Dick MERRIWELL’S PRANK

TIP TOP WE

An Ideal Publication for the American Youth

et | | ;
OCTOBER 23, . ss & CENTS

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 
 

 

 

cand An.idea!Fubliion |

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

  

 

 

 

) Issued Weekly. By subscription $2.50 per year. Entered as Secon dschise Matter at the N. VY. Post Office, by STREET & SMITH, 79-89 Seventh Ave., NV. ¥.
Copyright, 1909, dy STREET & SMITH.

; No. 706. ‘NEW YORK, October 23, 1909. Price Five Cents.

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CHAPTER I.

J. ARCHIBALD ETTINGER.

come to Yale, a quiet, awkward, shy-appearing chap,
could hardly believe the swell, swagger, blasé, and
boastful junior to be the same fellow. Two years of
college life had wrought a wonderful change in the
man. He had made his appearance as J. A. Ettinger,
but it was not long before he began writing it J. Archi-
| bald Ettinger, and such friends as he made took to
calling him Archie. The metamorphosis was rapid, so
rapid, indeed, that ere he became at all widely known
among. college men he had acquired sufficient of that
swaggering sangfroid to enable him to pass himself
| off for what he wished to appear.
The country clothes were discarded with the coun-
- try atmosphere, and Archie Ettinger blossomed forth
BS in swell tailor-made togs of the most pronounced; up-
4 to-date type for a college man. He wore the bot
+ toms of his trousers rolled yery high indeed, and even
in his freshman year he carried a cane, although he
had the good sense not to appear with it upon the cam-
pus or in the immediate vicinity of the college build-
ings. .

 

 

 

Dick Merriwell’s Prank;

The Exposure of Archie Ettinger.

 

By BURT L. STANDISH.

 

x Some of those who remembered Ettinger as he had.

same person who had arrived in New Haven as J. A.

    
  
    
  
  
   
  
   
  
   
  
  
   
  
    
  
  
   
 
   

 

 

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But it was as a sophomore-that every vestige of the _
chrysalis was discarded and the glorious, gorgeotis —
butterfly appeared. No longer in speech, manner, —
dress, or any particular was there even the remotest
suggestion that this J. Archie Ettinger could be the

Ettinger, the wearer of ready-made clothes, a back-—
number derby, heavy-soled, broad-toed boots, and a
paper collar! 7
Archie was now a model for all would- be swagger
chaps to copy. From topknot to toe he was the real
_ swell. His hats invariably bore the brand of a Lon-
don maker, his shirts were cut to measure from’ the —
finest material, his neckties were the wonder and envy
of all who took particular notice of them, and even in»
the matter of socks—the finest of silk—he was exclu-
sive land successfully ” individual. Nor \was he ever ’
detected with shoes which showed wrinkles or signs |
of wear, and his supply of footwear was sufficient to_
cause one facetious fellow to remark that the cause of
the rise in the price of keathes was the inadelity of

    
   
      
   
  
   
    
  
   
   
   
  
  
 
   
   
   
 
   
   
   

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ticular standing, began to talk of his family and pedi-
gree. Gradually those with whom he deigned to asso-
ciate learned that the bluest blood coursed in his veins.
Bit by bit they heard of his aristocratic ancestors,

on the other to peers of Elizabeth’s time, They like-
wise learned that his progenitors had remained loyal to
their sovereign in the days of Colonial America. One
Lieutenant Ettinger had served under Burgoyne. On
his mother’s side a Tory, Horatio Howe, said to be a
distant relative of General Howe, had settled near
Princeton and been plundered of all his earthly pos-
sessions by the so-called patriots, who had burned his
home and driven him into taking flight with his family
back to old England.
_ -Ettinger’s intimates were treated to the privilege of
s F pebaldinig a number of old daguerreotypes of haughty,
_bewhiskered, ‘stock-wearing gentlemen and  cap-
‘ adorned, lace-decorated ladies, whom he claimed as
ancestots of distinction and high standing, both so-
cially and financially. There was likewise the black
silhouette profile of a grandfather several times re-

thother Ettinger. All of his notepaper was adorned

by a a crest, claimed tobe the insignia of his father S

“sometimes sie of a sister. who had matiied a cer-
tain Spanish nobleman and died in Madrid some four-

 
 

and descendant. His parents were still living, having
a moderate but, sufficient income,
“traveled a great ‘deal in foreign lands, In America
they had a country home in the town of Richfield, New

York, 4 place which they had chosen‘ on account of its

 
 

  

  

  

lary summer resort. ist

   
 

everal of those whom he had accepted as friends while

  

  

is were known to have a rightful claim to wealth and
amily. Among these there were tliree, Clarence Mof-

nit on a front,”

   

WEEKLY.

"traced back on one side to the old Norman kings and

‘Ettinger had declined to serve on a committee with: | ae cared
moved, and the miniature of a Great-Great-Grand-\ |
clared the Texan.
him and announced that I would w ithdraw from the i a 7
ef) months afterward, leaving Archie the sole heir |
_ bluff, or I don’t know pewter from-pure silver.

on which “they

tiiet, pastoral attractions and | retirement fromthe: hie. Cine

somewhat common and unpleasant bustle a ‘the ordi-
In his junior year E ittinger chose. to stub and drop pe

ophomore, and he began courting the attention of
men of the highest standing | in college, | especially such might arise when. any inéprmyation obiained concern

ing him would be of use.’

tt Paul Loring, and Walter Minge, all chaps who.
ne ‘became Archie's S mere intimate,

if know ra \ chap i in. Pachspid Springs.

skill in baseball or football, unless they could demon- Fy
strate to his satisfaction that the blood of real ‘aris- ! iB
toeracy ran in their veins. “Asked one day if he knew |
Dick Merriwell, he looked blank for a moment as if {
the name was not familiar to him, and then, poising
his cigarette, murmured :
“Merriwell? Merriwell?
football fellow

Oh, yes, you mean the

the chap who pitches on the ’yarsity.

 

saeeeanaeee eg ae a

Certainly I know him by sight—nothing more. I un- (|
derstand he’s quite a common fellow—rather bour-
geois—-given to mixing with the proletaire. Of course

such chaps serve’a certain purpose in college. We're ile
willing that they should bang themselves to pieces for ss #
us on the baseball or the football field, but we hardly i) ;
care to know them, for it would prove most emb Jat KO

rassing were we compelled to introduce such men to
our particular friends or our relatives.’’

On the other hand, Dick Merriwell was not even
aware that such a man as J. Archie Ettinger existed
until Brad Buckhart returned home from the club one
evening both amused and disgusted over the fact that

him.

“TE ever I saw a sure- -enough’ snob, that there soft-
header hair- -parted- in-the-middle galoot Hs 1t,” dee
“When I found out why the gent
raised objections, I politel: r gave him my opinion of

 

 
 

committee myself.”
“Who is Ettinger?” asked Dick.
“Who is he?” blurted Brad. {Ask me!

    
    
   

He's ao 2%

He's. 4
one of those sickening critters that’s always trying toe
be something. they never were born to: be. What :
he needs a-plenty | is to have some of it taken ont of

       
      
 

 

     
 

“Do you ea iahete he’s from, Brad?”
“Nope; but 1 allow I can find out.”
“Find out,” | | ,
“What for, Leeds t
“Oh, it might prove worth lite.

     
       
 

The o¢casion

 
   

ae wouldn’t bother myself. any whatever about ee
gtoundhog,” said Brad; “but if. you want to nye
where he’s from I’ll inquire some.’ |
On the following day Brad told Dick he had feelers
that Ettinger claimed his parents had a summer es le
in Richfield, New York. :
Oh, Richfield,” said Dick. ‘Why, I Paes - to.
‘Phat must be. nea

     
  

  

     
 

  

 
 
 

  

   

  
 

a

 

 

Ses

-appear dignified.

LLP -TOP

Richfield. I'll drop my friend a line and make some
inquiries about this Ettinger.”

A week later Dick received a somewhat voluminous
reply to his letter. He read it aloud to Buckhart, and
they shouted with laughter over the facts they had
obtained in this manner.

“Brad,” said Dick, as he dropped the letter on the
study table, “it’s plain enough you were right in every
particular about J. Archibald Ettinger. He’s a snob.
Now I’m feeling like having a little lark, and if we can
catch that chap right we'll obtain more or ae amuse-
ment, and show him up at the same time.”

When he had listened to Dick’s plan, Buckhart
slapped his roommate on the shoulder, crying:

“That sure would be some sport, pard, and you’re
the gent to carry it through. You're the man to work
the trick. It will make little Archie squirm some.
You hear me gently warble!”

 

CHAPTER IL.

THE JAY.
At times Ettinger and his friends dropped in at a
particular public billiard parlor, in which, during cer-
tain hours, they had found they could enjoy a quiet
game much better than at the club, where there were

so many fellows who knew them and who were in-

clined to flock around the table.

One evening, shortly after dinner, Ettinger and

Moffatt secured a table in a far corner of the billiard
hall.

They were accompanied by Loring and Minge,
who found comfortable chairs and prepared to look on.

Loring secured a cue and seated himself beneath the
button string to

act as marker. Cigarettes were

lighted, and’this worthy quartette, having dined some-

what extravagantly at Moffatt’s expense, could not
wholly conceal the fact that the wine opened at caer

.

had gone to théir heads.
Minge, a small, insipid, short-chinned chap, was it-

clined to laugh immoderately over nothing at all, which

seemed to annoy Loring, who was endeavoring to
Moffatt was the only one who be-

Hoes ed no effect of the stimulant save by heightened

you beat me, ‘you know.”

‘color.

_ boasted a great deal.
am going to put it over’ you handsomely, Clar-
ence,’ he announced, as he handed his coat to the

attendant and selected a cue from a rack which had

been unlocked for them. “Last time we played I let

- ordinary chaps play straight three-ball billiards.

) know.

Ettinger’s tongue wagged freely, and he
_ mer?” asked Moffatt.

 
 
   
  
    
  
   
   
   
 
   
     
 
   
   
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
   
  
   
   
  
 
 
 

WEEKLY.

said Moffatt; “but 1
I rather fancied

“I know I beat you, Ettinger,”
was not aware that you let me do it.
you couldn’t help it.”’

“He! he! he!” giggled Minge, dropping his ciga-
rette. ‘Of course he couldn’t help it.”

Then he recovered the cigarette and carelessly put
the burning end into his mouth.

“Oh! Wee-ee-ee!’’ he squealed, bobbing up and
spitting the cigarette out. “My goodness! I burned
my tongue!”

“Then keep it still and give it a chance to cool off,”
growled Loring. “You've got a case of the tee-hees
to-night.” ;

“Oh, you unsympathetic fellow!” cried Minge. “If
you'd burned your tongue you’d make an awful rtum-
pus.” ‘

Ettinger balanced his cue as if weighing it care-
fully, then chalked the tip.

“Let’s play a real gentleman’s game,” he suggested.
“Let’s make it all carroms, Clarence. Only the most
Any
one can gather the balls at that game and run off a
tiresome. string.”

 

“Suit yourself,” said Moffatt. “I admit that vour
game has improved a great deal of late.” s

“I’m simply getting back into form, that’s all. You
see I lost my touch during the summer. At home we —
have tables, and J practice a great deal with my father,
who was at one time the recognized champion of the -
Madison Club, New York. Got so I could beat the
old boy, too. You see he’s losing form somewhat, for —
he doesn’t play as much as he did once. We always —
used to spend past of our winters in Nat York, but
the old fclks have abandoned the practice.”

“Where did you stop in New York?” asked Loring.
“At the Waldorf?”

“Oh, no—no, indeed,” answered Archie, with a
shudder of horror. “How can you fancy such a
thing! The Wa'dorf is very bizarre and common, you
My peopie always preferred the Holland, and
they still cling to it when they’re in the city. - That's”
a very fine, exclusive hotel. Why, you couldn’t ‘get the
governor ito any of those new, showy hotels.”

      
   
   
    
   
      
        
 
     
   
    
    

  
  

“Why didn’t you keep up your billiards this sum:

 

 
 

“Couldn’t, dear boy—couldn’ t, you know. Spent
the summer touring eee Hew eee with Cy rus {4

    
   

 
   
  
  
   
  
  
   
  
  
   
    
 
   
   
  
  
    
  
   
 

ter along, and the two Van Camp girls. You’ve heard
of the Van Camps?”

“T’ve eaten their canned stuff,” giggled

“Oh, not that Van Camp,” said Ettinger
fully. “I mean the railroad magnate—the man who
got the best of that tussle with Harriman. Then \there
was Billy Rives—he was with us part of the time. It
Next year I expect to tour in

linge.
disdain-

Was a great summer.
Switzerland.”

“Well, let’s play billiards,”
string ?”

eure,”

Archie poised himself gracefully, with his cue held
‘in a dainty manner, and. the white balls were sent roll-
ing down the table. The lower cushion returned them,
and it was found Moffatt was defeated! by an inch, .

“That’s the way to do it,”

pared to lead off. “It is always interesting to have
those things close.”’ ei

. “Tt’s always interesting to have everything close,”
; grinned Minge idiotically. “Let’s have a little close
_ harmony, fellows. Let’s sing.”

“If you want to get put out go ahead and sing,”

| said Loring. ;

3 POL, l'th so happy I must do something,” deel ared
- Minge. :
“Billiards are sb Fite tame, old chappies. Cawn’t
we do something else? By and by this dovely edge
‘will wear off, Let’s call on Bobby Blessington. He
always has something in his cellar ette. tees sa good
fellow. He will open for us.” ,

- “My dear Walt,’ said Ettinger temonstratingly, ‘ fi
don’t see why you should take so much interest in a
chap like Blessington: Really, you know, he’s quite
Fotdinary. , I understand jhis father isn’t particularly
well fixed—not worth more than four or five hundred
thousaind, at mdst. And it’s a well- Ne fact that
old Blessington made his money in soap.”

- “That was a clean way, ” ciooled Minge.

“The Blessingtons are nobodies, I understand. The
old man married a very ordinary woman, the daughter
if a truck ee Bob ee has no aha be-"

said Moffatt. “Ready to

 
 

 
 

  

  

  

  

  

 
  

 

ily. Vide dollawed bt with three ee and then

TIP TOP, WEEKLY.

smiled Archie, as he pre- |

hiah he made gracefilly. and,

 

“Oh, there’s no hurry,” was.the smiling answer.

Go ahead. There's plenty of time. I want to see what
you can do.”’

As the game progressed, they observed, to their sur-
prise, a few Yale men who came strolling through the ©
room. In time these men were joined by others, and
some of them began playing at an adjoining table, |
which annoyed Ettinger.

“why all
these fellows chose to drop in here at this particular
time ?
mon.

“I wonder,” he murmured frowningly,

Evidently the place is becoming somewhat com- — > |
you 4

“Maybe they’ve found

I used to regard it as rather exclusive,
know.”

“He! he!” laughed Minge.

out you're a regular patron of the place, Archie. | Per-

haps that’s what brings them here. You should be = |

flattered, old chap.” : fant
“But I’m not,” said Ettinger disdainfully. “I’m

not a person to be flattered at being fawned upon and VE
followed up by the rabble.” . | pee,
His annoyance increased when three or four of
Diek Merriwell’s particular friends strolled in and took
chairs in a row where they were quite near that cor-
ner table. Although Ettinger pretended that he barely
knew Merriwell by sight, he now betrayed that he not
only knew Dick’s friends by sight, but by name also, ft
“That fat-faced Bigelow is a very distressing’per- =}
son,” he muttered, having missed an easy shot and’ bh:
turned to Loring. “And Tucker, the fellow beside
him, is even more so. I really cawn’t play my. best, i
game with those men‘looking on. Hereafter I shall
Loss away from this place. I’ve really got to find’ |
another place where such annoyances do not exist, or Mi
give up billiards.” | i
There was a sudden stir in the room, and the eyes
of nearly every one were turned on two persons who -
nh just entered. One of these was Brad Buckhart..
at he Texan’ Ss conipanion was a person to attract atten- ra
tion almost anywhere. That he was a countryman of | be
a raw type seemed apparent at a glance. His long, ws
straw-colored hair flowed down over an amazingly
high stand-up collar, which rose almost to his ears.
His florid face wore that peculiar, indescribable ex-
pression which is characteristic of a cer tain class of ©
extremely verdant rustics. He had a big nose, deco- hi
rated on one nostril by a large seed wart.

 

 

    
    
     
    
     
     
        
    
      
     
      
       
  
   
 

 
 

   
      
         
   
   
  
 

Ae eye: .

       
 

 
   

    
 

pacittiens in ohana at what the saw. With.
Scot lips he exposed a mouthful of yellow teeth.
ity was nA Jetlow: 8 set-up, however, that arouse

    

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TIP

  

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The crown of the hat was
The
little short-cut swallowtail,

perched over one ear.
amazingly low and the brim astoundingly broad.
fellow’s

cOat was a queer
which looked as if it had been built for a person at
least a foot

iene 5

shorter than its qvearer. The waist line

f
i behind, marked by a pair of huge steel buttons,
threatened to crawl up the man’s shoulder-blades, and
the short sleeves allowed flaring shirt cuffs to sag to
_ the knuckles of either hand. The color of this garment
was faded bottle green. Beneath the coat was a double-

—

breasted vest, cut low so that it exposed a broad ex-
And

jaundice yel-

panse of stiffly starched shirt bosom. such a

shirt! The predominating color was a

low, red and black. The

dashed and slashed with
chap’s broad bow necktie was as bright red as a con-
flagration.. His trousers were skin tight over the hips
_and down to the knees, with flaring bottoms. On ‘his
feet were a pair of sizable, toothpick-pointed patent-

| | leather shoes. Indeed, had Buckhart’s companion been
+1 blacked up he would have appeared like a stage min-
wd strel darky. ie
.| — “Come on, Silas,” grinned the Texan, as he led his
companion forward, “I'll introduce you to some real
swell college men.”
“Em much obleeged, thank ye,”
- ina queer, cracked voice that was quite as comical as
his appearance. “I’ve allus’ wanted to meet up with
some of these ’ere college chaps what you read about
Be _ in the newspapers. I tole my Uncle Dudley I was sor-
_ ter going to sift in and git acquainted with,some of
‘em while I was a-visiting here in New Haven, but
he said I'd better look aout, for they was a purty tough
_ bunch, and they might try to play some pranks on.me.
| That didn’t skeer me a bit. I tole him I wa'n’t afraid
of the hull of Yale College, for I’d sorter cut my eye
teeth, and it would take a mighty swell critter to git
ahead of Silas Slocum, What [ wank to see is real |
- genuwine college swells—reg’ler big bugs.”
_. “There sure are some present,” declared Brad.
es observe several of that class at the corner table
der.”
“He! he! he!” stiichered Walter Minge.
Naot think of that freak? Why, he’s

 

piped the stranger

 

ut

yon-

  

“What do

s coming right over

  
 
   

  
  

ate Tid exasperating beyond endurance,”
ger. “Such a creature should be caged.”
_ “Here, Mr. Slocum,” said Brad, pausing near He,
table and apntne a gesture toward Archie, and his
companions, ‘ ‘are the very fellows you wish to see.
Those are real, genuine, blue-blooded college swells.”’

oy

said Bia

   

 

 
  

dad would wallop you when you come home ’cause you.

then, everybody ‘round. Richfield knows that oN Bill :

ae dress ye o this fashion.

     
   
  
  
  
  
   
    
  
    
   
   
  
      
  
  
   
  
   
  
   
   
  
  
   
  
  
 

WEEKLY. 5

his eyes rapidly. “You don’t really so! They

Be they real

say

don't look like anything much, do they?
‘ristocrats ?”’
“Let them

answered the Texan.

sure enough,”

tell it and they are,
“Waal, of all puling, insignificant critters, they're
sartainly the limit!
p inted
By this time the players at the adjoining tables had

I must confess that I’m disap-

 

monstrous disapp’inted.”

abandoned their games and gathered around, along
with the spectators,,
greatly amused.

all of whom were apparently
Ettinger and his friends, however,
were not enjoying the affair.
said Archie,
this game and get out.”
‘Moffatt, beginning to suspect a joke of some sort, —
was only too willing to’ do this, and he promptly put ©
up his cue.

“Clarence,” “T move that. we abandon

But now Silas Slocum was staring hard at J.
Archibald Ettinger.

“Waal, Dll be dinged!” he suddenly cried. “I’know
this feller. Darn my buttons if ‘taint Josh ‘Ettinger —
of Richfield! How be you, Josh? You remember me,
don’t ye?” )
_ He sprang forw ard with outstretched hand.

Ettinger gave him, a contemptuous glance and
turned his back. | i
“I never saw you before,” he hotly declared.

      
     
 

CHAPTER II.

ee ay

 
     
    

ay. ay. it can’t be you’ve forgut me, Josh,” ' pro-
eee Silas Slocum. “Why, I used to visit intaowna ~
I know you and your family. I knowed you when _
you was a little dirty-nosed, barefoot boy, and uster go.
fishing in the crick with an alder pole, andethen your —

      
 

 

 
         
  

  
    
         
    

didn’t hoe the taters or do something he axed ye to’
do. Your old man was purty hard on ye, I think, for
boys will be boys, especially when there’ s fishing. ‘Bu

    
     
    
 
 
  
  

1D ttinger—that’s your paw—ain’t gut. much feeling
He's been a purty hard-fisted, hard-working old skin-
flint of a farmer, but, I swan, I don’t see how he’s ever
scraped together enough money to send ,ye td colleg -
Never'd think to look a

      
   
    

      
   
   
     
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
   
 
 
    
    
     
         
     
          
       
       
    
       
        
 
 
       
 
         
     
 
 
 
   
  

6 AEP: EOP

pairs and a coat of sais But everybody round there
said Bill Ettinger was too doggone mean to spend a
dollar on ’em. I know your mother well. She was
the daughter of Screw-eye Boggs, the hoss trader.”
Ettinger had turned toward the speaker, and. now
his face, flushed at first, grew deathly pale.
“The fellow is crazy!” he said hoarsely. “He
should be locked'‘up! I never put eyes on hint be-
fore!” 3

“It’s a dreadful disapp’intment that you should have

you old-Bill Ettinger’s boy? Don’t your folks live in
_ Richfield, New York?. If you don’t come from that
town, then I must be mistook, though I really can’t be-
lieve it possible,”

Ettinger began to tremble, at a hunted look crept
into his eyes.
“I say I never saw you before!” he cried, his voice
st ane a little. . “Come, ae let’s hurry out of

this.” .

_ “Hold on, hold on,” urged Silas Slocum. “Don’t

be in sech a hurry. If I’m mistook I’m. willing to

‘pologize. If you-ain’t from Richfield. and your

father’s name ain't William Ettinger I’ll eat’ my
words. |
about you. They said you was chauffeuring an auto-
mobile for some swell folks and making a good thing
out of it. That’s a purty fine job, this chauffeuring
business, I reckon. It must pay ye well, or else you
—couldn’t a ‘on so much dog—you couldn’t sling so

much style.” |

. And Ettinger had told his college companions that he
had toured during the summer months with wealthy,
_ blue-blooded friends! He now saw Moffat and Lor-
ing casting inquiring glances upon him, while oer
the little fool !—continued to snicker. |

Of a sudden, a sickening sensation swept over sf
Archibald Ettinger. Through a haze he seemed to
s¢e himself shut in by a half circle of grinning faces
—the faces of Yale men. aby ae enjoying his

<7

 

 
 

  

he deception he had practiced. How he hated them!
_ But more than all he was infuriated against this
grotesque creature who had exposed him, For a mo-

 
 

.

 forgut me, Josh,” muttered Slocum. “TI don’t s’pose I.
can be mistook. Ain’t your name Ettinger? ‘Ain't:

. good-naturedly,

I was in that town this summer and axed

discomfiture.. They were élated over the exposure of
_ my word for it, won’t-you, Clarence ?”’

‘that I’m a’ liar,”

ment his rage almost led him into attacking Silas Slo--
‘cum—into edit eds to oe, the creature ee

_ ing to send you to’ college.
7 sees MoS Mees r

 

WEEKLY.

 

tion of a fictitious standing in the world, he had built
up beneath himself a false foundation which was now »
crumbling to a collapse that threatened to bury him
amid the ruins.

“It’s all a lie!’ he hoagsely breathed. “I swear on
my word of honor as a gentleman that I never saw
this person before! I suppose some one is trying .to
have some cheap sport with me. It must be you,
Buckhart. It is you! You’re nothing but the son of
a coarse cattle raiser, and it would be like you to try
this sort of a trick!’ |

“Why, now look here, Ettinger,” remonstrated Brad
“I wouldn’t get so sore if I were in
your boots and somebody invented a few fabrications
about me. You aver that this gent fabricates. I don’t
allow, then, that you live in Richfield, New York. I
don’t opine your father’s name is William, and of
course he couldn't be a farmer.

 

 

 

You've given it out —
some that your parents are people of high social stand- .
ing and a considerable amount of wealth. You've
sort of snubbed some certain chaps who didn’t make
any such pretensions, while you were getting in thick
and familiar with the blue bloods. It would be really |
too bad, you know, if it should pan out now that you
were just an ordinary fellow from the country with no |
legitimate claim whatever to high social standing and
a pedigree running back to the. Ark. I myself don’t
care a heap about this pedigree business, although I’m
aware that some do, and it seems to cut considerable
‘ice in certain cases. There sure‘are plenty of bounders
among us. Americans, and every day we hear of some
daughter of a newly rich rag peddler or something or,
other hooking up with a dilapidated, run-down, used-
up, no-good foreign count, or duke, or high /muck- —
amuck. This thirst for social recognition and distinc-
tion seems some amusing and pitiful to the average
independent, free-born American citizen. If you've —
been stung by the yearning for undeserved social dis- a
tinction and standing, i it’s unfortunate.” — eee
Moffatt placed a hand on Ettinger’s shoulder. |
“Tf you say the man lies, Archie, of course he does.”
_ “Ido say it—I do!” panted Ettinger. “You'll take.

“Tf you ain’t Josh Ettinger of Richfield, I'll own ie
cried Slocum; “but if you be Josh.
Ettinger, of Richfield, then I’ve tole the truth. Your
father and mother ate plain, honest folks that you |
ain’t gut no right to. be ashamed of. They ain’t no —
swells, but they’re just hard-working people, and
rather cal'late it cost them some squeezing and pinch-—
If you've been making ;

  
  
  

  
 

Ae

TIP TOP

Sie dB

duck with

bluff. that you was some rich ristocratic
parents behind ye, you orter be showed up. A feller
that’s they’ re. ‘risto-
crats.or hard-working farm folks, is a two-cent piker.
I’ve jest been a-looking you over a little closer, and I
want to add that I ain’t made-no mistake about ye.
You're the feller I took yer I‘olks who lie about
themselves and their standing in the world ginerally |
get found out, do, people has purty
poor opinions of ’em.
‘and bluffing it here at college, Josh, I advise ye to let
tp. What would the folks back home in Richfield ‘say
if they knowed about it? Why, they’d laugh their
heads off. It would make them roar to thihk of Bill
Ettinger’s boy trying. to be a swell and claiming beg

ashamed of his parents, whether

for.

‘and when they

 

 

hs
i te
tack

was a real ’ristocrat.’’

>”

“(ll waste no more words with this fellow,” mut-
tered Archie hoarsely.

He had secured his coat and donned it. ¢

i

 

 

“Come, Reece * he urged, “I’m going. Are you
coming with me?

“Moffatt seemed to hesitate, but apparently decided
“to stick by, Ettinger a little while longer. Loring and
“ Minge followed them, the latter still -snickering fool-

ishlye {

 

Barely had the quartette vanished when Buckhart
panned Silas Slocum on the shoulder and burst into a
roar of laugl iter.
“Pard,” he cried, “I sure opine you've taught that
ins » fellow a lesson and taken the starch out of him com-
eM pis: oe ; o'

| - Tucker, Bigelow, Jones, and others crowded around
Z the countryman, all langhing over the affair.

  
    
    

Tommy. “I, wouldn’t know you myself,”

“I was afraid,” said the fellow who had posed as
Silas Slocum, “that I might have
what, but evidently it went all right. I think I'll get
off this wig right away, for the fang is hot and un-
comfortable.”

  

    
   
 
 
 

  

  

tow-colored hair and gave a pull\ which caused the
whole mass to come off in his grasp, betraying the fact

iD if was a false wig

  

   

  

even. ‘the tes eyebrows were artificial.
“Silas Sloaum”

 
 

\ /

WEEKLY.

If you’ve been a-swelling round

- Minge still grinned idiotically.

You certainly are made up amazingly, Dick,” cried

overdone ahiadine:/ turning back now. The pitiful bluff must be kept up.

would be foolish, for it is always a

~ Ancient: Shir in hand, he buried his fingers in tite

¥ He hideous pbcioens was
Ends Ksliadichislaree teeth h: ad kesh Rival and ;

was none other than Dick (
cake ont a more words pasicd between

 
 
 
  
   
   
  
  
   
 
  
  
   
  
  
  
 
  
 
    
 
  
  
  
    
      
        
   

CHAPTER IV.

SINKING SANDS.

Words are scarcely adequate to convey a full con-
ception of Ettinger’s mental condition on leaving the
billiard hall, Perplexity, shame, wonderment, rage,
and fear filled his heart, threatened to choke. him,
weakened his limbs, and made him sick and giddy,
Stumbling, with such an excess of emotions, he fell
against Loring, who, iristead of giving him an arm in
support, drew away coldly. .

Archie could not fail to observe this action on the.
part of a fellow who had heretofore expressed friend-
ship for him. It gave the miserable chap such.a shock
as one mig ht rgcsive, if suddenly hurled from a warm,
comfortable couch into a tank of icé-cold water.

Tingling in every nerve, Ettinger straightened up
and. regained command of his faltering feet. | |

The white glare of an electric street lamp showed
him that Loring was scowling sullenly. Moffatt’s face
wore a somewhat stern and haughty expression, but

-

In that moment Ettinger felt that he hated all three a
of them with a feeling most intense. Of a ‘sudden.he
realized that there had never been hetween them. any
genuine, deep, sincere friendship, He knew that he
had sought 1 the society ‘of these chaps simply because of f
their supposed-to- -be superior standing in the world,
That natural good fellowship which always exists ‘be-
tween true friends had really been unknown to then ;
Out of pure and unselfish regard for another of the
quartette not a single man among them would hay
sacrificed himself in the slightest. . Ettinger. had
picked out ‘these men as his ‘associates for his own
selfish, advancement, and for. a brief moment he Ww
given a glimpse of the folly of it all. a

But he had chosen his course, and there could be no

 
   
 
 
  

   

  

 
 

     
     

“Were Ia fighting man,’ she said hoarsely, “I'd.
back there and punch somebody, But, of course, that
mistake whe
pene soils his. hands on ‘such oe common ct
tures,” ie es
hia es,’ ‘nodded Moffatt at “it ij is a mistake .
a Levin does sych a oie, “\

  

 
 

   
      
    
      
   
 
 
 
     
       
     

to keep his’ nerve,’ :
“There should be some way ae obtaining “ost cf
for.such insults,” be muttered thickly,

 
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
   
  
  
  
  
   
     
        
        
  
     
    
    
  
    
     
    
 
     
 

TP AOE

to Ettinger’s rooms, which were in a private house,
as he had claimed: such a place gave him more exclu-
siveness than was to be obtained in any dormitory.
Desperately determined to discover some method of
dispelling the doubts he knew had been awakened in
the minds of his companions, Archie racked his brain
duting that silent walk through the streets of New
Haven. He had invited them to his rooms, and they
had accepted the invitation without enthusiasm. He
felt certain Moffatt would ask unpleasant questions,
and he sought to decide on the best form of reply. He
was still doubtful and undecided as he turned on the
lights in his sitting room and mechanically invited
them to take chairs.
Although Ettinger had. three vaatengbeereodh, sit-
ting room, and bath—and these rooms were comfort-
ably furnished, there was no sign of special display
or luxury, for Archie had ever pretended to despise
such things. In appearance those rooms resembled
_ the rooms of many other college men in moderately
comfortable circumstances. The only feature lacking
was any display of athletic implements, such as boxing
_ gloves, tennis rackets, dumbbells, Indian clubs, or
- foils:
_ Archie wasgenuinely proud of his college colors.
| As soon as his companions were seated he brought
out a handsome teakwood case containing cigarettes
and passed them round. Moffatt took one gravely,
Loring accepted his without relaxing his frowning
~ face, and Minge giggled. 4
_ “By Jove!” said Archie, as he struck a match and
lighted /his own cigarette; “I feel the need of some-
thing to steady my Orns and cool me down aftér that
disgusting experience.” ,
_ Moffatt coughed behind his hand ‘and ee took a
deep inhalation from his cigarette. © 3
 Antawkward silence fell upon them.
~ Although he sought to maintain an air of outward
calmness, Ettinger felt something quivering and shiv-
ering somewhere within him. He moved a chair and
seated himself, still resolved to be calm and _self-pos-
sessed.’ After a time he stole a furtive glance at the
“ faces of his companions.
valyty, but quickly turned his eyes away, smiling hate-
uly as he gave another pull at his cigarette.
“T’ll have to hit that fellow yet,’ was the fierce
hought which flamed through Ettinger’s brain.
_ After ¢ few more moments of silence his\nerves sud-
denly gave way and he cried:
“Well, why doesn’t somebody say ssirigehtngl? :
“There! doesn’t seem to be a great deal. to sav just,

  

 
 

  

 
 

 
 
 

  

  

 
 

 

“business as I do.

There were, however, a number of banners, for

“Nor can Tucker be called one, even though he’has —

Minge was looking at him:

 

WEEKLY.

at present,” said Moffatt slowly.. “Of course it must
be plain enough to you that we are not the ones to
make an explanation.”-

“Then I suppose you think I ought to explain. What
is there to explain? You.know as much about this
It should be clear enough to you
that zt was some sort of a put-up job. Why did all
those fellows appear in that billiard hall to-night? It
was fully apparent that they came there expecting —
something to happen. The moment that common fel-
low Buckhart appeared in company with his fantastic
companion the chaps who were playing billiards J}
dropped their cues and there was evident anticipation
of sport. ‘Well, they had it—cheap, contemptible sport!
It We the sort of fun to amuse creatures of their
stamp.”

While these words were coming from his lips he was
aware that Loring, still sombre, watched him closely.

“Tsn’t it rather remarkable,” said Moffatt, “that you
should be picked out as the butt of such a joke,
Archie?” .

“T don’t know as it is.”

“Tt seems so to me.” | eee

“That man Buckhart has a grudge against me.” is

“You've never pad Bags dealings with him, have
you?” c

“No; I uotacd to have dealings with him—that’s
what’s the matter. I declined to serve on the same

 

club committee with him: In my estimation he’s the — drei

commonest sort of a fellow.” je he
“He’s a friend of Merriwell.” es
“Bah !dow does that elevate him? Who are Merri-

well’s friends? Look them over and see if you can
find one born and bred gentleman among them.
They’re the most ordinary fellows. He takes up : with.
chaps who obtain a little notoriety in athletics, and
such men form his circle of intimate friends.”

“Bigelow is hardly an athlete,” reminded Moffatt.

played on the ’varsity nine. But we’re not discussing ee
Merriwell and his friends. Who or -what they are
‘should be a matter of greatest indifference to us.” |
c “Tt is to me,” av erred Ettinger. “Still, 1 know that :
man Buckhart put up this miserable job, and doubtless —
he was encouraged by Merriwell, who dislikes me, I
presume; because I have never chosen to associate with _
him. Such fellows are always envious of men of “
higher standing.” |
“Sometimes they are,” nodded Moffatt; “but I pre-
sume, Archie, you are aware of the fact that many a
fellow lays claim to social standing who has no right <

   

   
PPA OE

Some of these pretenders succeed in de-
They are clever, and they -play the

to do so.
ceiving people.
game well. Such imposition is really very contemp-

tible.”
a y 9 . - dnt
“T hope you don’t mean to infer that ——”
“Now don’t blaze, Archie,’’ remonstrated Moffatt.

“You know we have accepted you at your own valua-
tion. ‘ We have never taken pains to investigate your
claims.’”*

, “T’ve made no claims,” flung back Ettinger. “What-
| ever you have learned about me or my family has
| come about through natural intercourse. Whenever I
P, have spoken of my people or my ancestors I have been
led to do so in the course of ordinary conversation with
men I regarded as friends and whom I took to be my
social equals.”’

q “You have shown us pictures of your ancestors,”
said Moffatt. ‘You have told us about certain famous
ancestors on both sides of your family. According to
your volunteered statements, your parents are people

country home in Richfield, New York, and who spend
a great de ak of their time traveling in foreign lands.”
“Just so,” nodded Ettinger.

Moffatt rose and stepped to the mantel shete from
which he selected two photographs, one of a clean,
shrewd-looking, handsome gentlernan of middle age,
the other representing a lady who was possibly a few

| © years younger than the Sentient

i “These,” said Clarence, “are, according to your

; mo) word; the™pictures of your father and mother.”

-« — “Well, what about it?” asked Ettinger huskily.

4 | “They are fine-looking people,” said Moffatt, as he
4 : studied first one photograph and then the other, after
| which he gazed sharply at Ettinger; “but it’s rather

"singular that you seem not to bear the slightest re-
|. semblance to either.” |
sy + -, . Minge snickered, but turned it into a sneeze.
| * Archie. felt his cheeks burning and knew with anger

 

that he was hot and flushed.

_ “When—when I was younger,” he faltered,
body claimed that I looked like my mother.
acl developed a strong resemblance to my uncle, Hamil-
ton Ettinger, who for some reasorv has little of the

family physiognomy.”

_ Moffatt replaced: the photographs upon the mantel
“He had tossed the remnants of his cigarette fhto the
| fireplace. Turning, he faced Archie.

“Of course

“Such things happen,” he said quietly.

 

WEEKLY. 9

in moderately comfortable circumstances who own a '
Stranger to me.

_ field in all his: life.

“every-
Later on

by morning. Good night.”

Pike $ : f : ;
there was no truth in that hayseed’s statement that,

       
   
    
   
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
      
    
  
 
   
   
   
 
 
   
  
   
   
 
   
   
 
 
      
   
   
  

instead of touring with some friends during the past
summer, you were employed as a chauffeur?”

“Cerainly not,” “Me a
chauffeur ! If you're
inclined to believe the slanderous lies which my enemies
have faked up against me I’m perfectly willing you
should. Henceforth, however, I’m done with you.”

“Don’t be so hasty, Archie. You had better. hold
your temper, old chap. Already, through the way you
have taken this thing, you have succeeded in conveying
ary impression quite different from what you wished”. » 9

“That’s right,” put in Loring suddenly. “If you
hadn’t been so upset over it, it might have seemed ab-
solutely ridiculous to me; but certainly your behavior
in the billiard hall was suspicious. You looked guilty,
Ettinger. You were completely upset.”

“Admitted,” nodded Archie, trying hard to maintain
command of himself. “‘Who wouldn’t have been? I
knew it was a trick to make game of me before a lot
of fellows' who were rejoicing over it. I swear on my
word that Silas Slocum, whoever he is, is a total
I don’t believe he was ever in Rich-
Every word that he.uttered was
false. If you fellows are inclined to believe such a —
grotesque creature as that in preference to me, yOu pe
welcome to do so, and in future I'll look for other —
friends.” \

“Tt ought to be easy enough,” said Loring, “for you
to prove that the man lied. It should be a simple mat-
ter for you to give us such proof. Why don’t you do
that ?”

Ettinger leaped to his feet. i

“Why don’t I do it?” he exclaimed. “Because I~
don’t choose to do it! Because it’s absolutely unneces- —
sary! If I wished I could give you proof enough, but —
the mere fact that you can entertain any doubts aes
gusts me with you all! A short time ago I was in-
sulted publicly ; now you have insulted me here i in my
own rooms. Eten an apology from you can’t make me
forget “that. Sometime you’ll find out your mistake
and regret it. I ape you'd better go, gentlemen.”

“Oh, come now,” put in Minge. “What’ s the use
to have a blooming tow? I haven’t said anything, you
know.” ts

“No, but you have grinned Tike a fool. You've”
seemed to find something highly amusing in this ai-
fair, Minge. Gentlemen, there’s the door.”

“Oh, very well,” said Moffatt. “You'll cool dow

cried Ettinger furiously.
Moffatt, you’re insulting me!

  

        
 
    
     
  

 
 
 
  

 
  
  

   
  

   
       
      

Loring followed Moffatt without a word.’ At th
door Minge turned ta look back and gig ggled again.
   

Ettinger maintained a digriified pose of anger and
injured innocence until the door had closed behind
them. The moment they ‘were gone, however, he col-
lapsed, dropping upon a chair and covering his face
with his hands.

CHAPTER. Y.

THE SHAME OP IT.

-» Archie Ettinger felt the sands sinking and slipping
away beneath him. Vainly he had sought something

to which he could cling for support. He felt like one
dangling on the verge of a black abyss into which

4 he must certainly. plunge. - Nothing could fill him with

_ greater fear than the knowledg xe that complete expo-
sure of his sham was unavoidable.

- His humble birth had always been, ] his ; shame, Eyen
tii his boyhood days he had felt hurl iation because
there were other boys whom he knew to be in better cir-
‘cumstances than himself, and who sometimes. treated
‘him as an inferior, . Such treatment had stung him
_ deeply and made him long for prestige, power, and the
ability to retaliate.

J) This longing grew and strengthened with the pass-
‘ing years. He was still in grammar school when he

  

‘go away to some great university. He knew that very
few of those boys who had sometimes snubbed. him

would do this, The most of thet would be content
0 acquire an ordinary education and take up. such
«business duties as fortune might bring to them.
: would become a’ college man.
a and snub them and bisa them how super ior he really

   
 
   

  

  

 
 

; When he began dslibvg Sian to’ bite parents he was

  

met with such misfortunes and reverses as _made it

ng his son to college. Furtherinore, he: was a plain,
iterate farmer, who scarcely believed’ that a college
i education was beneficial to any young Tae yi
you might as well git that notion out of | your.
noddle, Jésh,” he had said. “I ain’t going to waste any
ard-earnt money sending you off to one of them tere,
lleges to learn folderol. Sides’ that, Tm going to.
ed you right here on the old farm. You're gitting to

  
 
   
 

 

OW,” You’ ve cost me enough: bringing you np, ahd |

ou’ re ens:

    

TIP TOP WEEKLY.

  
 

~thize

studied hard. to fit himself for college, and | 11S obsti- ae

conceived the ambition to fit himself for, college and

But —

‘He would come back

_countr 7 church.

last he did get away to college he might. buy clothes and

iven no encouragement, for William Ettinger | had |
he had bluffed it, permitting no one to obtain a knowl-
m wholly. unlikely that he could ever think of send- |
he. had appealed to his parents for amore moijey,. and my
his letters had contained such persuasive etry

purty big boy, and you can be some help to me_

uightér be willing to pay back what you can ‘be.
Arter that a “won't Nery, no

    

 

jurisdiction over you. This farm was run down when
I took’it, and I’ve had hard work building it up. It’s
been a long pull, and scratch gravel from the very start, =

 
  
 
   
    
   
  
    
 
   
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
    
   
   
 

There was a mortgage to be paid off, and I’m just be-
ginning to see my way clear. When I’m gone, if you
stick by me and act right, you'll git the old place.” ! 4
“T don’t want it,’ the boy had said. “Tl never be |
afarmer. I hate
Nevertheless, despite his distaste for farming, his °
father
him.
a day in the fields; but always
and escaped the moment the vigilance of William Et-—
tinger was relaxed. He had fished the streams and
dreamed on their banks. Those dreams were of the —
time to come when he would be somebody in the : Be
world, and such dreams have often spurred lads in
similar circumstances to worthy ambitions or efforts.
-. It was his mother who had finally come to sympa- be ef
with him, and ta her he owed it that at last Wil-~ ‘
He had» :

farming.”

had ‘persisted in seeking to make a farmer of
Barefooted and resentful, he had worked many i ae
he dropped his labor —
a

re

liam Ettinger had been coaxed into yielding.

 

nate determination finally won something like respect t
from his father. sig oh

It had cost: Ettinger’s parents a great deal. to send: ‘
himto Yale. . He knew they had “pinched and saved”
and depriv ed themselves of a sre at many things that
he might carry his plan into execution. - He had seen
them wearing shabby clothes, his eater 5 garments
patched and his mother’s: dresses reduced to that ex-_
treme which catised her, to quit areas the ae

 

      
      
 

        
     
 

He, too, had worked and beayed so. that ute at

a eee - :

      
 

other necessities. ;
And ds the obscure son of humble Carney people
Ettinger had come to New Haven. Yet at the outset —

 
    
    
    
  

    

edge of his, Straitened circumstances. ,

Repeatedly _

 

        
 

     
  
 

  
 
 

_ that the results were almost satisfactory.

But his mother had written that it would be i impos-
sible to pay his way through a second year. Neverthe-
Tess, no. college acquaintance of his knew when he k
New Haven at the close of his freshman year that his
chance of returning was extremely slim. He left pe
gmp: that ‘ would ee come sas a

     
  
   
  
    

 
    
 

tie

 

mer home, a steam yacht, and half a dozen motor cars.
Ettinger earned the money which he received. At the
same time he demonstrated to his parents that nothing
could turn him from his purpose to go through college.
Furthermore, he showed them that he was ready and
willing’ to assist himself.

During that summer Ettinger discovered that one
method of earning considerable money was to become
a chauffeur. Much of his time was spent in cleaning:
and polishing the automobiles of his employer, and he
became friendly with the rich man’s chauffeur and
mechanician. They taught him to drive and to repair
a motor car. By the end of the summer he had ac-

quired more knowledge in this line than is possessed
by the average chauffeur. 5;

Making a flying visit home ere returning to college,
he had his chance to talk matters over with his par-
ents. His father had sought to dissuade him, but, on
finding that it was useless, agreed to the boy’s: plan.
It was his mother, who whispered to him

BO estes eS ££. eer inca ei iene inne aegis So TS eS

Astees
“

-
ee na

aera

however,

| secretly that they had sold off a small strip of timber

‘ land and thus obtained some money, which was to be

On doled out to him as he needed it. |

s Immediately Ettinger struck for a sum which made
a _ his father gasp. :

1, “I’ve got to have it, dad,” he said. “I managed to
| squeeze through as a freshman, but as a sophomore
I’ve just got-to live differently. I can’t starve and
scrub along as I did the first year.”

He enumerated many things which he called neces-
sities and made an estimate of their cost. William
Ettinger groaned and sought to cut down that estimate,
but finally went into his pocket and handed over the
money. .

Z So Archie came back flush, and in his sophomore
_ year he dropped a number of those fellows with whom
he had been friendly,,courting the society of others
who were more to his liking. Little by little he built
“up beneath him that insecure’ foundation of sand. He
acquired the art of “making a front.” In a queer
second-hand shop he picked up the old daguerreotypes
and the miniature, and for each of these he invented a
plausible story. Thus pictures of unknown persons
became the likenesses of his aristocratic ancestors.
6 ‘plausible and clever were his statements that no one
thought of questioning them.
Intoxicated by his success, Archie wosclinal to find
his friends and associates among the most exclusive
college men.
He was a faker of undoubted cleverness.

 

 

 

So

It really seemed so very simple and easy! |

But always in such schemes there is a flaw,.and the.

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iE

man who lifts himself thus by his boot straps is liable
to suffer a severe fall.

During the summer following his sophomore year
Ettinger obtained a position as chauffeur at a hundred q
dollars a month and his expenses. This sum, however, g
did not represent the amount he secured, for he had
learned all the tricks of dishonest chauffeurs, who buy
gasolene, oil, and supplies of various sorts at one price
and turn them in to their employers at another price.

In this practice such rascals are aided and abetted by
dishonest garage men, who make out fictitious bills ‘
and permit the chauffeurs, in consideration of patron- a
age, to get. the difference. It is not the garage man
who always fixes the price of supplies “as billed to the
owners of automobiles; in most cases it is the drivers
of cars who do this. If gasolene is fourteen cents a.
gallon and oil sixty, these are billed one at eighteen or
twenty cents, the other anywhere ftom seventy-five
cents to a dollar. And when the unsuspecting car
owner settles his bill at the garage the “rake-off” is
passed over to the chauffeur.

It must not be fancied from this that there are no
conscientious chauffeurs and no honest garage men;
but it is asserted that a surprising number of both:
classes are crooked. i

Ettinger likewise secured a rake-off on every repair
job that was done upon his car. And when he found, —
near the close of the season, that-he needed still more :
money, hé deliberately put his car out of commission in
order that there might be a big bill for work done
upon it. Of the amount paid for this work Archie’.
received exactly ‘one-half. |

Thus it was that at the beginning of his junior year
Ettinger returned to New Haven flush and haughty |
affd prepared to make a still better bluff. He little
dreamed, however, of what would follow when he
aroused the resentment of Brad Buckhart. ee

Now he was up against it. Despair had fastened
upon him, for he was convinced that doubts had been
awakened in the minds of his chosen associates, and he
foresaw that Moffatt would investigate. In his rage —
and apprehension he actually shed tears.

To him it seemed that nothing more terrible tHar
exposure could happen. Héhad snubbed those humble
fellows who would haye been friendly wéth him re-
gardless of his social:standing, and now, were he to
be dropped by the class he had chosen for companions,
he must find himself without a single friend in college.
Further than that, the story would become public: and
they would laugh at him, They would call him “the
pretender,” “the bluffer,” the faker’! ‘

 

 

6

 
 

 
 

      
    
    
       
    

   

  
  

ee ae

IZ

es Up and down his room Ettinger paced. Sometimes
- ‘he muttered to himself, sometimes he ground his teeth
‘together, sometimes he sobbed and swore. Never in
his life had he suffered so keenly,

“Buckhart is responsible,” he declared.
he find that freak who knew so much about me?
fellow pretended he had known me in Richfield, but I
never saw him there in all my life. 1 can’t imagine
how he learned so niuch about me and my parents.
_ How did he know I was a chauffeur last summer? I
should have knocked him down with my cue.”

Ithwas long after midnight when he finally undressed
and tried to sleep. It was a losing battle, for each time
* that he closed his eyes and courted s To the thought
of what was coming stabbed him like a knife and his
eyelids popped wide‘open. He turned, and tossed, and

groaned. He sat up and stared at the bedroom win-

dow, through which pie the light of a distant street

“Where did
The

Jamp.
_ “There’s only one way out of i
AT ve got to leave college. I must bi i aiehar: else.
a must go where I’ m not known.
ver again. Oh, curse the wretched luck!”

_ And when the morning light came creeping,
leaden, through his window he had not yet slept.

he whispered.

d ull and

 
 

CHAPTER VI.

Pi we OSES eS Tg Re Oey

{

Ettinger dreaded the coming of day, for he felt that
brought so much: nearer. the time when every one

  

uld expose him for the, fraud he was, as acid eats
ray a cbating
yhich it hides. ff ek i

 
 

 
 

  

ath.

  

ater made him shiver and caused his teeth to chatter.
: ee to see the reflection of his own, face i ina

   

, aried ot noel so inl of Tate? ;

  

aces, ne chitin Bed
towel lock aioe! the hour and then a bell I pealed,

 

I'll have to begin all.

dignant I am by keeping away.
must know of his mendacity—the time when. truth .

of gold and reveals the baser metal

‘was equally as bad, some one who

But it seemed that all the blood in his sh had
ozed out through his pores, and the touch of tepid |

    
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 

WEEKLY.

but Archie's ears were deaf to these sounds.
would have to leave New Haven.
the humiliation of being snubbed*by the fine friends he
had made. Nor could he endure the knowledge that
those chaps he had snubbed himself were rejoicing over
his downfall and holding him in contempt which would
prevent them from acknowledging that they had ever
To him

Yes, he
He could never face

known him even as a speaking acquaintance.
exposure as a pretende?, an impostor, a charlatan,
seemed everl more bitter than death.

As the breakfast hour drew near he thought of that
little circle of his exclusive, aristocratic friends who
would gather, after their usual manner, to eat, and chat,
and gossip in the cosy private dining room where they,
as a club, were served alone. |
—Moffatt, and Loring, and Minge. Of course the
others would have heard of the affair in the billiard.
parlors, and they would ask questions, Archie’s ab+
sence would be noted and commented upon. . They
would express their fears that they had been imposed:
upon by a very common fellow who really had no
right to become one of their company. *

For a few moments-he thought he would face them
at the breakfast table, for that would silence their

_ tongues and show them that he still held his head high by
‘and considered himself the equal of the best among

them.

But his nerve had‘ atin weakened, and E etd:

- not summon courage sufficient for such an action.

“No,” he said, “T’ll show them how injured and in-
I couldn’t eat, any-
how. If I tried I’d have to swallow food that repulsed

me.”

He longed io go chit, but feared to do so lest he: ©

should ineet some of his former associates, or, what

affair in the billiard parlors.
gageed at the second whiff and gave it up.

Then came some one knocking at the door.
sound shocked him, and he stood like one turned to

‘stone, making no reply. ‘

1

Rat-tat-tat !—the knock was repeated. 8 Hi ae

Moffatt would be there |

had witnessed the
He tried to smoke, but’ —

The i

“Who can it We?” speculated Archie w onderingly.. ‘
p ae

be “Who could wish to see ine at this hour?”

His curigsity was great, but not sufficient at onee : to ;
overcome his dread.

-

cc Buti the person was insistent, and the knocking con-
. tinued. yer es
Summoning all his nerve, ctl turned the key j in
Loe lock and opened.the door slowly. ;

   

    
       
    
   
   
        
      
        
      
    
    
          
 
    
    
   

 

         
     
      
 
   
    
   
  

| ? | “TIP TOP

‘The fellow outside pushed against it, and in the
semi-gloom of the hall Ettinger recognized Minge,

At first he was tempted to push the door shut in the
fellow’s face, for among his three companions of the
previous night no one had irritated him more than
Minge with his idiotic giggle and grin.

“I say, old chap,” said Minge cajolingly,
a minute. I want to tell you some-

“let me in
T want to see you.

thing.” )
: Archie permitted him td push the door open and
a¥y © enter. :
Minge tried to assume a friendly, sympathetic air,
_ but when he smiled Ettinger cried:
an “Stop it! Don’t giggle! Don't grin at me, Minge!
a’ If you do, I'll forget that I’m a gentleman and punch
ne you!”
a ; “Oh, come now, Archie, old boy,” pleaded the caller,
oe “don’t go off the hooks. I know it must have been
deucedly annoying, but really, you’d better hold your
_ temper and take it easy.”
}.-. “Take it easy! Take it easy!” palpitated Ettinger.
ae “You've got a nerve to talk like that! Asif I’m the
-}  -man to stand for such insults from my particular
| friends!”
“). “T didn’t say anything, you know. I kept still.”
1. *But you laughed. Every time 4 looked at you you
| gritined like a hyena.”

, “That was the wine, Archie. I’ couldn’t help it.
‘Tt always affects me that way. Say, old boy,
pee. deuced | bad.. Really, you’re looking shocking.
_ this narsty business must have upset you dreadfully.
But aah t you mind. If you're all right you'll come out
on top.”
“And will that make insults taste any the. sweeter?

Of course I’ll come out on top; that can’t be other-
wise, I’msnot worrying over that, It’s the know ledge

 

you're

7
te

   

a creature as that person who called himself Slocum—
would take his word instead of mine—wogld even al-

  
  

 

; iinet “I thought you ought to know right away.
- You will find I'm going to stick by you yet a while,

old chap:
of everybody that you spoke the truth when you
‘claimed yeu ‘didn’t know Slocum and had never seen

  

   

really was. He looked ‘like a freak, didn’t he? He
looked like a creature from the vaudeville stage. Well,
now hold onto yourself and hold’ on hard, Archie. He

quivering so much that his voice shook. ~
; |

"that I have friénds who would take the word of such

know about thi contemptible, puerile trick, and) it
- ought to make them feel proud of themselves to think
that they took any stock in that low fellow’'s words.” }

low him to awaken a doubt eee me. That’s
what’s the matter.”
“ve got something to tell you about him,’’ said.

Already it’s been proyen to the satisfaction

- temptible per formance!

 
 

7

 
 
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
   
   
   
   
   
 
  
   
   
  
  
  
   

WEERLY. | cs ae

further investigation? He clutched Minge by the
shoulder.

“What do you mean?” he demanded. “Tell me.”

“Now keep cool,” pleaded the little chap. “You've
got to keep cool, though it will bé pretty hard to do
so. when you hear all about it. You were right in
thinking that business a put-up job. You were right in
rene Buckhart had planned to make sport. of you.”

SREP it!’ said Archie hoarsely.

3ut you'll gasp when I tell you w ho Silas’ Slocum

was Dick Merriwell!”
In spite of Minge’s warning,’ Ettinger staggered.
“Merriwell,” he mutteked—“Dick Merriwell? Im-
possible!’ ae
“Tt’s a fact,” giggled Minge. “You know that fel- —
low is really a clever actor. This isn’t the first time
he’s played such a trick, His brother was a stage :
actor at one time, and Dick Merriwell must have con- —
siderable cleverness in that line} for he made himself _
up to look like a jay, and no one who was not aware 6 Ofiy
it succeeded in penetrating the disguise. He certainly
had‘the mannerisms of a Joshua, and he disguised his _
voice completely.” 77
“How

do you know this, Minge?” asked Archie,
5 g

“Everybody ig laughing about it. As soon as we «.
rybody gning

       
     

were gone Merriwell pulled off the disguise right —
there in the billiard parlors. It’s straight sores old J
fellow.” i ine

       

1

 

   

2 Bits mumbled Ettinger, “how did he know-
~ He checked himself at this point, Wondering how
Meriwelt had come to know so much about him, his»
history, and his people, he had nearly expressed his”
perplexity in words. Turning away, he walked once |

across the room and back.

“Well,” he said, carefully choosing bia words, ae
hope Moffatt and Loring are satisfied. I presume they

   
     
     
 
    

 

    
 

 

      

     
     
    

    
   
 
     
    
   
 
  
 
 

“Yés, they know about it,” nodded Minge.
-“Ffe ‘shall suffer for it!” cried Ettinger, thinking
‘of Merriwell. “He shall pay dearly for such a con-
I'l show him that he can't
joke with a ‘gentleman! I'll teach him to Rey his
, pranks on fellows of his own glass!” -
“What will you do?” asked lactis caller.

  
   
    
 
 

   
  
 
 
       
    
  
 
 
 
   
 
  
  
   
     
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

 

14 ALP? BOE
fight him, you know, for he’s an athlete and a scientific
scrapper.”

“T haven’t decided what I’ll do,”
you may depend upon it, and you may tell your friends,
that I'll do something.”

“Better not be too hasty, old. chap. Better go slow.
Your friends will stand by you, you know. Such lies.
__ about you won’t do any harm. ‘We'll prove they were
f lies, for Moffatt has written to some one in your town,
Richfield, to get the facts.”

A moment before Ettinger had been strong and
fearless in his indignation, but now his knees nearly
gave way beneath him.

“Moffatt has written?” he hae in a whisper.
“When—when did he write?”

“Last night,” chirped Minge cheerfully. “We talked

it over. We decided it was only justice to you and to
- ourselves to get at the truth. Moffatt wrote the post-

master at Richfield, asking a few plain, innocent ques-
tions about your father, William Ettinger, and his
property. The postmaster can’t suspect for an instant
the motive behind those questions, which must seem

said Archie; “but

. that he will make an immediate and truthful answer.”
-‘ While these words were being spoken Ettinger
_ fought inwardly again to get control of himself. =~
“Extend my thanks to Mr. Moffatt for his deep in-
terest,” he said, putting as much sarcasm into his
_ words as he could command. “That was a,pretty ac-
_ tion for a gentleman and a pretended friend. I appre-
_ ciate it greatly.”

“Huh?” grunted Minge, surprised. “You mustn't
_ take it that way. Don’t you see it’s going to be the

best thing? It will settle the whole business.”

“Ves, it will settle the whole business,” nodded
Archie, “and it will settle Mr. Moffatt with me.
- Henceforth we’re strangers. . Kindly tell him so.”
“Oh, no, never! That won’t do—really it won't.
~ You see Moffatt meant the right thing.”

_ “No matter what he meant, he did the thing that
I'll never forget or forgive. When he gets his an-
me, _ swer from Richfield he will find out that he was.a fool.
I say I’m done with him, Minge.”

_ Archie drew himself up to his full height and struck
a pose of injured innocence and intense indignation.

_ “Gee!” said Minge. “I shouldn’t have told you. It
was a mistake. Now I suppose Moffatt will get hot.
Oh, I’m in a mess! Say, old fellow, don’t take: it like
this—please don’t! Come on to breakfast, and we'll
laugh the whole thing off as a ridiculous joke perpe-
E Femme by a very one chap. That’s the proper

 
 
  

 
 

 

innocent enough to him, and therefore it’s probable,

   

WEEKLY. ee

thing ‘to do. :
night.”

“TI should have smashed Dick
head with the butt of my cue!”
[’ll not go to breakfast with you, Walt.
pose to sit down at the table with a*fellow like Moffatt,
who can allow his confidence in me to bé shaken by
any such dirty trick.”

“I’m sure he will apologize.”

“No apology will heal the wound to my honor,
clared Archie haughtily.

Merriwell over the
“No,
I don’t pro-

rasped Ettinger.

” -de-

Finding at last that words were unavailing, Minge
reluctantly and sorrowfully departed.

“The jig is up,’ said Ettinger huskily, as he heard
the front door close behind the visitor.

CHAPTER VII.

A DESPERATE MAN.

In time, despite his dread, curiosity drove Ettinger
from his rooms. As yet, he told himself, there was
no certain proof that he had played the deceiver and
knave, and those fellows who were aware of the trick
must fdney it no more than a clownish joke which had
caused him some annoyance. At least two or more
days must pass before Moffatt could receive an answer
to his letter, and in the meantime he sities keep up the
bluff by a brazen effort. :

He dreaded crossing the campus, but, once having”

set himself to do so, he maintained a proud and
haughty air. , :
Midway he discovered with sudden consternation
that Moffatt and Loring were approaching by the same
walk. They must meet face to face, and near the spot
of their meeting stood a little group of students, chat-

ting,
The. impulse to turn and take to his heels was mas-.

tered, for that would betray a lack of courage which
must make matters look decidedly hazy for him.

And so as Loring and Moffatt drew’near he re-

garded them with cold eyes, his face grim and stony.» ’

“Oh, hello, Ettinger,” called Moffatt pleasantly,
while Loring nodded and smiled.

But Archie did not open his lips. Still. staring at
them in that freezing thanner, he gave them the cut
and*passed on.

Behind him he heard the group of students laughing,

but he did not look back.

“They’re highly amused, the louts!”’ he whispered,

4

‘That’s what you should have done last

 

3

 

fy

Sm WE er oe ee ea el
~ 5 x
. ie ve

mat ppemeng dertei =

 

 

       
     
    
   
   
   
    
 
    
      
     
   
   
   
    
       
      
     
     
    
       
 

“TIP TOP

“They’re pleased over what they consider a fine joke.
I owe it all to that fellow Merriwell!’

In truth, resentment was torturing him to such an
extent that he really longed to perpetrate bodily injury
upon Dick Merriwell, whom he regarded as: the cause
of his present predicament. Not yet had he come to
realize that he had brought it upon himself by his folly

 

 

 

 

.

in pretending to be what he was not.

. The campus left behind, he strode on through the
as streets. Some one hurried after and overtook him.

r Spoken to by the fellow who had followed, he turned
|} and saw a chap whose face was familiar but whose
{| name he did not know. |
" . “I'd like to have a few words with you, Bs

ei the stranger.

’ “I’m in a hurry,” declared Archie, suspicious of the
| fellow. fete

Ly “Tl walk along with you, then, My name is Rod-
| erick Morse.” |

hip “T don’t think I’ve ever met you.”

| “No,” said Morse, ‘‘we’ve never met, but that doesn’t

|’ “make any difference. In,a way we're in the same

boat eboat.””

ee “What do you mean?” ,

“You've got a grudge agaitst Merriwell, so have I.
| I presume you’re pretty sore on that man? So am I.
4s 3 I fancy you'd like to soak him, and so cys I. There-

‘ fo fore, you see, we're in the same boat.”

ti “Oh, a man of Merriwell’s calibre is beneath my no-

Pay tice,” said Ettinger.
| “That may be, but you ¢an’t help noticing him just
+ the same. I’ve heard of the little game he put up on —
C _ you. He had a lot of sport at your expense, didn’t

mee ete”

  
 

“imagine it aust fave seemed sport to him.
ri did me no harm whatever.”

“Well, I’m surprised to find you look at it that
; way,” said Morse, disappointed. “He*got his crack
~ at me all right. I presume he thinks me down and out.
\ ‘He dewared me to help along his particular friends.

  
    

_ “Evidently,” said Ettinger, “he has hurt you, even
though he failed to harm me.”

“He's made trouble between you ‘and your friends.
as “1a saw you refuse to speak to two of them on the cam-
pus. In that way he’s certainly done some harm,”

 
   
  

   
 
 
 

Aung a gentleman, I should feel some resentment to-
ward any one who would take stock in the preposterous
and silly joke of Merriwell. Those men realize their
ae how, but that doesn’t soothe me in the least.”

It.

_ “Perhaps that ’s frue,” admitted Archie. “Naturally,

: Only for him I fnight have made’ the eleven this year.” _

_ public some decidedly unpleasant facts concerning your

~Buckhart claims that they were facts.
you won’t be riding your high horse much longer.”

    
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
     
    
   
   
   
    
     
     
    
 

WEEKLY. ¢ 15

“Then you are sore? You're trying td hide it, but
you're mighty raw, just the same. I know it. You
and I are only two of a great many fellows who feel
the same way toward Dick Merriwell. I’ve taken
pains to hunt them out. That man is popular. with the

 

great majority of students, but

“It’s usually a chéap chap who is popular with the
masses. In order to obtain such popularity a fellow
has to associate with them and bring himself down to.
the level of Tom, Dick, and Harry. I’ve never held
Merriwell in high estimation, and I certainly hold him
even lower at present.” |

“You'd like to get even with him. There’s no de-
nying it, Ettinger. Well, perhaps I can show you how
you'll get an opportunity. Have you ever heard of the
Ams?”
“The Ams?”

pe Gage 4

“Don’t think I have. What are they?” | Ge

, “They are a body of men who’ have no sy mpathy
is Miletus or his following. They’re tha anti-,
Merriwell crowd, and that’s why they call Wenner
the ee M stands for anti- Merriwell, you see.’

“Go. on,” said Ettinger, with faint curiosity.

“AS yet,” said Morse, “there is no real ‘organization |
of the Ams, but that’s bound to come. We don’t pro--
pose to make any secret of the fact that we’re not in
sympathy with Merriavell and his bunch: Furthermore,
we intend to use our influence against those fellows.
We intend, to fight against this oes that is pane |
everything its own way.’
not in sympathy mais that crowd to join us.
why I: spoke to you.
“My dear man,”

That

    
        
 
 
 
  

 
   

men, for it weld necessitate gantiliatity swith fellows
of all stages and stations in life. Even while I ma
sympathize with ‘the Ams, I must Hetiine to becom
identified with them.” ! é ip

Morse eyed him sidewise as they walked along t toe
sath Suddenly he began laughing.; — Z
"Well, you certainly ate a stiff-necked chap! p> he
cried. “I fancied perhaps you’d had some of. that
taken out of you. I understafid that Merriwell made

   
        
 
   
  
    
  
   
  
  
 

family and your own history. Anyhow, his age
If that’s 1

  

“Sir,” cried Ettinger, livid with Te rd wish no
further conversation with you!” a at hs

 
       
    

'
 

16 : a

;
“Oh, all right,” “Go on, my

high cockalorum.”

flung back Morse,

With which he turned back sharply and left Archie
to pursue his way alone.

Returning to his room, Ettinger avoided the campus
and the immediate vicinity of the college buildings.
He had eaten at a little obscure restauranty and the up-
setting of his mind put him in such a condition phys-
ically that indigestion followed and added to his
misery.

  
 
   
 
  
 
   
  
    
  
  
  
    
  
     
  
    
  
  
  
    
   
  
    
   
  
  
  

“Two days,” he said to himself—‘‘two days more
and Moffatt will be pretty sure to get his answer from
Richfield. If.I could only find some way to get pos-

4?.

session of that letter!

But all-his efforts to devise such a plan were dis-
carded as impossible by his judgment. Nevertheless,
he clung weakly to the hope that the postmaster at

Richfield would ignore a communication of such a na-
ture as Moffatt’s.

He could not study, and he absented himself with-
out €xcuse from recitations and lectures. More and
more the matter preyed upon his-‘mind. Assuming a
false standpoint, he came to feel that Dick Merriwell
had sullied his honor. For be it known that, having’
made pretenses to superior birth and social standing,
Ettinger had begun to believe in his heart that he had.
a right to make stich claims. If fate had not brought
him into the world as the son of aristocratic parents,
nevertheless he was by natural endowment as much a

courted. He told himself that a gentleman must re-
taliate in a proper manner upon one who had injured
him, and by degrees he began to believe that there was
only one method of retaliation.

 

It should be realized that Ettinger’s mind was. be-
coming affected by worry, fear, and anger. Not only.
“did he lose sleep that first night, but the sleep which
he obtained upon the succeeding nights was of a na-
ture to give him little or no bodily refreshment. Had
he been a hunted criminal fearing the strong arm of
; justice. he could not have suffered any more keenly.
At length; thinking of Merriwell, he cried:

“TI must get satisfaction out of him!” |

_ Immediately he was seized by something like an in-
sane desire to do this. He longed to see Merriwell
retched wounded at his feet. He even thought of
imself a as. going forth from the deed and proclaiming
hat he had avenged his honor.

Having reached this point, the wretched fellow went
h and purchased a revolver. With the weapon

  

  

  

   

TIP FOP

-gentleman as the best of those whose society he had —

 

WEEKLY,

loaded and ready in his pocket, he sought the oppor-
tunity for the act. , |
Thus it came about that Ettinger, gaunt, grim, and
silent, fell to dogging Dick’s footsteps. At first he
had fancied there would be no hesitation and no delay
over the business; but when he found Merriwell
company with friends he faltered. He could not walk

up behind the man, pull the pistol, place the muzzle —

against Dick’s shoulder, and shoot him down.
Nevertheless, he continued to shadow Merriwell. He
followed him to the football field and watched him at
practice, thinking the opportunity would come while
there. So absorbed was he in his insane project that
he no longer gave heed to the men who looked at him
curiously and spoke to one another about him.
Eventually Ettinger decided to do the deed in Mer-
Watching and waiting, he finally
Without knocking, he opened the

riwell’s own room.
found Dick alone.
door and walked in.
Merriwell, book in hand, fancied it must be Buck-
hart or some familiar frieng, and did not even look
up until Ettinger came and stopped four feet away,
his right hand gripping the pistol that was hid in the
side pocket of his coat,
“Hello,” said Dick in
What do you want?’
Ettinger’s lips moved, but for - moment no soand
issued from them.
were steady.
‘Merriwell,” he finally said in a husky voice, “I’m

surprise. “I thought

 

going to shoot you!”
Dick’s dark eyes were fastened on the eyes of the
visitor. |
ALS that’s the case,” he said, “it’s pretty serious.” /
“You've disgraced me, Merriwell, and it’s the only
thing left for me to do. You've made me the jest of
Yale. I’m going to shoot you up to’ avenge my honor.”

Some this devlaration Ettinger drew the pistol forth
an

pointed it at Dick.
Still Merriwell made no move. Still his eyes, darks
and deep, and full of a strange power, were fastened

on those of the other. The silence in that room was so a eee
intense that the ticking of the clock on the mantel

sounded like the strokes of a hammer.
Finally Merriwell spoke, slowly, calmly, deliberately.
“Put up that pistol,” he said. ‘You won't use it.
You can’t use it, Ettinger.” .

And to his bewilderment Ettinger suddenly felt that

he was totally incapable of doing this thing he had
fully intended to do.
have left him. : Bis Prt

8 ‘

He was ghastly pale, but his nerves

      
    

_All his will power seemed to

 

|
|
I
i

. >
i
wee ee i te
ys

= a

 

    
    
     
   

 

       
       
     
   

-~Merriwell rose, stepped forward, put out his hand
deliberately, and took the pistol from Archie’s fingers.
“A pretty little toy,” he said, looking at it intently,
“and I see it’s loaded.”
Ettinger burst into tears.
At that moment the door opened and Brad Buckhart
entered.

CHAPTER VIII.

| THE LETTER.
‘ The Texan stared at the scene in wonderment.
“Whatever is doing here?” he muttered. ¢

Pt

repeated Dick
Nor do I

“Yes, a very pretty pistol, Ettinger,’’
Merriwell; “but I haven’t any use for it.
fancy my chum would care to purchase it.”

“Huh?” grunted Brad, perplexed... “That thing?
Why, I wouldn’t use it to kill a cat.”
said Dick quietly, as he took Ettin-
ger’s arm and led him toward the door, “you’re wast-

ing your time offering us such a toy. Here it is. Take
it away. It’s likely you'll find some one who will have
a fancy for it. Good day.”

Ettinger found himself outside the closed door of
that room with the pistol in his hand. He had really
intended doing a terrible thing when he came there,
and now in a dazed way he wondered what had pre-
vented him from carrying his dark project: into execu-
tion. He knew something had checked him at the
‘crucial moment, and of a sudden he was unspeakably
glad. His tears no longer flowed, but he knew his
cheeks were damp, and, fest some one should see him
thus, he hastily pocketed the pistol and dried his eyes
: ie - with a handker chief.

“So you see,”

jo. He felt mean, and' small, and insignificant.

fs, _ ture forceful, aggressive, and lofty. But now the pic-
__ ture was seen in a wholly different light, and all those
_ imaginary attractive features became. shamefully piti-
ful and repellent.
© ence of one who was in every respect a thousand times
__ his superior. é
Like one whipped and cowed, he crept away, stole ”
_ down the stairs, and hurried from the dormitory.

 
 

| Straight.to the seclusion of-his own rooms he went.
With a shudder he placed the loaded pistol on his

_ study table and backed away from it.

~ “Fad I done what I intended to do,” he whispered,

' “TL should have been as bad as a murderer. My plea

  

 

TIP TOP WEEKLY. | 17

‘ which most men would have resented by inflicting
*

‘really nothing but a mockery. Minge, he told him-

. ter than this trio.

He had -
‘thought himself somebody, and he had fancied his na-

He knew he had stood in the pres-

himself. -

     
  
   
   
  
  
    
   
 
    
  
  
  
   
  
  
   
    
  
  
   
  
   
  
  
  
 
 
 
 

every one. They would have called me mad. I was
mad!”

Little by little he saw himself as he really was, and
came to understand that the thing for which he had
worked, and lied, and cheated was not worth a thou-
sandth part of what it had cost him. He had fancied
he was lifting himself from a humble and lowly sta-
tion, but in reality he had gone down the scale. - In
fancy all the deceptions, and lies, and frauds he had
practiced marshalled themselves before him in a hid--
eous accusing host. At last he knew exactly what he
was, and he covered his face in shame.

He knew likewise that Dick Merriwell,»the fellow he
had pretended to disdain, although all the while some-
where in his heart had lurked respect and admiration
for the man, was a person of lofty character and great
He wondered that Dick had treated him

with such amazing leniency, for to pull a deadly

courage.
weapon upon another with intent £0 use it was a crime
proper punishment upon the perpetrator.

To add to the bitterness of the cup at his lips, he

now saw that the fine friends he had courted were

self, was a fool, Loring really a coarse creature, and
Moffatt a detestable cad. There were various others,

&

but scarcely one among them might be called any bet-

And had he chosen himself to be a decent, manly,
genial fellow,, was it not possible that he might have «
numbered among his friends such men as Merriwell ; 3
and his class? They were men—chaps who detested — ;
chicanery and made no pretense of being what they 5
They were likewise men whose acquaint- id
ance and friendship was sought by many students of

were not.

the very highest standing, socially and otherwise. . >
Having sensed at last the slough into which he had —
floundered, and perceiving no escape from it, Ettinger, 7

   

still mentally deranged by the apparently crushing dis-
grace of the calamity, thought of suicide. There was
the pistol loaded’ and ready. It would be all over in "
twinkling, and he could not suffer. ap

    
    
     
      

But others would suffer. His parents must i
crushed and broken by the dreadful blow. At last Et-
tinger was beginning to think of some one other than
Heretofore his egotism and selfish ambition

      
       

   
     
  

18 aP O
had prevented this, and when a person has no thought
or consideration for any one save himself he is a most
unworthy creature.

At this point the tortured chap was seized by inertia,
and, all his plans having come to naught, he waited
dumbly for matters to take such course as they might.
What cared he now if Moffatt obtained the informa-
tion he sought and learned beyond doubt that J. Archi-
bald Ettinger was a silly impostor? Under any cir-
‘cumstances he could never again be on intimate terms

with Moffatt and those other fellows who associated
‘With him. Henceforth he would be an outcast, ostra-
cized, shunned, and held in contempt,

But while he dumbly waited one of those fellows
came again to his rooms. It was Minge, who entered
_ with a strangely inysterious air and superfluously in-
quired j in a whisper if Ettinger was alone.

Alone! Something like a bitter, cynical smile flitted
Who should be with him? He
wondered dully that Minge had ventured. to come
there.

“Say, old fellow,”
_ that’s what it is,
- for you.

across Archie’s face.

said the caller, “it’s pretty tough,
You're taking it hard, and I’m sorry

“cand if your parents really aren’t just what they should

  

be, I can’t see any reason wliy you should let them hold

  

you down.

-Yale who are secretly ashamed of their parents.”
Now, however, Ettinger was genuinely sorry that

a “hd had ever been ashamed of them.

4 ae

  

7 f
5 7

  

are as good as those of any chap living. Perhaps they
ought to be ashamed of me. ‘Has Moffatt received his
‘answer ?” *
No,” snickered Minge,
BE Ot Sra , Bs Pea pata ticked ag
 ®ERD AGS CHAM Py anh i anna era ct
Because,”
‘om his pocket, “I’ve got. it here.”

  

  

  

  

a to his feet. tae iit

You've always seemed like a decent chap, ;
complair ed of Minge to Loring and Moffatt and hinted —
that he felt like dropping the fellow. ie a

I'll wager there are plenty of chaps in

“Cut it out, Minge,” he said listlessly. “My panenta |

7 get it, my boy, and by and by they'll be ready to accept

“and Egat ive he

was the reply, as the caller Sail a letter .
ae of the letter.
1 Flinging off his nay in. an instant, boas of
at) “Perhaps it would be the best thing.

ie hrc, ag a
it came into my possession,

    
   
  
   
   
   
 
   
    
     
     
  
  
  
 

WEEKLY.
Didn’t expect Pd
Moffatt

It hasn’t been opened. Here

Minge. “I’ve kept my eye open.

be able to get my hands on it first, but [ was.

has never seen this letter.

 

it is.” I know it’s his answer, for it bears the postmark iy
of Richfield, New York.”’

Ettinger’s hands trembled as the letter was placed in
the Richfield postmark. He

them. It certainly bore

even fancied he recognized the chirography of the vil-
lage postmaster, having seen the man’s handwriting on —

various occasions,

ili a

“There it is, Archie, old chap,” grinned Minge.
‘““Vou've got it.

choose with it.

ik ace

pe ‘ , af
_Keep it; burn it; do anything you

Moffatt need never know his inquiries ©

 

were answered. I doubt if he will take trouble to make =>
|

further inquiries. J myself don’t know what there is \
in that letter. I’ve made up my mind I don’t want to —
know unless you're willing to show the contents.’ |
Ettinger sat dow f again, holding the. letter with me
both hands and staring at it. . OH
“I don’t know Ww hy you should run such a risk and)

take so much trouble for mé, Minge,” he said slowly. ©

This was the man of them all whom he had held in =
the least regard. This was the one he had least fancied _ ha

would be able to do him a friendly turn. He had even i #

   
      
 
   

“Walt,” he muttered feebly,
able to show my appr eciation.
“Oh, that’s all right,”
“Chirk up.
things are never really quite as bad as they seem. This af
Moffatt and L oring will for=

“some day 1 may Me iy

   

I can’t now.”

  
 

cackled Minge cheer fully. Fe ‘
You know some old philosopher says that

    
  

business will blow'over.

   

you again at your own valuation. You've managed to.

make good up to the date of this affair, and I think ine

    
   

7

  
 

maybe you'll be able_to continue.”
_ When ‘Minge was gone Ettinger felt a feverish dade

   

ing to tear open the envelope and read the content:
This, however, he resisted for a time.

     
  
 
 
 

 
 

9)

 

-“There’s one thing I might do,” he meditated.

  
 
  

I might take thi
~ etter to' Moffatt and hand it over. No need to tell how
1d show him ‘in that

   
   

  

manner that I was not afraid of any injury the truth
 

a

 

=a

NH

 

 

¥ ”

their neighbors.

_week in transit.

\ TIP

Oe

Perhaps he would respect me for it.
He

would think me a chump, and I reckon I would be.”

might do me.
No, he wouldn’t. He’s not that sort of a man.
Ettinger still lacked courage to be thoroughly a man,
When he

indeed that he had lacked

and so he tore open that letter and read it.
had done this he was sorry

the nerve to hand it over to Moffatt. For the Richfield

postmaster had spoken very kindly of Ettinger’s par-

ents, who, he stated, were honest, respectable, hard-

trusted and held in due esteem by
He that

“Josh

working citizens,

further stated Archie—

 

whom he called although an ordinary boy
of the town, had surprised people by his determination
to go to college and follow a professional career in-
stead of becoming.a fafmer. While the Ettingers
were not rich or aristocratic, they were people who had

managed to get along, and the postmaster himself

-made it evident that he regarded them as quite as good

as “rich folks.”

There was a mist in Ettinger’s eyes as he finished
that scrawl, and henceforth the plain, unvarnished man
who handled Uncle Sam’s mail at Richfield was to
have a warm corner in the heart of the boy who, in his
folly, had hitherto looked down upon him as an ordi-

nary countryman. \

CHAPTER IX. \
ARCHIE’S PARENTS.
On Wednesday Ettin-

ger received a letter that had been missent and a full

This happened on Tuesday.

4

‘It was from his father, and when he had read it he

was filled with consternation unspeakable.

For Avian Bitingds wrote that he had sold from
“his farm thirty acres of high, rocky land, which had

eens bought at what seemed to him an amazing price

by a rich man who intended building a fine summer

residence upon it. With the money received from that

land Mr.

Ettinger had paid off all his debts and then

found such a sum remaining.that he declared he felt

like a millionaire.

on little of the world, he

He spelled the word “millunyade.”
Having been a hard-w orking man and of necessity seen

now proposed making a

 

_ tention of boarding it.

-come down to meet an incoming football team that

 

     
  
  
  
   
 
  
  
   
   
   
     
   
    
   
    
   
  
 
     
       
     
       
       
     
   
       
      
  
        
  

WEEKLY. 19

trip with Archie’s mother to New Haven, where he
would arrive—-——
“Good

They will get here to-day!”

heavens!’’ cried Archie, “to-day!

aghast ;
Panic seized him. All his old cowardice returned
with double force. How could he receive them and
show them around? How could he appear in com-
pany with those plain, illiterate country folks and
permit every one to know that they were his father and
mother when he had claimed that his parents were
aristocratic and wealthy? It was impossible! . 1 4
“This settles it!” he cried. ‘“There’s only one thing 4
left for me to do. I’ve got to get out of New Haven. :
I.must leave Yale.” ,

Scrambling together such belongings as might serve
his immediate need, he hastily packed a traveling bag,
donned his handsome. overcoat, and hurried to the
railway station, resolved to take the first train leaving
New Haven in any direction. |

As he approached the station a train came rumbling
in from the West, and he hurried forward with the in-
Upon the station platform
were assembled a large number of students who “had
was to play the Yale eleven in the afternoon. The stu-
dents were so absorbed in greeting the arrivals that _
Archie felt there was very little likelihood of his being _ :
observed. He did not wait to purchase a ticket, but
decided to pay the conductor upon the train. a

As he was about,to mount the steps of the rear car
his eyes fell upon a rustic couple dresséd. in*new, ill-
fitting clothes, and he was horrified to recognize his
father and mother. The old man was speaking to one
of the group of students, and Archie plainly heard him
inquire: — Ey

“Do you oe my boy, Josh? He goes to college
We sort of cal’lated he’d be down to the depot

to meet us.”

here.

They had not seen him.
On the next track another train was approaching :

  

from the east, and a fat man descending the steps

blocked Archie’s way. i

   

. With his panic intensified, Ettinger ran ssi the
rear car and taped across the track in order to escape

    
      
    
  
  
   
   
  
 
 
   
  
  
  
 
    
 

 

pe TIP TOP

from the eyes of his parents. toe,
stumbled,
headlong.

He caught his
dropped the traveling bag, and plunged
His head struck an iron rail, and he lay
there stunned, fairly across the track over which the
incoming train was rumbling.

_ By a wonderful chance Ettinger had been observed
by two Yale men who were getting down to the sta-
tion somewhat behind the others who had come to
meet the football players. One of these leaped for-
ward instantly, bounded across the platform, sprang
over the first track, seized Ettinger’s prostrate form
and yanked him backward as the panting, steaming
engine brushed past and the train slowly came to a
stop with a jarring, grinding sound of brakes.

“Great work, pard!’ cried a voice, that of the other
man, who had seen Ettinger’s peril, but had moved a
trifle tod slowly to take any part in the rescue.

‘Although benumbed and stunned, Archie still had

apparently certain death beneath the wheels of the
~~ locomotive. At that moment he did not know who had
e saved him, but as he was helped back to the station
platform he recognized’ the rescuer as Dick Merriwell.
- Of course there was a great déal of excitement on
3 the platform, and much crowding around the men who

had participated in this affair.

    

Archie, supported by

wavered and would have sunk’ to the planks had he
Been released. Then a woman abreainied, and he heard
his mother’s voice crying: |
“T's my bhoy—my own. dear boy! "
. Following which his father said? _
hs “Now don’t goon, Sarah. Josh i is all right I don’t
bilieve he’s hurt.” |

  

The crowd opened to let them reach ii and he
J heard some one say:

yo)

ei _ “They are his parents.”’

  

 
 

_ hands and heard the old man ask with a quaver in his

  

: |
I was sartain you'd
edly d you happen to: ral

  

sense enotigh to realize how he had been snatched from |
, /

- Merriwell and Buckhart, sought to stand alone, but.

overcoat.
| them.”

‘so nearly killed: ih .

: come nigh being killed. » Don’t. you remember the time
His mother’s arms were round him, and she was. he come pigh sliding right off the roof of the old

vying and laughing hysterically. He felt his father’ s barn.

  

WEEKLY.

How did it happen!
“Here,”

Ettinger.

Tf they only knew!
said somebédy, “I fancy this belongs to
It’s his traveling bag.”

It was Minge, who had rescued the leather traveling

 

bag from between the tracks, and Archie felt that the
bag was mute but sufficient evidence of his cowardly. i

)
design to run away. He even imagined that he could = |

At

who had befriended him most. sur-

detect accusation and scorn in the eyes of Minge,
last this fellow
prisingly knew him for what he was and detested him, |
like all the others.

There were two, however, who did not know—who_
still believed in him. His father was supporting him
now, and his mother was kissing him again and again. |

Ettinger put his arms round his mother and tried to)
command a smile.

“There, there, mother dear,’ he said. “I’m’ all AM

right.” Fae
“I told ye Josh was all right, Sarah,” said William =
Ettinger. “It was a purty narrer squeeze, but a’ miss

is as good as a mile.”

o

 

He put out his hand and grasped that of his father.

Sd,
ee oe.

    
 

aie was careless of me, father,” he said. “I was in.

 
 

a hurry. You see I got down to the station a bit Bt

     
   

late.”
This did not explain why he had attempted to cross

   

the tracks, but they, were too excited to ask him about
that just then. .
“T swan!” said William Ettinger ;

 
    

“you're looking

      
 

purty slick, Josh. Hope yer didn’t git any dirt on that : 3

Can't afford to spile good clothes like

 
 

 

      
   

“Qh, never mind his clothes,’ William,” said his

mother.

   
  

    

“How can you think of that when he was

   
 

“But he wa’n’t hurt none. ’Tain’t the fust time he’s *

  
    
    
  
 
  

when I[
shingles? I jest grabbed him by tlie collar of his shirt :
Then there was the time

was up there a-patching her with -
as he was scooting past me.
he got kicked senseless a-milking the ie brindle cow. f
By hokey! I thought he was s done iy
Somebody laughed.

  
    
     
   
  

 

 

 

Se

: a) si
a

Hi
te
bh

>

os
%

4

 
 
     
 

 

 

 

 

     
         
     
    
    
       
   

mies
"

a city, father,”

a in my life,

TER

been pale, grew crimson, but he forced a smile as he
said :
“That's right, father. This isn’t the first time I’ve

had a narrow escape. Come, let’s take a carriage.”

He picked up his own traveling bag and led the way
toward the waiting cabs.

Following at his heels, William Ettinger cried:

“If ‘tain’t too far we can walk just well’s not, and
that'll save the price you'll have to pay for a wagon.”
You and mother
We'll take

‘“Never mind the price, father.
both must be tired after traveling so far,
this cab.”

He helped them into the cab and entered himself,
after telling the driver to take them to the New Haven
House.

“T swan!” said William Ettinger, peering out of the
You

‘writ home once that ‘twas nothing but a big country

window. “I guess this must be quite a town.

village, and we didn't exactly expect to land in a plade

_ like this. ‘If this is what you call a country village,
_ what the dickens do you call Richfield?”

“New Haven is more like a big country village than
said Archie. “It’s a quaint old place,
- with frame nee and modern brick buildings all
mixed i in tog ether.’

i

His mother was holding his hands and looking ear-

it: nestly into his face.

WA ;
_ “Seems to me you look sort of worried, Joshua,” she

“T hope there ain’t nothing the matter with you?
You ain’t been sick, have you?”
“Oh, no,'I haven’t been sick. I never was in better

You see, it’s just my bungling acci-

TOP ‘WEEKLY.

go down.

21

house. His father walked immediately to the window
and looked out.

“Be them the college buildings ?”’ "he asked.

“Yes, father.”

“Come here, Sarah—come here and git a look at the
place where our boy is being eddicated. . Ain’t them

there buildings purty fine?

surprised as I was that it cost you a heap, Josh. But
we can afford it now, son. We’re in purty good cit-

cumstances, considering. Where do you hang out?”

“I have rooms in a private house, [ll take you
there later. I’m going to show you around to-day.
There will be a football game this afternoon, and per-
haps you’d like to attend it.”

sartain.

*“Sartain, Always wanted to see one of

them games. I’ve heared a lot about *em.”
“Ain't they awful rough?” asked Mrs. Ettinger.
“You shall judge for yourself, mother,”

Archie. “Now it’s near lunch time, and the’ dining

&
room will be open as soon as you can wash up and >

You'd better have lunch right away. T’ll go
to my rooms and return for you after lunch.”

“Lunch! Lunch!” cried)\Mr. Ettinger. “I don’t

want, no lunch; what I want is a good square meal.

I’m hongry.”’
“You'll eet enough to eat, Tens sure, father,”
Archie. f

a

"He kissed his conte again, made an excuse to ey et

plain his haste, and left them.‘
“A mighty fine boy he’s aida? to be, Sarah,

William Ettinger. “TI s’poge he'll turn out to be a law-

yer, or a doctor, or some sort of a perfessional man.,I.
did sort ofical’late to make a farmer of al but mebbe de

‘twas best to let him have his own way.”

“Yes, William,” she answered, ‘ ‘it was best.

* CHAPTER X.

We her) eh een BO AWAKENING,

cH

Dropping his traveling bag” in the middle of ‘the |
floor,

ne. room and stared at the wall.

Dunno’s I’m ‘so much

smiled -

‘said

"anid

He's

indeed a ee yee on and I’m very proud

{ttinger flung himsel# upon: a chair in his. site

        
  
  
   
    
  
   
   
  
  
  
   
    
  
  
  
   
  

 

 

 
 

 
  
 
     
   
   
  
   
   
    
  
   
     
         
       
       
           
     
     
     
       
     
       
     
 

TER AGE

22

The worst had happened. His parents had appeared,
and he had been forced to acknowledge them before
Yale men. He stood exposed as a liar and a fraud,
for certain it was that a single glance at William and
Sarah Ettinger would satisfy any one concerning their
standing. Yes, thought Archie, even Minge must

despise him now.

He had been forced to acknowledge them at the sta-
tion. For a moment he thought of this with some-
thing like pride, as. if he had done a very brave and
noble thing. He had not denied his own parents in the
moments of their distraction following his rescue from

mutilation beneath the wheels of the locomotive.

In another moment he scorned himself for thinking
=Dy
his ears had come the agonized cry of the woman who

that he had done anything courageous or worthy.

had brought him into the world and reared him with
tenderness and love. She had clasped him in her arms
there upon the station platform, shuddering with hys=
' If he had

repulsed her then, he would have been a monster, a

terical joy over his escape from death.

craven thing, a creature with less heart and feeling
There had been no bravery in
it, nothing worthy of the slightest approbation or
Indeed, there had seemed nothing else for
him to do. .

than the lowest brute.

praise.
~ He had taken them to the hotel and then escaped as
quickly as possible, his one great desire being to get
away. And.as he thought of his father, a man who

b

; could use the word “hongry,” he shuddered and
| groaned. |
‘Tt was simply awful, and Ettinger regt ctted that he
had ever been born. ® :
He knew he had thought of deserting them, of flee-
ing even while"securing accommodations for them at
| Vaguely he had

wondered what sort of an excuse he could concoct to

the hotel—even to this moment.

explain his flight. He did not wish fg hurt their feel-
ings, and so he would write a hasty “note, stating that
“something or other of an unavojdable nature had

taken ‘sim suddenly from New Haven, to which place

     
 

he could not return for an indefinite per iod.

would escape the dreadful ordeal of acting as their

WEEKLY.

\without flinching

last my eyes are opened to th¢ fact that dishonesty, _
Thus she |

   

escort around the college and appearing in their com-
pany before those chaps who would sneer and laugh.

As he sat there, seeking to devige an excuse which
would seem plausible arid acceptable, many sremem-
brances of the past forced themselves upon him. Un- |
willingly he thought of a thousand instances of the
At the same
time he was reminded by these memories that William 7.

loving kindness of his plain old mother.

Ettinger had always been a good father to his only i: |
son. It had cost his parents a great deal to give him |
an opportunity to carry out his ambitious reels of

securing a college education.

-

 

 

And now they were proud of him—very proud in-,
deed. He had seen it in their old faces beaming with
joy, and he had recognized it in the tender cadence of
their voices, Unexpectedly freed from the financial
wotriment which had beset them so long, their first
thoughts were of their son at Yale, and as soon as pos-

sible they had hastened to visit him.

If they only knew the truth! No wonder Ettinger

groaned and writhed at this thought. If they knew
the truth they would be benumbed, horrified, wounded
to the soul. It would sorrow their lives even more
than the death of their only child. It would cast a
black shadow over the pathway that was now leading
them down toward the sunset and the Valley of the
Great Mystery. |
“Oh, what a coward, what a cur, what a craven is
am!” cried Archie Ettinger, as he rose to his feet and
“T am not fit to be the son of |
Why didn’t I fore-

It’s too late now!”

wrung his cold hands.
the humblest parents in the world,
see where my folly might lead me?

A moment later, having stopped in the middle of the

    
   
     
       
    

room-with one clinched fist uplifted, he exclaimed:
’ ae

“No, it’s not too late! If there’s an atom of real

courage and manhood left in ne, now is the time fous

me to prove it! I must keep my promise ; I must show

    
      
  

my parents around and do my level best to make their
visit delightful.

  

I must face sneers and mockery. i

\ a

| g. I will! eee
“T will, and henceforth I'll lead a different life.

      
     
     
   

ie
“At

deceit, and ly ing have degraded me. Not even to make

Anyaely the associate of emperors will I ever again

   
 

ECA
‘a
touch a penny that does not rightfully belong to me,
Further than that, if the time ever comes that I can
—and it will-—I’ll return with interest the money I
beat out of a generous employer during the-summer
just past. |

“I pray that my father and mother may never know
the truth,

believe it.

If any one should tell them, they would not

handsomest to give them the time of their lives,”

he ‘was
had

Fear

Having made this commendable resolution,
amazed te note how suddenly the burden which
crushed and cowed him seemed to roll away.

; 4
vanished like a mist, and the only regret left in his

~
wrt ee

heart was that caused by his own folly. He now saw

= -_ yese as

 

%

who came back smiling and happy and

of their son,

 

~wonderfully handsome to their eyes,

 

anne,” “T’lly)show you around the

a >

he said gayly,

campus and the college buildings, We'll have time

 

Hs enough before we go out to the field for the football

   
  
 

game.” .
nord didn’t think you tol no interest in football,
Josh,”
- disdainful about it and the fellers who play it.

said his father. ‘“You’ve sort of writ home

| pleased your mother monstrous, for she aly jays War

  

; blessed neck broke.”’

  

eg here was no reason to fear,’ ’ siniled Archie, “A

ar
man me plays seine pe to train for it and get him-

I’ve never trained.”

 

 

I’m going back to the hotel and do my”

i that all he had been striving for was really of no value
. mhatnonver, and. his heart bounded with gladness be-.
i ‘ cause his eyes were opened, ‘

a And so, shortly after they had finished lunch, Mr.

and Mrs, Ettinger were rejoiced by the reappearance

— you’ve blossomed out, Josh.

That

_ afeared you ’d go into them sort of games and git your .

| ihe Gre, te old churehes, the es the .

 

  

WEEKLY, 23

doubt, His mother was happy beyond expression,
and, to his surprise, he discovered that she was not
nearly as plain and ordinary in appearance as he had
fancied. True, his father laughed and talked loudly,
but not once did Archie indicate by even a frown that;
this distutbed him.

He had dreaded this,

for he knew they would be surprised and filled with

They asked to see his rooms.

wonderment to discover how comfortably he was

situated. In all his letters he had led them to believe -
he was getting along as economically as possible.
“Land!” Mrs.

Archie’s sittivg room. and sinking upon a chair, “I

breathed Ettinger, looking around

declare, this is real fine! Why, jest look at this rug!
Jest see them lace curtains at the winders! And where
did you git all them pictures, Joshua? Be them cush-
ions yourn? I s’pose this furniture comes with the.
room, don’t it ?” ;

“Some of it,” he said. “ Of course it was necessary _

for me to buy a few things i in order to be comfortable, : ‘

mother.” ia
“Comfortable!” phertad William Bidinger, “I swan,
it looks to me like the parlor of a big bug. I’ve been —

sort of s’prised ever since we got here to note how es ‘
Gall hang it, you're
about the best-dressed feller I’ve seen in this town, i
And now, I snum, I find you phe Le in genuwine pala-
tial style.” ;

“T received very good pay for my work this summer,
you know,” said the boy feebly. . Sea

“Yes, that’s a fact,” nodded the old man; “but it.

costs a heap to live in these days, and a dollar ‘won *:

- go so fur with most people as a dime used to go a
or _forty wyear past, . Seems to me folks have got a4

    

tee ‘ler craze ai ae money and oe a show. -

   
   
    
  
      
    
     
    
     
  

 
   
    

  

24 : be ATE.

you and mother under any circumstances. You shall
never suffer, never want for anything.”
“Oh, Joshua!”

“That sounds purty good and manly, boy,’ nodded

murmyred his mother feelingly.

the old man heartily. “It makes me feel that mebbe
I was mistook in thinking a college eddication always
took some of the real man out of every feller what

went in for it.”
“if there’s much of

any genuine manhood in a EP college improves and

“On the contrary,” said Archie, ‘

develops it. Only the unworthy are harmed.”

“T like the way you talk, Josh,” said his father.

“Never heared you talk in such a sensible manner be-
IT snum, I reckon

fore. I guess you're all right, son.

you're developing proper and befieficial. Who knows

what-you'll become?) Mebbe you'll turn out to be a

great man. Mebbe you'll git rich and famous. Mebbe
sometime you'll be recognized by the big bugs and

accepted sas their equal. Sech things happen. Abe

Lincoln was a rail splitter; don’t you forgit that.”
“I think too many fellaws forget such things, father.

I may have forgotten, myself, in, the past, but I shall

not in the future. It’s getting late now, and if we're

going to see the game we'd better look for a cab to »

take us out to the field.”

ron we git out there on the street cars, Josh?
This business of digging up a lot of money: to pay
them cab fellers sort of grinds me. Oh, I know you
mean to pay it yourself, but hadn’t yer better keep it

in case you might somehow run short and need it?”

Z ‘Just as you think about that, father,”
“Archie.
_ field by trolley.

laughed

“If you say so, we'll make the trip to the

CHAPTER XL

| * AVENGING AN INSULT.

Archie sat between his father and mother and
watched the game, explqining as best he could such
things as perplexed and bewildered them. Tor a mo-
i ment, on, the point of purchasing seats, the old cow-
ardice had sought to reassert itself, and he had b@en
pienipted: te oe tickets for the stand of ‘the visitors,

Bet good-looking: chap.

 

WEEKLY.

which would remove him from the immediate vicinity
Instantly, had

crushed down this inclination, and he took particular

of his college mates. however, he
pains to ask for seats in the midst of the Yale section.

Several times he saw students around them staring
and smiling, and more than once the excited shouts and
_exclamations of his father were productive of laugh-

; but apparently he had neither eyes nor thought
pe anything or any one beyond the game and the
gouple he had brought there to see it. Once or twice
he took pains to draw his mother’s shawl about her
shoulders, for she had brought her shawl and’ wore it
ae protection from the raw wind which swept across
the arena.

For Yale it was a great game, as-the team showed
amazingly good form and encouraged its admirers to
believe Yale would this season produce a fine eleven.

“I say, Josh,”

called Ettinger’s father, grasping his

arm, ‘“who’s that feller running with the ball?

a ripper, he is. I’ve been watching him. He’s a reg’-

ler terror.. Never saw anything like him in my life.
He’s the best man you've gut, boy, by a great deal.”
“That’s Dick Merriwell, one of our back-field men,”

answered Archie.

As usual, Merriwell was in the thick of the fray at

‘nearly all times, either in blocking the ball in the hands
of the ener by a tackle, or in carrying the pigskin
himself,

it was he who accomplished the most sensational run’ |
, of the day, more than eighty yards for a touchdown. |

“Oh, yes, now I understand,” said Mr. Ettinger.

“T heared ’em enn and hollering ‘Merriwell, Mer-_
riwell,’ arg I s ’posed that was el of the reg ‘lar ‘col i 4

lege ery:

“Father, he is the one who pulled me off-the car
tracks to-day. It was Dick Merriwell whé saved mG Hf

from being killed, .

“Sho! You don’t say!
I took notice of that.
/his appearance.”’ |

“He wasa very fine-looking young man,’
Ettinger. “He, had a good face.”
“Do you know him purty well,

William Ettinger. ‘

He’s

Yale’s greatest gains were made by him, and

Well, now, that feller was
I liked

said Mrs,

Josh?” inquired —
‘ Lg

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

        

 

 

 

 

 

 

       

 
   

%
TIP

  

 

TOP

| ES “T know him,” was the answer; “but I-can’t say that
| we're on very familiar terms.”
“Te ‘‘Ain’t he somebody in college? It sartain seems
he must be.”

eS fan a way he’s the best known man at Yale.”

“Rather singular you don’t know him no_better, for

 

_« you’ve writ home lots of times how you knowed every-
body wuth knowing and was associating with the very
best fellers in college. I sorter looked forrard to
meeting some of them chaps.”

“You see

i _ “Merriwell is a great athlete,

 

father,’ Archie attempted to explain,
and the most of his
friends and chums are such. As I haven't taken up
athletics, naturally we wouldn’t become particularly
friendly.”

“Waal, I wish you did know him better, boy.
Look a’
See him keep on going with all them fellers

Look
a’ that! that! |! See him go through that

bunch!

 

| hanging to him! By Jiminy! they can’t stop him!
fe : There, they’ve yanked him down at last!”

‘The crowd was roaring over Merriwell’s marvelous
— through the centre of the enemy’s line, and Wil-

liam Ettinger joined in the tumultuous’ ovation.

“You'd better sorter caution your father, Joshua,”

me said Mrs. Ettinger anxiously, as she pulled at Archie’s

 

sleeve. “He'll be sure to hurt his throat hollering that
fashion. I never see him get so excited before in all
any nie.

The old man sat down, slapping his son on, the
~ shoulder. ;

| “By Jinks! that’s a great game!’’ he declared. “If
_I was a young feller at college I'd go in for it.
‘it jest makes my blood bile. I'd like to git right out
there myself. Josh, I’m s’prised at ye—I declare I

i De.
without wanting to take part in that businéss.”

  

  
 
 
     
  

‘ “Oh, William, don’t encourage him!” pleaded ‘Mis.
Ettinger, “You've seen them bringing one or two
men off the field, and one was stretched out on the
ground so long I thought they’d killed him.” |
| “They wa’n’'t hurt much, Sarah. Josh said so his-
self, He said they’ d git over it purty quick. That’ s
the way to harden a chap up for the rough knocks he’s

Tiable to git in the world.”

 
  
        
       
  

     

WEEKLY.

_knuckled to it so long and had to economize so much, it.

beyond doubt that Moffatt himself, in spite of all that

Why, .

I don’t see how you can set round and look on |

ing brat, I’ve a fithd to slap your face!”

       
     
   
  
    
   
  
  
   
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
   
      
   
     
     
    
      
      
        
    
    
      
     
    
  

25°

“Father;” laughed Archie, “you’ve become a first-

class football fan in short order.”

Before the game was over William Ettinger even
tried to sing some of the college songs with the sing- “4

ing students around him. As they were leaving the
field, Archie’s mother clinging to his arm, the old man
declared he had had the greatest time of his life.

“One time I sorter hesitated about spending all the
money it would cost to come here,” he said;

You know, arter folks have

“but now
I don’t regrét a cent.

seems wasteful to spend.a lot of money for railroad
tickets and hotel bills.” ’

As they were making their way toward the waiting
trolleys they nearly bumped into Moffatt, Loring, and
some other /fellows. It was Moffatt. who touched
Loring on the shoulder, laughing with a hateful sneer
as he said:

“Step aside, Paul, and let Mr. Ettinger pass with his
aristocratic parents. Don’t they look like people of
great social distinction? Just take a look at the old
lady.” | )

It was a coarse, cheap, unmanly thing, aed it prove ed

money might bring him, was anything but a gentleman.
It brought, the hot blood to Ettinger’s face and made
him “giddy for an instant. He knew his mother had _
heard the words of that fellow, for he ee her ia
tremble against his. .

Back to the New Haven House he. took his parents,
Then he hurried

'

promising to join them for dinner.
away. ! |

He went to look’ for C1 arence Moffatt.
find the man in his rooms, he finally discovered him

Failing to

smoking, with others of his ilk, near the Fence.

Archie walked straight up to, Moffatt, stopped with-

\
af

in three feet of him, and said:
“Sir, you are an ‘insolent cur, You're a cheap, com-
mon mongrel dog’ tn E
Moffatt, in his/amazement, nearly dronped his pipe.

  
   

“What’ s that?” he gasped. “Why, you masquerad=

Said aver al
‘slap Yours... \ ; Na ae ae ae

“While vor re thinking about it,”

 
    
    
    
   
  
  
   
 
   
  
    
 
      
        
      
        
          
 
 
   

26

He did, and then men sprang between them and kept
them apart.

Now it chanced that Merriwell, Buckhart, and some
of their friends, coming from the gymnasium,’ were
witnesses to this affair: The’ Texan was amazed, for
he had never dreamed Ettinger was the possessor of
sufficient nerve to do such a thing. Dick observed that
in the crowd Archie had no friend, for several fellows

were hustling and threatening him, while others
pleaded with Moffatt to choose another spot beside the
campus to punish his assailant. .
It must be confessed that Dick Merriwell had held
Ettinger in disdain. But now, of a sudden, he sprang
forward and thrust back those men who were threat-
ening Archie. oe
“L presume Ettinger
If. Moffatt

_ insists on fighting, perhaps Ettinger will ‘icoditmdiiats

“Pair play here!” he died

has good reason for slapping that. man.

~ him.”

}

“T certainly will,” said Archie. “T ah you, Mer-

eet, for . demanding fair play. I have no friends

gemere. 60 '¥ pier is

po. TYourmay depend. on me to stand by you,:
: Dick. | my

_ Thus it happened that, vies Ettinger, Moffatt, ina
ist ‘others repaired to, a; certain big bare basement room

” assu sab

to settle the matter, Archie was accompanied by Merri-
f

well, BiickHart, and at least wee or Six more of ars

intimate friends.

 

  

When the two ‘men str ipped down for Giri Bue fs
4 hart, having surveyed: them both and taken note that, ,
Moffatt was taller with a longer reach and also much
heavier, whispered in Dick’s ear : fs
ak d rather enjoy seeing Ettinger w allop that man
some, but I’m a neee worried for fear he can’t do it. ie

‘But there. was a surprise in store for nearly every

“ong Hows F ‘ired by it eeation over t Moffatt’ s' tit,

a skill at. sparring, and $c a short tinte the’ Seht
was a en mix-up Up touthe last mracst oe

    

TIP TOP: WEEKLY.

mis judges you.

ger,

» Dick Merriwell’s Gambol.

 

struck split Moffatt’s lip and loosened:

blow. E ttinger
some teeth.
unscientific as it was,

Suffice it to say that.

The details of that encounter,
would make unpleasant reading.

Ettinger gave Clarence’ Moffatt-a thorough thrashing

 

and would not be satisfied until Moffatt had humbly
craved, his pardon. Merriwell and his friends pre-

vented Moffatt’s companions from interfering until | tp

 

Clarence acknowledged himself whipped and yielded i,
that apology. j

Ettinger came out of the fight with a few marks, J”
it is true; but.whéen he had washed up and taken a |
look at his réflection in a mirror, he laughed nervously — a i

and obser ved that he stipposed he would be able to

invent some plausible excuse which would prevent his

 

mother from knowing that he had engaged in such an

affair. / |
“That fellow liauited her in. the presence of his ee

“No matter wh at I am, my mother. t

friends,” he, said.

is my mother, and I'll let. no man insult her without —
fighting,” ; f
‘Dick Meurwe!l rated Archie’s hand and shook #
it warmly, : @ e pee
“Good! far. you, ‘ald fellow!” he cried. “I see I’ve ©
Jf my little prank was the cause a 's
any- i a

Your prank, as you, al it, Merriwell,” said Ettin- |

4 -

 

        
       
    
      
    
     
   
       
 
 
 

“was the finest thirig that ever happened to me,
It showed me what a fool I was, and it may make

a inan of me yeti’) 41% et
THE END.

‘THE NEXT NUMBER (707) WILL CONTAIN —

  

Bi

OR; esas ;

 

a at the County a i
    
 
   
   
  
  
   
   
   
    
   
    
 
    
  
 
 
    
   
        
       
   
     
           
     
     
   
 
      
       
     
       
       
         
       
     
     
     
     
     
   

   

TIP
A PORPOISE AND A PIRATE SHARK -

-“T suppose neither of you fellows ever experienced the rather
hair-raising. sensation of having a hungry shark charge at a birch-
bark canoe, in which you were trying to,maintaim a precarious
seat? No? Well, I have, and I can tell you, it is something you
don’t want to-dream about, or you'll awaken the Seven Sleepers
/ with your yells.”

“Now, then, please don’t give us a nightmare!” waid I.

We were three college chums, spending our summer vacation
fishing, sailing, swimming, etc., al6mg the Maine and New Bruns-
wick coasts. When this startling question was put to us, we were
enjoyifig ourselves in the twilight, stretched out in various com-
fortable attitudes at our night’s camping place at Indian Beach,
on the Island of Grand Manan.

Tom Fraser was one of those fellows, the envy of all his
chums, who delight in expeditions to out-of-the-way places; and
who thus acquire a stock of extraordinary information and ex-

_ perience wonderful adventures. Many an hour Tom had -alter-
nately charmed and thrilled us with his stories, and when he
started in to relate one we usually fell back with a sigh of con-

-tentment and prepared for a treat. His question this time seemed
: a little too startling for even Tom to put; but, on second
| thoughts, and feeling sure that a tale of real adventure lay be-
hind it, I urged him to proceed by jokingly asking, “Did he
bite you?”

Pee “No, but he very nearly got the porpoise that we were landing

‘imme. In. the canoe..’ ¥
emery © “Oh, come, Tom, we are ,not such awful duffers that you
should try to make us believe any sane man ever tried td pull a
} ___ porpoise into a birch-bark canoe.”

fF “It’s a fact, though, and this very beach brought the incident
Jame too ty mind,”

“Well, let us have the story,” said I; so Tom, after medi-
tatively blinking for a few moments, related the following ad-
venture:

“T had often heard of the daring exploits these Indians per-
formed in hunting the porpoise in birch-bark canoes, so I re-
solved to find out for myself all about it, and for that purpose
came down here last October. The beach is deserted now, but

from October. until May you would find the place very much
inhabited.”
“What Indians are they?”
“The Passamaquoddy tribe, from whom the bay over there
- gets its name.
- “Well, I scraped up an acquaintance with -two of the best
hunters of the crowd, Pete and Jim—their other names I never
‘knew. It took considerable persuasion to get them to take me out
of a porpoise hunt; but, after I had shown, them that I could
handle a paddle fairly well, they at last agreed: to initiate me into
the art and mystery of porpoise hunting; .and let me tell you fel-
lows, that of all my experiences this was by all odds the most
ticklish.”
“IT suppose they only go out when it’s very calm,” I remarked.
“Oh, no, they don’t. They never go when it is smooth, for then
the porpoises don’t play and tumble about as they do when it is
rough. You see, the Indian shdots the brute, and the more he is
jumping about and showing himself the better the chance. for
_ bagging him.” ¢

“You don’t mean to say the Indians shoot out of su¢h an un-
Steady thing as a bark canoe?” ’

‘Don’t they, thoggh; and splendid slots they make, too, with’
their eld-fashioneddeuns, standing up as they fire\ They don’t
_« mind the rough weather at all, but when the fog shuts down there
is nothing to be done but wait for it to lift.. At such times it is
dismal cnough about Grand Manan, the only relief from the
monotony being the Sncbrial tooting of a fisherman’s tin horn
or a blast of a conch shell, or the steady rumble of a mechanical
foghorn, or the dreary ‘konk, konk! of some majgstic raven
perched high up on the cliffs there behind us. They say, you
know, that this is where the mills are kept to grind out all the
_ fog supply for the Bay of Fundy, but it’s my opinion that a good ©
_ deal of it comes from the Nova Scotia side of the bay, I. have
heard the old foghorn at Cape Sable working away night and day
for twenty-six consecutive days in the month of June, though I
believe that North Head on this island has pretty nearly the same |
record. _When it settles down thick then; and you hear the
melancholy boo-o0-00 of the old steam signal, it is dismal enough
to make a Mark Tapley feel blue. ‘

 

 

oo

 

  

  

  

   

TOP WEEKLY.

‘then, I can tell you; and when the! fight comes to close quarters,

quite oblivious to his surroundings, straightened himself up and

_ shot over the gunwale, you would, ten chances to one, upset the —

27

“If you have never been out in a bark canoe in rough weather
you have no idea of how seaworthy a craft it is when worked
by skillful hands like these Indians. It is simply wonderful to
watch the masterful manner in which these fellows manage their
canoes. .They will go out in the face of a gale that will. give
schooners under shortened sail a pretty wet time of it. The
canoe is so. light. and buoyant that it seems to dance over the
waves like a thing of life; and, where the lumbering schooners
are pounding the water and sending the spray in sheets over the
deck, the canoe flits over the crests of the waves like a veritable
bird, In the winter, though r

“Surely they don’t go out in such cockleshells in the winter?”

“Yes, indeed they do. You see they hunt the porpoise for its
blubber, from which they manufacture the porpoise oil that is so
valuable for so many things, and in the winter the blubber is half
an inch thicker than in summer, and is therefore proportionally
richer in oil. Well, when it comes on squally and a driving
snowstorm is added to the piercing wind, you may imagine these
poor fellows have a pretty tough time of it. The hardships en-
dured by these Indians during the winter months are almost
beyond belief. No white man could stand them, or, anyway, he
wouldn’t. October is the best month of the year for the business
so far as weather goes”

“Well, but what about that shark? I should think there were
enough dangers to be braved without any shark?” I interrupted.

“There’s just where you are mistaken,” replied Tom. “The
Indians take the wéather as they find it, in their usual phleg-
matic way; but when it comes to a fight with a shark for a por-
poise just shot, even the solemn heaviness of the Indian character
gives way, and for once he becomes a being whose nerve and
courage are strung to the utmost tension. It’s no child’s play

 

and the shark is particularly hungry for a bite of porpoise, it gets
to be a pretty ticklish piece of ‘business. My experience was
enough of a hair-raiser for me, but Pete told me it was nothing
compared to some fights he had had, and he added, with a nod
toward Jim: ‘ pe

“Him brother lose arm, shark bite him off here,’ indicating the -
place of amputation by sawing his hand across his own arm just
above the elbow.”

“Come on, let us hear about your fight,” I said.

“Well, it was one morning about the middle of last October

that Pete and Jim consented to take me off on a porpoise hunt.
The day was fair—in fact, too fair for good sport. 1 4ttributed =
the Indians’ selection of such a day to\their doubts of my nerve
and steadiness. Off we started, and, with a light breeze filling
the sail, we simply flew over the rolling swell of the bay. There
are no regular hunting grounds. The Indians go out at haphazard
and sail about until a school of their prey is sighted. This day,
for many hours, seemed likely to, prove unfortunate, for not a-
sign of a fin could be seen anywhere.
* “In the afternoon, however, it came on to blow, and we were
soon dashing along before a breeze that made it bad weather for
good-sized schooners even under close reefs. I remonstrated
with Pete, who, with the utmost calmness, sat in ‘the stern and—
managed the sheet and steering paddle.

“*All right, no danger ‘tall, only little wet. Canoe no swamp;
me watch wave close, you see; water can’t come ‘board ’tall, —
Pete replied. So on we dashed at a very lively pace.

“Suddenly Jim, who had been reclining in the bows apparently Z

said: ‘
“You hear anything?’
“I strained my ears, but only the swish-swash of the water
reached me. No, I heard nothing. “
“‘T hear porpoise over der,’ and he perked his head in a direc-
tion that lay almost immediately ahead. A few minutes ‘more
and Jim again said: reer :
““Now you hear ’im blow?” ; .
“The next moment I certainly did hear what sounded to me-
like a Jot of intermittent steamewhistles, but which I rightly con-
cluded*were porpoises blowing, as they leaped and gambolled in
the now lively sea. The Indians picked out a big fellow, and_
Pete worked the €anoe around so as to get him dead ahead when
he came up.” ue
“Why, I should think he would want:to get the beggar right
abeam,” I remarked. ig 3 ee

“No,” replied Tom,

        
   
      
     
    
       
     
       
    
    
       
 

4 : five
“that is where’ you are wrong. If you

 

canoe; but, you see, there is no danger of ©

tlfat in shooting
straight over the stem. Ps ee ee

   
28 : Lee ee’

“Suddenly there was a roar that made me grip. the gunwales,
and wonder what on earth had happened. Jim had got.a bead on
Mr. Porpoise and let drive his old musket. These Indians don’t
seem to understand anything about the size of a charge of pow-
der, but load up their old guns by the handful, the lmit being
fixed by the kick the weapon gives the hunter. I one time shot
at a duck with my friend Jim’s gun, and although he said he had
put in only a little powder, | went around with my arm in a
sling for a week after. On danced the canoe, and, by the time
Jim had reloaded his gin, we began to see a red tinge in the
water,

“Ush! him good shot!’ remarked Pete, and he at once took
down the sail, and both Indians, after placing their spears handy,
grasped their paddles, and urged the canoe forward with rapid
strokes.

“Suddenly Jim, who was on his knees in the bow, called out:

“‘Heap big shark come!’ and looking ahead I saw a black fin
rushing through the water, coming almost directly toward us.

“Look out! Stop!’ I yelled. ‘He’s going to charge us!’ but
Pete just shook his head and said: .

“‘Him after porpus! and so it proved; for now, not ten yards
‘ ahead, lay the porpoise in.a crimsoned sea, and, apparently, just
about dead.

“It was now a race between the Indians and the shark which
should get there first. We had the advantage in distance, and
were soon lying alongside of the prize. I scrambled into the
stern and grabbed the gunwales, while Pete and Jim jumped
amidships and prepared to haul the porpoise aboard. But the
shark was not to be done out of his prey without a fight, so on he
came with a mad rush. Pete and Jim seized their spéars and
awaited the result. Down went the monster, and the next instant
I saw an enormous white belly and the awful maw, set with row
upon row of cruel-looking teeth, swiftly rising to the surface just
beside the porpoise.

“Now! said Pete, and together the Indians lunged forward
with their spears.

““Ah! him got it dat time!’ grinned Jim, and so it seemed, for
the piratical monster rolled over on his belky and dived under the
canoe. He was not to be denied, however, and hardly had I
called out, ‘Look out!’ when back he darted. Again the well-
directed spears made him beat a hasty retreat. Then Pete and
Jim, dropping their spears, with marvelous dexterity grabbed the
porpoise, and in the wink of an eye had him half in’the canoe.

“Quick! Spear!’ yelled Pete, and while he held the prize
firmly, to keep it from’ slipping back into the water, Jim, single-
handed, prepared to receive a fresh attack from the shark. » A
quick dart, a snap, and Jim was standing with only the handle of
his spear in his hand, He had struck the monster squarely in the
jaw, and the pain had made the shark snap his mouth shut.

“This, too, saved our prize, for, before the shark could recover

himself, the impetus of his rush took him past the porpoise, and .
%

ere he could return, our prize was safely landed.

\ “Ugh! dat hard fight! pretty near lose um porpus. What you
tink?’ said Pete, turning to me with a. pleased look in his face.
| was simply speechless. My hearft.was pounding in my ears, so
I could hardly hear Pete’s words. Fortunately for my reputation,
however, I regained control of my vocal powers quickly enough
to say in time:

“*Yes! that was a close shave!’

“*Pretty near upset!’ answered Jim. ‘But him fine porpus,
worth hard fight,’ he added, as he looked down at the five-foot
sea boy lying in the bottom of the canoe.

“Soon the sail was again set, and we were once more scud-
ding along in the direction the school of porpoises had taken.

“Me tink porpus run down through rips, volunteered Jim.

“What you tink? All right, take him t’rough der?’ asked
Pete as he nodded at me.

“‘Oh! yes, him berry good canoe man,’
great satisfaction, for I was most anxious to run dow
the famous Grand Manan ‘pe in a bark canoe.”

“What are the rips?” I ask

“Why, the rips is the sae given to the swift current the tide
makes rushing around a point through the narrow channel be-
tween the island and shore. When there is any wind, especially
if # is blowin® against the tide, a very nasty sea is ‘kicked up,
so you see to run through ina canoe is quite a bit of daring.

“The Indians evidently believed this was their lucky day, and
determined ‘to follow the porpoise, so the canoe was headed for
the opening now near at hand. In we plunged. The first dip into
the swirling, lashing current I verily believed would be our last,
but Pete' was equal to the occasion, and, by the most dexterous
piece of steering I ever saw, pulled us through in ibe shape

answered Jim, to By
hroug

 

 

WEEKLY,

,.with nothing worse than a wetting. Plenty of porpoises were to

“be seen coming through the rips, but not even my daring com-
panions had the hardihood to attaek.them there, Once more,
out on the open, however, Jim was able to again and again use
his antiquated firearm with good effect, until the canoé was
loaded down. with three fine fish, of about one hundred and fifty,
one hundred and-ten, and, ninety pounds respectively. Fortu-
nately, we had no more fights with sharks that day. One was
enough for me, and I have no ambition to repeat the experience,
] can tell you.”

“What are the porpoises good for?” I asked,

“Why, the oj, from the blubber is worth about ninety cents a
gallon. It is used for lubricating all sorts of fine machinery. It
was also at one time used in alk the lighthouses along the coast.
It gives a splendid light; soft and steady, without any of the
flare of gas or electricity.. It's the best thing you ever tried in
a’student’s lamp.”

“Smells bad/ doesn’t it? Seems to me I boarded one summer
in a house where the old lady’s son had just returned from sea,
and had soaked his, boots in the stuff. Has mother couldn’t make
out what it was until she tracked the smell to the boots, and
then they went to the woodshed in quick order.”

“Ha! ha! That’s because it wasn’t pure., When pure there is
no offensive odor. Its chief use now is for lubricating, for
which it is well adapted, as it never gets sticky and isn’t affected
by cold weather,”

“It’s what watchmakers use on timepieces, isn’t it?”
my other companion. f

“Yes, but that oil cones from the jaws of the fish only. The
jaws are hung up in the sun, and the oil caught as it drips down,”

ow much oil will a porpoise produce?”

“A good-sized fish will yield! about three gallons of blubber
oil and nearly half a pint from the jaws, This half-pint is worth
more than all the rest together.”

“Well, that’s
the world your smart Indians could pull a slippery porpoise over
the gunwale of a boat, let alone a rickety bark canoe.”

“Oh, that is not so difficult as you imagine. One Indian sticks
two fingers of his right hand into the porpoise’s blowhole, and
grasping the pectoral pin with the left, raises the beggar’s head
over the gunwale, and then, quickly rolling the canoe down to
the gunwale, the other Indian grabs the fish around the middle,
and, with a dexterous pull and a twist, the prize is safely landed.”

chimed in

—_———- +494

A GREAT STAR GAZER.

 

Galileo was the eldest son of a nobleman of. Florence, and in
his infancy manifested an interest in the stars. While looking at
the heavens one night he said in his childlike manner:

“There are thousands of stars, and yet all of them together dg
not give one-tenth the light that the sun itself gives.’

No boy ever worked’ harder to gain knowledge, and no boy
had so many obstacles to overcome as this young student. Be-
fore hé had reached his eighteenth year he was well versed sin
Latin and Greek, was an excellent artist and accomplished musi-
cian. -His father wished him to practice, but mis tastes and in-
clinations led him to follow mathematics.

Galileo’s ideas were so far beyond the age in whack he lived
thaf no publisher dared print his works. His first essay on
“Hydrostatic Balance” was written in 1586, but it was not. until
1610 that it was‘read by the public. His essay on “The Centre of
Gravity” was not published until fifty years after it, was written.

While in his seventieth year he was cast int@ prison and all his
works prohibited. This was a terrible blow ‘a tht old man, for
he i committed no crime; he knew in his heart that he was
right
that he had been making false statements.

“You say that the world moves, but it does not,” said his
enemies, “It.is the sun that moves.”

“But the,world does move,’ said Galileo fearlessly, as they
were shutting him in a dark cell.
of the “ages of superstition,” et¢., of the centuries past, and for-
get all about the ignorance, darkness, and superstition of the
nineteenth century. Galileo stood foremost among the unpopular
great men of the sixteenthvand seventeenth centuries. There are
three in the nineteenth century who have been laughed at for
advocating “impossible” schemes—Mr. Morse, because he said a

message could be sent by wire; Cyrus W. Field, because he said
telegraph cable could be laid across the Atlantic; Edison, because
he stated he ee dight houses and trate by electricity.

a pretty good fish story, but I don’t see how in’

When he asked why. he was sent\to prison he was told

We speak of the “dark ages,”

 

 
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I Had read them ever since I learned to read.

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NEW YORK, October 23, 1909.

 

 

 

 

TERMS TO TIP TOP WEEKLY MAIL SUBSCRIBERS,
(Postage Free.)
Single Copies or Back Numbers, 5c. Each.

3 MONS , 2. renew eeneenar teen ne Gc. | ONG Year .....ssessunseaswoves- 2.50
@ MONS 22. sas tesa ee ree 850. | 2 copies one year..1.....J6554. 4.00
BE PASDURS Hs Uebiedcds teak esic,. $1.25

1 copy tWO YeOTB. cease ceases 4.00

How to Send Money—By post-office or express money order,
registered letter, bank check or draft, at our risk: At your own risk if sent
by currency, coin, or postage stamps in ordinary letter.

Receipts—Receipt of your remittance is acknowledged by proper
change of number on your label. If not correct you have not been properly

credited, and should let us know at once.
~ Ormowp G, Smrtey, } STREET & SMITH, Publishers,

Georce C. Smith, ¢ Proprietors,

 

TIP TOP ROLL OF HONOR.

Following the suggestion of Mr. Burt L. Standish, that appeared
in his letter to Tip Top readers in No. 480, the following loyal Ti
Toppers have won for themselves a place on our Honor Roll for their
efforts to increase the circulation of the King of Weeklies, Get inline,
boys and girls, and strive to have your name at the head of the list,

 

 

 

Cornelius S. Regan, New York City.
Harold F. Rivenburgh, New York.

Misses M. and K. Samson, New York City.
Robert L. Wagar, C. E., Ohio.

Arthur P. Miles, Colorado.

Howard. W. Butler, Jr., Pennsylvania.
Hugo Sandgraf, Wisconsin.

Clarence Gusbach, New Jersey.

R, R. Miller, Ohio.

G. Rangnow, Philadelphia, Pa.

The names of other enthusiastic Tip Toppers will be added from
time to time. Send in the result of your efforts to push the circula-
tion of your favorite weekly and win a place on the Roll of Honor.

| APPLAUSE.

Owing to the large number of letters received, the editor of Tip
Top cannot undertake to secure their publication under six weeks.
Those who contribute to this department must not expect to see them
before that time. 3

 

 

2 FREE POST CARDS —Any boy who writes us, telling

why he loves Tir Tor, and what the magazine has done fot him, as well
as what ‘he is doing on his part to increase its circulation, will, upon
request, receive a set of six fine post cards of the principal characters in
Tip Tor free by mail. Be very sure and address your letters ‘‘Editor Tip
Top Weekly Post Card Offer.”

 

 

T have been a ‘reader of “Tip Top” for some months, and wish
The trouble is
I did not know how good they were. But a few months ago a

friend of mine gave me one and told me to read it. I answered

_ that I did not want to “waste the time,” but at length he got me
_ to read it, and by the time I had finished it I was a loyal Tip-

Topper. My friend had a large pile of back numbers and I took
' them all home and read them in a few days. I think that “Tip
Pop” is the “only” weekly. Every one I read I like better than
the last.’ My friend thought it was a good joke, and asked me
how I could “waste the time.” A person is no more wasting his

79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York City. _

f who eagerly read “Tip Top” each week?

WEEKLY. © 29

time while reading a “Tip Top” than when reading Latin. It
may be so with other weeklies, but not with the “king of them
all.” It is beneficial in many ways. I believe it has kept hun-
dreds of boys away from liquor who might have been drunkards
to-day. It teaches one, without one tealizing it, which is the
best way. “Tip .Tep”-—does its good without being “preachy,”
which latter quality makes some Sunday-school stoties unbearable
to most boys. I have induced several boys to start “Tip Top’—
seven in all—and I have not needed to. urge them further in any
way whatever than to give them a copy, which shows they must
appreciate “Tip Top.” I hope I will be able to induce more boys
and also some gifls to be ““Tip-Toppers.” I am convinced that the
seven boys of whom I spoke will stick to “Tip Top” till the end
of things. I know I shall. This is quite a long letter, but ten
times too mild. It would be necéssary to write a book to tell
how I love “Tip Top.” Orto Liroyp Murray.
Pittsburg, Pa.

You do not make it strong erlough, my boy, when you say
hundreds. Thousands would be better, perhaps going still farther
and saying tens of thousands, in the thirteen years of “Tip Top’s”
work. :

 

As I have tead “Tip Top” for a long time, T will try and write
a few lines praising it. I have a collection of oyer four hundred
copies of the best weekly published: I have interested many
boys in them, and they read all they can obtain fiow. I have
read a good many of the fifteen and ten-cent, books of the Medal
Library which tell about “Frank” and “Dick.” Every Friday
morning I go to a store and get the “Tip Top Weekly.” Yours
sincerely, “BROWNIE.”

Amsterdam, N.Y.

You belong to the “Tip Top” crowd, all riglt, son. Keep the
ball rolling and many of your chums will bless you for letting
them know what fine stories are contained in our weekly mag-
azine.

 

This is the first letter I have ever sent to you, and I hope it
will not be the last time, for I have taken a great fancy to “Tip
Top.” It happened one day when we were playing ball that a
big boy who played on the other side would cheat and say he
wasn’t out when everybody knew he was. At last I spoke up
and said that I had a story home that he ought-to read. I told
him it was about a boy who cheated, and in the end found out
his mistake. That same evening after the game he came around
to my house after that story. Now he always plays a square
game, and he said that story of Dick Merriwell had done it.
have found them to be one of the cleanest and best guides that
any boy wotld want. Yours respectfully,

Washington, D. C. -

Thete is something back of this simple little illustration. our
young friend gives that thinking people would do well to ponder
over. What sort of influence does the character and morals of
Frank and Dick Merriwell have upon the half-million boy readers
How many tens of
thousands ate there who have been madé more manly and am-
bitious through the example and precepts of the Merriwells?

_Cuirrord TAYLOR.

 

(A letter from Pennsylvania.) !

I take much pleasure in, writing to you to let you understand a
part of my appreciation for the instruction I have derived from
your good stories, not to speak of the pleasure. Unlike most of
the fiction sold at such a small price, I think they are educational
as well as entertaining. I have been an enthusiastic reader for
some time, and have always enjoyed them, and will as long as
they are published. I have recommended them to my friends, and
they never grow tired of reading about Frank and Dick and their
friends: Wishing “Tip Top” many years of good succes, I
remain a loyal Tip-Topper. H. Evcene Dayton.

You hit the nail squarely on the head, neighbor, when you
speak of the educational qualities of these stories.

 

i (A letter from New York.)

I think “Tip Top” rightly deserves its name. It certainly is
the king of. weeklies. I started reading them about three years
ago, and it certainly has done me a lot of good. I have induced
about fifteen boys and girls to read it, and they all think as I do,

 
date, or No. 690, “Dick Merriwell in the Nortk Woods,”

30 TIP ‘TOP, WEEKLY.

that it is the best weekly ever written or ever liable to be written.
I have read all of the Merriwell books in the Medal and New
Medal libraries up to date, including No. 527. I do not wish
to edit Mr. Standish’s work, but don’t you think that he could
have one grand reunion of Frank’ s friends such as Jack Diamond
and Jack "Ready, Bink Stubbs, Danny Griswold, ioe Gamp, Joe
Hooker, Dick Starbright, Dade Morgan, Buck Badger and his
wife, Ralph Bingham, and all the rest of the flock? I like Frank
‘best of all, then Dick, Bart Hodge, Browning, Tucker, Brad
Buckhart, Inza, Elsie, June, Doris, Little Felicia, and all of them.
Let us hear more of Felicia, also of T. Gallup, Barney Mul-
loy, and H. Dunnerwurst. I have taken up too much room, so I
must close, wishing long life to “Tip Top,” Street & Smith, and
Burt L.* I remain, yours truly, JoserpH Dower.

Perhaps the author may grant your request one of these days.
It would be very entertaining, we admit.

(A letter from Massachusetts. )

I have been a reader of “Tip Top’ for several years, and it.
think they contain the best stories published. I get them each
Friday, and every, one in the family reads them. 1 let several of
my friends take copies, and now most of them get it steadily. . I
am very choice of the back numbers, and I have every issue from
No. 300 to the latest. I also get the Merriwells in the Medal
_ Library. Yours truly. Marcus E, JENNISON.

The part of your letter, Marcus, that gives us the most pleasure
is that in italics. When a publisher can put out a magazine that
boys are wild to read, and which is warmly welcomed by each
and every member of the family circle, he has come very near to
attaining the ideal juvenile publication.

(A letter from Rhode Island.)

I have read “Tip Top” for a number of years, and I like it
_ so well that I have got most of the boys at school to read them,
Tending them my copies. And some of them are real “Tip-Top-
pers.” I do not think there is any weekly that will please any boy
better than the Merriwell stories. It teaches any person to be
manly, as well as to build up their bodies. With three cheers for
Burt L., I will close. E. C. Burpicx.

In a nutshell, you strike the keynote,of our strongest ambition
—‘“it teaches boys to be manly, and to build up their bodies.”
_ That, in other words, is the motto of “Tip Top”’—“a clean mind
in a healthy body.”

—_——

~

Having read “Tip Top” for neatly four years, I take the liberty
of writing to you. When I first saw the “king of weeklies” I
thought it was another of the same old type, but one trial soon
put all doubts to rest. I can say that it has made a man of me.
Lots of other boys saw me reading them and told me they were
dangerous. I lent them copies, and they are now among the
thousands who are reading them. Every Friday I make a bee
line for a bookseller’s and “Tip Top.” A friend of mine told me
‘those letters in the Applause were fakes.
some weeks and he’d see mine published. I exercise every day
and night. Professor Fourmen’s column is a wonder. Well, I
am taking up too much space. I will close with best wishes for
Burt L. and Street & Smith. Yours, JouNn SHINE.

New York City..

‘Well, here it is,

(A letter from Texas.)

TT have read all the “Tip Tops” from No. 614 to the eae
which
I have just finished. I think it the best five-cent weekly pub-
lished. The “Merriwells” in the New Medal Library are also’
great. To read them makes me wish to be as fine a boy as Frank |
was, which I know: can never be. I have had no particularly”
_ bad habits, and think that Burt L. had something to do with it.
_ My favorites are all of them, girls thtown in; but Frank best
of all, as he is the model I wish to be. I have given several
copies togmy friends, and they say they are fine. And now I
close with a cheerful re and wish success to all. Yours
truthfully, ° Horace Brppy.

i At any rate, my boy, set your aim high and never despair of
reaching the goal. That is the best any of us can do, Your
words of good cheer are heartily appreciated.

I told him to wait 4

QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS.

EDITED BY PROF. FOURMEN.

-—

 

NOTICE—So many inquiries reach us each week concerning the
various manuals on athletic development, which we publish, that we
have decided to keep a list of them at the head of this department.
Any number can be had by mail by remitting ro cents, and 3 cents
postage, for each copy, to the publishers.

FRANK MERRIWELL’S BOOK OF PHYSICAL DEVELOPMENT.
THE ART OF BOXING,AND SELF-DEFENSE, by Prof. Donavan.
U. S. ARMY PHYSICAL EXERCISES, revised by Prof. Donavan.
PHYSICAL HEALTH CULTURE, - - by Prof. Fourmen.
——ee

Pror. FourMEN : bring been a reader of “Tip Top” for four
years, I take the liberty to ask a few questions in regard to my
measurements. Age, 12 years; weight, 105 pounds; height, 5
feet 3 inches; chest, normal, 29 inches; expanded, 31 inches;
waist, 30 inches; neck, 11 inches; forearm, 8 inches; biceps, 10
inches; thigh, 18 inches; calf, 14 inches, How are my measure-
ments? Could I becothe a baseball player? Is horseback riding
good exercise? Hoping to see this in print, I remain,

Cuervo, N. M. A Loya. Tr1p-ToppEr.

You lack 3 inches about the chest, and your waist is about 5
inches too large. To become an athlete you must remedy these
faults. Horseback riding is good. No reason you should not be
a gpod ball player. |

Pror, FourRMEN: Being 4 close and ardent reader of “Tip
Top,” I take the liberty to give my measurements and ask a few
questions. Age, 23 years; height, 5 feet 1134 inches; weight, 174
pounds, stripped; chest, normal, 39 inches; expanded, 4212
inches; waist, 30!%4 inches; biceps, normal, 1144 inches; flexed,
123% inches; hips, 40 inches; calf, #5 inches; neck, 15 inches; |
thighs, 22 inches. What are my weak points? How can I de-
velop my chest, arms, and shoulders? Hoping to see this in
print, I remain, always for “Tip Top,” Ee Ease

Allegheny, Pa.

You are in fine shape, my boy. If you want to do still better
get a good punching bag and learn to rattle it at a lively chp.
“That is good for shoulder, chest, and arm muscles.

Pror, Fourmen: I am 14 years and 6 months old;
feet 2 inches; around chest, 29 inches; around waist, 26 inches;
weight, 102 pounds. My records are: Running broad jump, 16
feet; standing broad jump, 8 feet.
and ‘records? Hoping this will appear in print, I am,

Red Lion, Pa. ANxI0US.

You need a couple of inches about the chest to equal the stan- \e

dard. As to your records, there is no cause for you to be
ashamed of thent.

(A letter from Oregon.)

ror. FourmMen: Having been a reader of the “Tip Top fg
some months, I take the liberty of asking your opinion on my
measurements. Height, 4 feet 954 inches; age, 13 years 5 months
6 days; weight, 80 pounds; thighs, 16 inches: wrist, 6 inches;
chest, normal, 26 inches; expanded, 29 1-5 inches; ankle, 734 —
inches; calf, 11 inches; waist, 24 inches; muscle on upper right
arm, & inches, arm straight ; arm doubled, 9 inches; left. arm,
straight, 814 inches; doubled, 10 inches. I am right- handed. Tell:
me of my deficiencies and ‘how to cure them, and what painhe
sport is best suited for me. Hoping this will be putin print, 1
remain, EMMETT ForsytTue.

Go in for all athletic sports in reason. You lack one inch
about the chest and have just as much surplus around the waist.
Gain the first and lose the last. ¢fhen you will be “fit,” Emmett.

(A letter from Colorado.) a

Pror. FourMEN: Haying read “Tip Top” for the tasks year, anid
a half, I take Denes} in sending _ my SS ee

 

height, § is “dl

How are my measurements
 

i

 
   
  
   
  
  

 

| ekg
Ae
a

a

   
  
  
 
  
 

 

fe

he

t think it is the greatest weekly printed.

‘normal, 31 inches; expanded, 35 inches; neck, 12%
2514 inches; calf, 13 inches; thigh, 20 inches; forearm, to inches} -

 

/ TIP TOP

do you think of my prospects as a “pitcher”? I have a good
wing, and can outthrow,all the boys my size and age.. Age, 16
years 6 months; weight, 130 pounds; height,-5 feet G4 inches;
neck, 13% inches; shoulders, 184 inches; chest, 33 inehes; ex-

panded, 36 inches; biceps, 914 inches; forearm, 10° mehes; wrist,

7 inches; waist, 29 inches; hips, 35 inches; thighs, 19% inehes;
calves, 13% inches; ankle, 8% inches; whole arm (shoulder to tip
of fingers), 31 inches; ‘reach, 7 feet 4 inches.” Thanking you m
advance, and hoping’ to see this-in print; I remain,
Henry B. Boyne.

_ Chest should be 35 inches, Henry. Get to work and earn those

lacking 2 inches. Also try and train down your waist to 27

| inches.

I have read “Tip Top” for several years, and
I have induced. several
boys to read it. What do you think of my measurements? Chest,
> inches; waist,

Pror. FourMEN:

age, 16 years; weight, 121 poupds; height, 5 feet 8 inches. Hop-
ing to hear from you soon, I will close. d. D. G.
ppremanty Ta... Me nk

I think they are hardly to your credit, my boy, and it behooves

manly young fellow. Now is the time. They should be: Weight,
140 pounds; chest, 37 inches; waist, 28 inches; hips, 3534 inches;

 

 

thighs, 21 inches; calves, 1414 inches.

 

  
   
  
  

  

 
 

‘give you my measurements and see what you think of me.
I take exercise

La (A letter from Mississippi.)
‘Pror. Fourmen: I have been reading the “Tip Top Weekly”
here lately. In Nos, 580 and 624 I read letters to you. I want to
c To
start, I have no bad habits. | just quit cigarettes,
and find-I don’t want them now. My height is 5/feet 4 inches;
weight, 110 pounds; age, 15 years; forearm, 9% inches ; right, 10
inches; biceps, 10 inches; right, 11 inches; thighs, 20 inches;

Se

WEEKLY,

“weekly. 1 am‘15 yedrs-of age’and am very small.

 

™

hy
7 Vag

31
calf, 13 inches; chest, normal 32 inches; expanded, 3514 inches;
waist, 29 inches; expanded. 31 inches; neck, 15 inches; wrist, 7
inches; ankle, 10 inches, I-am junior champion of roller. skating
of Mississippi: My time is 1:49 for half mile. I run half mile on
foot in 2 minutes. I put a 50-pound weight over my head. eight
times: I am-healthy. I play baseball; I pitch and‘cateh.. I
wrestle, and: haye taken boxing lessons. I can hurdle ten hurdles
at-200 yards in 25.seeands, -hurdies,. 3% feet high. We have a
gymnasium here... bl take bagpunching. there. I. .would. like
you to write me and tell me how to get larger. i am strong, but
lam so short. ft remain yours. truly, RANK P. Barnour.

You can stand another inch about your chest, Frank. IJ cannot
tell you how to increase your height—let us hope that will come
along in due time. You seem to be something of a hustler with
regard to athletic work. Don’t overdo it, my boy, But try and
pick up that “inch. - A little more wind will help out in all your

attempts.
t

 

Prov. Fourmen: I lave read the “Tip Top” ever since No,
452, “Dick Merriwell in Sherwood Forest.” It is the best weekly
published. It is the best thing in the world for a boy to take
fie Merriwells for models, My favorites are Dick, Brad, Tommy,
and Joe C. As soon as I get through with them I let some one
else have them, and pass the sunshine along, Now everybody
is buying them. J hope you will answer this question in the next

My weight Is
Would you advise what to do?

73 pounds, I smoke and chew.
August FroHNAUER,

I remain a loyal Tip-Topper.
Chicago, I, os
First, last, and all time, quit for good the habits you confess to,

You haye yourself partly to blame for being stunted in your

growth. Give tobacco in every shape a wide berth. Say to your-

self and mean #, too: “Never again.” You certainly do not take —
either Frank or Dick as your model so long as you continue in —
this habit. Go in for athletic work in general, and grew up to

be a man in every sense of the word. That’s all.
i

rz TE r <
? ee 2 a0

‘ : j :

 

 

a
‘a

- having the higher average will be

newspaper accounts

[TP TOP BASEBALL TOURNAMENT FOR 1909

HB great interest taken by enthusiastic amateur baseball teams all over the country in our contests for some years
past, has induced us to once again enter the field with a tempting offer, So here it is, boys: The two teams which,

at the end of the season, have the highest average—the members of which play the greatest number of games, score fa

- the most runs and have lost the least number of games, will be declared the winners, | i ga

declared the Tip Top Championship Team of the All-American Baseball || _

| Tournament for 1909, and will receive a beautiful silk pennant bearing a suitable device. Hach winning team will —
—|l< receive a full equipment, consisting of trousers, shirt, stockings, shoes and cap for nine members. When possible send
of your games also to substantiate the score. DONS FAI, TO SEND IN YOUR COUPON AT ONCE. JVo
notice taken of any score not entered on a coupon cut outof Tip Top. Coupons must be properly made out, one for cach game.

— ou

ganas

Of the two winning teams, the one

 

i NAMES OF TEAM, |

4 \ ;
PPrr ii iti titers

 

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ALL, OF THE BACK NUMBERS OF

IP TOP WEEKLY

a THAT CAN NOW. BE SUPPLIED ————

Y

 

 

194—Frank Merriwell’s Stratagem. 503—Dick Merriwell’s Skates. _ 573—Dick Merriwell’s System, 642—Dick Merriwell’s Example.

 

195—Frank Merriwell’s Limit. 504—Dick Merriwells Four Fists. 574—Dick Merriwell’s Salvation, 643—Dick Merriwell At Gale’s
197—Frank Merriwell’s “‘Flock.” 505—Dick Merriwell’s Dashing 575—-Dick Merriwell’s Twirling. Ferry.
198—-Frank Merriwell’s Tempta-, Game. 576—Dick Merriwell’s Party. 644—-Dick Merriwell’s Inspiration.

tion, 506—Frank Merriwell’s Tigers. 577—-Dick Merriwell’s Backers, 645—Dick Merriwell’s Shooting. .
199—Frank Merriwell’s Work. 507—Frank Merriwell’s Treasure 578—Dick Merriwell’s Coach. 646—Dick Merriwell in the Wilds. ©
214—-Frank Merriwell’s Stroke. Guard, 579—Dick Merriwell’s Bingle. 647—Dick Merriwell’s Red Comrade og
230—Frank Merriwell’s Battery. 508—Frank Merriwell’s Flying Fear 580—-Dick Merriwell’s Hurdling. 648—Frank Merriwell’s Ranch.
231—-Frank Merriwell’s Archer. 509—Dick Merriwell in Maine. 581—Dick Merriwell’s Best Work. 649—Frank Merriwell in the Sad-
233—-Frank Merriwell’s Find. 510—Dick Merriwell’s Polo Team. 582——Dick Merriwell’s Respite. dle. a
234—Frank Merriwell’s Hustlers. 511—Dick Merriwell in the Ring. 583—Dick Merriwell’s’ Disadvan- 650—Frank Merriwell’s Brand. MJ
-285—Frank Merriwell’s Captivity. 512—Frank Merriwell’s New Idea. tage, 651—Frank Merriwell’s Red Guide. — a
236—Frank Merriwell’s New Pro- 518—Frank Merriwell’s Trouble. 584——-Dick Merriwell Beset. 652—Dick Merriwell’s Rival. ae

tege. 514—Frank Merriwell’s Pupils. 585—Dick Merriwell’s Great Rival. 653—-Dick Merriwell’s Strength. ie |
237—Frank Merriwell’s Power. 515—Dick Merriwell’s Satisfaction. 586—Dick Merriwell’s Distrust. 654—Dick Merriwell’s Secret Work.

 

238—Frank Merriwell’s Policy. 516—-Dick Merriwell’s Discernment. 587—Dick Merriwell, Lion-Tamer.' 655—Dick Merriwell’s Way. ne
239—Frank Merriwell’s Freshmen. 517—Dick  Merriwell’s Friendly 588—Dick Merriwell’s Camp-site. 656—Frank. Merriwell’s Red Visitor
240—Frank Merriwell’s Generalship Hand, 589—Dick Merriwell’s Debt. 657—Frank Merriwell’s Rope.
241—Frank Merriwell’s Kick, 518—Frank Merriwell’s New Boy. 590—Dick Merriwell’s Camp-Mates. 658—Frank Merriwell’s Lesson.

 

 

242—Frank Merriwell’s High Jump 519—Frank Merriwell’s Mode, 591—Dick Merriwell’s Draw. 659—Frank Merriwell’s Protection.
243—Frank Merriwell’s “Brassie’ 520—Frank Merriwell’s Aids. 592—-Dick Merriwell’s Disapproval. 660—Dick Merriwell’s Reputation. |
: Shot. 521—Dick Merriwell’s Visit. 598—Dick Merriwell’s Mastery, 661—Dick Merriwell’s Motto.
244—-Frank Merriwell’s Shrewdness 522—Dick Merriwell’s Retaliation. 594—-Dick Merriwell’s Warm Work 662—Dick Merriwell’s Restraint, a
245—Frank Merriwell’s Hntertain 523—Dick Merriwell’s Rival. 5§95—Dick Merriwell’s “Double 663—Dick Merriwell’s Ginger. ey
ments. 524—-Frank Merriwell’s Young Crew Squeeze.”’ 664—Dick Merriwell’s Driving. zy
(246—Frank Merriwell’s Mastery. 525—Frank Merriwell’s Fast Nine. 596—Dick Merriwell’s Vanishing. 665—-Dick Merriwell’s Good Cheer.
247—Frank Merriwell’s Dilemma. 526—Frank Merriwell’s Athletic597—Dick Merriwell Adrift. 666—Frank Merriwell’s Theory.
248—Frank Merriwell’s Set-Back. Field, 598—Dick Merriwell’s Influence. 667—FPrank Merriwell’s Diplomacy.
249—F'rank Merriwell’s Search. 527—Dick Merriwell’s Reprisal. 599—Frank Merriwell’s Worst Boy. 668—Frank Merriwell’s Encourage-~
250—Frank Merriwell’s Ring. 528—Dick Merriwell Dared. i 600—Frank Merriwell’s Annoyance. ment. Vie Oe
251—Frank Merriwell’s Party. 529—Dick Merriwell’s Dismay. 601—Frank Merriwell’s Restraint. 669—Frank Merriwell’s Great’
252—Frank Merriwell’s,Life Strug- eee eee Merriwell’s Son. 602—Dick Merriwell Held Back. Work, a
gle. 531—-Frank Merriwell’s Old Flock. 603—Dick Merriwell in the Line. 670—-Dick Merriwell’s Mind,
 253—Frank Merriwell’s Skill. 532—Frank Merriwell’s House Party 604—Dick Merriwell’s Drop Kick. 671—Dick Merriwell’s “Dip.”
ana eke Merriwell’s Club, 5388—Dick Merriwell’s Summer 605—Frank Merriwell’s Air Voyage 672—-Dick Merriwell’s Rally.
255—Frantk Meriwell’s Scheme. Team, 606—Frank Merriwell’s Auto Chase. 6783—Dick Merriwell’s Flier. mas
256—Frank Merriwell’s Mysterfous 534—Dick Merriwell’s Demand. 607—Frank Merriwell’s Captive. © 674— Frank Merriwell’s Bullets. uy
Move, 535—-Dick Merriwell’s Slabmate. 608——Dick Merriwell’s Value. 675—Frank Merriwell Cut Off. ns
 257—Frank Merriwell’s Hand. oar shoes Merriwell’s Summer 609—Dick Merriwell Doped. 676—F rank Merriwell’s Ranch Boss
258—Frank Merriwell’s Suspicion. 610—Dick Merriwell’s Belief. 677—Dick Merriwell’s Equal.
259—Frank Merriwell’s Trust. 537—Franke Merrtwell's Proposal. 611—Frank Merriwell in the Mar- 678—Dick Merriwell’s Development,
260—Frank Merriwell’s Sweetheart. 588—{—Frank Merriwell’s Spook- ket. 679—Dick Merriwell’s Hye. ;
pert eens, Merriwell’s Bosom hunters. 612—Frank Merriwell’s Fight for 680—Frank Merriwell’s Zest. ;
Fri 589—Dick Merriwell’s Cheek. Fortune, 681—F rank Merriwell’s Patience.
262—Frank OMerniwall Deceived. 540—Dick Merriwell’s Sacrifice. 618—Frank Merriwell on ‘Top. ‘682—F rank Merriwell’s Pupil.
263—Frank Merriwell in Form. 541—Dick Merriwell’s Heart. . °614—Dick Merriwell’s Trip West. © 683—Frank Merriwell’s Fighters:
264—-Frank Iferriwell’s Coach. 542—Frank Merriwell’s New Auto. 615—Dick Merriwell’s Predicament. 684—Dick Merriwell at the ‘“Meet.”
409—Frank Merriwell’s Great Peril 548—Prank, Merriwell’s Pride, eae Merriwell in Mystery 685—-Dick Merriwell’s Protest.
415—Dick Merriwell’s Devotion, seg Rg a “Merriwell’s Young Win- “ ‘alley 686—Dick Merriwell in the Marathon
418—Dick Merriwell’s Force. 617—Frank Y Merriwell’s Proposi- 687—-Dick Merriwell’s Colors,
432—-Dick Merriwell’s Set Back. 545— re vplerviwéll’s Lead. tion 688—Dick Merriwell, Driver.

433—Dick Merriwell’s “Phantom. ” 546— erriwely’s Influence, 618—Frank Merriwell Perplexed. 689—Dick Merriwell on the Deep.

434—Dick Merriwell’s Management Barbie ene e Notch. 619—Frank Merriwell’s Suspicion. 690—Dick Merriwell in the North

435—Dick Merriwell’s Dilemma. 548—Frank Merriwell’s Kids. 620—Dick Merriwell’s Gallantry. Woods.

_436—Dick Merriwéll’s Persistence, 549—Frank Merriwell’s Kodakers. 621—Dick Merriwell’s Condition. g94—-nick Merriwell’s Dandies

Bean soaseret in Constantl- 550—Dick Merriwell, Freshman. 622—Dick Merriwell’s Stanchness. ¢99 nick Merriwell’s “Skyscooter.”
551—Dick Merriwell’s Progres. 628—Dick Merriwell’s Matth. ys ‘

 

 
   
 
      
         
       
      
     
      
         
     
       
 

467—Dick P Merriwell in Egypt. 552—Dick Merriwell, Half-back, 624—Frank Merriwell’s Hard Case. ®98—Dick Merriwell in the Elk = ©
469—Frank Merriwell’s Retaliation 558—Dick Merriwell’s Resentment. 625—Frank Merriwell’s Helper. Mountains. as
._ 472—Frank Merriwell’s Handicap. 554—Dick Merriwell Repaid. 626—Frank Merriwell’s Doubts. 694——-Dick Merriwell in Utah.

_ 478—Frank Merriwell’s Method. 555—Dick  Merriwell’s ~° Staying 627—Frank Merriwell’s “Phenom.” 695—Dick Merriwell’s Bluff. :
485-—Dick Merriwell in Manila. Powers 628—Dick Merriwell’s Stand. 696—Dick Merriwell in the Saddle: ‘
'486—Dick Merriwell Marooned, 556—-Dick Merriwell’s “Push.” 625- Dick Merriwell’s Circle. es Ys { ads

i s 697—Dick Merriwell’s Ranch Friends
487—Dick Merriwell’s Comrade. 557—Dick Merriwell’s Running. 630—Dick Merriwell’s Reach, 608-—Frank: Metriwell at. Phaston
488—Dick Merriwell, Gap-Stopper. 558-—Dick Merriwell’s Joke. 631—Dick Merriwell’s Money. fini a
_489——-Dick Merriwell’s Sacrifice Hit 559—Dick Merriwell’s Seven. 632—Dick Merriwell Watched.

Dick Merriwell’s Support. 560—Dick Merriwell’s Partner. 638—Dick Merriwell Doubted. 699—Frank Merriwell’s Hold-back. fie
491—-Dick Merriwell’s Stroke 561—Dick Merriwell in the Tank. 634—-Dick Merriwell’s Distrust. 700—Frank Megriwell’s Lively Lads.
_ 492——Dick Merriwell Shadowed. 562—Frank Merriwell’s Captive. | 635—-Dick Merriwell’s Risk. 701—¥ rank Merriwell as Instructor.
493—Dick Merriwell’s Drive. 563—Frank Merriwell’s Trailing. 636—Frank Merriwell’s Favorite. '702—Dick Merriwell’s Cayuse.
~494—Dick Merriwell’s Return, 564—Frank Merriwell’s Talisman. perc Merriwell’s Young Clip- 703——Dick Merriwell’s Quirt.

    
      
  
           
      
         
     
 

495—Dick Merriwell’s Restoration. 565—lFrank Merriwell’s Horse. 704—Dick Merriwell’s Freshman
eae Cee Noa ooo eee area s_ Intrusion. 38-—rank Merriwell’s Steadying Friend.
—Dic erriwell’s “Dukes.” 67—Frank Merriwell’ 's ‘Bluff. . —Dic yell’s
498—Dick Merriwell’s Drop Kick. 568—Dick Meriwell’s Regret. 639—Frank | Merriwell’s Record 700 ae ner oma. Form.
499—-Dick Merriwell’s Defeat. 569——Dick Merriwell’s ‘Silent Work. Breakers. 7 ick Mefriwell’s Gambol.f
- §00—Dick Merriwell’s Chance. 570—Dick Merriwell’s Arm. 640—Dick Merriwell’s Shoulder. 07—Dick Merriwell’s Gambo on
- §01—Dick Merriwell’s Stride. 571—Dick Merriwell’s Skill. | \641—Dick Merriwell’s Desperate 708—Dick Mérriwell’s Gun. Ng
_ §02—Dick Merriwell’s Wing-Suit. 572—Dick Merriwell’s eae WOT, 7% 709-——-Dick Merriwell at His Best,

    
   
  

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7,

  

  
 
 

  

PRICE, FIVE CENTS PER COPY

Jig you ‘want any back numbers of our weeklies and cannot procure them from your newsdealer, they can be
obtained direct from ae office. Postage stamps taken the same as money.

     

  
% pape ie
tes
See aes

 
 

 

heh to ew Ne ERS OF 1 FE

TIP TOP WEEKLY

ARE PRESERVED IN THE NEW MEDAL LIBRARY

 

 

The following books in the NEW MEDAL LIBRARY con-
tain numbers 1 to 433 of the TIP TOP WEEKLY. Many of
the individual numbers before 433 are entirely out of print so
that the thousands of boys who are interested in the early adven-
tures of Frank and Dick Merriwell and whe want to read every-
thing that was written about them, will welcome this oppor-
tunity to secure their favorite reading in a form that is more
readily preserved. PRICE, FIFTEEN CENTS.

150—Frank Merriwell’s School-days.
167—F rank Merriwell’s Chums.
178—Frank Merriwell’s Foes.
184—Frank Merriwell’s Trip West.
189—Frank Merriwell Down South.
193—F rank Merriwell’s Bravery.
197—Frank Merriwell’s Hunting Tour.
201—Frank Merriwell in Europe.
205—Frank Merriwell at Yale.

209—F rank Merriwell’s Sports Afield.
213—Frank Merriwell’s Races.
217—Frank Merriwell’s Bicycle Tour.
225—Frank Merriwell’s Courage.
229—Frank Merriwell’s Daring.
233—Frank Merriwell’s Athletes.
237—Frank Merriwell’s Skill.
240—Frank Merriwell’s Champions.
244—F rank Merriwell’s
247—Frank Merriwell’s Secret.
251—Frank Merriwell’s Danger.
254—Frank Merriwell’s Loyalty.
258—Frank Merriwell in Camp.
262—Frank Merriwell’s Vacation.
267—Frank Merriwell’s Cruise.
271—Frank Merriwell’s Chase.
276—Frank Merriwell in Maine.
280—Frank Merriwell’s Struggle.
284—F rank Merriwell’s First Job.
288—Frank Merriwell’s Opportunity.
292—Frank Merriwell’s Hard Luck.
296—Frank Merriwell’s Protégé.
300—F rank Merriwell on the Road.
304—Frank
308—Frank

Merriwell’s Fame.

312—Frank Merriwell’s College Chums.

316—Frank Merriwell’s Problem.
320—Frank Merriwell’s Fortune.
324—Frank Merriwell’s New Camedian.
328—Frank Merriwell’s Prosperity.

Return to Yale.

Merriwell’s Own Company.

332—F rank Merriwell’s Stage Hit.
336—F rank Merriwell’s Great Scheme.
340—Frank Merriwell in England.

344—F rank Merriwell on the Boulevards.

348—Frank Merriwell’s Duel.
352—Frank Merriwell’s Double Shot.

356—Frank Merriwell’s Baseball Victories

Merriwell’s Confidence.
Merriwell’s Auto.
Merriwell’s Fun.
Merriwell’s Generosity.
Merriwell’s Tricks.
Merriwell’s Temptation.
Merriwell on Top.
Merriwell’s Luck.
Merriwell’s Mascot.
Merriwell’s Reward.
Merriwell’s Phantom.
Merriwell’s Faith.
395—Frank Merriwell’s Victories.
308—Frank Merriwell’s Iron Nerve.
401—Frank Merriwell in Kentucky.
404—Frank Merriwell’s Power.
407—Frank Merriwell’s Shrewdness.
410—Frank Merriwell’s Set-back.
413—Frank Merriwell’s Search.
416—Frank Merriwell’s Club.
419—F rank Merriwell’s Trust.
422—Frank Merriwell’s False Friend.
425—Frank Merriwell’s Strong Arm.
428—Frank Merriwell as Coach.
431—Frank Merriwell’s Brother.
434—Frank Merriwell’s Marvel.
437—Frank Merriwell’s Support.
440—Dick Merriwell at Fardale.
443—Dick Merriwell’s Glory.
446—Dick Merriwell’s Promise.
449—Dick Merriwell’s Rescue.
452—Dick Merriwell’s Narrow Escape.

359—F rank
362—F rank
365—Frank
308—F rank
371I—Frank
374—Frank
377—Frank
380—F rank
383—F rank
386—Frank
3890—F rank
392—F rank

455—Dick Merriwell’s Racket.
458—Dick Merriwell’s Revenge.
401—Dick Merriwell’s Ruse.
464—Dick Merriwell’s Delivery.
467—Dick Merriwell’s Wonders.
470—Frank Merriwell’s Honor.
473—Dick Merriwell’s Diamond.
476—Frank Merriwell’s Winners.
479—Dick Merriwell’s Dash.
482—Dick Merriwell’s Ability.
485—Dick Merriwell’s Trap.
488—Dick Merriwell’s Defense.
491—Dick Merriwell’s Model.
404—Dick Merriwell’s Mystery.
497—Frank Merriwell’s Backers.
500—Dick Merriwell’s Backstop.
503—Dick Merriwell’s Western Mission.
s06—Frank Merriwell’s Rescue.
509—Frank Merriwell’s Encounter.
512—Dick Merriwell’s Marked Money.
515—Frank Merriwell’s Nomads.
518—Dick Merriwell on the Gridiron.
521—Dick Merriwell’s Disguise.
524—Dick Merriwell’s Test.
527—Frank Merriwell’s Trump Card.
530—Frank Merriwell’s Strategy.
533—Frank Merriwell’s Triumph.
536—Dick Merriwell’s Grit.

Published About October 26th
5390—Dick Merriwell’s Assurance.

Published About November 16th.
542—Dick Merriwell’s Long Slide.

Published About December 7th.
s4s—Frank Merriwell’s Rough Deal.

Published About December 28th.
548—Dick Merriwell’s Threat.

 

 

STREET & SMITH, Publishers, NEw YORK CITY