DEAL PUBLICATION FORTHE AMERICAN YOUTH
__Dick MERRIWELLS ADVICE

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With a spurt, the big Sopho-

more raneven. As he gave the

shoulder to the enemy, they

crashed down together; and _ (STREET & S/NTH,

Dick, leaping free, was left to Bi PUBLISHERS,
s 3 NEW YORK,

shift for himself, ' Bea

 

 

 

 

 
 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Issued Weekly.

By subscription $2.50 per year. Entered as Second-class Matter at the N. Y. Post Office, by STREET & SMITH, 79-89 Seventh Ave., N.Y.

Copyright, 1910, 5y STREET & SMITH.

No. 756.

NEW YORK, October 8, 1910.

Price Five Cents.

Dick Merriwell’s. Advice;

OR,

THE MAN WHO WOKE UP.

‘

By BURT L. STANDISH.

CHAPTER I.

THE ACCIDENT.

_. “Gee, what a crack!”

“He’s down and out, isn’t he?”

“Why in thunder don’t you dopes stand back and
give him a chance to breathe,” Brad Buckhart ex-

claimed angrily. “Didn’t any of you ever see a fel-
low knocked silly before? Get a dipper of water, some
_ body, and get it quick!”

Two men started on a run toward the side lines,

but they had not taken more than a dozen steps be-
fore the man on the ground slowly’ opened his eyes

and tried to sit up. As he did so a spasm of pain
flickered across his face, and Dick Merriwell caught

him by the shoulders just in time to prevent his falling

back again.” .

_ “What is it, Stillman?” he asked anxiously.. “Where

é are you hurt ?”

Ralph Stillman siti his teeth savagely.

“My ankle!” he snapped. “I believe it’s sprained,

or something.”

oe By this time Bill Fullerton, the coach, had reached

A

the spot, and at the sight of his helpless tackle, he
gave voice to a few remarks which were decidedly more
forcible than polite. Having relieved his mind, he
pulled out a knife, and, dropping down on his knees, °
began to slit the lacings of Stillman’s shoe.

No one knew just how the accident had come about.
The Yale eleven was having one of its regular prac- ©
tice games with the scrub. The latter, having the ball,
had tried for a play around the end. The pigskin
was snapped back to Rudolph Rose, who started off
with it as if shot from the mouth of a cannon, with
Stillman after him and the whole formation close
behind. 7

The latter made a beautiful tackle which brought
Rose to the earth with a thud, with the greater part
of both teams piling up on top of them. When the
melée of wriggling legs and arms was disentangled,
Stillman was found at the bottom, unconscious, with a
welt on his head, and his right leg doubled under him.

The shoe and stocking were swiftly cut away, and,
to the dismay of every one, a badly swollen, undeni-_
ably sprained ankle was revealed. |

 
TIP

Buckhart scowled fiercely as he saw it.

“Help me get him over to the house, will you?” -he
said quickly. “And somebody come along to go for
a doctor.”

Stillman made no complaint, though it was evi-
dent he suffered considerably, and under the Texan's
, direction he was lifted carefully up and carried over
to the dressing rooms, where they made him as comni-
fortable as was possible pending the arrival of a doc-
tor. j

Twenty minutes later Buckhart was back in the field
again in consultation with Fullerton and Dick Mer-
riwell. .

“Of all the rotten luck this beats everything!’ he
burst out angrily.

“Puts him out of business for the whole season,”
the coach remarked, his brows furrowed with anxiety.

“It sure does,” the Texan returned shortly. ‘One
of the best men we've got, too.”

“Yes, you could always count on Ralph to do the
right thing at the right time,”
glanced about the field. “He’s steady as a rock.
are you going to put in, Brad?”

Buckhart, acting as captain in place of the regular
man, who was ill, hesitated as he ran his eye apprais-
ingly over the two elevens scattered about the field in
/groups of three and four.

- “Why, I reckon Rose is the best sub we’ve got,’ he
remarked presently, with a questioning glance at lul-
lerton. .

The latter nodded his head slowly.

_ “Y-es,” he agreed. “Rose is pretty good.
proved a lot since he first came out. Mood speed and
wind, and a good head—w hen he uses it.’ ,

- Merriwell made no comment. Strictly ahah he
had no more to say about the make-up or manage-
ment of the eleven than any of the other men, and,
though Buckhart frequently asked his advice abput
various points, and almost always followed it, he had
made it a rule never to volunteer any suggestions.
He wished to give no one the chance of saying that
the Texan was merely a nominal captain and it was
, feally Mertiwell who ran the team. tate

“What do you think of Rose, pard?” the Westernet
; inquired suddenly, with a side glance at oe chum.
Dick hesitated for an instant. .

“Why, I guess he’s all right,” he said slowly.

haps he’s a trifle cocksure and inclined to do things on
his own hook, but I should say he’ s the best substi-,
| tute you have.” —

bes look | of relief came into the Texan's face,

Merriwell said as he

wv 11O

/
He’s im-

ae ee et re

Stillman’s place in the line-up.

“Pets

LOR WV Etoile X 3

“Well, that’s settled, then,” he remarked. “We'll
sure do our best to cure his little tricks.”

Turning, he strode out into the field.

“Get busy, fellows,” he yelled. “We've wasted too
much time for one afternoon. Rose, take Stillman’s
place. Hustle, now, and line up again.”

Rudolph Rose stepped forward with a look of sat-
He was a strikingly handsome
fellow—almost too good-looking for a man, with his
wide-set gray eyes, and perfectly
Adoring young women had likened
However that might

isfaction on his face.

curly, golden hair,
chiseled features.
his face to that of a Greek god.
be, his build approached so near the perfection of,
the classic standards that it was the admiration and
envy of many less favored mortals.

His shoulders were wide and deep and powerful, his
waist slim, his hips narrow. He was above the aver-
age in height, and his muscles were splendidly de-.
veloped. He was speedy and long-winded, and had
made a remarkable showing on the track in his fresh-
man year, besides doing wonders as captain of the
freshman football teat.

When he had come out for practice this fall, he
had quite expected to make the eleven with ease, —
and it was rather a shock to his self-esteem to find

himself relegated to the scrub. To be sure, he had

been appointed one of the regular substitutes, a posi-
good’ |

tion which most men Avould have thought pretty
for a sophomore, but Rose did not regard it in that ~
light. He felt that he had been cheated out of his —
rightful: dues; hinted broadly at favoritism in the! *

management, and bewailed his obtuseness in not hav->

ing made a point of currying favor with Buckhart
Merriwell, and thus securing the position’ he —
coveted, ; te
Consequently, it was with a ight heart and smiling
face that he s command and took

and

obeyed the Texan's

“It’s an ill wind that blows nobody good,”

he mur-—
“Sorry for Stilly, of course,
but every fellow’s got to look out for himself.” ~

mured with satis faction.

Meanwhile Buckhart had realized that, with the
was a vacancy left on the
to be filled oe ss game

7%

promotion of Rose, there
scrub which would have
could be resumed. ; \

“Not a blessed soul around! !” he ene as his
he roved Bur the ee

 
Lie Gree

“He’s no use, is he?”

Fullerton grinned. ‘

“Not much,” he returned, “but he’s a persistent
beggar to come out every day without any encourage-
ment at all. Maybe there’s something in him.”

“He'll have to do for this afternoon, I reckon,” the
Texan said crossly. “There sure isn’t anybody else

to rin in. Where in thunder is he?”
_ “That’s he on the bench over there, isn’t it?’ Dick
asked quietly.

Buckhart glanced swiftly in the direction his Hin
pointed, and his face lighted up.

“It sure is,” he returned briefly.

He put his hands Se to his mouth.

“Bax-ter!’’ he yelled. “Come over here! We want

you!”

The fellow on the bench gave a sudden start and
raised his head. There was a moment's hesitation, and
then he sprang to his feet and started across the field

on a run. e
ee “

CHAPTER IT.
THE FELLOW WHO FAILED.

Theodore Baxter—Teddy, he was called for short,
and sometimes The—was very tired of doing noth-
ing. Passionately devoted to football, it had been
hard to sit still and watch the twenty-two het, per-
-spiring players surging to and fro on the field. His
brown eyes sparkling, his face flushing, every now and
then clenching his hands tightly as he felt a desperate
longing, ‘which was almost a physical ache, to be out
there with them, to be a part of it all, to do something,
he had been, seemingly, condemned to merely sit and
watch. i \
He had about made up his mind not to come out onto
the field again. It. would be easier to stay away.
Then he would not be tormented by the sight of others
doing what he himself longed to do, more than any-
thing else in the world.
He had been patient.

ad hurried into his togs and shown up on the field
with all the’ regularity of the men on the varsity; but

each day it had been harder. At first he had beer filled :

with high hopes.

Eagerly he had taken his place with the mob of ae

fellows, determined to show what he could do. Per-
ps he had been too eager, or possibly the excitement
1 the moment made him BE a all events, in-

-to be able to tackle his man properly.
was passed to him, could he catch it without fumbling?

Every afternoon a the be-_
ginning of the season—two long, trying weeks—he

WEEKLY. ; a

stead of doing his best, he had always shown up at his
very worst; making an exhibition of himself, the
thought of which brought a flush of shame to his
tanned cheeks.

He fumbled; made absurdly futile attempts at tack-
ling which more than once caused the fellows who
watched him to roar with laughter. He had proved
himself an absolute failure time and again, and so
great was his bitterness of heart, that, in the seclusion
of his room, he would resolve never again to touch
a football.

But somehow the next afternoon*he would change
his mind. It was almost as if a powerful magnet drew
him thither. Pale, he would line.up with the other
candidates. The nudges, smiles, and lifted eyebrows
with which some of the men greeted his appearance
did not pass unnoticed; for Baxter was not in the least
slow-witted. He understood their meaning quite well,
and his heart full of bitterness, he realized that they
were laughing at him.

But apparently, he paid no heed. With set teeth,
determined to die ratMer than show for an instant how
much their thoughtless jibes hurt him, he thus started
in the afternoon with an added handicap, and again
would make a miserable mess of everything he tried
to do. ;

His nerves were on edge. Things which had be-
come almost second nature to him, and which he had
done on his school team—or even on the freshman
eleven last ‘year—without giving them a thought, as-
sumed the proportions of tremendous undertakings.
He found himself wondering whether he was going

Having caught it, would he be able to make the re-
quired gain. e

Naturally, having worried himself to death think-

ing about a thing, when! the time came to do it, he
bungled: horribly; and both Buckhart and Fullerton
might well have been pardoned. for their behet that
he was quite hopeless.

_ Still he persisted incoming out, and Fullerton good--
naturedly had allowed him to take part in the prac-
tice as long as the make-up of the two elevens remained
undecided. But as soon as they were finally formed,
Baxter, of course, was reduced to the position of a reg-

ular spectator.

If the ball

Soa iie

There was nothing to prevent his —
coming out in his togs, to be sure; but all he could
do was to watch the playing, with the slim chance. of

being called on to fill the place of some one who might :

be ae

 
aie Tae

Theodore Baxter’s great weakness was lack of con-
fidence in himself and a kind of self-cornsciousness.
Things generally went smoothly enough when noth-
ing of great moment was at stake.

He had done very good work indeed in practice
games at school. But the instant he found himself in
a position when a great deal depended upon his efforts,
it seemed to him as if the eyes of every human being
within sight were focused upon him, his nerves be-
came unsteady, his fingers turned to thumbs; and
he tried so desperately hard to be successful that he
usually failed. *

Following the game with a keen interest, Baxter had
watched Stillman make his beautiful tackle with a kind
of wistful envy. He would have given anything’ in
the world to do a thing like that! When the mob
had piled off him, and the tackle still lay where he
had fallen, a quick thrill had shot through the fellow
on the bench.

“I hope it’s nothing serious,
self anxiously.
got.” 3

For a moment he had been tempted to go ‘over and
see for himself. But he hated to have it look as if
he were butting in, and in the end he had stayed where
he was, watching every move of the distant group
closely. When at last Stillman had been lifted up and
carried from the field, Baxter’s forehead had crinkled
with a dozen worried wrinkles. |

“Looks bad,” he muttered, shaking his head. “It’s
either a sprained or broken ankle. That puts him out
of business for the whole season. It’s a shame! Why
couldn’t it have been a fellow like me, who’s no cae es
use to the eleven, instead of one of our best men.”

There was no bitterness in his voice, but rather a
deep, genuine feeling, for he really meant what he said.

” he murmured to him-
“Stillman’s one _ the best men we've

- _ Whatever else he lacked, Baxter had certainly acquired,

during that one year at New Haven, a full measure
of the Yale spirit.. He had learned the true joy of
submerging self for the advancement of his college ;
and, could he, by some feat of conjuring, have trans-
_ ferred ‘Stillman’s injury to himself, he would have
done it gladly and rejoiced in the doing.

- When the injured man had disappeared into the —
building, Baxter had pulled his cap more firmly over

his rough tangle of coarse, wiry, brown hair, ‘and
resting his chin on a muscular, calloused hand, -re-

nee a of muscle and sinew, but Sanalty rather

WEEKLY.

but was redeemed from ugliness
and a firm, sensitive

a mass of freckles,
by honest,
mouth.

By no stretch, of the imagination could Teddy Bax-
ter be termed even passably good-looking. At Groton
he had been dubbed Bulldog,” an appellation

open brown eyes,

oer

Che
derived partly from his fancied resemblance to that
from a certain tenacity of pur-
which his fellow

animal, and partly
pose—as yet rather undeveloped
students had
He was not in the least popular. Shy and retiring ©
by nature, it was not at all easy for him to mingle
with a lot of fellows and join in the free-and-easy,

discerned in him.

quick-witted give-and-take which characterizes both
school and college life. It embarrassed him beyond -
measure, and, to hide this shyness he took refuge in a
kind of gruff coldness’ which quickly gave him the~ if
reputation of being an ill-tempered bear. ie s

Only a few men had forced their way behind this: a

barrier of reserve, and discovered the true man, kindly, 7

loyal, generous to’a fault,
normally sensitive.
Baxter’s thoughts were again upon the team.
“Who will they put in his place, I wonder?”
muttered. “Rudolph Rose, I suppose.
he hasn’t made it before.”
A cloud passed over his face. He and Rose were
not on friendly terms. The handsome fellow openly
sneered at Baxter and made all manner of fun of his |
awkwardness. He seemed to find a peculiar joy in 3
making life miserable for the awkward New Englande z

sympathetic, and.almost’aiaae

lt sa wonder

‘in petty little jibes and ‘Jeers, as annoying and dif-

ficult to openly resent as the bites of a mosquito
Baxter bore the persecution all through the freshman
year until at last, goaded to desperation, he had turned |
on Rose one day and endeavored to give him a thras
ing.

Unfortunately, thea strong as a Hotek, he did not
know even the rudiments of boxing, whereas, Rose :
had taken lessons from one of the best professional
a country and had emerged from, the ——

: al bleeding i ina ene eae

Ted flushed with shame whenever’ he ane
the humiliation of that moment. He vowed and
terminkd that never again would he place himsel in

a pose like that, and ee the Patt Saenee
sumed his meditations again, | vnc’ %
_ He was a big, strapping fellow of shot ninetéen, —

 

hee * 3
TiP LOOP

books of instruction he could buy, and,
obstacles,
ized,
tackle Rose successfully and, as soon as he was able,

considering his
He real-
from being able to

he had made amazing progress.

however, that he was far
he meant to find a good teacher and go on with the
work.

He had been thinking of all this when stddenly
the sound of some one yelling his own name aroused
him, and he glanced up quickly to see Buckhart looking
in his direction and waving a peremptory arm.

“Great Scott!” he gasped, leaping from the bench.
“He wants me!”

As he ran swiftly toward, the waiting
could scarcely believe his senses.
they wanted him to play?

another tchance?

group, he
Was it possible that
Could they be giving him
It was too good to be true.

CHAPTER III.
FROM BAD TO WORSE.

As Baxter came up to the waiting group, he stumbled

and almost fell. Recovering himself with an | effort,
his tanned face flushed a deep crimson.

“Did you want me?” he stammered, looking at Buck-

_ hart.

_ “Yes,” the Texan said shortly.

- cancy on the scrub.

noon?”

- Baxtet’s, heart was beating a little unevenly. Did

_he want to play? What a question! He would like to

have told this big, stalwart Westerner, whom he ad-

mired so intensely, but of whom he stood.a little in

awe, how grateful he was for this chance; but some-

how the words would not come. He hesitated a mo-

‘ment, and when he spoke his voice was cold, almost i in-

Bifferent:

“Yes,” he said shortly.

ee “Where do you play—when you do play?” Buck-

‘ hart asked impatiently.
~ “Tackle or guard,” Baxtér returned in a low voice.

aK The Texan was silent for an instant, a thoughtful

frown on his face.

“Otis !” he yelled the next instant, wiper overt to right

a nd! You take his place, Baxter—right guard. Line
. Pan and don’t go te same gi over it! Scrub take

“We've got a-va-.
“Do you want to play this after-

WEEKLY. 5
He must show them
He must not fail again, or he
would never be given another chance.

It happened, unfortunately, that the scrub quarter

that he had begun to despair.
now what he could do.

back did not seem to fealize the necessity of giving
Baxter a minutes tg accustom himself to the
He had been trying successfully a certain
rush through centre in which Otis had done pafticu-
larly well and made a number of good gains, and per-
haps he forgot, momentarily,
been changed. }

At all events, had scarcely
sounded before he ripped out a string of numbers, the
ball was snapped back, and the next instant Baxter felt
it thump against his ribs.

He made a wild, desperate grab for it, but the illu-
sive pigskin wriggled from his fingers, \struck the
ground, and bounded perversely through the line into

few
signals.

that the positions had

the coach’s whistle

the enemy’s territory, where it was swiftly snatched
up by Samp Elwell, who was instantly tackled before
he could move from: his tracks.

Phil Keran, the scrub captain,

“Rotten!” he growled. “Simply rotten!”

“Butter fingers” muttered Gillis, the quarter back.
“He’s lost the ball for us.”

Somme one on the regular eleven laughed derisively.
It sounded HKke Rudolph Rose, and Baxter’s heart
swelled with anger as he heard it.

“Sorry,” he said in a low tone to Keran.
know |

glared at Baxter.

“1 didn’t

' He stopped abruptly, abashed at the contemptuous -

look in the fellow’s face.
explain ?
“Play ball!” roared Buckhart.
stop to chin, you fellows!”
Baxter crouched in the line again, his face flushed

What good would it do to

“Get busy! Don't

and his hands clenched desperately.” A nice begin-

ning that had been! No doubt they all thought him
a perfect dub. He must brace up and do something.
He must keep his head. .
It was a most uffortunate beginning. Whether the 3
result would have been the same without -that first:
discouragernent, wauld be hard to say. At any rate,

it was just enough to set his nerves on edge, and from

that moment things went from bad to worse. —

The harder he tried to do the right thing, the more
blunders he made. Buckhart was quick to divine the
weak spot in the line and hammered him without
mercy. In the Texan’ s opinion that was the only way
to brace a fellow up and put him on his mettle.

He oe tee tall, awkward N ew Rostieder va

 
    
 
 

-a lot more besides.

utmost possible speed. i ale

6 . TIP TOP WEEKLY.

a greenhorn and needed practice; whereas, in reality,
Baxter knew exactly what he should do and how he

ought to do it, but such was his lack of self-confidence

that he seemed to make a mess of everything.

Instead of waiting calmly until the time came for
him to act, and then throwing all his energy into
blocking, interference, or tackle, as the case might be,
he ffittered away his nervous force by worrying be-
forehand, by wondering anxiously whether he would
be able to stop the advance or whether he was going
to let the ball through. Such a-state of mind naturally
made him doubtful as to his own abilities and was
absolutely fatal to good work.

Time after time Dick Merriwell, or Hildebrand,
pluhged through the line as if Baxter had not existed, °
making big gains with every rush, to the fury and
chagrin of Phil Keran and the rest of the scrub, and
the everlasting humiliation of Baxter himself. He was
not again intrusted with the ball. Gillis was too wise
for that. But his futile attempts at tackling, and gen-
erally ineffective blocking made him almost worse
than useless.

One of the men growled to another, after a peculiarly,
atrocious blunder : ;

/ “We'd be a great sight better off with ten men.
That lunkhead doesn’t know the rudiments of the
game.” }

“That’s no lie,” the other returned in a plainly au-
dible voice. “‘A’ dub like that hasn’t any business on
the field.” eS vi

Baxter heard the words with a heart full of bitter-
ness and self-reviling. He did not blame them in the
least. He was a lunkhead and a dub, all right, and
No one realized better than him-
self what a fool he had been to think for an instant
that he could play against the varsity. He longed des-
perately for practice to end. Surely the time must

be almost up, for it was already growing dark. If

he could only get through this one aftesnoon he would
never make ‘another exhibition of himself like this.

Barely five minutes later Buckhart straightened up,
his hands on his hips.

Hey reckon that’ll do for to-day, fellows,” he said.

“Pretty rotten, though ! We'll have to do better than.
. this to-morrow.”

The next instant the men were streaking across the

field toward the house, intent on a shower and rub-

down; and upon getting into their clothes with the

‘“)

Baxter did not hurry. He would have ivi a good

deal if he could have gone straight back to his rooms,

‘the esteem and liking of his fellow men.

 

but to run Baxter in, and he lost that game for us by

‘just as he was, without facing the bunch in the athletic

house. He knew intuitively what his reception would
be after the awful mess he had made of everything
that afternoon. But his clothes were in the dressing
room, and he simply had to face the music.

Slowly he crossed the field; as he neared the door,
his feet positively dragged; he had to force himself
by sheer will to go on.

The buzz of conversation, punctuated now and then
by shouts of laughter, came to him through the open
door. And, as he listened, he seemed to feel more

than ever before the handicap of his abnormal sensi-

tiveness,
There was nothing he prized and coveted more than
But all his

life, it had been an impossible thing to acquire. Hav-

ing by nature a fund of dry humor and a distinct '

appreciation of the ridiculous, he could no more tell a
funny story or anecdote than he could fly, and the
presence of a number of fellows made him shut up
like a clam.

He hesitated just outside the doorway, his heart)
The next instant he gave

a slight start as he caught the sound of his own name

spoken in sneering tones by his old enemy, Rudolph

beating a little unevenly.

Rose.
The tall, Silicon fellow was standing with his back
to the door, talking to Buckhart.
“Teddy Baxter!” he said jeeringly.

Buckhart.
thing without blundering. He’s an awful duffer.

ball.”

“Didn't he play on some of the freskities games

last year?” the Texan inquired.

Rose shrugged his broad shoulders.

“Yes,” he sneered, “and lost them for us.
he came out for practice he seemed pretty fair.

 

strong as a horse, you know, though clumsy enough;
I thought he was simply green at the game and, with
‘coaching, wouldsdevelop into a fair guard.” reg
“He didn’ t, I opine,” Buckhart commented shortly. a

“Went all to—

 

 

“Great Scott, no!’ Rose ‘exclaimed.
-pieces in the first game and made a holy show of him-
self. He lost it, too, and, of course, I dropped him
at once. He came out every day just the same,

though, and three weeks fater, in the game with the |
Princeton freshmen, we had fue men knocked out

 

and only three substitutes. There was nothing to do

“You couldn't
have chosen a worse specimen to put on the scrub, —
Why, I never knew the fellow to do any-—
We —

used to wonder why on earth he ever py foot-.

Rss

ea

  

 

A

  
   
  
  

   

 

  
   
   
   
  
  
  
    
  
  
   
 

 
 

  
 

  
    

 
  
  

 
  
   
 
 
    

    
 

     
TIPS. SOP

his rotten fumbles. *Oh, he’s a peach, there’s no doubt

about it! I don’t believe the fellow’s got an ounce of

sand. He’s a quitter!”
Baxter’s fists clenched and,

took a step forward.

with flashing eyes, he

“Tl make you eat those words,’ he muttered,
ve .

4. Thave to

 

He stopped abruptly. Some one else was speaking

e 7 =
{in cool, decisive tones.
Bede Sb ‘6 :
I think you're wrong,

Rose. Baxter’s no quitter.

 

4 It’s rather trying to be dragged into the middle of
| a game and play with fellows you’re not accustomed
to. That move of Gillis’ was inexcusable. He had
Be ‘no busiriess to pass the ball to Baxter the way he did
“ ‘Did he imagine the fellow was g
. ra nals by intuition?”
f-. Teddy B Some one
was standing up for him—some one who apparently
knew what he was talking about, to judge from the
(a Bo tone of his voice. At least he seemed to have one
| friend in the crowd. He leaned forward a little to
see who it might, be.
“Dick Merriwell!” he gasped in astonishment: “W ell,
what do you think of that!”

oing to know the sig-

3axter gave a start of surprise.

CHAPTER IV, 362:

%

TEDDY BAXTER IS ASTONISHED,

Teddy Baxter stepped back into the shadow again,
nn et brain in a whirl. He had aways admired Merri-

y /

 
  

Dick deetni to cde the ideal type of college man
generous, kindly, cleaniving, and with an interna-
tional reputation as an athlete. Many times he had
wondered wistfully what it would be like to have such
a man as a friend, but it had never occurred to him to
ee eee upon er notice. Shy and ara

  

  

feiposstbilty |

Yet it might easily have. been Baie: Unlike most
pper classmen, Mertiwell had never drawn a hard,
and fast line among his acquaintances at New Haven.
‘If he liked a fellow, it made no more difference to

 
 

 
 

 

would have whether he was rich or poor.
Of course, Lec aaribiias are invariably, such at ete

 
 

s nt class. That is a self-evident fact.

WEEKLY. 7

1im whether the.man was a freshman or senior, than .

to Fullerton and was soon plunged into a discussion _
But despite |

         
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
   
   
      
   
   
  
 

this, Dick had always had many warm friends among
the lower classmen, and since his return this fall this
had been more than ever the case.

To Teddy Baxter, however, it seemed a wonderful
thing that a man like Merriwell should go jto the
trouble of defending a fellow he had never. spoken to, °
and something of his bitterness departed as he realized
that one man, at least, seemed to understand a. little
of how he had been handicapped.

“But that first fumble wa’ the least of his errors,”
objected Rose. |

“It was enough to.start any nervous fellow down- 4
hill,’ Merriwell returned quietly, “to make such an
exhibition of himself at the very beginning.”

udolph Rose laughed.

he exclaimed

ee

incredulously.
grouchy fellow

Baxter—+nervous !’
“Why, there isn't a more cold-blooded,
in college!”

Teddy could stand it no Jonger: He wished now

that he had not hesitated for. an instant at the door.
He hated himself for having listened at all. to what
was not intended for his ears; and the next moment
he stalked into the dressing room, head held high and
eyes looking straight ahead of him.

As he appeared there was a significant silence which
made him realize that the conversation he had over-
heard was not the only one which had been going on
about. himself. No doubt everybody had been laugh- ig
ing and jeering at him, and the thought sent a rush q
of dull crimson over his tanned, freckled face.

He did not glance at the group of three standing near

      
     
   
   
       
    

 

      
     
         
 

the door, but passed on toward; the showers, Sud-
denly a voice arrested him. _ ;
“Nothing doing for a while yet, Baxter. Afraid

 
 

you'll have to wait, like the rest of us.”

It was Merriwell who had spoken, and, turning
swittly,) the surprised youth saw the senior looking at
him with & smile of such genuine friendliness on his
handsome face that what little self-control he had left
vanished instantly, the color deepened in his cheeks,
and for an instant he could not speak, |

““It—doesn’t—matter,’ he stammered’ presently.
“T’ve got—lots of—time.” Old é

 
    
       
     
         
    
      
 
 

“Tust the same, it’s always a nuisance to/ wait,
whether you have time or not,” Dick returned pleas-_ |
antly. “T’ve always said they should install some more —
showers.”

~Buckhart looked a bit surptised, but ‘he was re
to his chum’s vagaries, and the next moment he turned |

 
       
    
    

relative to some new 1 Oe Miph tepasee nsec

    
Dig: atts Gore Hs
ars ~

eat

Fg pee 2
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An lic
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8 TIP? TOP

Rudolph Rose shrugged his shoulders ever so little,
and, with a scornful glance at Baxter from under his
long lashes, crossed the room and joined a little group
of fellows lounging there. :

Teddy Baxter was quite overcome with embarrass-
men, and for a time he stood tongue-tied, while Merri-
well conversed casually on all sorts of subjects except
football, which he avoided without apparently do-
ing so.- He seemed to realize intuitively that 1t would
be a painful topic of discussion to the quiet young
sophomore, and with ready tact he talked of other
things...

Little by little, he drew the shy fellow from his
shell, until presently Baxter found, to his astonish-
ment, that he was talking with a,freedom and absence
of self-consciousness which was extraordinary. It
seemed as if he had known Merriwell for years, in-
stead of minutes, and he. was more sorry than he had
thought possible when Buckhart’s hearty voice sounded
from actoss the room.

“Say, pard, going to stay here chinning all night?
If you want any supper, I opine you'd better get a
hustle on and make use of a shower. They've been
vacated five or ten minutes.”

“All right, old fellow,” Dick responded.
you into one. You'd better do likewise, Baxter.
must be pretty late.”

He disappeared into the other room on a run, tear-
ing off his clothes as he went, and an instant later was
splashing under a miniature fall of icy water.

The sophomore followed—him more slowly, un-
dressed, found an empty shower and entered it. He
purposely delay rather longer than was necessary,
for he did not/want to have the appearance of fol-
lowing up Merriwell. Consequently, when he emerged
and started to dress, he found that every one had gone
and that he had the place to himself.

As he hurried into his Clothes he felt a glow pervad-
ing him, apart from the tingling reaction of the cold
water. Tt was something more mental than physical.

He was thinking with intense gratitude of Dick Mer-
- riwell’s défense of him against the insinuations of Ru-
_dolph Rose, and of the senior’s pleasant little talk

afterward. Somehow it had taken the sting out of
the humiliations of the afternoon and restored to him
a measure of his self- -respect. He had ceased to turn
over and over in his mind, morbidly, his dreadful mis-
takes and errors on the field, mentally torturiig him-

“T’ll beat
It

self anew with each fresh remembrance, and instead,

his thoughts dwelt on the kindness of the man who
. had come to He rescue.

‘could not distinguish their faces, though «he made

 

WEEKLY. a:

There was not a doubt in Bagter’s mind that, but
for Merriwell’s engaging him in conversation the mo-
ment he had .come into the room, his reception by

 

the other men would unquestionably have been the

reverse of pleasant. ay
“By Jove, he’s a bully sort!” he murmured, bend- 4

ing over to lace his shoes. “I wonder what it would =

be like to have him for a friend?” .

As he stood thoughtfully before the glass tying
his necktie, he caught a glimpse of his face, rough-
hewn, freckled, the broad forehead creased with a net-
work of anxious wrinkles. He gazed at it for a
moment and then laughed ruefully.

“Great ‘Scott !”

 

he exclaimed aloud. ‘What the mis-  ¢ —
chief: would such a fellow as Merriwell see in a | |

homely mug like you? You poor, miserable dope!) _

“You don’t know the first principles of football, and ues
yet you persist in coming out and making a holy show 4

of yourself. You can’t even hold onto the ball when
it’s passed to you! You can’t tackle decently! You

can’t do anything! :

“Just because Dick Merriwell says a few words ;
to you, you get the crazy notion in your head that
he means something. It’s likely, isn’t it, that he would
take up with the laughingstock of Yale? He’s kind- ie
hearted and good-natured, and probably he doesn’t like
to see even you baited like a rat ina trap. Very likely
the next time he sees you, he won’t know you from
Adam.” : | |

The words which had started off in a tone of forced _
lightness egew more and more bitter, and at the end
the heartsore fellow broke off. abruptly with what —
sounded suspiciously like a suppressed sob. With an
impatient movement of his shoulders, he struggled —
into his coat, snatched his cap, ‘dreniied it down on —
the tangle of coarse, brown hair, and hurried to the
door. ; \

 

  

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Turning the corner of the athletic house, he walked |
quickly through the gate to the street. To his as-
tonishment, hie stepped into the glare from the lights
of a large touring car, its engine throbbing loudly,
which was drawn up close to the curb. Two figures”
stood beside it, but the light was so faint that he

 

 

 

   
 
     

 

 

      
   
     
 
     
   
   
   

 

out that one of them was just drawing on a pair of
taleys al

 
   
ee

- BA oe yey e
BG eat re

pe ee
asad

 

 

 

floodgates of Teddy Baxter’s troubles.
There was to be no to-morrow! To-day had been'far
‘too much. Never again would he show himself on the
field for practice.
just. passed would be more than he could stand. And
3 yet, his heart ached as he realized all that meant.

BAe OP

Baxter stopped and lodked back, his heart beating

a little unevenly. It was Merriwell’s voice.

“Yes,” he answered quickly.

“Hop in here and I'll: take you home,” Dick said
pleasantly, as he opened the door of the tonneau.

The amazed sophomore could scarcely believe. his

ears.

“You're awfully good,” he stammered. “Won't it
be taking you out of your way?”
Dick laughed»
“T guess not,” he returned. “It’s a little hard to say,
theugh, until I know where you live.”
Baxter stepped to the side of the car.
“FTillhouse Avenue,
“That’s nowhere at all. I'd be willing to go a good
deal farther than that. Just got my car back from the
West to-day, and I feel as if I could run it all night.
Jump in.”

Baxter obeyed without further words.

’ he said in a low tone.

Dick took

‘the wheel, while Buckhart stepped in beside him, and

the next instant they were whizzing along Derby Ave-
nue toward Chapel Street.

The sophomore leaned back against the cushions in
a sort of daze. It did not seem possible that he, the
despised, jeered-at Teddy Baxter, should actually be
riding in the same car with the most popular man at
Yale. He felt as if he must be asleep and dreaming,
and went so far as to give himself a reassuring pinch.
No, it was quite true. He was awake, all right, and

the thing was real.

All too soon Hillhouse “Avenue was reached and the

car’ slowed down in front of the house Baxter pointed

out.
“Thank you very much, Mr. Merriwell,”

Teddy opened ‘the door and stepped. out.
he said in
a low tone.
“Don’t mention it,” Dick returned heartily.
you to-morrow. Good night.”
“Good night,’ Baxter said quickly.
Buckhart. answered his greeting somewhat eruffly.
The car gave a sudden leap forward, and a moment

“mee

later the tail lamps disappeared around the corner;

but the big, awkward sophomore still stood on the curb

| gazing after i it in thoughtful silence.

“To-morrow,” he murmured ncasiently

Somehow, that single word seemed to loosen the
To-morrow!

Another afternoon such as the one

_ he remarked.

“he answered carelessly.

      
  
   
   
   
  
    
  
 
 
   
  
  
   
  
   
   
   
   
   
  
  
  
  
  
   
  
          
       
     
       
       
      
    
   
     
       
 

WEEKLY. 9

How could he give up the game he cared more for
than any other? What would it seem like never again
to don the well-worn, faded togs, to gulp in the crisp
fall air, to have his blood course swiftly through his
veins as he felt that wonderful indescribable thrill of
combat, which was unlike anything else under the sun?
He could not bear the thought, yet, after all, it was the
best—the only way.

He was bitter and sick at heart, and, as he slowly
mounted the steps, there was an uncomfortable lump
in his throat and something like a mist passed before
his eyes. The next.moment the door closed quietly
behind him.

CHAPTER V.
A QUIET CALLDOWN.

Having put up the car, Merriwell and Buckhart
hastened over to the training table. They were the

last ones to take their seats, the other fellows hav-
ing been there some time, and the . of talk and

laughter made the room ring.
Rud@lph Rose was in high feather.
had been holding the floor, which was rather, unusual
for an underclassman, but the handsome sophomore
had the faculty of making himself amazingly agree-

able and entertaining when he chose, as apparently

had been the case to-night; for the men seemed to

be much amused at what he. had been telling.
“There’s no doubt he’s an awful duffer,” Phil Keran

said indistinctly, through a motthful, of roast beef.

“After the rotten display he made to-day, I shouldn't |

be surprised at anything he did.”

“But what a nerve,” put in little Gillis, “to show
up on the field at all! I never saw a worse exhibi-
tion.” |

Rose showed his fine teeth in a wide smile.

“Ok he doesn’t lack nerve—of a certain kind,”
“Why, only last spring he had the cheek
to pick.a fight with me and try his best to give me a

drubbing.”
“Was he any better at sparring than he is at foot-
ball?” one of the men asked curiously. :
“Worse,” Rose returned tersely. *

+9

“Didn’t think that was pdssible,” Gillis grinned.
“Any stay to him?”
The handsome sophomore ‘uuekowed his shoulders.

“Oh, a certain amount of- pig-headed obstinacy,”

pretty well before he'd give in.”

Apparently he

“I had to batter his face up—

    

 

   
 

 

i -couldn’t defend himself.

    

TIP

He laughed reminiscently.

“He certainly was a sight when | aitished with him,”
he continued, with an undercurrent of intense satis-
faction in his voice.

“What started the row?”

_ “Nothing—absolutely nothing,”
was mad because | wouldn’t keep him on the
and flew at me one day quite without provocation.”

“Must be dotty, I should say,” remarked Kenny,
the varsity quarter back.

Merriwell looked up from his plate.

*You are talking about Baxter, I Jupmose
said casually.

Rose nodded.

“Yes, he wanted to fight, so I gave him his fill of
it. He doesn't know the first principles of scientific
boxing.”

“You have had pretty good instructors, I presume?”
Dick remarked quietly.

Keran asked.

 

*Fle

team,

Rose replied.

he

“Sure thing,” Rose returned quickly. “Took les-
sons for two years from the best lightweight in New
York.”
A curious eile appeared on Merriwell’s
“Baxter must have been quite helpless gn your.

hands,” he murmured, his eyes on his plate.
Rudolph Rose snapped the bait instantly.

face.

“You bet he was!” he declared proudly. “He didn’t
have a chance from the start. You ought hes ad re seen
his face when I got through with him, It was a
sight,” ae

Dick raised his eyes suddenly and looked straight at
~ Rose. | |

“Really quite clever of you,” he said in a tone of
cool, cutting contempt, “to batter up a man who
| You ought to be extremely
proud of the feat.”’ .

The sophomore flushed a little...), | ae

“Great Scott!” he protested. “What wotld you
have me do, when the fellow came at me like a wild
cat? I certainly, didn't Bropose. to stand there and

take a licking.” | | ix!

' ©There are plenty of ways by which a man who.
_ knows how to handle his fists can knaek out an
- Opponent without ‘amashing his face to a jelly,” Mer-

_riwell said quietly. ‘A knockout is the quickest and
most merciful way of ending a scrap which has been
’ porced om cher shit mere you pre ferred not to end
h 4] AS aescoa to give eg a lésson ihiteh- he would
never Bee aoe answered aperthy “and I did. 1

 

TOP WEEKLY:

patiently enough, his chance would come.

‘What s the game, Parente

  

don’t think it’s likely he will pick any more quarrels ‘
with yours truly.” 2

“Baxter doesn’t strike me as a fellow who would go
about picking quarrels without a reason,” Merriwell
remarked met ditatively.

“You seem to know him pretty well,” R

Rose flashed

 

back, with an ugly look on his face.

Dick smiled calmly
he murmured, “T have a no-
tion that I know him better than you do—or, rather,

“Do you know, Rose,”

 

better than you seem.to. Somehow, \I have a fancy
that he may surprise us all one of these days.”

“IT hope the surprise will be of a different nature
than the exhibition he made of himself this after-
Phil Keran said’ with a grin.

“I think it will, Phil,’ Dick said quietly—“quite ;
different.” -

Presently the conversation shifted to another topic
in which Dick joined instantly. He had apparently
dismissed the subject of Baxter from his mind en-
tirely, and he discussed the forthcoming game with
Syracuse with an interest and vigor which left no
doubt of his genuineness.

 

 

noon,”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rudolph Rose, however, was noticeably silent, and
sat for the remainder of the meal without opening his
mouth. There was a sullen look on his handsome face,
and once or twice he darted a quick look at the un-
conscious Merriwell which was the reverse of pleas- — }
ant. He was evidently not at all pleased at the effec-
tive manner in which the latter had taken the wind ©
out of his sails, but he seethed to realize the folly of sgt
quarreling with a man of Dick's position, and there-
fore kept a curb on his tongue. ' : a he

But his mind was none the less active. He had —
never liked Merriwell. He was far too self-centred ce
to care for aman who was his own superior in so many if
ways, and more than once he had been jealous of the
senior’s reputation as. an athlete and his extraordi- —
nary popularity. Now, however, he had a feeling of
positive hatred, which was all the more intense be-
cause of the impossibility of giving it expression, —

He, vowed, However, that he would be even sone |
day. He woulll bide his time and, if he only waited

 

  

  
 
   
  
   
  
 
 
  

    
  
   
   
  

     
  
  

  
   
 

Crossing the campus to their rooms 4 little Tater
Buekhart looked. quiazically at his chum, |
Say, pard,” he erawler: you sure seem to be se

  

 
 
 

  

 
    
 

 
 

Dick smiled, %
; There isn't any game, old fellow,”

 
  

he re

ABP le Paha hi nh ee ee See
Siete

a “T always hate to see one man jumped on by the whole
m- bunch. It isn’t fair.”

“I know that,” the Texan protested, “but he sure
did make a holy show of himself this afternoon.”
Dick acknowledged, “but he
He was nervous,
by the
fault—knocked him all to

“Tt was pretty bad,”
didn’t have any sort of a chance.
and that fumble’ in the
way, was entirely Gillis’
pieces.”
ee Buckhart shrugged his shoulders.

“Waugh!” he snorted. “Struck ye he was about
the greenest kind of a tenderfoot that ever came out
on the field. You hear me gently warble ioe

“T think you're wreng, Brad,’ Merriwell returned
positively. “He isn’t a greenhorn;
the matter with him. *
4) you fellows think.”

a | L Buckhart made no reply’ but he did not seem to be
- F convinced. They went upstairs and into their rooms
in silence. Dick lit the lamp and then turned to his
‘chum, who had dropped down in a chair.

“T want you to do something for me, Brad,” he
said quietly.

“Sure thing, pard,’
“What is it?”
p21. wish you'd keep Baxter on the ser to-mor-
~~ tow.”

Buckhart straightened up in his sibs and gave a
long whistle.

“Gee-whiz, partner!’ he exclaimed incredulously.
“Do you really mean that?”

Merriwell nodded emphatically.

“But he’s pretty near worse than useless,” Brad pro-
tested. “Keran will kick like a steer.” 4

| Dick smiled a little.

“That wouldn’t worry you an awful lot, would it?”
he inquired. “I promise you that if he isn’t better. to-
morrow than he was to-day, you can do what you like
with him. T’ll tell you why I want you to do, this,
old fellow. I’ve watched Baxter pretty closely from
the time when he first came out on the field to practice.
_ When I first saw him, it struck me that he would de- ~
-yelop into a good man. He’s strong as-a horse, you
know, and has a splendid build.”

“Yes, ” Buckhart admitted grudgingly, “T had my
“eye on him myself, but he didn’t pan out.”

 

beginning—which,

 

 

that’s not what’s

the Texan responded readily.

 

 
 

  

 
 

“Exactly,” Dick went on quickly. “T was rather
disappointed at the poor showing he made; but I’ve
kept track of him ever since, and I think I know the
reason why. He certainly doesn’t lack grit. It’s taken

 
 

WEEKLY. . II

There’s more to him than any of |

‘seem to belong to a fellow who was pressed for money.

awful lot of determination to come out on the fieldf , ‘The fact was, however, that his wants were compara-

     

 

     
   
   
    
    
  
  
   
   
  
   
   
   
   
 

day after day, when there didn’t seem to be an earthly
chance for him to make either team. He’s got lots of
the bulldog in his make-up. That’s what they called
him at Groton, I understand.’

“That's all well enough,” the Texan said quickly,
“but he’s simply rotten! He can’t play for sour
apples!”

“Not when a lot depends on him—no,” Merriwell
returned. . “He did well enough in the first general
practice. It was only when the candidates narrowed
down, and the time came for a choice to be made,
that he went to pieces. Hewas so afraid he wouldn’t
make the scrub—I don’t think he had the faintest no-
tion of the regular team—that he couldn’t do a blamed 4
thing. He tried so hard that he failed. He lacks self-° = —
confidence, and I’m going to see if I can help him. “a
If you give him this one note = chance, old fellow, I
don’t think you'll regret it.”

Buckhart grinned broadly.:

“You're powerful serious about it, pard,” he re-
marked. “You sure didn’t have to turn off all that
spiel to get avhat you wanted. Didn’t you savvy 4
that?” ; i

There was a twinkle im Dick’s eyes as he picked up—
his hat and buttoned his coat. | :

“Well, I didn’t think you’d be unreasonable,” he
acknowledged. “But I wanted you to understand
“ why I was butting in—a thing, you'll admit, I don’ t
often do.”

“That’s no lie,” the Texan said heaftily.
to startin your missionary ‘work to-night?”

Merriwell put on his hat and walked over to the
door. ie “ql
in striking while the

“

    
   
       
 

 

 
   
 

“Going

    
   
     
 

“Tl believe

 

“Yes,” he answered,

iron is hot.”

    
     
         
 

CHAPTER VI.
AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR, —*

    
     
 

‘here was nothing particularly striking about Teddy
Baxter’s rooms on Hillhouse Avenue. They consisted
of a fair-sized sitting room, small bedroom, and a tiny
bath; and while they displayed no evidences of \great
wealth on the part of their owner, neither did they

    
    
         
     
    
     
   

Baxter came from an old Connecticut seaport town,
of which his father, a retired merchant, was one of the
foremost citizens. He was very comfortably off,. ae
Teddy had always had most of the things he wanted. |

    
 
   
   
 

 

_ awkward fellow to the exclusion of his studies.

  

ERE TOP

tively few. The well-filled shelves in his sitting room
bore evidence to a distinct liking for books, but, aside
from that, the furnishings of the, room were of the
simplest.

A number of Yale banners decorated the walls;
there were a great many photographs, framed and
unframed, of baseball and football teams, a punching
bag hung from the ceiling; and in a corner could be
seen several pairs of well-worn boxing gloves, dumb-
bells of various weights, and some Indian clubs.

Three or four comfortable chairs scattered about,
and a plain oak table with a shaded drop light, com-
pleted the simple furnishings. ~

A little after eight that evening, Teddy Baxter sat
alone by the table with an open book on his lap, to
which he was paying no attention whatever. For
some time past he had ceased to study, and now his
eyes were fixed ‘thoughtfully on the opposite wall.
His rough hair was more rumpled than ever, and his
heavy brows drawn down into a scowl. Evidently
his thoughts were not of the pleasantest description,
if one could judge from the expression. on his plain
face.

'A light knock sounded at the door, which, appar-
ently, he did not hear, for it was repeated the next mo-
ment with a vigor which made him start suddenly and
turn his Rea

“Come in,” he called impatiently.

- 'At once the door swung open and revealed Dick
Merriwell. stariding-on the threshold.

With a gasp of surprise, Baxter sprang to his feet,
the book falling unheeded to the floor.

“Mr. Merriwell!’
idea——”’

He stopped hesitatingly, his face a dull red.

Dick quite ignored these signs of Raihatracarhent
and, stepping into the room, closed the door behind
hie. : |

_ “Géod evening, Baxter,”
_ thought perhaps I'd find you here. :
> “Well, not exactly,” Baxter stammered. “I—wasn’t

a doing--anything just then. Er—won’t you sit down?”

; JA little thrill of sympathy went through Merriwell.

Cr: He could guess pretty well what had occupied this tall,

He

had been thinking over the events of the afternoon,

é and such thoughts must have been very bitter.

_, Dick put his hat down on the table and sien into

a chair. }

’

ae shall ay nee ree for a few moments,

he exclaimed. “I had ‘no

he said pleasantly. “I
Grinding?”

” he said .'

WEEKLY.

   

quietly. “I dropped around to make sute that you
would show up for practice on the field to-morrow.”
His simple words had the effect of a bomb suddenly |
Baxter's jaw dropped, and he gazed at his
guest with wide-open eyes and an expression of utter

exploding.

bewilderment on his rough-hewn face.

“What?” he gasped.

ot want you to come out again for practice to-mor-
’ Dick repeated calmly.
All at once the sophomore’s face whitened and his

 

row,

 

mouth grew hard,

“Tf that’s meant to be a ‘joke, I don’t quite see the
point,” he said in a voice which trembled the least bit.

“Tt is not a joke,” Dick returned shortly. “If you
knew me better, you would realize that I am not ac-
customed to perpetrating pleasantries of that sort. [I
mean what I say.” a

Baxter hesitated: an instarft and then shook his head |
slowly but decidedly,

“T can’t do it,’ he said in a low tone. “I couldn’t
go through another day like to-day. I shall never go ”
out on‘the field again,”

Merriwell eyed him steadily.

“You don’t care for football, then?” he questioned.

A look of pain flashed into the other’s face.

“Care! he cried. “Great heavens—care! It would
be easy if I did not. I care more for football than
anything else in the world!”

‘And yet you mean to give it up!’ Dick commented.
Baxter leaned forward, his eyes fixed earnestly on
Merriwell’s face. oe.

“What else can I do?” he asked in a strained voice. |
“lm a regular duffer. Ive failed—failed utterly.
I can’t play the game, and I’ve made up my mind not —
to try again.”

A curious light came into Merriwell’s dark eyes.

“You'll give up?’’ he said in a voice which, ee “
not loud, was clear as crystal and so full of a kind of ©
magnetism that every syllable seemed to penetrate into
Baxter’s very soul. “You'll give it up forever! Back
down! Acknowledge yourself beaten! Show the white
feather! J did not think: you w ere a coward, Baxter!”

A rush of color flamed into the sophomore's face,
and he stiffened visibly. ‘

«i coward!” he cried angrily.

“What else is it?” Dick inquired,
becatise you are afraid of pa

Baxter did not answer.

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

Se te Sea

 
   
  

 
 
 

 
 

 

 
  
   
     

 
       
     
  

 
 

        
     
       
     
     
  

  

     

a ’ beh 2 tenia Meath. bd ate
ee oe Yaa
TIPS TOY

ce

‘out lifting his head. 3ut that isn’t the only reason.
\What’s the use of my trying any more when I’ve satis-
fied myself that I cannot play? The harder I work, the
more blunders | make. It’s
cut out for football.”

sno use. I reckon I wasn’t

 

Dick made an impatient gesture with his hand.
“Nonsense!” he exclaimed sharply. “Listen to me,
Baxter. Do you imagine for an instant that I would
_be wasting my time here if I felt you were as hopeless
as you seem to think yourself?”

=
pec, Bese
a aera ete

The big sophomore looked quickly up at him, an ex-
pression of mingled incredulity and eagerness in his
_ brown eyes.

 

 

“You don’t mean to say that-you he began.
fs “That is exactly what I have been trying to. make
4. plain for the last few minutes,” Dick returned. “To
{ a my mind you have every requisite for putting up a
9 good game—excépt and, if you don’t mind
3 silittle plain speaking, I’m going to give you my idea of
why you have failed so dismally up to the present mo-
+E 9 ment.”
a “You can’t speak
turned earnestly.
- A-smile glimmered on Dick’s eyes as he leaned back
in his chair more comfortably, crossed his legs, and
ee apaped his brown, muscular fingers about one knee.
| “Perhaps you won't be so thankful to me by the
- time that I’ve finished,” he said quietly. ‘Most fel-
: lows express themselves as being quite ready to take
advice and criticism; but I’ve noticed that they gen-
erally are not very eager to follow it, and ten chances
to one they resent its being offered. It’s usually a
- thankless job to, try and point out to a man the evil
of his ways, but I’m going to risk it with you.
“To begin with, I like you, and, besides that, I have
k always had a constitutional dislike to seeing a fellow
fail to make the best use of all that is in him. I’ma
little selfish, too. The team needs the help of every
_man in college who can play football.’ The organiza-
tion is very far from being perfect, and some day I
think you may be of use to us.’ ;

one;

too plainly for me,” Baxter re-

  

  

 
 

-Feddy Baxtér sat very straight and still. His brown
eyes, almost black with the intensity of his feeling,
were riveted on Merriwell’s face, His muscular, brown
hands lay in his lap, the square- -tipped fingers tightly
interlocked, while a nen spot of color/glowed on
each freckled cheek. |

 
  
 

 
 

   

WEEKLY.

 

whatever it may be?”

-a steady eye and an alert mind, an absolute certainty

      
 
   
    
  
  
    
   
  
  
   
   
   
   
    
  
   
   
 
 
 

CHAPTER VIL.

MERRIWELL GIVES ADVICE.

Dick did not speak at once. Instead he looked
keenly into the earnest eyes of the youth before him,
and what he saw there seemed to please him.

“Did it ever strike you, Baxter,” he said presently,
“that it’s only in an important game, or when you,
personally, have a good deal at stake, that you play se
poorly ?”

The sophomore hesitated an instant, his brows
wrinkled in thought. .

“I knew that sometimes I played better than others,” if
he said slowly, at length; “but I never thought .ofit
in exactly that way. I shouldn’t wonder if you were
right, though.”

“When you are very anxious to do things right you
try pretty hard, don’t you?” Dick asked: “You think
about it beforehand, and wonder whether you're going
to be able to tackle your man, or carry the ball, or

“Yes.”

“And then you generally make a blunder ?’ 7

“Y-es.

“You,try too hard. The minute you get into a game
you begin to fret and worry. You fritter away your
energies needlessly. You think that the eyes of every
man on the team are watching you, whereas that isn’t
the case at all. The fellows have something better to
do than watch any particular man. So far as they
are concerned, you don’t exist until you call attention
to yourself by some inexcusable blunder. The whole
trouble with you, Baxter, in a nutshell, is that you lack
self-confidence and resolution. Don’t you think I’m |
right ?” |

 
   
       
        
     
   
 

 

 

 
 

For a moment the sophomore thought over those
words in silence.

  
 

“T guess you are,” he said slowly, at fengeh! “But,
somehow, I don’t seem to be able to go into a game
without worrying.”

      
    
 

é

 
 

“There’s nothing a fellow can’t do if he puts his
whole mind to it,” Merriwell stated quietly. “When
you go out on the field there must not be the slightest _
doubt in your mind but that you are going to suc- |
ceed. ‘You have got to leave off wondering what you —
will do in case the ball is passed to you, or they try to ©
break through your defense. It’s that wondering and —
worrying .that destroys your nerve and makes you,
fumble. ;

     
    
        
    
 
    
 

~ “Wait until the ale is made and din meet it with: .

    
 

; iP a OE

“ in your ability to succeed, and everything will be all
: right. Of course, you understand that you must keep
your mind on the game all the time—the game as a
whole, I mean, and not your own particular share of
it. You must be ready for anything; but don’t worry
—don’t borrow trouble—and you'll come out all right
in the end.”

His voice ceased, and for a time silence fell.
was gazing at him with flushed cheeks and shining
eyes—eyes in which hope had begun to dawn and ban-
ish the despair with which they had been filled. Pres-
ently he drew a long breath.

«‘Do ¥ou honestly think I'll ever be able to do any-
thing at it?’ he asked in a low, unsteady tone.

“I certainly do, if you make up your mind to it,”
Dick returned promptly. “It will come hard at first,
but you must not get discouraged. Just grit your teeth
and keep on trying, and in the end you'll win out.
You know, Baxter, that most’ people take a man at his
It isn’t always the case, of course, but

Baxter

own valuation.

     
    
   
     
    
    
    
     
     
     
      
    
      
   
    
     
     
      
    

 
 

use at football or anything else, it isn’t Hkely other
‘ / people are going to discover ability which you are not
conscious of yourself.

“T hate a fellow who goes about bragging of what
he can do. That’s the other &xtreme. But in this
- world a man has got to have a fair amount of self-as-

sertion and push to get along. If he has no confi-

dence in his ability to succeed, certainly no one else

is going to find it for him. You see what I mean, don’t
you?”

Baxter nodded quickly.

“Yes, I do,” he returned promptly.

“Welly you keep it in mind when you come out for
practice to-morrow,” urged Merriwell. “Don’t let the
idea enter your head for an instant that you can pos-
sibly fail—and you won't.”

“But how about Buckfiart--Follertan all of the
fellows?” Baxter asked anxiously. “They won't give
me a chance, will they?”, ) \

“T’ve arranged it all with Buckhart,” Dick returned.
“But it’s only for to-morrow. I told my roommate
that-if you showed no improvement ovet your work
to-day, I shouldn’t ask any more favors for you.

-» “So you see, Baxter, you’ve got to succeed. I have
- practically giyen my, word that you will make good.
Ina way, I have stood your sponsor, and there must be
‘no question whatever of the result. I have none mys
ett if Jou only make up.your mind aly and keep
it made up.” M

 
 

‘WEEKLY.

, well.” .
Dick arose with a smile. a
‘ ’ # é
“T don’t care what your reasons are, so long as you Bi

if you have made up your mind that you're no earthly °

‘his hand on the knob.
You'll win out, all right;

There was a look of determination 3 in the sopho-

more’s brown cyes, his chin squared, and unconsciously
he clenched his fists. | |
“I'll do my best,” he said quietly. “After what)
you've done for me, I couldn’t back down. That last il
one was the best argument of the lot, Mr. Merri-

 

make good,” he said. “And you are going to—re-
member that.”

He picked up his hat, and, glancing casually around
the room, his eyes took in the punching bag and gloves.

“You box, do you?” he asked interestedly.

3axter’s face flushed a little.

“Not so you could notice it,” he said apologetically.
“Ever since—er—last June, I’ve wanted to know how
to handle my fists; but I couldn’t find any one at home
this summer to teach me. I gota lot of books about Poe

but I’m afraid I didn’t learn much from them. - — Ef
It’s pretty hard to learn how to box out of a book. 7
I’m going to hunt up somebody here right away, , ;
though, and take lessons.”

Merriwell looked at the big sophomore for an in-
stant in silence. He had a pretty good idea just why
Baxter was anxious to learn how to handle his fists,
and the fellow’s persistency in trying to obtain that
knowledge out of a book, when he could find no in-
structor, rather pleased him. ,

“Come around to my rooms to-morrow night, if you
have nothing better to do,” he said suddenly. “I know
a little about boxing, and I should like to see what
you've been able to do all by yourself. Durfee Hall,
you know.”

Baxter’s eyes lighted up. |

“T’d be awfully glad to,” he said quickly, “if you're ed
sure it wouldn't give aes too much trouble.” Va

“No trouble at all,’ Dick returned pleasantly. “Come ' ir
about eight o’clock if you can.” a

He stepped to the door. oa ei

“Don’t forget to-morrow afterndon, now,” he said, s
“That’s the important ‘thing.
but don't sit up all night —
Go to bed, and forget that there’s _
And on the field to-morrow |
-‘There’s no =

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

     
     
     
     
      
       
   
     
   
   

thinking about it.
such a thing as football.
just bear in mind'the old adage:
word as fail.’ Good night.”
“Good night, ” Baxter answered quickly, in a voice
which was not quite steady. “I can’t ever thank yom
properly for all you have done.”
“Don’t try,” floated back er the dimly iis hall

  
Tih ae

\ Teddy Baxter closed the door and returned to his
chair,
\- face.
“TH do it,” he muttered firmly,
‘kind of a dub on the face of the earth if I didn’t brace
To think of Dick Merriwell, the most
popular fellow in Yale, taking’the trouble to do this
a for mé! And he really believes in me! I’ve got to
make good! [ve got to succeed, or I could never look
him in the face again.
“T will do it, too!
_there’s something in Teddy Baxter, after all.
| dolph Rose may sneer all he likes. One of these days
he’ll sneer out of the other side of his mouth. Per-
haps he thinks [’ve forgotten. Some time he'll find out
I haven't.’

\

a look of grim determination on his. homely

 

“T’d be the worst

up after this.

Vll show those fellows that
Ru-

CHAPTER VIII.

THE: PURBRNING PON?

One must not imagine that Teddy Baxter appeared
on the athletic field the next afternoon in the trium-
phant state of mind of a conquering hero. Buoyed up
by Dick Merriwell’s magnetic presence, the night be-
-fore, and his encouraging words, he had gone to bed

} feeling that, in a way, he had sloughed off the old
shell of self-doubt and indecision, and from that mo-
ment he would be a wholly different being.

But this was very far from the ease. One does not
shed the habits and points of view of a lifetime in a
desperate
Time

- moment, and the morning was one long,
_ struggle to maintain his newly formed resolve.
and again he found himself thinking of the forthcom-
- ing\ordeal with a positive horror

#1. pictured to himself with every bipléasant detail
what, his reception would be by the majority of men
on the field, and it was only by the strongest effort
of will power that he forced himself to step onto a car
about half-past three. |
‘Tt had been impossible for him to arrive at that state
of self-confidence, regarding his abilities as a player
. which Dick had levee upon him. He did his best not
ie think about that phase of ie matter at all, “but

  

  

   
 

es, obiee over. him i in a horrible, heart atuking rush. True
tO" his promise to Merriwell, howev er, he gritted his
+) teeth and thrust it‘firmly from him. 3

 
   
  

ihe? Fe

‘ ever eer so sweitt a trey from the campus to the

WEEKLY.

 

‘building better than he knew.

ing about, waiting for the practice to begin.

place in the line.

~ It is to be questioned whether Teddy Baxter had
himself crouching in the Aine face tg face with ee
! eile Rose, »

       
  
  
  
  
   
   
    
   
   
    
  
 
   
  
  
  
  
  
 

15

express train, and almost before he had realized i
the high board fence of the field was in sight.

When the ear stopped, he sprang off quickly and,
without giving himself time to think, hurried through
the gate and into the house.

It was almost. time for practice to commence, and
most of the men were out on the field. The few fel-
lows, however, who were hastily dressing nodded to
him shortly, with expressions of such utter astonish-
mingled with amusement, that the sophomore
could not help the flush which came into his otherwise
stolid face.

He paid no further attention to them, however, but
hustled into his togs and followed them out of the
building.

Walking swiftly toward the mob of men engaged in
tossing a football about, he saw that these late comers
had evidently spread the news of his presence. Heads
were quickly turned in his direction, as they watched =|
his approach with interest and very palpable amiuse-
ment, if he could judge from the sounds of laughter
which came distinctly to his ears.

He would rather have faced a charge of cavalry
than these grinning, jeering faces, He would have
given anything in the world to turn tail and run; but
at that ifstant he distinguished Merriwell, standing a
little to one side of the larger group, and, with set
teeth and clenched fists, he threw up his head with a
determined gesture and kept.on un falteringly, “i

It is such struggles as these with self which tend
toward character development, and Teddy Baxter was

ment,

    
 
      
     
     
      

As he came up to the crowd of men, Buckhart’s voice
suddenly rang out:

“Line up, boys! Everybedy’s here now. Get busy !”

Baxter's heart gave a leap of joy as he realized that
he would not have to undergo that intolerable stand- —

He had ©

   

 

 
     
   
       
       
   
    

dreaded that far more than the actual playing. ,

There was an instant bustling as each one sought his
Baxter nodded to Dick in answer
to a pleasant smile from the senior, and then heard his"
name called in no gentle tones by Phil Keran, captain
of the scrub.

“Get over here to left tackdey Keran snapped, “and .
don’t be all day about it.’

‘ As he hurried forward, Baxter noticed that ‘Keran
was scowling in an angry manner as if something had
happened to disturb him. The next instant he found —

        
    
   
   

     
 
 
  
 

 
 
     
    
     
   
   
  
   
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
   
   
   
   
   
  
  
  
  
 

Tie TOP

¥ It was probably the best thing which could have hap-
pened. With his usual farsightedness, Merriwell had
figured out that nothing would so distract Baxter’s at-
tention from his own troubles as to place him where
he would be playing against his old enemy.

4 It would be an added incentive to do his best. Other
ae men might get through his defense, but Rose—never.
All his fighting blood would be aroused by this compe-
tition, which was exactly what Dick wanted. A word
to Buckhart had brought about the change.

'As Baxter saw the scornful sneer on the handsome
face but a few inches away from his own, his eyes
hardened and he resolved that’ he would die rather
than give the fellow another chance to crow over him.

The next instant Kenny, the little quarter back,
ripped out a string of numbers, the ball was passed
swiftly to Crowfoot, the line surged forward, and,
almost without a realization of what he did, Baxter
leaped forward, clutched Rose about the knees in a
grip of iron and they crashed to the ground together.

Crowfoot made his gain-and more before he was
downed, but Teddy neither knew nor cared. He did
not even realize that he had made a perfect tackle. He
only knew that he had stopped the advance of Rose,
and a fierce joy filled his heart at the knowledge.

His satisfaction was not lessened by the expression
of astonishment and chagrin which wiped the sneer
from the handsome fellow’s face with the rapidity and
completeness of chalk under a wet sponge.

Swiftly they lined up again, and the ball was snapped
back. This time it was a rush through centre, and
Baxtér planted his feet firmly, dropped, his great shoul,
der toward the man before him, and stood there solid
as a rock. :

The gain was barely a yard. /

By this time Rose was furious. It seemed incredible
to him that the man he had sneered at and despised
could be the fellow who was opposing him.
not understand it.

and Rose found himself hampered and thwarted in
_ everything he tried to do. It made him wild with rage,
' and presently he found an opportunity of planting a
smashing blow on Baxter’s face as he lay helpless at
the bottom of the pile.

_ It was a dirty trick, but Rose took good care that
it was unobserved by any one. He hoped it would
sting Baxter into retaliation, which might cause him
to be thrown off the team; but he was disappointed.
The burly soplgmore was furiously angry, and, ‘had
he not been helpless when the blow was struck, he

  

 

WEEKLY.

he was corresporidingly pleased: When the practice was

He could.

Baxter continued steady for several more rushes, -

mixture of hope and fear.

  

would undoubtedly have returned it with a vengeance; |
but, by the time the other fellows had piled off him |
and he had staggered to his feet, he had recovered: his |
self-control, and was more bent than ever ‘on utterly,
discomfiting Rose and preventing him» from making
a single advance of any sort.

To that end he worked with all his might. His ,
mind was so full of it that there was no rdom left %
for doubt or hesitancy. He played instinctively and #
the result was more than satisfactory. Keran, angry i
at having been obliged to retain him on the team, and, a
remembering his errors of the day before, had cau- x. i
tioned Gillis not on any account to let him have the ;
ball. ae

Baxter’s playing, therefore, was entirely of the de-
fensive or assisting order. Of course, he made:mis- / i
takes. -What man does not? But his general excel- ys
lence was such a contrast to his miserable perform-
ance of yesterday that it came as a distinct surprise
to every one except Merriwell.

Even Dick had: not expected him to do so well, and

 

over and the fellows_racing across the field toward the
house, he turned smilingly to his chum. *

“Well, old fellow,” he said slowly, “what do you
think of him?”

“What in thunder did you do to him, pard?” the
Texan asked, a puzzled look on his face. “I sure
never sdw such a difference in my life. Did you
hypnotize the gent?”

Merritvell laughed.

“No, nothing like that. Think he’s good enough to
keep on the scrub for a while?”

“Sure, if he keeps on playing that kind of a game,”
Buckhart returned quickly. “I must tell Keran to give
him a show with the pigskin to-morrow. I’d lik@jto” —
see how he’ll make out with it. His defense is steady ~~
as a rock, he keeps his head and has a corking tackle!”

He grinned rather sheepishly.

“You're a wizard, pard, and no mistake. I opine —
the treat is on little Bradley this time. You hear me , i:
talk?” | | iq

      
       
       
       
     
     
       
  

   
       
      
 

  
 
 

oA
/

 
   
   
 

4

|
CHAPTER IX. ,

A LESSON WITH THE GLOVES.

    
       
   
 

Meanwhile Teddy Baxter was loping across the field
‘behind the other men, his brain surging with a curious
He had Hoste somethin;

   

   
 

TLR Or

pod .
| ‘he knew, but was it all that Merriwell had hoped for?
_ Had he come up to his friend’s expectations?

Incredible. as it may seem, the big sophomore had
only the vaguest notion of how he had comported him-
self that afternoon, He recalled with a sense of shame
that, instead of keeping his mind on the game, as he
should have done, he had bent all his energies into the
blocking and outflanking of every move made by Ru-
dolph Rose, He had been pretty successful at that,
but whether in so doing he had played the game
properly he had not the remotest idea.

He could not have been so very bad, though, he re-
flected as he pounded across the turf. The sneers and
jibes, which had been so plentiful yesterday, were con-
spicuous by their absence. Well, there was nothing for
him to do but wait patiently for the verdict of Merri-
well.

_ When the practice broke up he thought for an instant
of speaking to Dick and walking back to the house
with him, but the old shyness and morbid dislike of
even appearing to butt in came over him with a rush ;
and, when he saw Merriwell stop and talk with Buck-

 

oer
ae
*
ot

q i hart, he turned and followed the rest of the men.

7 ie _ Catching up with the last of the bunch, he entered
the athletic house just behind Keran and Kenny, the
‘s iD .:

varsity quarter, who both turned at the sound of his
steps.

“Hello, Baxter,’’ Kenny said jocularly. “You must
have been off your feed yesterday. You were all to
the good this afternoon; wasn’t he, Phil?”

The captain of the scrub had evidently not yet
gotten over his grouch caused by having a man thrust
down his throat.

“Y-es, pretty fair,” he admitted grudgingly.

“Oh, come now!” objected Kenny. “It was a
_ mighty good defense! Why, he kept Rose from doing

a thing all afternoon. Did you get a glimpse at Hand-
some Rudie’s face, by the way? He was the maddest
thing you ever saw. I thought I'd choke watching
him m,” |

Keran smiled sourly. There was no love lost be-
tween him and Rudolph Rose, and he had observed the
latter’s discomfiture with no little satisfaction. At the
same time, he could not bring himself to show Bax-
ter his unqualified approval. The big sophomore had
been practically forced upon him by Buckhart, and
: there is nothing a man hates’ more than to be dic-

 
 

  

  

Well see what you can do with the ball to-mor-
row,” he said, looking at Baxter. “That may tell a
different’ story.”

  

 

WEEKLY. 3 | 17

honestly so?”

tion of yours to ‘put him up against Rose, though

     
 
  
     
 
   
 
  
 
 
 
    
   
   
  
 
 
      
       
       
     
     
         
 
        
          
         
     
   
   
     
   

Tongue-tied as usual, Baxter would have let the two
pass on without any remarks on. his part had he
not recalled Merriwell’s remark about the necessity
of a man’s showing a fair amount of self-assertion
and push to get along in this world.

“T hope not,” he said quietly. “At least, I shall be
glad of the chance of finding out.”

“You'll get it, Keran retorted, as he
started toward the showers. ¢

Baxter hesitated a moment and was about to fol-
low him when he felt a hand grip his shoulder firmly.

“Congratulations, old fellow,” a voice behind hina
said heartily, “You were certainly there with the
goods this afternoon.”

Baxter wheeled swiftly and saw Dick Merriwell
standing there.

“Did I really do w ell 2” he asked eagerly.

don’t worry,”

“Is that

Merriwell smiled.

“Don’t you know yourself when you put up a good
game?’’ he asked amusedly.

Baxter ‘hesitated and a slight flush stained his face.

" “Well, to tell the truth,” he stammered, “I was so ~

busy keeping Rose from doing a darned thing that I
didn’t think of anything else.”

Dick’s quick laugh was accompanied by a hearty
roar from Buckhart, who stood beside him.

“You're all to the good, son,” he grinned. “That’s
the right spirit, old bucko: Don’t let him do a thunder-
ing thing. Say, pard, that sure was a right good no-

sone tough on Handsome Rudie. He didn’t get a
chance for any grand-stand, playing to-day.”

The flush on Baxter’s face d¢éepened.

“You put me theré on Ee,
tatingly.

Dick nodded.

“T thought it would help you to, keep your mind off
yourself,” he explained, his eyes twinkling. “Itseems +
to have been most successful.”

“And I reckon we'll leave you there till further. no-
tice,’ the Texan put in quickly. “It’s just the sort
of discipline Rose needs. He’s a heap too cocksure
to suit me.” ;

Baxter’s sensitive lips curved in a smile.

“That's one on me, isn’t it?” he said quietly. “I
never thought. it was a put-up $b, but it certainly —
worked fine.”

Buckhart left, them to see if there were any showers”
vacant and presently yelled to Dick to hustle in and
get one,

he asked hesi-

   
  

“Don’t forget you’re coming around to-night,” the
latter said as he left Baxter.

*T’m not likely to,” the sophomore returned smiling.

Nor did he. A few minutes before eight o'clock he
entered Durfee
Merriwell’s door.

He found Dick alone, Buckhart having gone out, and
for half an hour the two sat chatting pleasantly. Then
Dic arose and got out some boxing gloves.

“Slip these on, Baxter,” he remarked, “and we'll
see how much of the science you've been able to pick
out of a book.”

Privately he did not expect that it would be much.
Some accomplishments and sports can be learned froni
books, but boxing is a science which needs personal
instruction from the very beginning.

They both took off their coats and rolled up their
sleeves before adjusting the gloves. Dick noticed with
approval the smooth, rippling, well-developed muscles
of the sophomore’s arms. There was none of that
bunchy appearance, great bulging
men work so hard to obtain and which are, in reality,
so useless. Baxter’s muscles were for use, not show—

and, ascending the stairs, knocked on

lumps which some

supple, flexible, rippling beneath his satiny skin with

every motion.

“You've got good arms, my son,” Merriwell re-
marked as he stepped forward., “On guard, now.”

To his surprise, Baxter fell into a very correct spar-
ring position, easily balanced, on his feet, his right
arm close against the body, the hand a little below the
waist, and his left advanced.

“That's good,’ Dick commented,
shoulder a trifle, Limber up a bit.
stiff.” e

“Drop your right
You're a little too

Baxter did as he was told, and they commenced to

feint for an opening.

With his perfect knowledge of the art, Dick could,
of course, have done anything He liked at any moment
with the novice; but, equally of course, he did not
try. He was astonished and very much pleased to
find that Baxter had already acquired even more than
the rudiments of the science. He had a quick eye,
an alert mind, and excellent judgment.

‘At first he was naturally a little stiff and uncertain.
That was to be expected, considering the way in which
he had gained his decree but, as the sparring con-
tinued, he warmed up and made a very fair exhibition.
‘At the end of half an hour Dick, dropped his a tins
to his nies an ate back.

‘

3 shottldn’ t ave

TIP TOP WEEKLY.

said quickly

occurred to me that you won't be able te start |

 

thought it possible fora fellow to get as much out af |
books as you seem to have done. Of course, you're. too |
slow, but I think you'll get over that aftef-you've had
A. punching bag is all right so far
You want

a little practice.
as it goes, but» it doesn’t go far enough:
to get up against a man—somebody with brains who
will keep you guessing. Hoogan is the best instructor
in New Haven. You'd better arrange totakea course
with him as soon as you can,’ 4

Teddy

“You're awfully encouraging, Mr.

“| was afraid I had been wasting the

flushed with pleasure.

Merriwell,” he

Baxter

 

summer, and that what little I'd learned wouldn’t be —
of any use to me when I really began. lessons.’ ae
‘Not at all,”

Dick returned. ‘You've gota very

fair idea of the rudiments—quite as much as some = |
fellows take a month to acquire. By the way, I wish - !
you'd leave off tacking the mister to my name. It’s
altogether too formal. My friends call me Merriwell, — t

or Dick.”
The flush deepened on Baxter’s face and his eyes
brightened.

   
  

“Tt’s awfully good of you, to—consider me—your—
friend,

“Oh, cut that,”
on earth shouldn't you be?
have another bout.”

  

* he stammered.

 

Merriwell returned carelessly. “Why
Get busy now, and we'll

  

    
   
 

This time he was not so particular about sparing
his antagonist. He did not believe in handling a man
as if he were something fragile and might break; and
by the time they had finished for the night the sopho- — %
was acutely conscious of having been smartly

      
     
    

more

      
 

tapped an almost every portion of his anatomy, while
he had been quite unable to even once get past Dick’s
guard, | ro

      
       
 

“Great Scott!’ he exclaimed, as he sa ank into. a chair,
and mopped his forehead. ‘You're all ov ert the place at
once. I haven't. been able to touch you,’

“Naturally not,’ “But you ane
remember that [| am not exactly anovice, You min’ t
get discouraged, old fellow, After afew lessons: you ie
be feeling quite differently,” i“

 
     
 
 
 

’ Merriwell smiled.

 
  
 
 

 
    
   

Baxter pulled down his-sleev es and. slipped into’ his
coat. “

    
 
 
  
   

 
 

“Well, [ must run along,” he anid; with. a glance. at
the clock, “Thank you very’ tuch for oe leugany) ‘
“Not at all,” Merriwell returned. :
drop in again to-morrow night. | [d rather like to"
what I ean make of you im‘ a! week's time? Tt ju

  
 
   
  

    

  

      
ik Tor

_ with Hoogan until after the. football season is over—
you won’t be able to spare the time; now that you are
a regular member of the scrub.”

_. “But I’m not that yet,” protested Baxter. 4‘How
do you know what I may do to-morrow?”

“Stop that!” Dick exclaimed quickly. “Didn't I tell
you to cut out all that kind of thing? You're going
to do better to-morrow than you did to-day. Just stow
that away in your nut and keep it there.”

1

CHAPTER X.
THE AWAKENING.

It seemed to Teddy Baxter as if he had begun to
lead a new life. Had any one told him a week before
that he would approach the athletic field without a de-
cided sinking of the heart, calmly enter the dressing
room and don his togs, and then race out onto the field
with the other men to take up his position on the
scrub, he would not have believed them.

In fact, more than once, it seemed as if it must be
a dream. It was almost impossible that it could be
really he who was doing all these things, and it took
him several days to realize that the amazing change
was not, as he had feared at first, merely a temporary
matter, and that he was apt at any moment to relapse
into the old, distressing state of affairs.

Of course, it had not all come about in /a minute.

He had qualms, doubts, periods of self-distrust, which’

he always endeavored to thrust from him as quickly as
he could; but at no time had they approached in dura-
tion or inténsity that awful afternoon when he had
been obliged to actually force himself with clenched
hands and gritted teeth to take the car out to the
grounds.,

__»With each day’s appearance there, he acquired an
added calmness, an increased efficiency, an ever-grow-
ing feeling of self-reliance. :

Not a little of this self-confidence he owed to the
evenings spent in Dick Merriwell’s room, where the °

accomplished and popular senior gave up an hour a

day ‘to the instruction of this big, clear-eyed sopho-.

a

more in the science of sparring.
| Teddy Baxter looked forward to that hour with
eager intensity, and for him it passed all too soon. He
very soon discovered that the actual satisfaction of
being able to handle his fists properly was only one of

the benefits he derived from the instruction, and per- »

haps the least of them.

Zs

WEEKLY.

He found that his brain was quickened, as well as
his body. His wits were sharpened. He had to think,
plan, decide, and act in the flash of an eye, or else
Each evening
Merriwell put more force into his blows, feinted and
countered with more and more bewildering swiftness,
never for an instant sparing the man he was teaching,
never allowing him to rest content with what he knew,

make of himself a mere punching bag.

or to go over and over again points which he had
already learned; but ever advancing, constantly bring-
ing out new blows, swings and punches, until it seemed
to Baxter that the knowledge of his instructor in the
art was absolutely limitless.

All this, of course, was of tremendous help to him
on the gridiron, and his progress there was a source
of constant bewilderment to the other players—all,
that is, save Merriwell and Buckhart; for the Texan
was usually present at the boxing bouts, and before
very long had conceived a decided liking for the sopho-
more, who threw himself into the work heart and soul,
and seemed so bent on making the most of his oppor-
tunities. ; ‘

But the other men on both teams could not under-
stand the amazing transformation. Insensibly, how-
ever, there came a change in their treatment of Bax-
ter. Little by little they became more friendly: And
gradually, as they penetrated the outer shell of shy-
ness and reserve, they discovered the hidden qualities
of the real man—kindly, loyal, honest to the core, and
always ready and eager to help a friend to the best
of his ability.

And so, by degrees, they began to treat Baxter as
one of themselves, to greet him with playfully affec-
tionate slaps on the back, to call him “Old Teddy.”
They soon found, too, that his judgment on football”
matters was keen and penetrating, and very far from
being despised. | The very seriousness of his outlook
upon life made his summing up of the abilities of a
player, or the value in the long run of a certain pass
or formation, peculiarly accurate.

It must not be supposed, however, that he made a
habit of criticising the other members of the elevens.
Usually ready. enough to’give vent to a favorable opin-
ion of a man, it was an almost impossible thing to per-
suade him t6 criticise a fellow’s bad points. If he could
not speak well of any one, he preferred to keep silent.

All this good fellowship was very dear to Baxter.
He had always been keenly desirous of the esteem and _
liking of his. fellow men, and up to this time it had
generally been denied him. He was not a fellow who

would ever shine in a crowd.
\

 
 
 
 
 

 

 

He had none of the elements of wide-spread popu-
larity, such as was possessed by Rudolph Rose, with
his handsome face, his ready tongue, his superficial
but beneath his silent, reserved
steadfast loyalty and

skill in many things ;
manner there was more true,
strength of character than his ornamental classmate
could ever hope to have.

Happily, under the sunny influence of his comrade’s
liking, Baxter’s silent reserve melted a little and he
found himself entering into the bantering give-and-
take, touch-and-go jesting and persiflage of field and
campus to a degree which surprised himself. |

Rudolph Rose viewed the sudden shifting of the
weathercock of popular opinion with dismay and bit-
ter, ever-growing hatred against Baxter. At first he
had met and tried to combat it by biting sneers and
contemptuous words, but, while successful with a few
of the fellows who had their own reasons for want-
ing to stand well with the wealthy New Yorker, the
majority. of men preferred to judge for themselves,
and declined to be influenced by mere words. :

Undeterred, Rose continued systematically to jeer
and scoff at Baxter. Perhaps his judgment was warped.
At any rate, he could not seem to see the folly of
trying to stem the tide of popular opinion, He could
not even understand that his conduct must look to an
unprejudiced observer uncommonly like petty jealousy.
For it had come to that. 3

Teddy Baxter was getting his revenge for the in-
numerable slights and sneers and petty annoyances of
his enemy in a perfectly legitimate manner. Gradu-
ally he was developing a steadier, better game on the
gridiron. Not only that, but he bent all his energies
_ toward blocking and defeating Rose, who still played

opposite to him in the line. 5

Tt was all quite fair. It would have been impos-
sible for the big, silent sophomore to do ariything un-
sportsmanlike; but he certainly found a grim pleasure
in spoiling the efforts of his antagonist th make a bril-
~ liant showing ‘on the field; in thwarting every move
he made; shutting out his attempted advances; block-
ing his plays and driving him almost wild with rage.
Rose, of course, was conscious of this, to a certain
degree, but his self-conceit was §0 great that he never
imagined for an instant that there could be any pos-
‘sible comparison between his playing and that of the
man he affected to despise. His awakening was a rude

one.

Happening one day to reach the field rather late, he
dashed through the gate and up to the athletic house.

TIP TOP: WEEKLY.

‘At the door he was suddenly halted in his tracks by the /

white, and for an instant he stood as if turned to

    
  

sound of his name spoken by’ some one inside.

“Rose is a fool to go around shooting off his face
about Baxter the way he does. He’s just plain jealous,
that’s what’s the matter with him.”

“Yes”? came in the familiar tones of Jack
“Old Teddy can play all around him.”

The handsome face of the listening man turned :

Kenny,

RT:

stone. He could not believe his ears. It was incred-
ible that the fellow meant what he said.

“Tf Rudie doesn’t take a brace pretty quick, I've a
notion that Brad will take him out before the game,” — we
remarked the first man, whose voice Rose now recog- s
nized as that of Bud Baulsir, the varsity left half) a
back. “‘He’s been simply rotten for the past week. | q e
He did a great sight better work on the scrub.” }

re ale ia

 

 

 
  

The listening man could stand it no longer. With a
pale face and strangely glittering eyes, he straight- Be.

 

ened up and walked swiftly away from the door. So
that was what they were saying about him, was it?
‘A lot of envious fools, always ready to find fault with
their betters. He had hated Baulsir from the first,
and Kenny was a miserable little runt, common as dirt,
and ready to take up with every lunkhead who came.
along and be friendly with them. ?
Curse that Baxter! He was to blame for this. He
had been deliberately balking and thwarting every at-
tempt Rose had made for the past week to do some- :
thing good. Never mind, there would be a settlement
between them pretty soon, and Baxter would regret
bitterly the moment when he conceived such an auda-

   
    
 
   
 

 
 
  

       
     
     
     
   
   
     
     
     
   

cious, plan. .
For a good five minutes Rose raged fiercely before | “
he realized the necessity of controlling himself and Wy
getting out on the field. Then he pulled himself to-
gether, and, returning,to the house, encountered the.
two fellows just coming out.
“Hello, Rose,” Kenny greeted him cheerfully. “Bet-
ter get, a hustle on or you'll be late.” a
He could not trust himself to speak, but he gave the
little quarter back a look of sneering contempt as he
parsed him. 1 aa
“Humph!” grinned Baulsir. “What have you oles
doing to his highness, Jack? Me don’t look as if he
loved you for a little bit.” | pa Te

    
      
     

   
   
     
     

ax

       
   
 

  

   
 

 
 

   
 

Kenny laughed carelessly.
“Oh,
lessly.

 
 

he’s got a grouch, I suppose,’ ae said care- Ks
“T haven't any use for these fellows Ww ho sloby

     
 

  

       
 

TIP: TOP WEEKLY.

Inside the athletic house, Rudolph Rose was stand-
ing before his open locker, yanking off clothes.
His face was distorted with rage and his eyes flashed
ominously.

“Baxter !’
He'll wish
with him. Scheming to get my place, is he?
he won’t, that’s all I’ve got to say.”

Despite the bravado of his tone, something like a
chill went down his back at the mere possibility of such
a thing, and his eyebrows drew together in a heavy
scowl.

For the game with Syracuse—the opening game of
the season—was scheduled for the day after to-mor-
row. The final make-up of the team was sure to be

his

‘rah!
through

Well,

he muttered with intense malignity.
he’d never been born before I get

Gecided on this very afternoon.

CHAPTER XI.
A POOR BEGINNING.

_ Wrapped in a big gray blanket, Teddy Baxter sat
on the ground watching with eager, breathless interest
two charging, writhing, tattered lines of men. One
ee have thought him carved from marble so still
was he, but’a glance at his face showed that he was
very much alive. .

A bright spot of scarlet glowed on each freckled
cheek, his brown eyes, wide open and shining with ex-
citement, were fixed upon the field before him with a
keen, anxious intentness. For the game with Syracuse
had commenced, and, in the twenty-five minutes al-
ready played, things had not gone: altogether in Yale’s
| direction.

The fears of Rudolph Rose that he would be sup-
planted on the varsity team had not, been entirely with-
out foundation. Perhaps, had he not heard that scrap
of conversation between Kenny and Baulsir two days
- before, the result would have been different; for Buck-
hart had entertained a see decided conviction that

ae bent his every energy toward making ga hsood
nowing. ‘And he succeeded, in spite of the iaebebini
ation. of ae in Playing so at that as

ee ee ee ee

ee

Da gene Fe TRE ie

‘
Zt

Thus it was that Teddy sat on the side lines, a sub: !
stitute, but he had/
He was happy and

no hard feeling on that
erateful at being there
occurred to him that there

account.
at all. It
was the most re-
mote possibility of his being considered for the var-
sity.

had never

He would have been astonished beyond measure
had he known how very narrow had been the escape of
Rudolph Rose and his own consequent advancement.
Thus, he had nothing to regret as he sat huddled un-
der his blanket watching the struggle—nothing, that
is, save the unaccountable weakness of the Yale eleven.

Incredible as it may seem, the visitors had scored.

Ever since the opening of the season rumor had
heen rife of the strength of the Syracuse team. But
rumor is apt to be unfeliable, and, since no game of
importance had yet been played, Buckhart and his ad-
visers had been inclined to discredit much of what
they had heard so vaguely.

They were correspondingly amazed at the discovery
that the visiting eleven was by far the strongest which
the New York college had sent out almost'in the
memory of man.

Their average w Soh was not excessive, but each
man was quick and speedy, and able to use his head,
which was far more necessary under the new rules
than mere bulk and brawn.

The game that day had drawn a more than ordi-
narily large number of spectators; for it was the first
to be played at New Haven under these new rules, and
everybody was eager to see what the effect would be
of the, most radical changes in many years.

It was seen from.the start that the game had been
most amazingly altered, and many decided that the
changes were distinctly for the better. The spectacu-
lar flying tackle had been abolished, mass play and
interlocked interference had vanished. “The rush lite
had widened out and was playing a much more ex-
tended game than ever before, and the man with the
ball was always in full view of the spectators.

‘The famous “halves” had been abolished, and,
stead, the game was now divided into four ‘ aa
of fifteen minutes duration, thereby reducing the play-
ing time by ten minutes, and giving two additional
periods of rest. This very much lessened the danger
of players collapsing from exhaustion, a condition
which was also helped by the fact that a player was

not allowed to return to the game after having’ been
once removed. ; 7

Altogether it was generally decided that the work. of !
_ the Rules Committee had been a success.

The game_

eae

 
  

 

 

EE TOR

22

had become more interesting and spectacular, and at
the same time danger and accidents had been greatly
lessened. ©

=It was a question whether Syracuse would have
been so successful had not Kenny made dn amazing
fumble early in the game, emphasized by an execrable
lack of judgment on the part of Rose, which gave the
enemy the ball and helped them very materially to make
their touchdown.

Buckhart fumed and foamed and gave them some
talk straight from the shoulder, with the result that
everybody braced up and after that things went some-
what better.

But that touchdown—even though the goal had. not
been kicked—was a tremendous handicap.
something peculiarly dispiriting
work against a score made early in the game.
up almost like an insurmountable obstacle.
an ever-present, haunting fear that it may never be
overtaken, much less passed, which is discouraging
to really perfect work. Of course there are some men

There is
for a team to have to
It looms
There is

upon whom: it has exactly the opposite effect. The
knowledge that they are behind only nerves them to
greater effort, but these men,are usually in the mi-
nority. f |

Teddy Baxter was of that type. He viewed the dis-
comfiture of his team with a certain amount of un-
easiness, but no actual alarm. They would repair the
damage very soon and make that miserable little “five,”
which loomed so big at present, look sick. The first
quarter had only begun.

But as the time passed without the score altering
_ the anxious sub began to wonder what was the mat-
ter. He realized that the visitors had an amazingly
good team, but so had Yale. With such men as Mer-
riwell, Buckhart, Joe Crowfoot, Blair Hildebrand, and
one or two others who could always be depended on,
how could they fail?

Instinctively he began to watch the individual play-
ing and draw his own conclusions. Baulsir #as doing
well. Kenny had picked up, though he was still a
little: nervous after his fumble. What of Rudolph
Rose?

Baxter watched the handsome fellow with a cool,
dispassionate eye. His judgment was quite unclouded
by their mutual dislike. That only served to make him

more charitable toward his enemy for fear he might go
2 to the other extreme. But no amount of charitable-
ness could disguise the fact that Rose was doing very
edly. eat
He was not using his head. More than once Teddy,

,

-

 

relaxed with a little sigh of relief.. He had seen a

   

WEEKLY.

found himself thinking that he would have. made a
certain play quite differently, and he felt that it would
have gone through.

“What the deuce is the matter with Rudie?”
said in his

a voice
“He’s worse than rotten!”

At this voicing of his own thoughts, Baxter turned
Gillis, the substitute quarter back,

ear.

swiftly and saw
squatting close beside him.
“He does seem pretty punky,” he returned slowly.
“What’s the matter with Buckhart, anyhow?” pur-
sued the little fellow plaintively. pees don’t he take
him out dnd run somebody He should have
put you in Rose’s place yesterday.”
“Me!” gasped Baxter in astonishment.
Gillis seemed to find his expression very amusing.
“Yes, you,” he grinned. “Who’d you think I was
talking about?”
Baxter laughed shortly.
“Stop your kidding,” he returned, glancing back at
the field again. “I bit beautifully, didn’t 1?”

“T’m not RO you old idiot,” the quarterback re-
turned promptly. |
tackle than Rose any day?
game pretty close. Couldn’t you have
work than he has this afternoon?”

Baxter was silent! fora moment.
“Well, couldn’t you?” persisted Gillis.
“Perhaps so,”
have tried, anyhow.”
“Of course you would,”
“Tried and done it, too.

else in?

Som

You've been watching this
done a lot better

Gillis retorted positively.
Trouble with Rose is, he

thinks he knows more about the game than anybody —

else on the field, and he don’t know half as much.”
\ Suddenly he leaped to his feet with an exclamation
of anger.

“Look at that!’ he ied excitedly. “Just look at

that! Dropped it! Butter-fingers! Lunkhéad! Now —

they’ve got it—no, they ‘haven't, either !”’

His tone of anger turned to a shrill yell of joy.
'. “Merriwell’s got it!” he cried frantically. “That’s
the stuff, Dick! Go it, old fellow—go it! Why don’t

you fellows wake up? ‘A’ good ten yards! Oh, gee!
He’s downed!” .

He sank down beside Baxter again, his round face
while across the field from the —
overflowing grand stand, a solid mass of banked-up
humanity, came a thunderous roar of joy, a :
swiftly by a deep, booming cheer:

wreathed in smiles,

“Merriwell! Merriwell! Merriwel i;
‘A’ thrill’ shot through Baxter as he heard it, and tie

 

 

“Don’t you know you're a better |

Baxter admitted grudgingly. “s s

 

 

  
   
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

     
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
   
 
       
      
 

  
       
  

 
 
   
   
  

TIP

anxious eyes the ball snapped back and
| ' to Rose.
ing of the heart, he -saw the fellow make a wretched
fumble, snatch wildly at the pigskin, which seemed to

passed quickly
With a gasp of dismay and a horrible sink-

_ elude him like a thing alive and roll,to-one side. For
hs, an instant Teddy thought that it was surely lost.

Then a lithe figure leaped forward, snatched it up

| and started around the end. He realized that Merri-

well had saved the situation.

The teams had scarcely lined up again, however,

Ee when the shrill whistle announced that the second

: “quarter was over.
Instantly the players streaked for the athletic house.

As they came near him Baxter looked at them with a

-~ little touch of envy in his heart, What would he not
give to be with them?

é 1 at once his eye fell upon Buckhart walking

ie _ swiftly in the rear, talking emphatically with Rudolph

Rose.

The Texan’s face was like a thundercloud, his fists
were clenched, his brows drawn down over flashing

eyes; he was, in short, furiously angry.

~ “Rotten!” he exclaimed. “It was the worst exhibi-

tion I ever saw! What's the matter with you to-day ?

_ Where the deuce are your wits? I sure opined you

knew how to play the game!”

Rose bit his lip angrily. His eyes were sullen.

~ “No reason why you should jaw so: about it,” he

_ snapped.

“You've done nothing
etorted. “You're a-plenty worse than useless.”

_. Rose’s self-control snapped like a thread.

“Maybe you think. Baxter

sneered. ‘Why don’t you put him in?”

_ “Exactly what I’m. going to do,” ss Texan re-
urned swiftly. “You don’t reckon I’m going to give

you another chance to lose the game, do you?”

- At that instant his eyes fell on Teddy’s face, staring

up at him from the gray folds of his blanket, as if he

could not believe his senses.

 

 

“Everybody makes mistakes sometimes.”

else all afternoon,” Buckhart

  

  

  

  

 
 

 
 

 
 

Yon’ re to go in this quarter, Baxter,” he said
harply.- “Come into the house with me. I want to
Hustle, now!’

 
 

\w

his feet like one in a dream and followed him, the
He did not hear
ue never saw the

Ne

  

loon face of “Rudolph R
bd chance had come at. C Agee:

ose. "He only knew

TOP WEEKLY.

would do better,” he

He went on without stopping, and Baxter staggered |
hammering him unmercifully, knowing from almost _

He was ;to play»

    
   
   
  
  
    
      
   
  
 
     
  
  
    
  
  
      
       
         
        
     
    
         
    
    
   
     
      
    
   
     
        
         
   

CHAPTER XIT.

PECK SAVES THE DAY wy

Baxter trotted across the turf with the other mem-
little
His heart was doing queer feats inside him

pers of the eleven, his jaws set firm and his face a

white.

and seemed trying to get out. Merriwell, jogging
easily beside him, shot a swift, questioning glance

at the big sophomore.
“Don’t forget what I told you, Teddy,” he said in

game. is—forget the

a low tone. “Forget what the
score, Try, if you can, to think it’s only practice and

that you're ‘bettie up against the scrub. Just give us
the best that’s in you without thinking of the result.
That’s all we want—your best.”

SALTY”

The next instant he was crouching in the line, face
to face with the burly Syracuse tackle, an odd hum-
ming in his ears and his heart threatening another in-
vasion of his throat.

3axter answered huskily.

The shrill whistle sounded, and instantly Kenny

barked a quick signal.

The ball was snapped like a flash and dagsed swiftly
to Crowfoot, who started around left end.

As the line surged, forward Baxter's brain cleared
magically, His heart ceased that annoying thudding,
and he seemed all at once to become perfectly cool and
composed. |

The Syracuse tackle made a lunge at him which al- 4a
most took him off his feet, but he braced himself a
firmly and kept him from getting through the line.

Crowfoot succeeded in making some eight yards be-
fore he was tackled, and. then wriggled forward an-
other two before the referee's whistle sounded.

From that moment Teddy Baxter had no further
trouble with attacks of stage fright. The game went
with such a rush and snap that he had no time to think
of himself or about his ability to make good. He
played as calmly and steadily as if he had been up
against the scrub, and he played well,

His game was principally a defensive one, and he
held his place in the line as stéady as a rock. With —
Rose in that position, the Syracuse quarter had been

 

the very first that it was Y ale’s weak point; and al-
most every time they had gone ‘through the line as
if it had been a sieve. — : ze

He was quick to see, erdictnees ‘that hls new man
was made of different stuff, and soon gave over his
futile attempts to Nicci through Pits, .
mae DOP

Back and forth surged the lines of battered, writh-
ing, gasping men. Several times Yale forced the ball
to their opponents’ ten-yard line, only to be grimly held
and hurled back. Syracuse, on the other hand, had
only once reached scoring distance of Yale’s goal, and
had been successfully held for downs.

The minutes flew along, and still Yale had
scored. The last quarter lacked little more than ten
minutes of being over. The crowds on the grand stand
had ceased their cheering and were watching the field
in silent, breathless anxiety. It did not seem possible
that Syracuse was going to win, and yet there was so
little time left.

By a series of powerful rushes, backed by the whole
strength of the team, Yale had brought the ball to their
opponents’ forty-yard line. There was but ten min-
utes left to play. Buckhart’s face was strained and
anxious.- They must get it through.

not

It was a tensé, thrilling moment, and as Baxter
dropped into his place he felt the blood tingling in his
veins, and an almost irresistible desire came over him
to utterly annihilate the fellow in front of him.
must score—they must! Why didn’t they give the ball
to Merriwell?

Kenny’s voice sounded suddenly, shrill and clear:

They
He could get it through.

_ “Thirty-three, sixty-five, forty-seven, seventy-one—
nine!” :

Back the ball was snapped, and swiftly passed to
Dick, who caught it neatly, and leaped forward. Bax-
ter darted across him like a flash of light, and, with the
Yale guard beside him, Merriwell swept around to the
right and into the field.

The Syracuse end went down before the stalwart
Hildebrand, and Merriwell, sighting a clear space, sped
through, with Baxter close behind him.

He could feel the field trailirfg after him and in his
ears was the sound of falling men. Before him, a
little distance to the left, came the Syracuse full back.
Almost upon.him was their left half. To, Baxter he
looked big and ugly, but the sophomore never faltered.
It was up to him to stop the fellow, and he meant to
do it. This was their only chance. Merriwell must
get through.

With a final spurt, Baxter ran even. The next in-
_stant he gave the shoulder to the enemy, and as they
crashed down together, Dick leaped free, and, run-
ning on, knew that at last he was ee to shift for him-
self. 3

Of the men behind him, he had.no fear.
3 danger was the full back running cautiously down on

eft.

WEEKLY.

him, but he did not hesitate. Clutching the ball a
little tighter, he raced straight as an arrow toward the
only player between him and the goal looming in the
distance.

He heard nowgthe mighty sound of voices cheering
hitn, saw, without looking, the crowded stands to the
right, with the surging mob of spectators gone mad
with excitement.

Suddenly something seemed to whisper of danger
from behind, and, without lessening his speed, he
glanced swiftly over his shoulder into the staring eyes
of a runner. It was the wonderful Crampton, whose
amazing speed had been a source of comment from the
moment he had appeared upon the field. Dick could
hear the fellow’s short, labored gasps, as he turned
back and fixed his eyes on the full back not ten yards
away. .

Instantly his mind was made up. He felt that he
elude Crampton without much trouble. The —
man was evidently almost all in. But he did not dare
to risk the chance of having to mix up with two

t

could

men at once.

Easing his speed a trifle, he swung abruptly to the
He knew quite well the risk he was taking, but
he felt himself able to make up the lost ground. As
he expected, the pursuer was not expecting this sud-
den departure from the course, and overran. Turning
clumsily, he headed for a point between Merriwell and |
the left goal post. can

The full. back had naturally noticed the change of —
course and was now running for the same intersect- —

ing point as the other. The three runners formed a

triangle, but Crampton was out of the reckoning fora _

moment, and Merriwell could give all his attention
to the full back, who faced him ready for a tackle.
Clutching the ball tightly, he made a feint to the |
left and then flung himself quickly to the right. .As~
he did So he spun around. The full back’s hand reached -
his canvas jacket, slipped, and found a slight hold on
his trousers. But it was too slight to be effective.
Dick gave a suddé wrench; the fullback clutched des-
perately—wildly, slipped again—and Mertiwell soe
on toward the goal. ‘ J ‘
He heard a crash behind him and a thunderous roar
went up from the stands. Grimly he wondered whether )
his two pursuers had met, as he hoped they might, bal
he did not dare to look back. a

His speed was yee a trifle now and his breath

The only, coming a little unevenly.

in that rapid turn, oe running in heavy football og

 

 
 

ae Rae

is quite a different thing from the usual performance
on the track, and the strain was telling the least bit.
Thudding behind him came the full back, compara-
tively fresh. Dick gritted his teeth and took a new
spurt.

The last white line but one passed under his feet.
Nearer came the pursuing man, and nearer yet. All at
once Merriwell felt a touch and heard the sound of
labored breathing in his ear. The eager fingers could
find no hold on the smooth jacket and slipped aim-
lessly.

Not a sound came from the grand stand. Most of
fhe spectators had leaped to their feet and stared in
tense, wide-eyed silence across the field.

The full back’s fingers traveled upward and sud-
. denly gripped Dick firmly. The last five-yard line
passed “haltingly under his feet. He tried to shake
himself free, stumbled, recovered, and then, holding
the ball at arm’s length, flung himself forward, face
down.

* %

€
_ CHAPTER XIII.

TEDDY BAXTER’S REVENGE.

The full back, crashing down on him, knocked the
little remaining breath out of Dick Merriwell’s body;
but when, an instant later, he recovered his senses, the
deep, thundering roar from a thousand throats told
him that he had not failed.

He lay still for a moment, filling his lungs with great
_ gulps of air; but before the other players could reach
him, he struggled to his feet and leaned against the
goal post.

Ashe didso, a fresh burst of applause came from the
frenzied spectators, and Merriwell’s name rolled across
the field in great billows of sound. It seemed as if they
would never leave off shouting for their idol.
_ The next instant Dick was surrounded by a circle
of grinning faces; every hand seemed to be trying to
shake his at once and his back resounded with hearty
slaps. |
_. The goal was kicked successfully, and the score
pod 6—5 in Yale’s favor, with two minutes to play.
~ Nothing happened, naturally, in those two minutes,
pnd when the game was called Dick looked about for
Teddy Baxter. He soon spied him standing at a little
distance, a wide grin on his usually serious face. Dick
walked quickly over to his side.

“You were all to the good, Teddy,” “he said quickly,

his hand on the soph’s shoulder. “That was great in-

Baxter flushed a little. .

_“Gee-whiz!” he exclaimed. “That was nothing.
‘hat\sort of thing is all in the day’s work. But, say,

what a run you made! It was the bulliest thing I
ver saw.”

WEEKLY.

“That was all in the day’s work, too,” he returned.
“T couldn’t have done it without your help, though.”

They turned and, side by side, walked toward the
athletic house.

“T rather think your cure is complete,” Dick said
quietly, with a twinkle in his eyes. “Not a man on the
team stood the racket better than you did. You were
steady. as a rock and did some corking work.”

Baxter hesitated an instant, and then a slow smile
curved the corners of his mouth.

“Honest, though, I was scared to death when I first
went in,” he confessed. “I pretty near had heart fail-
ure; but I thought of you and how you'd feel if I
didn’t make good, and that seemed to act like a regu-
lar tonic. I just made up my mind I couldn’t fail, and
I didn’t.” .

“I knew you could do it if you tried,” Merriwell
said quietly. “It was worth while making the effort,
wasn’t it?”

Baxter drew a deep breath. His eyes were shining.

“You just bet it was!’ he returned enthusiastically.
“T’m only sorry to-think of all the time P’ve wasted, and
the fun I’ve missed.”’ |

“You've got lots of time before you yet,” Dick
laughed, as they entered the house. “And you’ll have
lots of fun, too, now that you’re on the varsity.”

Baxter had some doubts as to the correctness of
Merriwell’s guess. He could hardly bring himself to
hope that such a thing were possible, but the next mo-
ment Buckhart spied him and gave him a resounding
slap on the shoulder.

“Good work, Teddy, old boy!” he exclaimed. ‘You
sure played like an old veteran. I reckon we can't
do better than to keep you on the team for good.
You're a regular mascot, besides being a corking good
tackle.”

The sophomore’s cup of joy was filled to overflow-
ing. He hada feeling that he wanted to get away and
think it over quietly by himself. Things had happened
so swiftly that afternoon that even yet it was almost
impossible to believe it all true. As soon as he was
able, he took a shower and, dressing hurriedly, slipped
away from the laughing, joking, rejoicing crowd who
lingered in the dressing rooms.

Darkness was rapidly falling as he reached the open,
and he hurried around the corner of the house .
ward the gate, intent on getting the first car back t
the campus.

Suddenly a- tall figure. stepped swiftly from tid :
shadow of the house, an arm shot out, and, before Bax-
ter could collect his w its, he felt a crashing blow
straight in the face.

“Take that, you sneak!” snarled the voice of Ru-.
dolph Rose.
on me!’’

For an instant the big fellow was staggered by the
suddénness of it all; but as Rose tried to land an-_

- other blow on his face, he leaped back lithely and

threw up his. arms in a defensive attitude.

Me

 

ll teach you to try yous low tricks —
TEP’ <f£OP

“Think you can jfight, do you?’ Rose sneered. “I
gave you a good lesson last June, but this is going to be
a better one! I’m going to smash up that homely mug
of yours so your own father won’t know you!”

He leaped forward, as he spoke, and shot out his
fist, perfectly confident of his ability to do as he
liked with the man before him.

But, somehow, he couldn’t get past Baxter’s guard.
As Rose struck, his antagonist countered.cleverly, and
the next instant the handsome fellow staggered back
from the force of a powerful body punch.

That seemed to drive the last remnants of self-
control from him, and with a snarl of rage he sprang
forward again. j

From the beginning Baxter had not uttered a word
All his attention was taken up in putting into prac-
tice the knowledge which Merriwell had been ham-
‘mering into him for the past week.

‘At first he had been a little doubtful as to his ability
to. stand up for a moment against his old-time antag-
onist. His remembrance of their fight early in the
summer was very vivid, and then he had been quite
helpless. Rose had. done with him as he liked, and it
did not seem possible that the tables could be turned
in so short a time.

3ut Merriwell’s instruction had been thorough, and
furious with rage as he was, Rose fought wildly.
Very quickly Baxter realized that under those condi-
tions he was the better man.

The thought filled him with a fierce joy. Now he
could repay his enemy fullfold for the taunts and
jeers of more than a year. He could batter the hand-
some face befote him just as his own) had been dis-
figured. It would be perfectly fair and legitimate, for
the fellow had deliberately laid in wait for him with
the full intention of doing just that thing. —,

For a moment Teddy was tempted—strongly
tempted—to do his worst. But it was for only a min-
ute. Swiftly his better nature—his innate love of fair
play came to his rescue.

Because Rudolph Rose had shown himself a bully,
and had‘used his skill deliberately on a helpless man,”
was no reason why he should follow his example.
‘And at the present moment his uncontrolled anger had
made the handsome fellow almost as helpless as Baxter |
had been six months before.

Coolly the latter sparred, looking for an opening
which was not long in coming. When he saw his
chance, his fist shot out like a flash, struck his oppo-
_-nent’s chin with perfect aim and terrific force, and,
- without a sound, Rose staggered for an instant and then
slid an.unconscious heap to the ground.

Following Dick’s instructions to the letter, Baxter
_ had made use of the knockout blow as the swiftest
means of ending the one-sided fight.

Rose had scarcely struck the ground before a group »

of fellows appeared around the corner of the house
and stopped in astonishment at the sight before them.

“What in thunder’s the matter; Teddy?” Buckhart

asked as he stepped forward. “Who is it?” |

eb ' . y
J t ht ;

Sar

WEEKLY.

“Rose,” returned Baxter, ina low tone. “He jumped
out at tne and wanted to lick me.”

“Shoe seems to be on the other’ foot,” Kenny
erinned, as he leaned over the unconscious man. “What
have you done to him?”’

“T had to knock him out,’ Baxter explained apolo-
getically. ‘““That was the only way to stop him.”

“Carry him into the house, fellows,” Buckhart ad-
vised. “Hell come around in a minute. The varmint!
I reckon he was sote because he was turned down this
afternoon.”

He looked inquiringly at Baxter.

“T suppose so,” the latter returned.

Lifting him up, they carried, him through to the
dressing rooms, where some water, dashed into his
face, speedily brought him around, dazed and be-—
wildered. ' bat

Lingering in the background so that Rose might —
not think he was being gloated over, Baxter found
Merriwell close beside him. :

‘You found him easy enough to handle, didn’t you?”

Dick inquired.

“Yes, he was so mad he didn’t know whatyhe was.

doing,” the sophomore answered. (epee
There was a moment’s pause. Dick's eyes had an —
odd twinkle in them. His face was turned away.
“Why didn’t you smash him a few/good ones in the —
face?” he asked.
of how he treated you last summer. ve =
thought you’d have wanted to get even when you had
the chance.” | Ney

“T did for a minute—awfully,” Baxter returned

slowly. “But, somehow, it didn’t seem square.
wasn't doing his best by a long shot, you know, and-
Oh, well, I just couldn't.” ee Sa
Merriwell burst into a shout of laughter. ge eh
“Of course, you couldn't, you old idiot,’ he gasped —
chokingly. - “I could have told you that. You're too
decent to be up to tricks of that kind. Never mind.
You've had your revenge just the same. Rudolph Rose
will never hear the end of this after the way he’s
blown about .his skill with his fists. Come on, let’s :
get started.” | Ai Pee
Yelling at Buckhart, he drew Teddy Baxter’s arm
through his own, and they went out into the dark-
ness together. 3 fem

‘ THE END,

Next week's story, No. 757, is called “Dick Merri
well’s Rescue; or, The Regeneration of Rudolp
Rose,”” and it should have a permanent place.in th
library of every young man whose standards are base
on the lofty principles of truth and unbending honor
In one of his most intense, absorbing stories of

- popular hero, Mr. Standish has shown us cleatly

“it is never too late to mend.” And it’s a foot
story, too, with a lot uf interesting points on the n:
rules, and some scenes on the gridiron that make your
heart leap into your throat. Don’t forget the number

 

 

“Seems to me I remember hearing
I should have
 

i: TOP

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

NEW YORK, October 8, 1910.

 

 

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PRESENCE OF MIND,

A gentleman once went to see one of our numerous lunatic
asylums, where he was directed to one of the leaders. The leader
_ being half a maniac, too, told him to follow him, and led him all

over the building, when finally he was invited to visit the tower.
When they got up there, it being very high, the leader locked the
door, leaving the astonished gentleman alone outside, and said :,

~ “You will have to jump down, or else I will thraw you down.”

He never lost his presence of mind for one minute, but kept
_ cool, and said after a moment’s pause:

“It is very easy to jump down, but to jump up is a little
_ harder,’

The maniac, being anxious to see that 5 Aceiad, led the man

quickly downstairs, and! when outside the man took to his heels,
and was out of sight before the maniac could utter a word of
~ surprise. :
WORDS OF WISDOM.

At twenty years of age the will reigns, at Paty the wit, at
forty the judgment.

Endeavor to keep cool upon all occasions;
i such a steady calmness are innumerable.
To excel others is a proof of talent; but to know when to con-
ceal that superiority is a greater proof of prudence. —

At least nine-tenths of those most successful in business start

life without any reliance except upon their own heads and
hands.

Pian ierdtinect in the matter of andakio arises chiefly not

from liking our friends too much, but from an overestimate of |

eir liking for or opinion of us.

There is no royal road to any study, to achievement or success
anywhere; it is by the old plebeian path of rugged toil that men
reach the heights of attainment and the temple of fame.

We should carefully cultivate that habit of active attention on
which all the higher qualities of the mind depend; the difference
of the intellect in men depends more upon the early cultivation

f this habit of attention than upon any great disparity between
the powers of one individual and another. ON pe

‘Man i is not the creature but the architect of circumstance. It is

aracter which builds an existence out of circumstance. Our

th is measured by our plastic power; from the same ma-
rials one man builds palaces, another hovels; bricks and mortar

bricks and mortar until the architect can make them some- |

the advantages of

WEEKLY.

A Short Story by Your Favorite Author.

SAVED BY A MONKEY.

A Sea Sketch.
By BURT L. STANDISH.

“The narrowest escape of my life?” repeated my friend Tom
Ganning, lighting his Perfecto and sinking lazily back in the com-
fortable chair. “Well, it has been my fortune to come very
near passing in my chips several times, but I believe my closest

call occurred when I was sixteen years old.

“Like many foolish lads who have comfortable homes, I took
a farfcy to run away and go to sea. I had been reading the
story of a sailor boy’s adventures, which had whetted my fancy
for a life on the bounding | billows. There is something about
the word ‘adventure’ that gives it a halo of romance and fas-
cination for boys and sets them to longing for stirring scenes
and hairbreadth escapes. To my youthful fancy, the life of a
seaman, cruising about the world and viewing strange lands,
was the most delightful existence conceiv rable.

“Well, I tried it, and I got all I wanted,” continued Tom, with a
rueful smile. “I shipped oh the bark Squid, bound for the West
Indies. Our steward was a oe called Scrimp, and I am
certain he was the laziest and ugliest black man I ever saw. A
part of my duty was to assist him, and the sailors soon got to

calling me ‘Little Dough Boy.’

“The steward had a monkey for a pet. I belies there was a
kick about his taking the ¢reature along, but he was .a good
cook, and as he would not ship without Jim, as the monkey was
named, he had his way.

“Strangely enough, the monkey seemed to take an immediate
fancy to me, and this appeared to prejudice the steward against

-me. Scrimp began to illtreat me as soon as we were fairly out

to sea, and I soon discovered the life of a sailor was not just
what my fancy had pictured it. But I was in for the voyage, and
there could be no. backing out, although I was sore and home-
poe for many a day.

“As yoti know, Burt, my temper is not the sweetest con-

ceivable when any one attempts to crowd me. I shall never
forget my rage and dismay when Scrimp struck me the fifst
time. I had done something he did not like, and he roared:
‘i 5 nO misserble white trash! J’ll jes baste de ear offen yo’,
oy!
“And his black hand gave me such a slap side of the head that
I was sent reeling into a corner, my head ringing with the blow.
As I arose I cried:

“*That’s a sneak’s trick! Nobody but a nigger’d hit a boy in
that way!’ :

a ‘Nigger ! higeer'! he snarled, catching me by the throat and.
glaring into my eyes, his thick lips exposing a double row of
heavy white teeth. ‘Yo’ call me nigger ! Yo’ bettah done be
kind ob careful, boy! I hab a knife, an’ ef yo’ worry me I'll cut
dat pipe-stem throat ob yo’n.’

“To add to the terror of this threat, he caught up a keen knife
‘and pressed the edge to my throat-so that a slight mark was
made and a bit of blood started. I don’t think I am ‘a coward,
but I saw the dev in that negro’s eyes, and, realizing how help-
less I was in his strong hands, I shuddered and cried out. ns
“My cry was answered by the monkey, which ran quickly up
to its master’s shoulder and sat there chattering and clawing at
Scrimp’s kinky hair. With a savage exclamation the steward
caught Jim by the tail, and gave him a fling that landed him
against the ‘galley wall.

“Scrimp released me, uttering a warning, and ever after that I.
stood in greatest fear of him, although I was not ready to take
his cuffs and kicks without resentment. One day he found me
playing with Jim, and he immediately started to give the monkey ;
a licking.

“I think I could have stood it better if he had started i in on me.
My blood boiled, and when Jim began to cry and wail like a
child, while the cruel blows still descended, | was wrought up
to the last pitch.

“*Stopethat, you black villain!’ I yelled, flinging myself against:
the steward and tearing the monkey from his grasp. /

“Jim quickly placed himself out of Scrimp’s reach, but I found
myself in the hands of the enraged negro, and he. ‘proceeded to.
finish the job on me. I &tood it as long as I could, and then I
grasped a big bread pin and struck him fairly between = eyes
with it,

“The steward dropped like a log, and I was scared, rie Tr

. aeige I had Killed, a But negroes, are hase heads, _and

 
Fi LOY

Scrimp scrambled up in a minute. He was so furious that he
fairly frothed, and, catching up the same knife with which he
had ‘threatened me once before, he screeched:

““Now I will cut dat throat ob yo’!’

“I knew he meant it, and I fled for my life. The monkey fol-
lowed me, evidently not wishing to be left with his mad master,
and behind us came Scrimp, flourishing the knife and yelling, .

“Up the shrouds I went as fast as | was able. The monkey got
ahead of me, and did not stop until he was clinging tora rope in
the topmast rigging. I did not look back until I reached the
fore-topgallait yard, and then, to my horror, | found the steward
was close behind me—so close I was trapped. I could only creep
out to the extremity of the yard and cling there in terror.

“Scrimp had his knife between his teeth, and there was murder
in his eyes. I heard the captain shouting at us from the deck,
but did not understand a word he uttered. I do not think the
steward heard him at all, so intent was he in getting hold of me
andaccomplishing his dastardly purpose.

“The negto began working his way out on the yard, never
taking his eyes off me for a moment. Above us the monkey
clung to the halyards and screamed and chattered, while below us
the captain shouted and stormed.

“*Help! I cried. ‘He’s going to murder me!’

“‘Bunster,’ roared the captain, ‘lay aloft there and take a hand
in that.’

“Aye, aye, sit,’ responded Bunster’s voice, and I saw a, sailor
coming up the ratlines. es

“But Lknew Bunster could not reach us in time to prevent
Scrimp accomplishing his purpose, as the negro was now almost
within arm’s length of me.

“‘*Shoot him!’ I implored, scarcely knowing what I was say-
ing. ‘Quick! quick!’ J

“Don’ yo’ think yo’re gwine ter git erway!’ grated the black
wretch, taking his knife from his teeth and grasping it as if it
were a dagger. ‘Yo’ hit me wid dat pin, an’ now yo’ gits de
length ob dis!’

“He reached out his left hand to grasp me by the shoulder. Then
came a chattering shriek above, and I saw a dark body shoot
downwatd from the halyatds. It was the monkey, and he had
leaped for his master’s shoulders. .

“The following instant there was a human ery of fear. Then
man and monkey went whirling downward to strike on the deck
and remain motionless—both dead! The shock had knocked
Scrimp from the yard, and he was killed by the fall.

“I found myself weak as a kitten, and Bunster had to assist me
to the deck. Scrimp and the monkey were dropped overboard
sewed in one canvas. I think I was the only mourner, and it
was the monkey for whom I shed a tear.

“That was my first and last voyage, and my narrowest escape
from death.” /

}

- QUEEN MARY OF SCOTS.

Cooley’s boy and two other boys were sitting on the ground on
the other side of my fence a few days ago, and Cooley's boy
was telling them about Mary, Queen of Scots, of whom he had
been reading in his school history. The toe of familiarity in
his remarks induced one of thé boys to say:

“Why, you didn’t know her, Bill, did you?”
_ “Know her!” exclaimed Bill. “I bet I dgd. She ttsed to live
next door to mother’s when we lived over at Salem, and mother
often sent me in to borrow coffee, and the poker, and things,

Once when I knocked at the kitchen door she came bursting out .

_ kinder mad, and she says, ‘Maybe that mother of yourn’ll want
me to lend her my false teeth next.’ And I sassed her back;.
told her she better get some of that red off of her nose before:

she abused other people.: Then she set the dog on mé, ard I
clumb over the fence. Father never liked her husband, Mr.
Scott. He kept a grocery store, and father said he caught him
‘once shoveling sand in the sugar, and putting hairpins in the
mackerel to make ’em bony. He used to blow the bellers at the.
Presbyterian Church while Mary sang.”

“Tf thought she lived ever so(many hundreds of years ago,” said

another boy. Y ’ Sd
-_ “Pshaw, boy, you don’t know anything about her! Mother

_ said she didn’t consider her much account, becatise she wiped

_ her own nose. A real queen never does that. And one day she

chucked six kittens in our well to drown them, and when father,

_ spoke to Mr. Scott about it the old man made her prance out

_ and go down and fish them cats out. She climbed a rope just
‘as easy! Harid over hand. And she never kept ‘no hited girl,
but did her washing; and

P [ i, ia

7 eS eM

.sionariés came.”

_ bundle of small switches; during this lively exercise in-

mother said that if she was a _

WEEKPY.

queen nobody would ketch her hanging out shirts with a gold
crown on her head anyway. She never had no bonnets. Always
rushing around Salem with that old crown on and fur on her
clothes. Mother said she knew well enough it was cat’s fur, for
she saw the cat it came off of.

“She had only one child. His name was Johnny. I used to
get him in the barn} and lick him like thunder, and take his
marbles away from him) and then the old woman she'd conte
snorting into our house and slam her crown on the hatrack, and
say she wouldn’t stand it if I didn’t leave Johnny alone. And
father he’d tell her that she better ‘count for the fence palings
she’d stole for kindling wood, and stop baiting fishhooks with
corn and throwing them into our yard to ketch our chickens’
before she came a-howling around about Johnny. Doubled her
all up, that did! Went home sick, and the next day Mr. Scott
bought Johnny a pistol, and told him to kill me if I touched him
again. Mother said it was scand’lous, and that afternoon when
the queen was banging the soot out of a stovepipe in the. yard
mother chucked an oyster shell at her and dared her to hitch
her clothesline on our fence.” ;

“Our school teacher said she was put in prison by another
queen,” said one of the boys.

“Not gnuch! It was mother did it. L
at the window and jaw at our hired girl about putting the slops
in the alley; and one day when the girl said something back to —
her she heaved her scepter over to our house and smashed a
butter crock and four teacups. That made mother mad, and she
had her arrested and put in jail. When she got out she poisoned i
our cow, and mother ketched her putting nitroglycerine in one
of our watermelons, that was laying on the back porch.” A otee a aoat

At this point in the narrative I looked over the fence, and—
Santee tio} \ : zh

“William, do you know where little liars go?”

“No, sir; don’t know nothing about liars.”

“Why, you little villain, you have been lying for half an hour
about Mary, Queen of Scots.” esas

Mr. Cooley looked at mé, winked, rose slowly, shied a stone
at a dog, put his hands in his pockets, began to whistle softly, ©
and sauntered slowly off, without commenting upon my remark. —
Those other boys, though, looked as if they had. gained their .
first glimpse of the interior life of a great historical character.

‘THE WAY TO DETERMINE WHETHER A SEED IS RIPE.

There are many ways of determining whether a seed is ripe or
not, and any one who cares to make observations in his garden

can find those methods for himself. Take the pod of an or-.
dinary pea. If the seed is ripe, it will fall out immediately the
shell is broken, if unripe the peas will hang closely together.
The seeds of the sunflower and poppy are familiar to most
people, and with these it will be found that the slightest shake
will upset the seeds if they are ripe. During the process of

growth the seed is always soft; when it is matured it becomes —
‘firm. Of course, color plays a prominent part in the maturity —

of seeds. Time makes them chiefly brown or black, and when
they are encased in a hard shell like the cob nut, the color of the

shell and leaf may always be taken as an indication of the ripe-—
ness of the kernel within. It will also be found that, as a rule, a —
ripe seed sinks in water owing to the density of its particles.

—_—-.

HARDENING AN ALASKAN BOY,

Last spring, while out with the boys getting wood, in Alask
we spent some pleasant evenings in social chat around our can
fires. I related some stories of Eastern life, and in turn, th
told me some Indian legends, and talked with more than their ~
usual freedom about their ctistoms, and laughed heartily, and
yet spoke with\a tone of sadness, at the ways of their benighted
ancestors. ; iF TA Roe

“Everybody,” said they, “walked in darkness until the mis- —

They told me that when a boy is a few years old, he leaves |
father and mother, and goes to live with his uncle, who trains —
him in the arts of war, and to endure hardships as a good soldier,
even to®giving his own life for that of his kinsfolk. The toug'
ening process begins at once. Every morning he must bathe i
the ocean, the colder the weather the better, and the uncl
regularly, brushes the boy vigorously from head to foot with

as

thenics, the boy must not cry or show a sign of pain,

be a brave boy, a fearless man, a coutageous soldier. He

never give his kinsfolk “shame” through cowardice or de

, * =f v
th, E ' Ae! \ dite SS Zi VES
rib a jhe. “ ‘ in 4 hay

 

 

Mrs. Scott used to stand =f
_ chance,

7)

_ North Carolina.
same letter back again and found on the reverse side of the

tif. LOY

conflict; but must follow the example of the brave chiefs and
famous hunters, whose names are held sacred in the unwritten
history of their race. 2

AN ENTERTAINING EXPERIMENT.

Take two or three leaves of red cabbage, cut them into small
bits, place in a basin, and pour a pint of boiling water on them;
Jet it stand an hour, then pour off the liquid into a decanter. It
will be a fine blue color. Then take four wineglasses; into one
put six drops of stfong vinegar, into another six drops of solution
of soda, into another six drops of a strong solution of alum, and
Jet the fourth glass remain empty. The glassés may be prepared

- some time before, and the few drops of colorless liquids which

have been placed in them will not be noticed. Fill up the glasses
from the decanter, and the liquid poured into the glass containing
the vinegar will become a beautiful red; that poured into the soda
will become a fine green, etc. By adding a little of any to the
others, a variety of changes may be produced.

HARD ON THE DOCTOR.

At an election a worthy merchant presented himself at the
poll, accompanied by a well-known physician, when, with a view
to avoid taking his turn in the long row of voters, the physician
interceded for his friend, and requested that the crowd would
give him the head of the line, on the ground of being under
medical treatment. F

The merchant looked—as he was—in the prime of health, when

a wag, penetrating the dodge, spoke out:

“TI say, doctor, is that man under your treatment?”
“Ves, sit,” said the doctor, with exquisite politeness, “he is now

under my treatment, I assure you, and I have been his family

_ physician for the last—let me see—for the last five years.”

“Five years,” interrupted the waggish voter. “For Heaven’s
sake, gentlemen, let the man vote at once; he'll never have another
He’s outlived the doctor’s other patients six months.”
The crowd saw the joke, but the doctor didn't.

SITUATION OF HOUSES FOR WARMTH.

~The spot on the hill would, as a rule, be a warmer situation
for a house than if it were placed in a valley. In a valley the
moisture rising from the ground evaporates, and in so doing
absorbs a considerable quantity of heat from the surrounding
-atmosphere, with the result that the air of the valley becomes
‘much colder and condenses the evaporated moisture. In ,the
early morning and evening this may be seen in the shape of mist,
_which fills the valley and causes it to be much colder than a spot
situated above the ground mist line. Moist situations are always
colder than dry ones, and houses should therefore not be built
jn a valley, where the ground must receive the moisture from

7 the higher lands on each side. Of course, a house situated low

down gains a certain amount of shelter from cold winds, but
this is more than counterbalanced by the presence of damp.

THE CONDITIONS WERE UNCHANGED.

_A business man, who has a voluminous correspondence, re-
-ceives some queer letters in the course of a week. He told the
following story to a friend:

“About five months ago I wrote a letter to a doctor down in
In the course of a week or two

envelope these words: ‘Doctor G. died two weeks ago.’”

“The incident had slipped my memory recently, when I again
addressed a communication to the same doctor. After mailing
it, I recalled the fact that the addressee had been dead several
months. So I never expected to receive a reply.

“Last week, however, the letter was returned to me. This time
the envelope contained the following information: ‘Doctor G,

is still dead.””

aa

SEALS MOAN LIKE THE HUMAN VOICE,
There are many animals which have’ the capacity of imitating
he human voice, and it would be difficult to’ single out any one
as most efficient in this respect. The female seal, when deprived.

.

its young, moans and sighs in a way that would be difficult
fstlogtish from a woman in a state of grief. Seal hunters
ave often found their work most painful and depressing, owing
. this, They state it is almost akin to taking childten away by
) From a human being. Coote ray :

received the:

» weekly, so that there would be that

WEEKLY.
APPLAUSE.

The Stories are Elevating and Full of Go.

Some four years back my brother induced me to read a back
number “Tip Top.’ I think it was “Frank Merriwell Blizzard
Bound.” I was completely fascinated, and since then I have been
an ardent reader of that paper.~ It seems quite indispensable to
me, it is so interesting. Three of us at home fead it and enjoy
the entertaining and instructive weekly very much. The stories
teach such fine morals and lift every reader above the common-
place and vulgar, showing him the folly of evil and the real
beauty and happiness of good health, strength, and a clean mind
and body. I have induced several of my friends to read “Tip
Top.” They are enthusiastic over it. I hope that Mr. Standish
will continue to write his charming, stories, for he is doing great
work, and deserves to be praised. |My parents do not object to
our reading it now, as they did at first.

Covington, La. Marton CARPENTER,

Interested Him in Baseball.

I wish to name some of the many things which your publica-
tion has done for me. “Tip Top” has made me try to discon-
tinue the use of tobacco and liquors. I cannot say that it was
an easy matter for me to do this, as I had become so used to
the habit, I found it difficult to break away from it. I also
had to stand the joshing of my;friends, but I induced them to
read “Tip Top,” and before long they understood why I did it.
I now take great interest in athletics. Several months ago I did
not see any sense in chasing a balf{ or running around bases,
but I can now say without boasting, there is not a more ardent
follower of the game than yours truly. Wishing you continued
success,’ and trusting to see this letter in “Tip Top.”

Jersey City, N. J Epw. O'BRIEN.

They Like “Tip Top’? Stories Best of All.

Of all the books I have read I find that the “Tip Top Weekly”
is the best. I let other fellows take the books that I have read,
and they all say the same. I have tried to lead,'as much as pos-
sible, a life like Dick and Frank Merriwell. The weekly is a
clean magazine, and I read about two every week, and find
the stories very interesting. H. F. MAcKIN.

Woburn, Mass.

Stories Inspire Boys to Do Right.

The reason why I like “Tip Top” is because it is the best
weekly published for the money. The stories about Frank Merri-
well are the best that could be written to inspire any boy to do
what is right. They have done me a great deal of good |both .
mentally and physically. From reading those stories I have
learned a good deal about other countries, and also about dif-
ferent gatnes such as baseball, hockey, and football. Many times
when reading “Tip Top,” my friends would crowd around me
and want to read jit, too, and so in this way many of my friends
began to subscribe for “Tip Top.” Whenever we talk about a
good novel [tell them about “Tip Top,” what it has done for me,
and what good it can do for others. I always read the stories
with unflagging interest from beginning to end.

Paterson, N. J Cornetius De SEE.
Stili Reading “Tip Top.’’

This is my second letter to the Applause column and I have
also received quite a number of kind and welcome letters from
my friend readers and I will try and answer them all. Please
give me the pleasure of expressing my hearty thanks to the
editor for printing my letters. I will make this letter very short
this time, closing up by saying that I am still reading “Ti
Top” and the Medal Library, and will continue to read them.
offer my hearty thanks to Street & Smith, and hope they will
always prosper in spreading throughout the world those inter-
esting books. Please give me space to offer thanks to Mr. Burt
L. Standish, and may he always stand above the rest of im-
portant editors. Joun H, FAULKNER.

Musquodoboit Harbor, Halifax County, Nova Scotia.

Wishes “Tip Top’? Was a Daily. 3

I like “Tip Top” becatise it has such good, clean stories in it. ©

‘got three boys outside of our club to read “Tip Top.” All the |

oys.in the club read it regularly. The characters 1 like the —
best are Frank and Dick Merriweil, Brad, Bart, June, Inza, and —
Elsie. I wish that “Tip Top” was a daily papef instead of a
many more of Burt L.
| Isapore SCHRIER.

¥
}

Standish’s stories to read. ;
3 York City, eis bh

yay

 
TIP TOP

 

 

 

So many inquiries ‘reach us from week to week concerning the
various manuals on athletic development, which we publish, that
we have decided to keep a list of them standing here. Any number
can be had by mail by remitting 10 cents, and 3 centg postage, for
_ each copy, to the publishers.

Frank Merriwell’s Book of Physical Development.
The Art of Boxing and Self-defense, by Prof. Donovan,
U. S. Army Physical Exercises, revised by Prof. Donovan.
Physical Health Culture, by Prof. Fourmen.

Proportions of a Perfect Figure.

fete, FourMeENn:, Will you kindly tell me through the columns
of: ip Top” what the proportions of a perfect figure should
be?

J.B. Tutrer.
New York City.

The height of a person with a perfect figure should be exactly
equal to the distance betw@en the tips of the middle fingers of
either hand when the arms are fully extended. ‘Pen times the
length of the hand, or seven and a half times tle length of the
foot, or five times the diameter of the chest, from one armpit
to the other, should also give the height of the whole body. The
distance from the junction of the thighs to the ground should
be exactly the same as from that point to the crown of the head.
‘The knee sheyld be exactly midway between the first- named
point and the ground at the heel. The distance from the elbow
to the tip of the middle finger should be the same as from the
elbow to the middle line of the breast. From the top of the head
to the level of the chin should be the same as from the level of
the chin to that of the oe and from the heel to © she toe.

Wants to Be a Traveling Man.

I am 17 years of age, aia have worked about
a desire to become a traveling man.

Pror. FourmEn:
a year at typesetting, but have

What are the wages of each, and which do you think I would’

make a success at? C. A. CoLEMAN.

Chicago, II.

To become a commercial ‘traveler you will have to deeds
what line 6f business you intend to follow, and then go into that
line as a clerk, and keep at it until you know the stock thoroughly,
then.if you, succeed as a salesman at home, the chances are that
you will bé given an opportunity of traveling and selling either
on a salary or on coriffnission. If you are very successful you
will in time have your own customers, so that you will practi-
cally be independent, and can choose the firm for whom you wish
to work. Typesetting is not so bad. Why not try it at different
places and see what you think of it in Chicago, New York, and
New Orleans, Denver, and San Francisco, before you decide
definitely what you will do. Perhaps in this way you can gain
an idea of what the possibilities are of its future.

nd About Boxing. —

_ Pror. ,Fourmen: Please tell me what you think about my
Measurements. Age, 13 years 9 months; height, 4 feet 11 inches ;
weight, 89 pounds; chest, 27 inches; expanded, 30 inches} waist,
26 inches; calf, 12 inches ; biceps, 9 inches; thigh,, 16 inches :
wrist, 6 inches. For what am I cut out? Are my measurements
all “Detace, 0 for a fighter and boxer? Leo LEITHAUSER,

/ ance, ‘

As you oe not yet attained your full growth, we cannot tell,

as yet, whether’you would make a good boxer and fighter. Your,
measurements are up to a pr¢tty fair average for your age, but -

you should my to reduce your waist line 8 a couple of ape

, Please tell me how I could get.a job as one?

WEEKLY.

A course of boxing lessons will bring grace, elasticity of move-
ment, and, best. of all, will make a man sturdy, good-tempered,
healthy, and selt-feliant.

Very Little Money in Ventriloquism.

Pror. Fourmen: I am 15 years of age, and have a good
knowledge of ventriloquism. I can imitate a sawmill and a
butcher sawing a bone, and also a sound coming from the dis-
tance. Could I make any money as a ventriloquist?

New York City. C. Donovan.

Ventriloquism is not a good pursuit to follow as a life work.
It is an excellent pastime and amusement, serving to entertain
one’s friends, and sometimes, as for instance, when one is an
actor, a knowledge of ventriloquism is of decided value. There
is very little money to be gained from ventriloquism, unless you
intend going on the variety stage, which is, perhaps, the last place
in the world any one desiring to make a living should go. Again,
the accomplishment affords lots of amusement for your friends,
if you are satisfied with this reward.

Wishes to Become a Publisher.

» Pror. Fourmen: I am sixteen years old, and J think I am old
enough to prepare for some business. I have had a great desire
to become a publisher. Is this a paying business, and what kind
of a publication do you think would suit me best, and pay the
best ? Leon M. Myer. |

New York City.

To become a publisher and make any success whatever, you
must haye a large amount of capital. You might possibly enter
the employ of some publishing firm and work yourself up until
you became so yaluable that they could not dispense with your
services,-and so would make you a partner in the concern. But,
unless you are possessed of very exceptional ability, this result
is more than doubtful. ‘Knowing nothing about you, except what

I can judge from your letter, how can I tell what line in the :

publishing business would ‘suit you best? That is a‘ question , ;

which only you yourself can decide,

How to Get a Job as a Detective.

Pror. FourMEN: I have read “Tip Top” for four years, init’:
think it’s great. I think I am cut out for a detective. Will you —

Morganfield, Ky. Joun Core,

As a means of aiding you we Son suggest that you begin by _
being, a private watchman, and when you have succeeded in that,
join the police force of some large city. If you show marked |
detective ability you will have no difficulty in getting yourself _
transferred to the detective force. While you are waiting to do }
these things it would be well for you to learn a trade, so that —
you will have an occupation to fall back on, if you are not a
success as a sleuthhound. x Nhe a

f
How to Become a Locomotive Engineer. bs

Pror. Fourmen: I have a desire to become a locomotive engi-
neer. How should I start, and what books should I read? What
pay does a good engineer receive? I am seventeen years old.

Pittsburg, Pa. . . B. Wricut.

There are no books that can teach you how to échail a loco-
motive engineer. There is only one way to become one, and that
is by practical experience. Moreover, the apprenticeship is a —
long and difficult one. In the first place, you must apply for a
position at the roundhouse of some railroad. If you succeed in |
your application, your first duties will probably be those of a’
wiper, or cleaner of engines at perhaps thirty dollars a month.

~

Then, you will pass through the various positions df fireman | on

a freight engine, fireman on a passenger train, engineer of shif
ing locomotives, engineer of freight trains, and finally engineer
of passenger trains. In the latter position, you will get fro:
two to six dollars a day, which is not very much, considering the
responsibility which will devolve upon you and the 2 ee

are valied upon to Sears : aT,

 
 

ae eae a ent eter ane

Tip Top Baseball Tournament for 1910 Is On

 

 

CONTEST CLOSES OCTOBER 15

PLAY BALL AND WIN A CLUB OUTFIT

 

Get after them.

 

ifs up to you, boys, to land the prizes.
Do your best.

Make the scores that will put you in right for
first or second place.

 

 

The rules of the contest for 1910 differ somewhat fiom those of

last year.

Read all about it in the form below:

 

 

PLAYER’S CERTIFICATES.

WN fairness to all the clubs that enter this contest, ad that
I ‘there may be no doubt as to whom the prizes should go, Tip
Top has decided to require a certificate frorti each tetnbet of
the nine as well as the Club Certificate. Below is the coupon
which éach member should cut ont, sign and give to the manager
of the nine that: he may send it along ‘with the Club Certificate.
Write! in the names of the clubs that played, the date of the game,
the score and the name of the witiner.

PLAYER’S GERTIFICATE.
TIP TOP BASEBALL TOURNAMENT FOR 1910.
This ie to certify that I have played in the game between the

 

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PR SAG oa dels isda agubiede lel. ssa ae bab ee eeueddw and that the score
9

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Seca ued etela Sih up thse bes dbo dbd dane dah eddlc ccd (Signature.)

 

 

 

TO DECIDE A TIE.

vi Should there be a tie, in runsand games played, of two or more cltibs iti the highest-
class, sucli tie will be decided by the batting and fielding record of the tied clubs.

he one having the best record in that respect will be declared the winner. The captains
of competing teams are advised, theteforé, to preserve the pereral, or detailed score, of
very game played, but not to send it to Tip TOP with thé Club Certificate. Yot will be
called upon for the general scoré-only in case your club should be one of those in a tie.

 

CONDITIONS OF CONTEST.

HE two teains which, at the end of the season, have the

r highest average—that is, play the greatest numbet of
gaines, score the most runs, and lose the least number

of gariies—will be declared the winners. Of these two the one
having the higher average will be declared the TIP TOP
CHAMPIONSHIP TEAM OF THE ALL-AMERICAN BASE-
BALL TOURNAMENT OF 1910, and will receive a beautiful
silk penant bearing suitable words. Each withing team will
receive a full equipment, consisting of trotisets, shirt, stockings, -
shoes and cap for nine members. For each gamé playéd the
score, sighed by the manager, must be setit to the editor of
Tip Top, The manager must see to it, also, that evéty player
of his nine signs one of the certificates ptinted at the left of
this—the one headed, ‘‘Player’s Certificate.’ Each player must
sigtl.a separaté ceftificate, and these—tine in all for each

-game—must accompany every Club Certificate—sent to this

office. To substantiate the score, get your postmaster, or one
or more of the newsdealers of whom you buy your Tip Tops,
to sigtt the Club Certificate on the line printed at the bottom.
When possible, send in newspaper accounts of the gatnés. No |
notice will be taken of any scoré tot entered on a Club Certifi-”
cate cut out of Tip Top; nor will any notice be taketi of a score
not accompanied by a sighed Player’s Certificate for every
member of the nine.

 

| CLUB CERTIFICATE

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1910—TiP TOP BASEBALL TOURNAMENT—1910

POSITION.
Pitcher

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RET ES Pras

 

 

TIP

 

 

THAT

ALL OF THE BACK NUMBERS OF

TOP WEEKLY

CAN NOW >

 

 

BE SUPPLIED

 

 

 

241—-F'rank Merriwell’s Kick.
242—-Frank Merriwell’s High
243—-Frank Merriwell’s ‘‘Brassie’’

Shot.
245—Frank Merriwell’s Hntertain-

ments.
246—Frank Merriwell’s Mastery.
247—Frang Merriwell’s Dilemma.
249—Frank Merriwell’s Search.
250—F rank Merriwell’s Ring.
251—Frank Merriwell’s Party.
253—F rank Merriwell’s Skill.

94-—-F'rank Merriwell’s Club.

255—F rank Merriwell’s Scheme,
256—Frank Merriwell’s Mysteri-

ous Move.
257—Frank Merriwell’s Hand.
258—Frank Merriwell’s Suspicion.
259—Frank Merriwell’s Trust.
261—Frank Merriwell’s Bosom

Friend.
262—Frank Merriwell Deceived.
263—Frank Merriwell in Form,
433—Dick Merriwell’s ‘‘Phantom,”
467—Dick Merriwell in Egypt.
469—F oe Merriw ell’s Retalia-

48 5—Dicie Merriwell in Manila.
486—Dick Merriwell Marooned.
487—Dick Merriwell’s Comrade.
488—Dick Merriwell, Gap-Stopper.
489—Dick Merriwell’s Sacrifice Hit
490—Dick Merrtwell’s Support.
491—Dick Merriwell’s Stroke.
492—Dick Merriwell Shadowed.
493—Dick Merriwell’s Drive.
494—Dick Merriwell’s Return.
495—Dick Merriwell’s Restoration.
496—Dick Merriwell’s Value.
497—Dick Merriwell’s ‘‘Dukes.”
498—Dick Merriwell’s Drop Kick.
499—Dick Merriwell’s Defeat
500—Dick Merriwell’s Chance.
501—Dick Merriwell’s Stride.
502—Dick Mertiwell’s Wing-Suit.
503—Dick Merriwell’s Skates.
504—Dick Merriwell’s Four
505—Dick Merriwell’s

Game.
506—Frank Merriwell’s Tigers.
507—Frank Merriwell’s Treasure

Guard.
508—Frank | Merriwell’s
‘ear

509—Dick Merriwell in Maine.

 

Fists.
Dashing

Flying

Jump!

537—Frank Merriwell’s Proposal.

538—Frank Merriwell’s Spook-
hunters.

539-—Dick Merriwell’s Cheek.

540—Dick Merriwell’s Sacrifice,

541—Dick Merriwell’s Heart.

on

542—Frank Merriwell’s New Auto.
548—Frank Merriwell’s Pride.
544—Frank Merriwell’s Young

Winners.
545—Dick Merriwell’s Lead.
546—Dick Merriwell’s Influence.
547—Dick Merriwell’s Top Notch.
548—Frank Merriwell’s Kids.
549—Frank Merriwell’s Kodakers.
550—Dick Merriwell, Freshman.
551—Dick Merriwell’s Progress.
552—Dick Merriwell, Half-back.
553—Dick Merriwell’s Resentment.
554—Dick Merriwell Repaid.
555—Dick Merriwell’s Staying

Power.
556—Dick Merriwell’s “Push.”
557—Dick Merriwell's Running.
558~—Dick Merriwell’s Joke,
559—Dick Merriwell’s Seven,
560—Dick Merriwell's Partner,
561—Dick Merriwell in the Tank.
562—Frank Merriwell’s Captive.
563—Frank Merriwell’s Trailing.
564—Frank Merriwell’s Talisman.

565—F rank Merriwell’s Horse.
566—Frank Merriwell's Intrusion.
567—Frank Merriwell’s Bluff.

568—Dick Merriwell’s Regret.
569—Dick Merriwell’s Silent Work.
570—I dick Merriwell’s Arm.
571—Dick Merriwell’s Skill.
572—Dick Merriwell’s Magnetism.
57: 3—Dick Merriwell’s System.
574—Dick Merriwell’s Salvation.
575—Dick Merriwell’s Twirling.
576—Dick Merriwell’s Party.
577—Dick Merriwell’s Backers.
578—Dick Metriwell’s Coach,
579-—Dick Merriwell’s Bingle,
580—Dick Merriwell’s Hurdling.
581—Dick Merriwell’s Best. Work.
§82—Dick Merriwell’s Respite.
pee ee Merriwell’s Disadvan-
age
584—Dick Merriwell Beset.
585—Dick Merriwell’s Great Rival.
586—Dick Merriwell’s Distrust.
587—Dick Merriwell, Lion-Tamér,

or es Mé®riwell’s

618—Frank Merriwell. erplexed.
619—Frank Merriwell’s Suspicion.
620—Dick Merriwell’s Gallantry.
621—Dick Merriwell’s Condition.
622—Dick Merriwell’s Stanchness.
6283—Dick Merriwell’s Match.
ee rank Merriwell’s Hard Case
5—Frank Merriwell's Helper.
696 Frank Merriwell’s Doubts.
627—Frank Merriwell’s “Phenom.”
628-—Dick Merriwell’s Stand.
629—Dick Merriwell’s Circle.
630—Dick Merriwell’s Reach.
631—Dick Merriwell’s Money.
eta Merriwell Watched.
—Dick Merriwell Doubted.
634—Dick Merriwell’s Distrust.
6385—Dick Merriwell’s Risk. Friend.
636—Frank Merriwell's Favorite. 705—-Dick Merriwell’s Best Form.
637—F rae eee: s Young #06—Dick Merriwell’s Prank,
Clip 707—Dick Merriwell's Gambol.
638—Prank PMerriwell’ s Steadying 708—Dick Mérriwell’s Gun.
Ha 709——-Dick Merriwell at His Best.
39—Frank " Merriwell’s Record- aay Rick Merriwell’s Master Mind
3reakers. 711—-Dick Merriwell’s Dander.
640—Dick Merriwell’s Shoulder. 712—Dick Merriwell’s Hope,
641—Dick Merriwell’s Desperate RE fp Merriwell’s Standard.
Work. 14—Dick Merriwell’s Sympathy.
642—Dick Merriwell’s Example. tb Dick Merriwell in Lumbér
643—Dick eeeeNels At Gale’s Lan
Ferr 71 6—Frank Merriwell’s Fairness.
aI 4——Dick Herrtwelta Inspiration. 717—Frank Merriwell’s Pledge.
5—Dick Merriwell’s Shooting. 71 en ee Merriwell, the oe of
646—Dick Merriwell in the Wilds. Grit.
oe eee Merriwell’s Red Com- 719—Frank Return
rad ow.
648—Frank Merriwell’s Ranch. 720—Frank Merriwell’s Quest.
649—Frank Merriwell in the Sad- 721—Frank Merriwell’s Ingots.
dle. 722—-Frank Merriwell’s Assistance.
65 0-— Frank Merriwell’s Brand.

ee Merriwell at the
651—Frank Merriwell’s Red Guide rottle.
652—Dick Merriwell’s Rival. 724—Rrank Merriwell, the Always
653—Dick Merriwell’s Strength wt
654—Dick Merriwell’s Secret Work 725—Frank ferriwell in Diamond
655—Dick Merriwel:’s W Lan
656—F oe Merriwell’s “Red Vis- Tape Merriwell’s Desperate

Chance
657—Prank Merriwell’s Rope. nat ete Merriwell’s Black Ter-
658—Frank Merriwell’s Lesson
659—Frank Merriwell’s Protection 728—Frank Merriwell Again on
660—Dick Merriwell’s Reputation. he Slab.
Leigtttink? =" Hard

Proposi- 691—Dick Merriwell’s Dandies.
692—-Dick Merriwell’s “Skyscooter”

Pee ee ene in the Elk
Mountain

694—Dick Mortivait in Utah.

695—Dick Merriwell’s Bluff.

696—Dick Merriwell in the Saddle.

697—Dick Merriwell’s Ranch

Friends,
698—Frank Merriwell at Phantom

Lake.
699—Frank Merriwell’s Hold-back.
700—Frank Merriwell’s Lively

Lads.
lle Merriwell as Instruct-

702—Dick Merriwell’s Cayuse.
703—Dick Merriwell’s Quirt.

704—Dick Merriwell’s Freshman

Merriwell’s

661—Dick Merriwell’s Motto. Merriwell’s

662—Dick Merriwell’s Restraint.

 

588—Dick Merriwell’s Camp-site. 663—Dick Merriwell’s Ginger.
589—Dick Merriwell’s Debt. 664—Dick Merriwell’s Driving.
590—Dick Merriwell’s Camp-Mates ela Dick Merriwell’s Good Cheer.
591—Dick Merriwell’s Draw. 666—F rank Merriwell’s Theory.
592—Dick Merriwell's Disapproval. 667—Frank Merriwell’s Diplomacy.
598—Dick Merriwell’s Mastery. 68—F ‘io. Pee s HEncour-

510—Dick Merriweltl’s Polo Team.
511—Dick Merriwell in the Ring.
612—Frank Merriwell’s New Idea.
513—Frank Merriwell’s Trouble.
§14—Frank Merriwell’s Pupils.
515—Dick Merriwell’s Satisfaction

730—Frank. Merriwell” 8s Stx-in-hand

731—Frank Merriwell’s Duplicate.

732—Frank Merriwell on Rattle-
snake Ranch.

733—Frank Merriwell’s Sure Hand

7384—Frank Merriwell’s Treasure

516—Dick Merriwell’s Discern- 594—Dick Merriwell’s Warm Work Map

ment. 595—Dick Merriw ell’s ‘Double 669—Frank © Merriwell’s Great 135—~Frank. Merriwéll, Prince of
17—Dick (Merriwell’s Friendly Squeeze. Work. the Rope.

Hand. 596—Dick Merriwell’s Vanishing. | 670—Dick Merriwell’s Mind. 736—Dick Merriwell, Captain of

518—Frank Merriwell’s New Boy. 597-
319—Frank Merriwell’s Mode.
520—Frank Merriwell’s Aids.
§21—Dick Merriwell’s Visit.
§22—-Dick Merriwell’s Retaliation.
528—Dick Meérriwell’s Rival.
5§24—Frank Merriwell’s

Crew.
525—Frank Merriwell’s Fast Nine.
526—Frank Merriwell’s Athletic
Field.
527—Ditk Merriwell’s. Reprisal.

59s — Dick Merriwell’s Influence, 672—Dick Merriwell’s Ral
599—Frank Merriwell’s Worst Boy. 673—Dick Merriwell’s Flier.
600—F rank Merriwell’s Annoyance 674—Frank Merriwell’s Bullets.
601—Frank Merriwell’s Restraint. 675—Frank Merriwell Cut Off.
602—Dick Merriwell Held Back. pene Merriwell’s
Young 603—Dick Merriwell in the Line. Bos
604—Dick Merriwell’s Drop Kick. 677—Dick “Merriwell’ s Equal. +
605-——Frank Merriwell’s Air Voy- i eae |: meee Develop-
age.
606—Frank Merriwell’s Auto Chase. 679-——Dick "Merriwell’s Bye.
607—Frank Merriwell’s Captive. 680—Frank Merriwell’s Zest.

~Dick Merriwell Adrift. 671—Dick Merriwell’s fake 9
y-

528—Dick Merriwell Dared. 608——Dick Merriwell's Value, 681—F rank Merriwell’s Patience.
feo ick Merriwell’s Dismay. 609—Dick Merriwell Doped. 682—Frank Merriwell’s Pupil.
530—Frank Merriwell’s Son. 610—Dick Merriwell’s Belief. 688—Frank Merriwell'’s Fighters.

531—Frank Merriwell’s Old Flock. 611—F eee Merriwell in the Mar- 684—Dick Merriwell at the ‘‘Meet”

the Varsit
737—Dick Merriweil’s Control.
738—Dick Merriwell’s Back Stop.
130—Dick Metriwell’s Masked En-

Ranch 740—Dick k Merriwell’s Motor Car.

41—-Dick Merriwell’s Hot Pursuit.
142—Dick eerenen at Forest

La

743—Dick .Merriwell in Court.
744—-Dick Merriwell’s Silence.
745—Dick Merriwell’s. Dog.
746—Dick Merriwell’s Subterfuge.
747—Dick Merriwell’s Enigma.
748—Dick Merriwell Defeated.

749—Dick Merriwell’s “Wing.
750—Dick Merriwell’s Sky NARS

Ree Merriwell on the Rock-

532—Frank~ Merriwell’s House 685—-Dick Merriwell’s Protest.

Par 12—Rrank Merriwell’s Fight for 686—Dick Serer in the Mara- 751—Dick Merriwell’s Pick-ups.
533—Dick “Merriwelt’s Sumnier Fortune. thor

T 6153—Frank Merriwell on Top. 687—Dick Mordwaltts Colors,

ean
534—-Dick Merriwell’s Demand.
535—Dick Merriwell’s Slabmate.
536—Frank Merriwell’s
Camp.

614—Dick Merriwell’s Trip West. 688—Dick Merriwell, Driver.

615—Dick Merriwell’s Predicament,689—Dick Merriwell on the Deep.

Summer WES ERSE ieee in Mystery ee Merriwell in the North
alle Joods.

758-—Dick “Gretciwell’s Penetration.
754—Dick Merriwell’s Intuition.
755—Dick Merriwell’s Vantage.
756—Dick Merriwell’s Advice,

 

 

PRICE, FIVE CENTS PER COPY

F If you want any back numbers of our shetkties and cannot procure them Soe your newsdealer, they can be

obtained direct from this office,

Postage stamps taken the same as money.

STREET @ SMITH. Publishers, 79 Seventh Ave., New York City

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PARLY NPR peaks Of . baa

TIP TOP WEEKLY

WILL BE FOUND IN THE NEW MEDAL LIBRARY

 

 

A few years ago, we were obliged to disappoint thousands of boys who wanted

the early adventures of Frank and Dick Merriwell which were published in TIP

TOP, because we did not have copies of the numbers that contained them.

It was

impossible for us to reprint TIP TOP WEEKLY, so we made the stories up in book
form and published them in the NEW MEDAL LIBRARY at intervals of about
Here is a list of these splendid books which

four weeks beginning with No. 150.

contain Nos. 1 to 485 of TIP TOP WEEKLY. Our experience with these books

has taught us that thousands of boys are overjoyed at this opportunity to secure their
stories in a more permanent form. PRICE, FIFTEEN CENTS.

favorite

150—Frank
167—Frank
178—Frank
184—F rank
189—F rank
193—Frank
197—F rank
201—F rank
205—F rank
209—F rank
213—Frank
217—Frank
225—Frank
2290—Frank
233—Frank
237—Frank
240—Frank
244—F rank
247—F rank
251—Frank
254—Frank
258—Frank
262—F rank
267—Frank
271—Frank
276—F rank
280—F rank
284—Frank
288—Frank
292—F rank
296—Frank
300—F rank
304—F rank
308—Frank
312—Frank
316—Frank
320—Frank
324—F rank
328—Frank
332—F rank
336—Frank
340—F rank
344—Frank
348—F rank

Merriwell’s School-days.
Merriwell’s Chums.
Merriwell’s Foes. .
Merriwell’s Trip West.
Merriwell Down South.
Merriwell’s Bravery.
Merriwell’s Hunting Tour.
Merriwell in Europe.
Merriwell at Yale.
Merriwell’s Sports Afield.
Merriwell’s Races.
Merriwell’s Bicycle Tour.
Merriwell’s Courage.
Merriwell’s Daring.
Merriwell’s Athletes.
Merriwell’s Skill.
Merriwell’s Champions.

Merriwell’s Return to Yale.

Merriwell’s Secret.
Merriwell’s Danger.
Merriwell’s Loyalty.
Merriwell in Camp.
Merriwell’s Vacation.
Merriwell’s Cruise.
Merriwell’s Chase.
Merriwell in Maine.
Merriwell’s Struggle.
Merriwell’s First Job.
Merriwell’s Opportunity.
Merriwell’s Hard Luck.
Merriwell’s Protégé.
Merriwell on the Road.
Merriwell’s Own Company.
Merriwell’s Fame.

Merriwell’s College Chums.

Merriwell’s Problem.
Merriwell’s Fortune.

Merriwell’s New Comedian.

Merriwell’s Prosperity.
Merriwell’s Stage Hit.
Merriwell’s Great Scheme.
Merriwell in England.

Merriwell on the Boulevards.

Merriwell’s Duel.

352—Frank

356—Frank Merriwell’s Baseball Victories

350—Frank
362—Frank
365—Frank
368—Frank
371—F rank
374—F rank
377—Frank
380—Frank
383—Frank
386—Frank
389—F rank
392—Frank
3905—Frank
398—Frank
401—F rank
404—Frank
407—Frank
410—Frank
413—Frank
416—Frank
419—Frank
422—F rank
425—Frank
428—Frank
431—F rank
434—F rank
437—Frank

Merriwell’s Double Shot.

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.
Merriwell’s Victories.
Merriwell’s Iron Nerve.
Merriwell in Kentucky.
Merriwell’s Power.
Merriwell’s Shrewdness.
Merriwell’s Set-back.
Merriwell’s Search.
Merriwell’s Club.
Merriwell’s Trust.
Merriwell’s False Friend.
Merriwell’s Strong Arm.
Merriwell as Coach.
Merriwell’s Brother.
Merriwell’s Marvel.
Merriwell’s Support.

440—Dick Merriwell at Fardale.

443—Dick Merriwell’s
446—Dick Merriwell’s
449—Dick Merriwell’s
452—Dick Merriwell’s
455—Dick Merriwell’s
458—Dick Merriwell’s
461—Dick Merriwell’s
464—Dick Merriwell’s
467—Dick Merriwell’s

Glory.
Promise.
Rescue.

Racket.
Revenge.
Ruse.
Delivery.
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.

Narrow Escape.

485—Dick
488—Dick

Merriwell’s Trap.
Merriwell’s Defense.
491—Dick Merriwell’s Model.
494—Dick Merriwell’s Mystery.
497—Frank Merriwell’s Backers.
500—Dick Merriwell’s Backstop.
503—Dick Merriwell’s Western Mission.
506—Frank Merriwell’s- Rescue.
5090—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.
539—Dick Merriwell’s Assurance.
542—Dick Merriwell’s Long Slide.
545—Frank Merriwell’s Rough Deal.
548—Dick Merriwell’s Threat.
551—Dick Merriwell’s Persistence.
554—Dick Merriwell’s Dad.
557—Frank Merriwell’s Peril.
560—Dick Merriwell’s Downfall.
5603—Frank Merriwell’s Pursuit.
566—Dick Merriwell Abroad.
569—Frank Merriwell in the Rockies.
572—Dick Merriwell’s Pranks.

Published About July 5th.
575—Frank Merriwell’s Pride.
Published About July 26th.
378—Frank Merriwell’s Challengers.
Published About August 16th.
581—Frank Merriwell’s Endurance.
Published About Sept. 6th.
584—Dick Merriwell’s Cleverness.
Published About Sept. 27th.
587—Frank Merriwell’s Marriage.

 

STREET & SMITH, Publishers, New YorK CITY

 

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