Frank Merriwell’s Chums E-Book

Burt L. Standish

• Herausgeber: Ktoczyta.pl
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

The most important thing in life is to have true friends. So thought our hero, Frank Merriwell. It would seem like this can be a problem for one of the most popular students in the academy. However, Frank not only had a large number of friends, but also enemies. And when the enemy is among friends.. this is the worst thing ever.

Leseprobe

Contents

CHAPTER I. FRANK ASKS QUESTIONS

CHAPTER II. A GHASTLY SUBJECT

CHAPTER III. AN IRRESISTIBLE TEMPTATION

CHAPTER IV. A GAME OF BLUFF

CHAPTER V. FRANK'S REVELATION

CHAPTER VI. THE PLOT

CHAPTER VII. SPREADING THE SNARE

CHAPTER VIII. THE HAUNTED ROOM

CHAPTER IX. IN THE MESHES

CHAPTER X. DOWNWARD

CHAPTER XI. TRUSTING AND TRUE

CHAPTER XII. THE SNARE IS BROKEN

CHAPTER XIII. THE "CENTIPEDE" JOKE

CHAPTER XIV. LIVELY TIMES

CHAPTER XV. WARNED

CHAPTER XVI. PAUL RAINS

CHAPTER XVII. THE BULLY'S MATCH

CHAPTER XVIII. RAINS' CHALLENGE

CHAPTER XIX. JUMPING

CHAPTER XX. BASCOMB'S MISTAKE

CHAPTER XXI. THE RIVAL PROFESSORS

CHAPTER XXII. A LIVELY CALL

CHAPTER XXIII. SKATING FOR HONORS

CHAPTER XXIV. SKATING FOR LIFE

CHAPTER XXV. THE SINISTER STRANGER

CHAPTER XXVI. THE MYSTERY OF THE RING

CHAPTER XXVII. ATTACKED ON THE ROAD

CHAPTER XXVIII. THE MARKS ON THE BLACK STONE

CHAPTER XXIX. BART MAKES A PLEDGE

CHAPTER XXX. FRANK AND THE PROFESSOR

CHAPTER XXXI. SNELL TALKS

CHAPTER XXXII. SNELL'S HATRED

CHAPTER XXXIII. PLAYING THE SHADOW

CHAPTER XXXIV. THE RING DISAPPEARS

CHAPTER XXXV. MORE DANGER

CHAPTER XXXVI. THE SECRET OF THE RING

CHAPTER XXXVII. "BABY."

CHAPTER XXXVIII. SPORT WITH A PLEBE

CHAPTER XXXIX. AN OPEN INSULT

CHAPTER XL. FOR THE UNDER DOG

CHAPTER XLI. BIRDS OF A FEATHER

CHAPTER XLII. THE CHALLENGE

CHAPTER XLIII. DOUGHTY DUELIST

CHAPTER XLIV. A COMEDY DUEL

CHAPTER XLV. ANOTHER KIND OF A FIGHT

CHAPTER XLVI. RESULT OF THE CONTEST

CHAPTER XLVII. ALIVE!

CHAPTER XLVIII. BABY'S HEROIS. CONCLUSION

CHAPTER I

FRANK ASKS QUESTIONS

September was again at hand, and the cadets at Fardale Military Academy had broken camp, and returned to barracks.

For all of past differences, which had been finally settled between them–for all that they had once been bitter enemies, and were by disposition and development as radically opposite as the positive and negative points of a magnetic needle, Frank Merriwell and Bartley Hodge had chosen to room together.

There was to be no more “herding” in fours, and so Barney Mulloy, the Irish lad, and Hans Dunnerwust, the Dutch boy, were assigned to another room.

Like Hodge, Barney and Hans were Frank Merriwell’s stanch friends and admirers. They were ready to do anything for the jolly young plebe, who had become popular at the academy, and thus won both friends and foes among the older cadets.

Barney was shrewd and ready-witted, while Hans, for all of his speech and his blundering ways, was much brighter than he appeared.

Still being plebes, Merriwell and Hodge had been assigned to the “cock-loft” of the third division, which meant the top floor on the north side of the barracks–the sunless side.

The other sides, and the lower floors, with the exception of the first, were reserved for the older cadets.

Their room contained two alcoves, or bedrooms, at the end opposite the door. These alcoves were made by a simple partition that separated one side from the other, but left the bedrooms open to the rest of the room.

Against the walls in the alcoves stood two light iron bedsteads, with a single mattress on each, carefully folded back during the day, and made up only after tattoo.

The rest of the bedding was carefully and systematically piled on the mattresses.

In the partitions were rows of iron hooks, on which their clothing must be placed in regular order, overcoats to the front, then rubber coats, uniform coats, jackets, trousers, and underclothing following, with a bag for soiled clothing at the rear.

On the broad wooden bar that ran across the front of these alcoves, near the ceiling, the names of the cadets who occupied the bedrooms were posted, so inspecting officers could tell at a glance who occupied the beds.

At the front of the partition the washstand was placed, with the bucket of water, dipper, and washbowl, which must always be kept in a certain order, with the washbowl inverted, and the soapdish on top of it.

Rifles were kept in the rack, barrels to the front, with dress hats on the shelf, and a mirror in the middle of the mantelshelf. Accoutrements and forage saps were hung on certain hooks, and clothing and other things allowable and necessary were always to be kept in an unvarying order on a set of open-faced shelves.

The broom and slop-bucket were to be deposited behind the door, the chairs against the table, when not in use, and the table against the wall opposite the fireplace.

At the foot of each bed the shoes were placed in a line, neatly dusted, with toes to the front.

It was required that the room should be constantly kept in perfect order, and Merriwell and Hodge were called on to take turns, week and week about, at being orderly, and the name of the one responsible for the appearance of the room was placed on the orderly board, hung to the front of the alcove partition.

Back of the door was another board, on which each was required to post his hours of recitation, and to account for his absence from the room at any inspection.

In fact, a rigid effort was made at Fardale to imitate in every possible way the regulations and requirements enforced at West Point, and it was the boast that the school was, in almost every particular, identical with our great Military Academy.

Of course, it was impossible to enforce the rules as rigidly as they are at the Point, for the cadets at Fardale were, as a class, far younger, and the disgrace of expulsion or failure in any way was not to be compared with that attending unfortunates at the school where youths are graduated into actual service as officers of the United States army.

Many of the cadets at Fardale had been sent there by parents who could not handle them at home, and who had hoped the discipline they would receive at a military school would serve to tone down their wildness. Thus it will be seen that many harum-scarum fellows got into the school, and that they could not readily be compelled to conform to the rules and requirements.

For all that Frank Merriwell was a jolly, fun-loving fellow, he was naturally orderly and neat, so that it seemed very little effort for him to do his part in keeping the room in order.

On the other hand, Bartley Hodge was naturally careless, and he had a persistent way of displacing things that annoyed Frank, although the latter said little about it at first.

Whenever the inspecting officer found anything wrong about the room, he simply glanced at the orderly board, and down went the demerit against the lad whose name was posted there. It made no difference who had left a chair out of place, hung a coat where it should not be, or failed to invert the washbowl, the room orderly had to assume the responsibility.

Now, it was the last thing in the world that Hodge could wish to injure Merriwell, but three times in Frank’s first week as room orderly he was reported for things he could not help, and for which Bart was entirely responsible.

Merriwell had risen to the first section in recitation at the very start, while Hodge, who had been placed in the third, was soon relegated to the second.

Frank was trying to curb his almost unbounded inclination for mischief, and he was studying assiduously.

On the other hand, while Hodge did not seem at all mischievous by nature, he detested study, and he was inclined to spend the time when he should have been “digging,” in reading some story, or in idly yawning and wishing the time away.

One day, after having taken his third demerit on his roommate’s account, the inspector having detected tobacco smoke in the room, Frank said:

“Why don’t you swear off on cigarettes, Bart? They don’t do a fellow any good, and they are pretty sure to get him into trouble here at the academy.”

Hodge was in anything but a pleasant frame of mind, and he instantly retorted:

“I know what you mean. You are orderly, and I ought to have spoken up and told the inspector I had been smoking. I didn’t know what it was he put down, but I’ll go and confess my crime now.”

He sprang up petulantly, but Frank’s hand dropped on his arm, and Merriwell quietly said:

“Don’t go off angry, old man. You know I don’t want you to do anything of the sort. I will take my medicine when I am orderly, and I know you will do the same when it comes your turn.”

“Well, I didn’t know––“ began Bart, in a somewhat sulky manner.

“You ought to know pretty well by this time. I am not much given to kicking or growling, but I do want to have a sober talk with you, and I hope you will not fire up at anything I say.”

“All right; go ahead,” said Hodge, throwing himself wearily into a chair, and thrusting his hands deep into his pockets. “I’ll listen to your sermon.”

“It isn’t to be a sermon. You should know I am not the kind of a fellow to preach.”

“That’s so. Don’t mind me. Drive ahead.”

“First, I want to ask how it is you happened to let yourself be put back in recitations?”

“Oh, Old Gunn just put me back–that’s all.”

“But you are fully as good a scholar as I am, and you could have gone ahead into the first section if you had braced up.”

“Perhaps so.”

“I know it. You do not study.”

“What’s the use of boning all the time! I wasn’t cut out for it.”

“That’s the only way to get ahead here.”

“I don’t care much about getting ahead. All I want is to pull through and graduate. Then I can go to college if I wish. These fellows who get the idea that they must dig, dig, dig here, just as they say they do at West Point, give me a pain. What is there to dig for? We’re not working for commissions in the army.”

“From your point of view, you put up a very good argument,” admitted Frank; “but there’s another side. It surely must be some satisfaction to graduate well up in your class, if not at the head. And then, the more a fellow learns here, the easier he will find the work after entering college.”

“Work? Pshaw! There are not many fellows in colleges who are compelled to bone. I hate work! I thought you were the kind of a fellow who liked a little fun?”

“Well, you know I am. Haven’t I always been in for sport?”

“But you’re getting to be a regular plodder. You don’t do a thing lately to keep your blood circulating.”

“I am afraid you do too much that is contrary to rules, old man. For instance, where is it that you go so often nights, and stay till near morning?”

“I go out for a little sport,” replied Bart, with a grim smile.

CHAPTER II

A GHASTLY SUBJECT

“But you know the consequences if you are caught,” said Frank, warningly.

“Of course I do,” nodded Bart, “but you must acknowledge there is not much danger that I shall be caught, as long as I make up a good dummy to leave in my place on the bed.”

“Still, you may be.”

“That’s right, and there’s where part of the sport comes in, as you ought to know, for you are quite a fellow to take chances yourself, Merriwell.”

“That’s right,” admitted Frank. “It’s in my blood, and I can’t help it. Anything with a spice of risk or danger attracts and fascinates me.”

“You are not in the habit of hesitating or being easily scared when there is some sport in the wind.”

Frank smiled.

“I never have been,” he admitted. “I have taken altogether too many risks in the past. A fellow has to sober down and straighten up if he means to do anything or be anything.”

Bart made an impatient gesture.

“Any one would think you were a reformed toper, to hear you talk,” he said, with a trace of a sneer.

“Not if they knew me,” said Frank, quietly. “Whatever my faults may be, I never had any inclination to drink. I have had fellows tell me they did so for fun, but I have never been able to see the fun in it, and it surely is injurious and dangerous. I don’t believe many young fellows like the taste of liquor. I don’t. They drink it ‘for fun,’ and they keep on drinking it ‘for fun’ till a habit is formed, and they become drunkards. Now, I can find plenty of fun of a sort that will not harm me, or bring––”

“I thought you weren’t going to preach,” interrupted the dark-haired boy, impatiently. “Let me give you a text: ‘Thou shalt not put an enemy into thy mouth to steal away thy brain,’ or something of the sort. Now, go ahead and spout, old man.”

Frank’s face grew red, and he bit his lip. He saw that Hodge was in a most unpleasant humor, and so he forced a laugh.

“What’s the matter with you to-day, Bart?” he asked. “I haven’t seen you this way for a long time.”

“Oh, there’s nothing the matter.”

“It must be staying up nights. Where do you go?”

“If you want to come along, and have some fun, I will show you to-night.”

Frank hesitated. It was a great temptation, and he felt a longing to go.

“Well,” he said, finally, “I have not broken any in quite a while, and I believe I’ll take a whirl with you to-night.”

“All right,” nodded Bart. “I’ll show you some fellows with sporting blood in their veins.”

“But I want you to understand I do not propose to follow it up night after night,” Frank hastened to say. “A fellow can’t do it and stand the work that’s cut out for him here.”

“Bother the work!”

“I’ll have to work to keep up with the procession. If you can get along without work, you are dead lucky.”

“Oh, I’ll scrub along some way, don’t you worry; and I will come out as well as you do in the end.”

That night, some time after taps, two boys arose and proceeded to carefully prepare dummies in their beds, arranging the figures so they looked very much like sleeping cadets, if they were not examined too closely. Bart was rather skillful at this, and he assisted Frank in perfecting the figure in Merriwell’s bed.

“There,” he finally whispered, with satisfaction, “that would fool Lieutenant Gordan himself.”

They donned trousers and coats, and prepared to leave the room in their stocking feet.

Bart opened the door and peered cautiously out into the hall.

“Coast is clear,” he whispered over his shoulder.

In another moment they were outside the room. Along the corridor they skurried like cats, their feet making no noise on the floor.

Frank was still entirely unaware of their destination, but, as they had not taken their shoes, he knew they were not to leave the building.

Frank cared little where they went, but he realized Hodge was leading the way to a remote part of the building, where the rooms were not entirely taken, as the academy was not full of students.

All at once, Bart sent a peculiar hiss down the corridor, and it was answered by a similar sound.

A moment later they scudded past a fellow who was hugging in a shadow where the lights did not reach.

“Who’s that?” whispered Frank.

“That’s the sentinel,” replied Bart.

Then they came to the door of a certain room, on which Hodge knocked in a peculiar manner.

A faint sound of unbarring came from behind the door, which quickly opened, and they dodged into the room.

As yet there was no light in the room, and, still filled with wonder, Frank asked:

“Was that the regular sentinel out there, Bart?”

“That was our sentinel,” was the reply.

“But where are the regular sentinels? I did not see one of them.”

Faint chuckles came from several parts of the room, and Hodge replied:

“At a certain hour each night the duties of the regular sentinels take them away long enough for me to get out of my room and in here. See?”

“They must be in the trick?”

“The most of them are. When it happens that one is not, we have to look out for him, and dodge him. To-night those on duty on this floor were all fixed.”

Then somebody cautiously struck a match, by the flare of which Frank saw several fellows were gathered in the room.

A lamp was lighted, and Merriwell looked around. Besides Bart, he saw Harvey Dare, George Harris, Wat Snell and Sam Winslow.

“Hello, Merriwell, old man,” some greeted, cordially, but cautiously. “Glad to see Hodge has brought you along.”

Frank was instantly seized by an unpleasant sensation–a foreboding, or a warning. Harris and Snell were not friends of his; in fact, in the past, they had been distinctly unfriendly. Dare he knew little about, as they had never had much to do with each other. Sam Winslow was a plebe, having entered the academy at the same time with Merriwell, but Frank had never been able to determine whether he was “no good” or a pretty decent sort of fellow.

Had Frank been governed by his first impression, he would have found an excuse to bid that company good-night immediately, but he did not like to do anything like that, for he knew it would cause them to designate him as a cad, and he would be despised for doing so.

He had gone too far to back out immediately, so he resolved to stay a while, and then get out as best he could.

At the window of the room blankets had been suspended, so no ray of light could shine out into the night to betray the little party.

At a glance, Frank saw the room was not occupied by students, for it contained nothing but the bare furniture, besides a box on the table, and the assembled lads.

Bart saw Frank looking around, and divined his thoughts.

“I suppose you are wondering where you are? Well, this is the room in which Cadet Bolt committed suicide. It has been closed ever since, as no fellow will occupy it. It is said to be haunted.”

This appealed to Frank’s love of the sensational. Besides that, he fancied he saw an opportunity for some sport that was not down in the programme, and he smiled a bit.

“Of course it isn’t haunted,” he said. “I don’t believe there is a fellow here who believes in ghosts?”

“I don’t.”

“Nor I.”

“Nor I.”

“Such stuff is rot!”

“I don’t believe in anything I can’t see.”

Thus the assembled lads expressed themselves, and Frank smiled again.

“While I do not believe this room is haunted,” he said, “I once had a rather blood-curdling experience with something like a disembodied spirit–an adventure that came near turning my hair snowy white from fright and horror. I will tell you about it. The original of my ghost happened to be a fellow who committed suicide, and he––”

“Say, hold on!” gurgled Wat Snell, who had declared that believing in ghosts was “all rot.” “What are we here for–to listen to ghost stories or to have a little picnic?”

“Oh, drop your ghost yam,” said George Harris, who had asserted that he did not believe in anything he could not see. “You may tell it to us some other time.”

“But this is a really interesting story,” insisted Frank. “You see, the fellow shot himself three times, and when he did not die quickly enough to be suited, he cut his throat from ear to ear, and his specter was a most ghastly-appearing object, bleeding from the bullet wounds and having a gash across its throat from––”

“Say, will you let up!” gasped Harris. “If you don’t, I’ll get out!”

“Oh, I don’t want to break up this jolly gathering,” said Frank, his eyes twinkling, “but I was just going to tell how the ghost––”

“Cheese it!” interrupted Sam Winslow. “Talk about something besides ghosts, will you? You are not given to dwelling on such unpleasant subjects, Merriwell.”

“But I thought you fellows didn’t take any stock in ghosts?”

“We don’t,” grinned Harvey Dare; “and that’s just why we don’t want to hear about ‘em.”

“We’ve got something else to do besides listen to yarns,” said Harris. “Let’s proceed to gorge.” And he began opening the box that sat on the table.

CHAPTER III

AN IRRESISTIBLE TEMPTATION

“Harris is lucky,” said Sam Winslow. “His folks send him a box every now and then, and he gets it through old Carter, at the village.”

“I have hard enough time smuggling it in,” said Harris, “and I share when I get it here.”

“For which we may well call ourselves lucky dogs,” smiled Harvey Dare. “A fellow gets awfully weary of the regular rations they have here.”

“That’s right,” agreed Frank. “I often long for the flesh pots of Egypt, or almost anything in the way of a change of fare.”

“Well, here’s where you get it–if you’ll agree not to spring any more ghost yarns on us,” said Harris. “Just look over this collection of palate ticklers, fellows.”

“Fruit cake!” gasped Sam, delightedly. “Oh, how my stomach yearns for it!”

“Cream pie!” ejaculated Wat Snell. “Yum! yum! Somebody please hold me!”

“Tarts!” panted Harvey Dare. “Oh, I won’t do a thing to them!”

“Look at the cookies and assorted good stuff!” murmured Bart, ecstatically. “I shall be ready to perish without a tremor after this!”

“Permit me to do the honors,” said Harris, grandly. “Just nominate your poison, and I will deal it out.”

So each one called for what he desired, and Harris supplied them, using a pocket-knife with which to cut the cake and pie.

“Aren’t you glad you came, Merriwell?” asked Sam, with his mouth full of fruit cake.

“Sure,” smiled Frank, as he helped himself. “I shall not regret it, if it gives me indigestion.”

Frank believed Wat Snell was a sneak, but he did not fancy it would be at all necessary to accept the fellow as a friend just because they had met under such circumstances. He meant to use Snell well, and let it go at that.

The boys thoroughly enjoyed their clandestine feast. It was a luxury a hundred times dearer than a feast from similar things could have been had there been no secrecy about it and had it been perfectly allowable.

They gorged themselves till they could eat no more, and the contents of the box proved none too plentiful for their ravenous appetites. When they had finished, nothing but a few crumbs were left.

“There,” sighed Harvey Dare, “I haven’t felt so full as this before since the last time Harris had a box.”

“Nor I,” said Wat Snell, lighting a cigarette. “Have one, Merriwell?”

Frank declined to smoke, but his example was not followed by any of the other lads. Each one took a cigarette and “fired up.”

“You ought to smoke, Merriwell,” said Dare. “There’s lots of pleasure in it.”

“Perhaps so,” admitted Frank; “but I don’t care for it, and, as it is against the rules, it keeps me out of trouble by not smoking.”

“It’s against the rules to indulge in this kind of a feast, old man. You can’t be too much of a stickler for rules.”

“It doesn’t do to be too goody-good,” put in Snell, insinuatingly. “Such rubbish doesn’t go with the fellows.”

“I don’t think any one can accuse me of playing the goody-good,” said Frank, quietly. “I like fun as well as any one, as you all know, but I do not care for cigarettes, and so I do not smoke them. I don’t wish to take any credit to myself, so I make no claim to resisting a temptation, for they are no temptation to me.”

“Lots of fellows smoke who do not like cigarettes,” assured Sam Winslow.

“Well, I can’t understand why they do so,” declared Merriwell.

“They do it for fun.”

“I fail to see where the fun comes in. There are enough improper things that I would like to do for me not to care about those things that are repugnant to me. Some time ago I made up my mind never to do a thing I did not want to do, or did not give me pleasure, unless it was absolutely necessary, or was required as a courtesy to somebody else. I am trying to stick by that rule.”

“Oh, don’t talk about rules!” cut in Dare. “It makes me weary! We have enough of rules here at this academy, without making any for ourselves.”

“Come, fellows,” broke in Hodge; “let’s get down to business.”

“Business?” said Frank, questioningly. “I thought this was a case of sport?”

“It is. You mustn’t be so quick to catch up a word.”

The table was cleared, and the boys gathered round it, Hodge producing a pack of cards, the seal of which had not been broken.

“You’ll notice that those papers are all right,” he said, significantly. “Nobody’s had a chance to tamper with them.”

“What do you play?” asked Frank, to whose face a strange look had come on sight of the cards.

“Oh, we play most anything–euchre, seven up, poker––”

“Poker?”

“Yes; just a light game–penny ante–to make it interesting. You know there’s no interest in poker unless there’s some risk.”

The strange look grew on Frank Merriwell’s face. He seemed in doubt, as if hesitating over something.

“I–I think I will go back to the room,” he said.

“What’s that?” exclaimed several, in amazement. “Why, you have just got here.”

“But I am not feeling–exactly right. What I have eaten may give me a headache, and I have a hard day before me to-morrow.”

“Oh, but we can’t let you go now, old man,” said Harris, decidedly. “You must stop a while. If your head begins to ache and gets real bad, of course you can go, but I don’t see how you can get out now.”

Frank did not see either. He had accepted Harris’ hospitality, had eaten freely of the good things Harris had provided, and the boys would vote him a prig if he left them for his bed as soon as the feast was finished. It would seem that he was afraid of being discovered absent from his room–as if he did not dare to share the danger with them.

Frank was generally very decided in what he did, and it was quite unusual for him to hesitate over anything.

There is an old saying that “He who hesitates is lost.”

In this case it proved true.

“Oh, all right, fellows,” said Frank, lightly. “I’ll stop a while and watch you play.”

“But you must take a hand–you really must, you know,” urged Harvey Dare. “Our game is small. We’ll put on a limit to suit you–anything you say.”

“I do not play poker, if that is your game.”

“Don’t you know how?”

“Well, yes, I know a little something about it, but I swore off more than a year ago.”

“Nobody ever swears off on anything for more than a year. Sit in and take a hand.”

Still he refused, and they finally found it useless to urge him, so the game was begun without him, and he looked on.

The limit was set at ten cents, and it was to be a regular penny ante game.

There was some hesitation over the limit, which Bart named, winking meaningly at one or two of the fellows who seemingly started to protest.

Surely there could not be much harm in such a light game! No one could lose a great deal.

The first deal fell to Bart, and he shuffled the cards and tossed them round in a way that betokened considerable dexterity and practice.

The boys were inclined to be jolly, but they were forced to restrain their feelings as far as possible, for, although the rooms near them were unoccupied, there was danger that they might be heard by some one who would investigate, and their sentinel might not be able to give the warning in time.

As Frank Merriwell watched the game, a peculiar light stole into his eyes, and he was swayed by ill-repressed excitement. He was tempted to get up and go away for all that anybody might say, but he did not go; he lingered, and he was overcome by an irresistible longing–a desire he could not govern. Finally, he exclaimed:

“What’s the use for me to sit humped up here! Give me a hand, and let me in.”

CHAPTER IV

A GAME OF BLUFF

“That’s the talk, old man!” exclaimed Harvey Dare, with satisfaction. “Now you are beginning to appear natural.”

The other boys were only too glad to get Frank into the game, and room was quickly made for him, while he was given a hand.

The moment he decided to play, he seemed to throw off the air of restraint that had been about him since he discovered the kind of company Bart Hodge had brought him into. He became his free-and-easy, jolly self, soon cracking a joke or two that set the boys laughing, and beginning by taking the very first pot on the table after entering the game.

“That’s bad luck,” he said, with a laugh. “The fellow who wins at the start usually loses at the finish, so I may as well consider my fortune yours. Some of you will become enormously wealthy in about fifteen minutes, for I won’t last longer than that if my luck turns.”

He soon betrayed that he was familiar with the game, and luck ran to him in a way that made the other boys look tired. He seemed able to draw anything he wanted.

“Say!” gasped Sam Winslow, in admiration; “I shouldn’t think you’d want to play poker–oh, no! If I had your luck, I’d play poker as a profession. Why, if you drew to a spike, you’d get a railroad! I never saw anything like it.”

Wat Snell had been losing right along, and he sneered:

“There’s an old saying, ‘A fool for luck,’ you know.”

“It applies in this case,” laughed Frank. “If I wasn’t a fool, I wouldn’t be in this game.”

“What’s the matter with this game?” asked Harris. “Isn’t the limit high enough to suit you?”

“That’s the matter,” said Dare, swiftly. “Let’s raise the limit.”

“Let’s throw it off,” urged Snell. “What’s the use of limit, any how?”

Frank shook his head.

“I don’t believe in a no-limit game,” he said. “There are none of us millionaires.”

“And for that very reason, none of us will play a heavy game,” said Sam. “We have played a no-limit game before, and nobody ever bets more than a dollar or so. That doesn’t happen once a game, either.”

“Twenty-five cents is usually the limit of our bets,” declared Harris.

“Then raise the limit to a quarter,” said Frank. “I am willing to give you fellows a show to get back your money.”

But they did not fancy having the limit a quarter, and quite a long argument ensued, which resulted in the game being resumed as a no-limit affair.

“There!” breathed Wat Snell, “this is something like it. Now I can do something. If a fellow wanted to bluff he couldn’t do it on a ten-cent limit.”

Hodge had said very little, but he seemed willing and ready to throw off the limit.

The change of limit did not seem to affect Merriwell’s luck, for he continued to win.

“I believe you are a wizard!” exclaimed Sam Winslow. “You seem to read a fellow’s cards.”

Wat Snell growled continually, and the more he growled the more he lost.

“Oh, wait till I catch ‘em by-and-by,” he said, as he saw Frank rake in a good pot. “I won’t do a thing to you, if I get a good chance!”

“If you have the cards, you will win,” was the reply. “They are coming for me now, and I am simply playing ‘em.”

Hodge had lost something, but he said little, being more than satisfied as long as Frank was winning.

Thus the hours passed.

By one o’clock Frank was far ahead of the game, but he still played on, for he knew it would not seem right for him to propose stopping.

Dare, Harris and Winslow were nearly broken, but they still hung on, hoping for a turn in their direction. Snell had plenty of money, for all that he had been the heaviest loser.

Finally there came a good-sized jackpot, which Dare opened. Snell was the next man, and he promptly raised it fifty cents. Winslow dropped out, and Hodge raised Snell fifty cents. Then it came Frank’s turn, and he simply staid in. Harris was dealing, and he dropped out, while Dare simply “made good.”

This gave Snell his turn, and he “boosted” two dollars.

“Whew!” breathed Winslow. “That settles me. I’m out.”

Hodge was game, and he “came up” on a pair of nines.

Snell was watching Merriwell, and the latter quietly pushed in two dollars, which finished the betting till cards were drawn, as Dare dropped out, after some deliberation.

“How many?” asked Harris, of Snell.

“Don’t want any,” was the calm reply.

Hodge took three, as also did Merriwell, which plainly indicated they had a pair each.

“Snell has this pot in a canter,” said Harris.

Snell bet five dollars, doing it in a way that seemed to say he was not risking anything.

Hodge dropped his nines, which he had not bettered, and that left Merriwell and Snell to fight it out.

“This is why I object to a limit being taken off a game,” said Frank. “It spoils the fun, and makes it a clean case of gambling.”

“It’s too late to make that kind of talk,” sneered Snell. “You are in it now. Do you call?”

“No,” replied Frank, “but I will see your five dollars, and put in another.”

This created a stir, but Snell seemed delighted.

“I admire your blood,” he said, “but the bluff won’t go with me. Here’s the five, and I will raise ten.”

Now there was excitement.

Frank’s cards lay face downward on the table, and every one was wondering what he could have found to go up against Snell’s pat hand. He was wonderfully calm, as he turned to Bart, and asked:

“Will you loan me something?”

“Every cent I have,” was the instant reply, as Hodge took out a roll of bills and threw it on the table. “Use what you want.”

There were thirty-five dollars in the roll. Frank counted it over carefully, and then put it all into the pot, raising Snell twenty-five dollars!

When he saw this, Snell’s nerve suddenly left him. His face paled and his hands shook.

“Whoever heard of such infernal luck as that fellow has!” he grated. “Held up a pair, and must have fours now!”

Frank said not a word. His face was quiet, and he seemed waiting for Snell to do something.

“If you haven’t the money to call him––” began Harris.

“I have,” declared Snell; “but what’s the use. A man can’t beat fool-luck! Here’s my hand, and I’ll allow I played it for all it is worth.”

He threw the cards face upward on the table, and smothered exclamations of astonishment came from the boys.

His hand contained no more than a single pair of four-spots!

“Then you do not mean to call me?” asked Prank.

“Of course not! Think I’m a blooming idiot!”

“The pot is mine?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I will allow I played this hand for all it is worth,” said the winner, as he turned his cards over so all could see what they were.

Wat Snell nearly fainted.

Merriwell’s hand was made up of a king, eight spot, five spot, and one pair of deuces!

It had been a game of bluff, and Frank Merriwell had won.