oh, well,” smiled Merry, in a peculiar way, “that fellow went right back over the footlights.”

“Yes, you threw him back. That quieted the audience more than anything else, for it showed that you were no slouch, even if you were a fake.”

“Oh, I suppose I’ll find out some time just who did that little piece of advertising for me.”

“Perhaps so; perhaps not.”

Tap, tap, tap—a knock on the door.

“Come!” Frank called.

The door opened, and Billy Wynne, the property man, looked in.

“Letter for you, Mr. Merriwell,” he said.

Frank took the letter, and Wynne disappeared, after being thanked for bringing it.

“Excuse me,” said Merry, and he tore open the envelope.

A moment later, having glanced over the letter, he whistled.

“News?” asked Bart.

“Just a note from the gentleman we were speaking of just now,” answered Frank. “It’s from the party who gave me the free advertising.”

“Waal, I’ll be kicked by a blind kaow!” exploded Gallup. “An’ did he hev ther gall to write to ye?”

“Yes,” said Frank. “Listen to this.”

Then he read the letter aloud.

“Mr. Frank Merriwell.

“Dear Sir: By this time you must be aware that you are not the greatest thing that ever happened. You received it in the neck last night, and I aided in the good work of knocking you out, for I circulated the ‘warning’ notice which denounced you as an impostor, a deadbeat and a thief. The public swallowed it all, and, in disguise, I was at the theater to witness your downfall. It was even greater than I had dared hope it would be. I understand the managers in other towns have canceled with you, Folansbee has declined to back your old show any longer, and you are on the beach. Ha! ha! ha! This is revenge indeed. You are knocked out at last, and I did it. You’ll never appear again as the marvelous young actor-playwright, and the name of Frank Merriwell will sink into oblivion. It is well. Yours with satisfaction,

LESLIE LAWRENCE.”

“I knew well enough it was that dirty rascal who did the job!” cried Hodge, springing up. “The cur!”

“Waal, dinged if he hadn’t oughter be shot!” burst from Gallup. “An’ he knows Folansbee’s gone back on ye.”

“It’s no use, Frank,” said Hodge, disconsolately; “you are done for. The story is out. Folansbee has skipped us, and——”

“He has not skipped us. He’s simply decided to go out of the theatrical business. It was a fad with him, anyhow. As long as everything was going well, he liked it; but I see he is a man who cannot stand hard luck. He is changeable and that makes him a mighty poor man to back a venture. It takes a man with determination and a fixed purpose to win at anything. Changing around, jumping from one thing to another, never having any clear ideas is enough to make a failure of any man. Folansbee doesn’t need to follow the show business for a living. He went into it because it fascinated him. The glamour is all worn off now, and he is ready to get out if it. Let him go.”

“It’s all right to say let him go, but what are you going to do without him? You are talking about putting your play out again, but how will you do it?”

“I’ll find a way.”

“That is easier said than done. You have been lucky, Frank, there is no question about that. You can’t be that lucky all the time.”

“There are more ways than one to catch an angel.”

“I rather think you’ll find that angels are not so thick. Once in a while there is a soft thing who is ready to gamble with his money by putting it behind a traveling theatrical company, but those soft things are growing scarcer and scarcer. Too many of them have been bitten.”

“Still, I have a feeling that I’ll find a way to succeed.”

“Of course you can advertise for a partner to invest in a ‘sure thing,’ and all that, but those games are too near fraud. Rascals have worked those schemes so much that honest men avoid them.”

“I shall not resort to any trickery or deception. If I catch an ‘angel’ I shall get one just as I obtained Folansbee, by telling him all the risks and chances of failure.”

“Well, you’ll not get another that way.”

“Darned if I ain’t afraid now!” nodded Ephraim. “But Mr. Folansbee’s goin’ to take keer of this comp’ny, ain’t he? He’s goin’ to take it back to Denver?”

“He has agreed to do so.”

At this moment there was another sharp rap on the door, which, happening to be near, Frank opened.

Cassie Lee walked in, followed by Roscoe Havener, the soubrette and the stage manager of “For Old Eli,” Cassie showed excitement.

“Well, what do you think of him?” she cried.

“Of whom—Havener?” asked Merry,

“No, Folansbee.”

“What about him?”

“He’s skipped.”

“Skipped?”

“Sure thing. Run away.”

“Impossible!”

“It’s a straight fact,” declared the little soubrette.

“There’s no doubt of it,” corroborated Havener.

“Waal, may I be tickled to death by grasshoppers!” ejaculated Gallup.

“This caps the whole business!” burst from Hodge.

“I can’t believe that,” said Merriwell, slowly. “How do you know, Havener?”

“His baggage is gone. Garland and Dunton traced him to the station. They were just in time to see him board an eastbound train as it pulled out. He has deserted us.”

CHAPTER II.—DARKNESS AND DAWN.

Frank could not express his astonishment.

“I can’t believe it,” he repeated. “Folansbee would not do such a thing.”

Hodge laughed shortly, harshly.

“You have altogether too much confidence in human nature, Merry,” he said. “I never took much stock in this Folansbee. He is just the sort of person I would expect to do such a trick.”

“The company is hot, Merriwell,” said Havener. “They’re ready to eat you.”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“For what?”

“For getting them into this scrape.”

“I don’t see how they can blame me.”

There came a sound of feet outside and a bang on the door, which was flung open before Frank could reach it. Into the room stalked Granville Garland, followed by the remainder of the company. Plainly all were excited.

“Well, Mr. Merriwell,” said Garland, assuming an accusing manner and striking a stage pose, “we are here.”

“So I see,” nodded Frank, calmly. “What’s the matter?”

“You engaged us to fill parts in your play.”

“I did.”

“We hold contracts with you.”

“I beg your pardon. I think you are mistaken.”

“What?”

“I made no contracts with you; I simply engaged you. You hold contracts with Parker Folansbee.”

“Folansbee has deserted us, sir,” declared Garland, accusingly. “We have been tricked, fooled, deceived! We hold contracts. You were concerned with Folansbee in putting this company on the road, and you are responsible. We have come to you to find out what you mean to do.”

“I am very sorry——” began Frank.

“Being sorry for us doesn’t help us a bit,” cut in Garland, rudely. “I believe you knew Folansbee was going to skip.”

Frank turned his eyes full on the speaker, and he seemed to look his accuser straight through and through.

“Mr. Garland,” he said, “you are rude and insulting. I do not fancy the way you speak to me.”

“Well, what are you going to do about it?”

“That’s what I’d like to know,” put in Lloyd Fowler. “I want my money. I didn’t come out here to be fooled this way.”

“Mr. Fowler,” spoke Frank, “you have not earned any money. Instead, you have earned a fine by appearing on the stage last night in a state of intoxication.”

“Who says so?”

“I do.”

“Then you li——”

Fowler did not quite finish the word. Frank had him by the neck and pinned him against the wall in a moment. Merry’s eyes were flashing fire, but his voice was steady, as he said:

“Take it back, sir! Apologize instantly for that!”

Garland made a move as if he would interfere, but Bart Hodge was before him in an instant, looking straight into his face, and saying:

“Hands off! Touch him and you get thumped!”

“Get out!” cried Garland.

“Not a bit of it. If you want a scrap, I shall be pleased to give you what you desire.”

“Here, fellows!” called Garland; “get in here all of you and give these two tricksters a lesson! Come on!”

“Wait!” cried Havener, stepping to the other side of Merriwell. “Don’t try it, for I shall stand by him!”

“Me, too, boys!” cried Cassie Lee, getting into line with her small fists clinched, and a look of determination on her thin face. “Don’t nobody jump on Frank Merriwell unless I take a hand in the racket.”

The rest of the company were astonished. They realized that Frank had some friends, but it was not until after he had awakened to realize just what the situation meant that Ephraim Gallup drew himself together and planted himself with Merry’s party.

“Whe-ee!” he squealed. “If there’s goin’ ter be a ruction, yeou kin bet I’ll fight fer Merry, though I ain’t much of a fighter. I’d ruther run then fight any day, onless I have ter fight, but I reckon I’ll hev ter fight in this case, if there is any fightin’.”

Immediately Granville Garland became very placid in his manner.

“We didn’t come here to fight,” he said, “but we came here to demand our rights.”

“An’ to sass Frank,” put in the Vermonter. “But, b’gosh! yeou are barkin’ up ther wrong tree when yeou tackle him! He kin jest natterally chaw yeou up.”

Frank still held Fowler against the wall. Now he spoke to the fellow in a low, commanding tone:

“Apologize at once,” he said. “Come, sir, make haste!”

“I didn’t mean anything,” faltered the frightened actor. “I think I was too hasty. I apologize.”

“Be careful in the future,” advised Merry, releasing him.

Then Merry turned to the others, saying:

“Ladies and gentlemen, until Havener just brought the news, I did not know that Parker Folansbee was gone. It was a great surprise for me, as I did not dream he was a person to do such a thing. Even now I cannot feel that he has entirely deserted us. He may have left town rather than face us, but I hope he has been man enough to leave money behind that will enable us to return to Denver, at least. You must see that we are in the same box together. I am hit as hard as any of you, for I had hoped that Folansbee would stand by me so that I would be able to put the play in better shape and take it out again. I have lost him as a backer, and if he has skipped without leaving us anything, I have barely enough money to enable me to get back to Denver.”

“Haven’t you any way of getting hold of money?” asked Harper.

“Unfortunately, I have not,” answered Merry. “If I had money in my pocket I would spend the last cent to square this thing with you.”

“And I know that’s on the level!” chirped Cassie Lee.

“Well, it’s mighty tough!” muttered Billy Wynne. “That’s all I’ve got to say.”

“We’ll have to get up some kind of a benefit for ourselves,” said Havener. “That’s the only thing left to do.”

“Come up to my room,” invited Miss Stanley, “and we’ll try to devise a scheme for raising the dust. Come on.”

They followed her out, leaving Ephraim, Bart and Frank.

“Whew!” breathed Gallup, sitting down on the bed. “Hanged if I didn’t kinder think there was goin’ to be a ruction one spell. I wanted to run, but I warn’t goin’ to leave Frank to be thrashed by a lot of hamfatters, b’gee!”

“They were excited when they came in,” said Merry, apologizing for the ones who had departed. “If it hadn’t been for that, they would not have thought of making such a scene.”

“Well, Frank,” spoke Bart, “I hope this will teach you a lesson.”

“How?”

“I hope it will teach you not to put so much confidence in human nature after this. Have less confidence and do more business in writing. I haven’t a doubt but Folansbee would have stuck by you all right if the new play had proved a winner, but he saw a chance to squeal when it turned out bad, and he jumped you.”

“I had a contract with him about the other piece,” said Merry; “but you know he did not return from St. Louis till just before we were ready to start out, and so I had not been able to arrange matters about this piece.”

“And that lets him out easy.”

“Yes, he gets out without any trouble, and I don’t believe I can do a thing about it.”

Again there came a rap on the door. When it was opened, a bell boy, accompanied by a gray-bearded gentleman, stood outside.

“Mr. Merriwell,” said the bell boy, “here is a gentleman to see you.”

The man entered.

“Walk right in, sir,” invited Merry. “What can I do for you?”

Frank closed the door. The stranger slowly drew off his gloves, critically looking Merriwell over.

“So you are Mr. Frank Merriwell?” he said.

“Yes, sir.”

“I recognize you,” nodded the man. “Do you remember me?”

“No, sir; I can’t say that I do, although I believe I have seen your face before.”

“I think you have, but I did not wear a full beard then.”

“Ah! Then it is possible the beard has made the change that prevents me from recognizing you.”

“Quite likely.”

“Will you sit down?”

“I have some important business with you,” explained the stranger, with a glance toward Gallup and Hodge.

Immediately Bart started for the door.

“See you later, Frank,” he said. “Come on, Ephraim.”

Gallup followed Hodge from the room.

When they were gone, Frank again invited the stranger to be seated.

“Thank you,” said the man, as he accepted a chair. “For reasons I wish you would look at me closely and see if you recognize me. I recognize you, although you are older, but I must proceed with the utmost caution in this matter, and I wish you would recognize me and state my name, so that I may feel absolutely certain that I am making no mistake.”

Frank sat down opposite the gentleman, at whom he gazed searchingly. He concentrated his mind in the effort to remember. Frank had found that he could do many difficult things by concentration of his mental forces. Now he sought to picture in his mind the appearance of this man without a beard. Gradually, he felt that he was drawing nearer and nearer the object he sought. Finally he made a request:

“Please speak again, sir.”

“Why do you wish me to, speak again?” said the stranger, smiling.

“So that your voice may aid me in remembering. I wish to associate your voice and your face.”

“Very well. What do you wish me to say?”

“You have said enough. I have your voice now.”

“I’m afraid you’ll not be able to remember,” said the stranger. “It doesn’t make any great difference, for I recognize you, and I can make assurance doubly sure by asking you a few questions. First, I wish to ask——”

“Excuse me,” interrupted Merry. “You are from Carson City, Nevada. You are connected with the bank in Carson, where I deposited a certain amount of valuable treasure, found by myself and some friends years ago in the Utah Desert. Your name is Horace Hobson.”

“Correct!” cried the man, with satisfaction. “Now, can you produce the receipt given you for that treasure?”

“Yes, sir,” nodded Frank, immediately producing a leather pocketbook and opening it. “I have it here.”

In a moment he had found the paper and handed it to Mr. Hobson.

The gentleman adjusted some gold-rimmed nose-glasses and looked the receipt over.

“This is the receipt,” he nodded. “You instructed the bank officials to use every effort and spare no expense to find the relatives of Prof. Millard Fillmore and the rightful heirs to the treasure.”

“I did.”

“I am here to inform you that the bank has carried out your instructions faithfully.”

“Then you have found Prof. Fillmore’s relatives?” quickly asked Merry, his heart sinking a bit.

“On the contrary, we have found that he has no relatives living. He seems to have been the last of his family—the end of it——”

“Then——”

“It has been necessary for us to go to considerable expense to settle this point beyond a doubt, but we have done so, in accordance with your directions. Of course, we shall not lose anything. We have ascertained the exact value of the treasure, and have deducted for our expense and trouble. At a meeting of the bank directors I was instructed to turn over the remainder to you. I have here papers showing the exact valuation of the treasure as deposited with us. Here is a complete account of all our expenses and charges. We have found a balance remaining of forty-three thousand seven hundred and thirty-eight dollars. I was sent to turn this money over to you, as I could identify you beyond doubt, and there could be no mistake. To make it certain in my own mind, I wished you to recognize me. You did so, and I knew I could not be making a mistake. I will take up this receipt here, and in return will give you a check for the amount, if that is satisfactory to you.”

Frank sat like one dazed, staring at Horace Hobson. Was it possible that he was not dreaming? Was he in his hour of need to receive this immense sum of money? No wonder he fancied he was dreaming.

At last he gave himself a slight shake, and his voice did not falter as he said:

“It is perfectly satisfactory to me, sir. I will accept the check.”

CHAPTER III.—MERRIWELL’S GENEROSITY.

Mr. Hobson departed, and then Frank rang for a bell boy and sent for Bart and Ephraim. Merry’s two friends came in a short time.

“I have called you up,” said Merry, “to talk over the arrangements for putting ‘For Old Eli’ on the road again without delay. I have decided on that. It will take some little time to manufacture the costly mechanical effect that I propose to introduce into the third act, and we shall have to get some new paper. I believe I can telegraph a description to Chicago so a full stand lithograph from stone can be made that will suit me, and I shall telegraph to-day.”

Hodge stared at Frank as if he thought Merry had lost his senses.

“You always were a practical joker,” he growled; “but don’t you think it’s about time to let up? I don’t see that this is a joking matter. You should have some sympathy for our feelings, if you don’t care for yourself.”

Merry laughed a bit.

“My dear fellow,” he said, “I assure you I was never more serious. I am not joking. I shall telegraph for the paper immediately.”

“Paper like that costs money, and the lithographers will demand a guarantee before they touch the work.”

“And I shall give them a guarantee. I shall instruct them to draw on the First National Bank of Denver, where my money will be deposited.”

“Your money?” gasped Hodge.

“Jeewhillikins!” gurgled Gallup.

Then Frank’s friends looked at each other, the same thought in the minds of both.

Had Merry gone mad? Had his misfortune turned his brain?

“I believe I can have the effect I desire to introduce manufactured for me in Denver,” Frank went on. “I shall brace up that third act with it. I shall make a spectacular climax on the order of the mechanical horse races you see on the stage. I shall have some dummy figures and boats made, so that the boat race may be seen on the river in the distance. I have an idea of a mechanical arrangement to represent the crowd that lines the river and the observation train that carries a load of spectators along the railroad that runs beside the river. I think the swaying crowd can be shown, the moving train, the three boats, Yale, Harvard and Cornell, with their rowers working for life. Harvard shall be a bit in the lead when the boats first appear, but Yale shall press her and take the lead. Then I will have the scene shifted instantly, so that the audience will be looking into the Yale clubhouse. The rear of the house shall open direct upon the river. There shall be great excitement in the clubhouse, which I will have located at the finish of the course. The boats are coming. Outside, along the river, mad crowds are cheering hoarsely, whistles are screeching, Yale students are howling the college cry. Here they come! Now the excitement is intense. Hurrah! Yale has taken the lead! The boats shoot in view at the back of the stage, Yale a length ahead, Harvard next, Cornell almost at her side, and in this form they cross the line, Yale the victor. The star of the piece, myself, who has escaped from his enemies barely in time to enter the boat and help win the race, is brought on by the madly cheering college men, and down comes the curtain on a climax that must set any audience wild.”

Hodge sat down on the bed.

“Frank,” he said, grimly, “you’re going crazy! It would cost a thousand dollars to get up that effect.”

“I don’t care if it costs two thousand dollars, I’ll have it, and I’ll have it in a hurry!” laughed Merriwell. “I am out for business now. I am in the ring to win this time.”

“Yes, you are going crazy!” nodded Hodge. “Where is all the money coming from?”

“I’ve got it!”

Bart went into the air as if he had received an electric shock.

“You—you’ve what?” he yelled.

“Got the money,” asserted Frank.

“Where?” shouted Bart.

“Right here.”

“May I be tickled to death by muskeeters!” gasped Gallup.

“Got two thousand dollars?” said Hodge. “Oh, come off, Merriwell! You are carrying this thing too far now!”

“Just take a look at this piece of paper,” invited Frank, as he passed over the check he had received from Horace Hobson.

Bart took it, he looked at it, he was stricken dumb.

Gallup looked over Bart’s shoulder. His jaw dropped, his eyes bulged from his head, and he could not utter a sound.

“How do you like the looks of it?” smiled Merry.

“What—what is it?” faltered Bart.

“A check. Can’t you see? A check that is good for forty-three thousand seven hundred and thirty-eight dollars.”

“Good for that? Why, it can’t be! Now, is this more of your joking, Merriwell? If it is, I swear I shall feel like having a fight with you right here!”

“It’s no joke, old man. That piece of paper is good—it is good for every dollar. The money is payable to me. I’ve got the dust to put my play out in great style.”

Even then Bart could not believe it. He groped for the bed and sat down, limply, still staring at the check, which he held in his hand.

“What’s this for?” he asked.

“It’s for the Fillmore treasure, which I found in the Utah Desert,” exclaimed Frank. “It was brought to me by the man who came in here a little while ago.”

Then Gallup collapsed.

His knees seemed to buckle beneath him, and he dropped down on the bed.

“Waal, may I be chawed up fer grass by a spavin hoss!” he murmured.