Frank Merriwell's brother E-Book

Burt L. Standish

• Herausgeber: Librorium Editions
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

When Frank Merriwell, in a great hurry, flung open the door of his room and sprang in, he was little prepared for the reception that followed.
From all sides they leaped upon him, clutched him, surrounded him, hemmed him in. There were exactly thirteen of them, and he was alone and unarmed.
Never before had Merriwell quailed in the face of odds, but now he took one look at them and then flung up his hands, crying:
“I surrender!”
They clutched those uplifted hands and dragged them down. They grasped him about the body, around the neck, anywhere, everywhere. Howls of joy arose.
“We’ve got you!” they yelled.
Then they wrenched at his hands, one after another, as if trying to tear his arms from their sockets. Then they thumped him on the back, the shoulders, and the chest.
On the outskirts of the attacking mob one wild-eyed fellow fought like a demon to get at Merry.

Leseprobe

Frank Merriwell’s Brother

OR

The Greatest Triumph of All

BYBURT L. STANDISH 

© 2023 Librorium Editions

ISBN : 9782385744618

Frank Merriwell’s Brother

CHAPTER I. A WARM RECEPTION.

CHAPTER II. ANTON MESCAL.

CHAPTER III. THE MYSTERIOUS MESSAGE.

CHAPTER IV. THE FALSE MESSAGE.

CHAPTER V. CELEBRATION OF THE OLD GRADS.

CHAPTER VI. ANTON MESCAL STRIKES.

CHAPTER VII. THE END COMES.

CHAPTER VIII. THE MESSAGE STOLEN AGAIN.

CHAPTER IX. THE OLD INDIAN.

CHAPTER X. THE KIDNAPED GIRL.

CHAPTER XI. JUAN DELORES.

CHAPTER XII. DELORES UNMASKS.

CHAPTER XIII. THE MESSAGE RECOVERED.

CHAPTER XIV. WHAT THE MESSAGE CONTAINED.

CHAPTER XV. A REBELLIOUS SPIRIT.

CHAPTER XVI. DICK AND OLD JOE.

CHAPTER XVII. AWAKENED JEALOUSY.

CHAPTER XVIII. AN INTERRUPTED DEPARTURE.

CHAPTER XIX. READY ARRIVES.

CHAPTER XX. WINNING HIS WAY.

CHAPTER XXI. FROM THE JAWS OF DEATH.

CHAPTER XXIII. DICK MERRIWELL’S NERVE.

CHAPTER XXV. THE NINE AT PRACTISE.

CHAPTER XXVI. A DESPERATE ATTEMPT.

CHAPTER XXVII. A DASTARDLY TRICK.

CHAPTER XXIX. HITS THAT DID NOT COUNT.

CHAPTER XXX. ONE TO NOTHING.

FRANK MERRIWELL’S BROTHER.

CHAPTER I.A WARM RECEPTION.

When Frank Merriwell, in a great hurry, flung open the door of his room and sprang in, he was little prepared for the reception that followed.

From all sides they leaped upon him, clutched him, surrounded him, hemmed him in. There were exactly thirteen of them, and he was alone and unarmed.

Never before had Merriwell quailed in the face of odds, but now he took one look at them and then flung up his hands, crying:

“I surrender!”

They clutched those uplifted hands and dragged them down. They grasped him about the body, around the neck, anywhere, everywhere. Howls of joy arose.

“We’ve got you!” they yelled.

Then they wrenched at his hands, one after another, as if trying to tear his arms from their sockets. Then they thumped him on the back, the shoulders, and the chest.

On the outskirts of the attacking mob one wild-eyed fellow fought like a demon to get at Merry.

“Got my vay oud of!” he roared, as he butted into the mob. “Break away! Let me got ad him!”

“Git aout!” cried another, a tall, lank chap, as he put his foot against the fat stomach of the one who was fighting to reach Merry. “Go lay daown, gol ding ye!”

“Give me a cloob!” roared one with a strong brogue of the Ould Sod. “It’s mesilf that’ll be afther makin’ a way here!”

Then he wedged his shoulder into the crowd and flung the others aside till he could get in and grasp Merry’s hand.

“Ye spalpane!” he shouted. “It’s a soight fer sore oies ye are! Begorra, Oi’m ready to die wid joy!”

“Barney Mulloy!” laughed Frank, as he wrung the hand of the honest Irish youth. “I’m delighted!”

“Let me git in there!” rasped the tall, lank fellow. “If ye don’t make way fer me, I’ll bet a darn good squash somebody gits bumped!”

Then he succeeded in getting hold of Merry’s free hand.

“Oh, say!” he cried; “I’m jest reddy to lay right daown and die frum satisfaction.”

“Ephraim Gallup!” burst from Merry.

“Right off the farm, b’gosh!” chuckled Ephraim.

“Vy don’t you both gone und died alretty!” squawked the one who had been kicked, as he came charging in and drove against Mulloy and Gallup. “Id vould peen a goot thing der coundry vor. Yaw! I vandt to shook Vrank Merrivell by my handt! Got avay!”

“And Hans Dunnerwurst!” exclaimed Merriwell, as he grasped the outstretched, pudgy hand of the fat young Dutchman.

“Dot vos me,” nodded Hans, in delight. “How you peen, Vrankie, ain’t id? You vos glatness to seen me. Yaw!”

“You fellows give me that fired teeling—I mean that tired feeling!” declared a handsome, curly-haired youth, as he thrust Mulloy, Gallup, and Dunnerwurst aside. “Why don’t you let somebody else have a show? I want to fake his shin—I mean shake his fin!”

“It’s Harry Rattleton!” Frank ejaculated, as he returned the hearty hand-grip of the curly-haired youth. “Dear old Harry!”

There were tears in Rattleton’s eyes, and his honest face showed the deep emotion he felt and tried to hide.

Fighting, squealing, kicking at each other, two little fellows now plunged against Rattleton. One was red-headed and freckle-faced, while the other had a snub nose and a cherublike face. But they seemed trying to scratch out each other’s eyes.

“Me first!” yelled the cherub.

“I guess nit!” shrieked the one with freckles.

“Here! here! that will do!” smiled Merry, as he grasped them and pulled them apart. “It seems to me you chaps are old enough to quit fighting like kids.”

Then they both turned and seized his hands, which they wrung with all the strength at their command, yelling:

“How are you, Merry? We’re glad you see us!”

“The same Stubbs and the same Griswold,” nodded Frank.

“The same Merriwell!” they returned, in unison. “Only more famous!”

“I reckon it’s my turn to shake Mr. Merriwell’s paw,” said a strong, hearty voice, as a big, broad-shouldered youth put Bink and Danny aside. “That’s whatever!”

“Badger, too!” Frank cried, as his hand met that of the Westerner. “This is untold pleasure!”

“You bet it is!” nodded Buck.

“I trust you’ll not overlook me, Merriwell,” said a pleasant, soft, well-modulated voice, as a handsome, fine-faced youth stepped in, with an agreeable smile and a white hand outheld.

“Jack Diamond, by all that’s good!” Merriwell gasped, as he took that hand. “Back from Europe?”

“Yes, Merriwell; back in time to see you win your final honors.”

The handsome Virginian looked handsomer than ever.

Greg Carker, Bert Dashleigh, Jim Hooker, Ralph Bingham, and Oll Packard were the others who had crowded about Merry when he entered the room, and they were filled with great joy because of his pleasure in meeting those old friends of other days.

“You’ll have to have us arrested for breaking and entering, Merry,” said Carker. “I knew these fellows were going to be here, and we planned this little surprise. I swiped your duplicate door-key so that I could admit them to this room.”

“I’ll forgive you, Carker, if you do not let the earthquake rumble.”

“I think,” said Greg, “that I’ll keep the earthquake suppressed till commencement is over.”

“Do,” urged Frank.

Oliver Packard did not have much to say. He had been accepted as one of Merry’s friends, for all of his vicious brother, Roland, the twin who looked—or had looked in the past—exactly like him. Oliver had all the fine instincts of a gentleman, and the conduct of Roland had worn upon him and given him lines of care. It was now known among the students that, since his final defeat by Merriwell, Roland was fast becoming an inebriate, and it was said that he would not be able to finish his medical course. Of course, this worried Oliver, but he tried to hide his own troubles.

Hooker, once an outcast, was another who had received a warm hand-grasp from Merriwell and had felt in his heart that he was most fortunate to be there.

Ralph Bingham, the big sophomore, had taken part in the struggle, his heart throbbing with satisfaction.

“There are others coming,” he now declared. “All the rest of the flock will be here right away.”

“You mean——”

“Hodge, Ready, Gamp, Browning, and the others.”

“In that case,” said Badger, “I reckon we’d better bring forward the reserves at once.”

“The reserves?” said Merry.

“Yes. Ladies.”

Buck flung back a portière, and then out flitted four beautiful girls, who had been waiting for that moment.

Elsie was there, laughing with joy, her sweet face flushed, her blue eyes like the depths of a lake-mirrored sky. The girl with Elsie put her forward, and it was Elsie who murmured in Merry’s ear:

“Frank, we’re all so happy and so proud of you! Inza is the happiest and proudest!”

“Inza!” exclaimed Frank, in great surprise, for he had not dreamed of seeing her there, for she was in mourning for her father.

“Frank!”

He looked deep into her dark eyes, which gazed upon him in loving pride.

“This,” he said, restraining himself and steadying his voice, “is a pleasure that was entirely unexpected.”

He gave Elsie his other hand.

“We rather reckoned you’d be pleased,” said Badger. “But I don’t want you to forget that the former Miss Lee is now Mrs. Badger, and I’ll not permit you to look at her the way you’re looking at those young ladies.”

Frank flushed and laughed, turning to the handsome, brown-eyed girl at the side of the Westerner.

“Miss Lee—no, Mrs. Badger,” he said, “I am delighted to see you again.”

Winnie gave him her hand.

“Don’t mind Buck,” she said. “He’s jealous of everybody. He’d be jealous of an Indian.”

“That’s whatever,” confessed the Kansan. “I allow I’m built that way, and I can’t help it. I know I make an onery fool of myself sometimes, but Mrs. Badger has a nice little way of forgiving me. I rather think she likes it, to tell the truth.”

Diamond touched Frank’s arm. There was a look of deep pride on his face, mingled with a faint smile.

“Permit me,” he said.

Merry turned.

“My wife, Mr. Merriwell,” said the Southerner.

A handsome, dark-eyed girl, somewhat resembling Inza, stood there.

“Your—your wife?” exclaimed Frank.

The girl was the sister of Dolph Reynolds, whom he had met in London.

“Yes, sir,” said Jack. “We didn’t invite you to the wedding, as it took place rather suddenly on the other side of the pond. I hope you’ll pardon us for the failure to notify you, but we decided to do so in person.”

“Diamond,” said Frank heartily, as he grasped the hand of his college comrade, “I offer you my most sincere congratulations. I think you are a lucky dog.”

The English girl was blushing and laughing.

“You do not congratulate me,” she said. “And you know I had to make an explanation before he would come back to me after he became jealous of my cousin.”

“I’ll reserve my congratulations,” said Merry smilingly, “till I find that he has made you a good husband.”

“Merriwell, I think that right mean of you!” Diamond exclaimed, somewhat nettled. “Your words and manner are calculated to arouse distrust and suspicion in her mind. Do you think that quite fair?”

“Perhaps not,” confessed Frank, seeing how seriously Jack took it. “Far be it from me to arouse anything of the sort by words spoken in jest.”

The Virginian breathed easier.

“Now we’re so nicely introduced all round, let’s try to be real jappy and holly—I mean happy and jolly,” said Harry Rattleton. “Hasn’t any girl married me yet?”

“I see,” said Bink Stubbs, “that idiocy among the female sex is decreasing.”

“There are ladies present,” said Harry severely, as he glared at Bink. “Thus you are saved for the time.”

“Here!” cried Griswold, taking down a gilded horseshoe from the wall and offering it to the other little chap. “Take it. You’re dead in luck.”

Stubbs regarded the horseshoe doubtfully.

“Do you regard horseshoes as lucky?” he asked.

“Of course,” was the answer.

“Then,” said Bink, “the horse I bet on the last time was running barefooted. Cluck, cluck; git ap!”

“Bah!” retorted Danny. “A clean swipe out of the comic column of some paper. Say, who’s your favorite writer, anyhow?”

“My father.”

“Your father?”

“Yes.”

“What did he ever write?”

“Checks.”

“They’re off!” exclaimed Rattleton. “You can’t stop them.”

“You know you can always stop a river by damming it,” grinned Bink.

“But you can’t stop an alarm-clock that way,” chipped in Danny.

“That will do!” said Frank severely, although he was laughing inwardly. “This occasion is not suited for such stale jokes.”

“Stale!” said Danny.

“Stale!” echoed Bink.

“And they are the very best in our repertoire,” declared the little red-headed chap.

“Then your repertoire needs replenishing,” said Merry.

So the little jokers were repressed for the time, although they were sure to break out again and again at the slightest provocation, or without any provocation.

“What makes us feel real bad,” said Diamond, “is that we were unable to get along soon enough to witness the great ball-game to-day between Yale and Harvard. I felt sure Yale would win.”

“Merriwell won the game himself,” declared Oliver Packard, who had once played on the nine, but whose standing as an athlete and whose chance to take part in athletic sports had been ruined by the actions of his brother. “It was the greatest work I ever saw.”

“Right!” agreed Carker, the socialist, also a ballplayer of no mean caliber. “The manner in which he stopped Harvard from scoring near the end of the game was enough to set every Yale man wild with admiration. It was great!”

“Great!” nodded Jim Hooker.

“Magnificent!” laughed Bert Dashleigh.

“Hot stuff!” nodded Ralph Bingham.

Rattleton, Stubbs, Griswold, Gallup, Dunnerwurst, and Mulloy had reached the field after the game began, but in the vast throng they had been unobserved by Merry. All were profuse in their compliments for Frank, but he cut them short.

“Every man on the nine played as if his life depended on the result,” he declared. “They deserve just as much credit as I do.”

But not one who had seen the game would agree to that.

While they were talking, the door opened, and Bart Hodge entered, followed by Browning, Ready, Mason, Carson, Morgan, Starbright, Gamp, and Benson.

The principal members of the varsity nine, the ones who had been mainly responsible for the winning of the championship, had come to that room to gather round their captain for the last time before the parting that might break their ranks forever.

Of course, they were surprised, and, of course, there was more hand-shaking and introducing of Mrs. Diamond. The Virginian was showered with congratulations.

Jack Ready stood and looked at Juliet with an expression of regretful sadness on his face.

“It’s too bad!” he finally sighed.

“What’s too bad, Mr. Ready?” she asked, in surprise.

“That we did not meet before this hot-headed young man from the warm and reckless South drifted across your horizon. Alas, you are no longer a lass! It is too late, too late!”

He seemed to heave a great sob from the depths of his bosom.

“Sir!” exclaimed Diamond, “what do you mean? Are you seeking to insult me?”

“Nay, nay, my dear old college chum,” said Ready, who really took extreme delight in irritating Diamond. “Far be it from me to indulge in such rudeness. Still I cannot help thinking that you would not have stood a ghost of a show had I happened along in advance of you. I would have dawned on her delighted vision like a ten-thousand-dollar diamond sunburst, while you would have resembled a two-dollar rhinestone cluster. I have no desire to cause you misery, so I shall take care not to let her see much of me, well knowing it will lead her in time to regret her choice of a side-partner if she often beholds my intellectual countenance and fascinating figure.”

Juliet bit her lip and suppressed a laugh, but Diamond, knowing Ready was guying him, felt like hitting him.

“It’s a good thing for you,” whispered the Southerner, “that the ladies are here.”

“How?”

“If they were not, I’d give you a black eye!”

“Go ’way!” said Ready. “I think you’re horrid!”

Frank’s rooms were crowded now, and a chatter of conversation arose. Of course, Merry was the center of interest, but he found an opportunity to draw back and look around. These were the loyal friends he had made—the dear friends of his school and college days. They had clung to him through thick and thin, and he felt his heart swelling with affection toward them all. Even Dade Morgan was included, for Morgan had tried his best in these final college days to prove that he was repentant for the past and ready to do anything in his power to make atonement.

Memories of old times came rushing upon Frank in that moment. He thought of his first meeting with Hodge at Fardale, and of the adventures, struggles, and triumphs that followed. He thought of his coming to Yale, of his freshman struggles, of the enemies who seemed to rise around him as he toiled upward and onward, of the friends who were here and who had remained firm in every change that befell him.

Oh, those grand days of toil and pleasure at Yale! He felt that he would give much to live them all over again. But the end had come, and now he was going out into the world—going to bid Yale farewell!

This thought brought him a feeling of unspeakable sadness. It seemed that he was leaving the only home he knew. Home—yes, it was home for him. In truth, he had no other. Life lay before him, and he was to set his course toward a high goal when he received his sheepskin and turned his back on his alma mater. But he felt that he was being parted from the happiest portion of his life.

Then his eyes fell on the girls. Bart had found Elsie and was talking to her, his dark face flushed, his eyes glowing. She smiled and nodded as he was speaking.

“They are happy,” said Frank, to himself.

He did not know that at that moment Hodge was praising him to the skies, telling what a remarkable game he had played and how he had covered himself with glory in the battle against Harvard. He did not know that somehow such praise was the pleasantest thing Elsie Bellwood could hear.

He saw Inza, and she looked toward him. She smiled, and he felt his heart throb.

Home! Yes, Yale had been his home; but now before his vision there seemed to rise the picture of another home and he hastened to Inza’s side.

CHAPTER II.ANTON MESCAL.

A dark-faced, Spanish-appearing man stopped Roland Packard on the steps of the Tontine Hotel.

“Get out of the way!” snarled Roland, who had been drinking.

“Wait,” said the man, in a soft, not unpleasant voice. “I wish to speak to you. It is important.”

Roland was in anything but a pleasant mood. He had seen Frank Merriwell cover himself with glory in the game against Harvard, and, having foolishly bet that the Cambridge men would win the championship, he had taken to drink immediately after the game.

“It’s got to be cursed important!” he snapped, looking the stranger over. “I don’t know you. What’s your name?”

“Anton Mescal.”

“Never heard it before. Are you one of these blooming old grads who are overrunning the town?”

“No.”

“Then what in blazes——”

A group of men came out of the hotel and descended the steps. They had gray hair about their temples, and some of them were bald beneath their hats. They carried canes, their faces were flushed, and they looked hilariously happy. They were a group of “old grads,” and they had been celebrating Yale’s victory. With them the celebration had just begun; it would extend all through the night. As they rolled down the steps, clinging to one another’s arms, they were talking excitedly:

“He’s the greatest pitcher Yale ever produced!” asserted one.

“Come off, Smithy, old man!” cried another. “You know the class of ’Umpty-six had the champ. This fellow——”

“Don’t talk, Sluthers!” interrupted another. “Baseball was different then. Whoever heard of curves? This Merriwell——”

“Is a marvel!”

“He’s a dandy!”

“’Rah for Merriwell!”

“Let’s all cheer! Yow! I feel just like cheering! Cheer for Merriwell!”

Then they bumped against Roland Packard, who snarled at them. One of them grasped him; others followed the example of that one. They bore him down the steps to the sidewalk.

“What’s the matter with you?” the grad who had grasped him first demanded. “Are you a sorehead? Well, by thunder, I want to hear you cheer for Merriwell!”

“You’ll want a long time!” declared Roland, savagely. “Let go of my collar!”

“Boys,” said the old fellow fiercely, “here’s a chap who won’t cheer for Merriwell.”

“Shoot him!” advised another, who was rather unsteady on his feet. “Don’t bother with him! Shoot him on the spot, Bilton!”

“What spot?” asked Bilton.

“Any old spot.”

“All right,” said the one who had Roland by the collar, “I’ll do it.”

He was just intoxicated enough to be reckless, and he actually took a revolver out of his hip pocket.

“Brought this to celebrate with,” he declared. “Loaded it for that purpose; but I guess I’ll shoot this fellow.”

Then he fired straight at Roland’s breast.

Packard fell back with a gasping cry, and the dark-faced man caught him. The other old grads were appalled by the act of their companion, who himself was rather dazed, not having intended to fire the revolver; but he quickly recovered, saying:

“He isn’t hurt, gentlemen! The danged thing is loaded with blanks.”

Packard threatened to call for the police, not one of whom happened to be near.

Not wishing to get into trouble on account of the reckless act of their companion, the old grads hastened away.

Anton Mescal, the man with the dark face, laughed a little, as he said:

“Is this the East? Why, I didn’t suppose men were so careless with their guns here. For a moment I fancied I must be at home.”

Packard swore.

“Infernal old fools!” he muttered. “I’m going to follow and have them arrested! I’ll put that drunken idiot in the jug for this! Why, he would have shot me dead if the thing had been loaded with a ball cartridge!”

“Better let them go,” urged Mescal. “I want to talk with you about something important.”

“But I don’t know you.”

“I introduced myself just before those men attempted to stampede us.”

Packard seemed in doubt. He wanted to follow and make trouble for the man who had been so reckless with his revolver, and yet something was urging him to listen to the stranger, who claimed to have important business with him.

“If we stay here,” he said, “we’ll get bumped into again by these gray-haired Yale men of other days.”

“Yet I must stay here. Let’s get off the steps, where we can watch both entrances. I am not going to be given the slip again.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Something I will explain if you prove to be the man I think you are.”

“You are from the West?”

“That’s right, partner. Come down here.”

They moved aside on the walk, where they took pains to avoid the groups of hilarious men who were circulating in that vicinity.

“You do not like Merriwell,” said the man who called himself Mescal. “You refused to cheer for him, even when that man drew a gun on you.”

“I didn’t suppose the howling chump was crazy enough to shoot.”

“Still you refused to cheer for Merriwell, and everybody else is howling for him.”

“What of that?” asked Packard suspiciously. “Haven’t I got a right to refuse?”

“Of course. The very fact that you did refuse convinced me that I had made no mistake in my man. You dislike Merriwell, when everybody else seems wild about him. You seem to be his only enemy here.”

“That’s right. There were enough of them once, but I’m the only one left.”

“What has become of them all?”

“He has triumphed over them, and they have bowed down to worship him. They are howling themselves hoarse over him to-night.”

“You mean——”

“They have become his friends, or else they have been driven out of college.”

“How does it happen that you have not succumbed?”

“Because I will not!” panted Roland fiercely.

“He has never defeated you?”

Packard hesitated about answering, for he knew that in everything that had brought about a contest between himself and Merriwell the latter had been victorious.

“Only temporarily,” he asserted. “I never give up.”

“Good!” exclaimed Mescal. “I am more than ever satisfied that you are the very man I want.”

Packard now demanded a full explanation. His curiosity had been awakened. Still Mescal, the soft-spoken man from the West, was rather cautious.

“Would you like to strike Merriwell a last blow?” he asked.

“Would I?” said the medic. “Ask me!”

For a moment the Westerner knitted his brows. He had asked Packard, and the slang of the East bothered him. But the expression on Packard’s face demonstrated his meaning, and Anton Mescal nodded.

“I thought so,” he said. “I may be able to give you the opportunity.”

“But you have not explained,” insisted Roland.

“I will. It takes a little time.”

“Then let’s go in here and get a drink. I’m dry and tired.”

Mescal shook his head, grasping the student by the arm.

“Stay here,” he directed. “It is necessary if you wish to strike Merriwell.”

This surprised Roland.

“What are you coming at?” he growled. “Think I’m going to hit him with my fist?”

“No. I am watching for a man who is in that hotel. I must not miss that man when he comes out.”

“How is he connected?”

“I have followed him pretty nearly three thousand miles, trying to watch him night and day. Four times he has given me the slip, and four times I have picked up his trail again. I have tried in every possible way to accomplish my purpose before he could reach this place, but thus far I have failed.”

This was interesting, and yet Packard failed to see how it was related to Merriwell.

“I’ll explain,” said the Westerner. “This man is the bearer of an important message to Frank Merriwell.”

“Ah! that’s it?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you can’t stop him now unless you kidnap or kill him.”

“I don’t want to stop him.”

“What, then?”

“I want to get hold of that message.”

“You wish to know what it is?”

“I know now.”

“Hey? Then why do you wish to get hold of it? Why the dickens have you put yourself to so much trouble?”

“Because I do not wish it to reach the hands of Merriwell.”

“The bearer——”

“Hasn’t the least idea what the message is.”

“Oh-ho!”

“He is simply a messenger—nothing more. He has been instructed to deliver an oilskin envelope to Merriwell. He knows absolutely nothing of the contents of that envelope. If he were to lose it, he would fail utterly in his task.”

Packard nodded, and made a motion for the man to go on.

“This message,” said Mescal, “is of the utmost importance to Merriwell. It will do him great damage not to receive it. Get it and place it in my hands, and you will strike Merriwell a terrible blow. Besides that, I will give you five hundred dollars in cold cash.”

“Five hundred dollars?” gasped Packard doubtingly.

“Just that. I mean it, and here is the money, to convince you that I can keep my word.”

The Westerner displayed a roll of bills, the outside one being for the amount of five hundred dollars.

Now, Roland Packard was involved in debt, and knew not how to clear himself. Of a sudden, he fancied he saw a way to wipe out his debts and strike a blow at Merriwell at the same time, and his bloodshot eyes shone greedily.

“How am I to do this?” he asked.

“That is for you to settle.”

“You mean that——”

“That you are to find a way. I am at the end of my resources, else I would not have applied to you. It was by chance that I heard you spoken of as the only enemy of Merriwell remaining in Yale, and it was by chance—a lucky one—that you happened along and were pointed out. I lost no time in stopping you right here, hoping you might be the man to do this work.”

“I’ll do it if possible; but how is it to be done?”

“Again I say that is something for you to find out. I will point out to you the man who has the message, and you are to follow him and get it if you can. If you succeed, the money is yours the moment you place that oilskin envelope in my hands. Are you ready to try it?”

“You bet! When——”

“Now!” whispered Mescal, as he stepped behind Packard, so that the student was between him and a man who was descending the steps of the Tontine. “There goes the man with the message!”

CHAPTER III.THE MYSTERIOUS MESSAGE.

The man with the message was smooth-faced and shrewd-appearing. He stepped out from the Tontine briskly. He was dressed in a plain gray suit of clothes.

“After him!” whispered Mescal. “He has the message! Get it somehow—anyhow! Get it before Merriwell reads it!”

“I’ll do my best,” promised Packard. “Where’ll I find you?”

“Here—at this hotel.”

Without another word, Roland Packard started after the man in gray. Up Chapel Street went the man, with Roland not far behind.

The student was trying to think of some way to secure the message. He was desperate, and desperate schemes flitted through his brain. He thought of attacking the man on the street and trying to go through his pockets; but New Haven was thronged with visitors, old and young, and Packard found no opportunity, knowing full well that all chances of success were against him. Desperate though he was, he had no relish for arrest on the charge of assault and robbery. But Roland’s eyes were open, and he was on the watch for an opportunity. Still, something told him that the man was going directly to Merriwell, and he felt that his show of accomplishing his purpose was becoming smaller with every step.

Already preparations were being made for a hilarious time in the vicinity of Osborne Hall that night. Packard knew there would be speeches, cheering, red fire, and all that, but he gave it no thought now.