5 CENTS

EAL)

UCATION FORTHE AMERICA ICAN YOUTH

Dick MERRIWELLS
MYSTERIOUS
DISAPPEARANCE

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 
 

 

 

 

 

Tie Tor

=v Ap ideal publication

 

 

  
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

a. issued Weekly. By subscription $2.50 Ser year. Entered as Second-class Matter at the N. Y. Post Office, by STREET & SMITH, 79-89 Seventh Ave., N. Y.
eae Tl Copyright, 1911, dy STREET & SMITH.

 

No. 787.

 

THE GAME

 

NEW YORK, May 13, I9I1.

Price Five Centh -

Dick Merriwell’s Mysterious Disappearance:

, OR,

TIN THE BALANCE.

 

  

‘ By BURT L. STANDISH.

 

  

CHAPTER I.
STRAPPED.

“What are the odds on the game, Dal?”
“With Williams, you mean?” queried Dallas Baker.
_ “Three to one; or, at least, that’s what they were yes-
~ terday.”
_ Morgan Grath flicked the ash dexterously from the
end of his cigar, and frowned.
_ “Humph!” he commented. “They ought to be big-
- ger than that. Why, it was about five to one last
year.” 3
He was a heavy, thickset fellow with a belligerent_
chin and snappy black eyes, which gave one a hint of
uncontrollable temper.
se Baker raised a glass to his lips and, sipping delicately
from it, set it down again, adding another: moist ring
_to the many which already dotted the polished sur-
face of the round table.
- “Well, that’s what it was, for I made a special point
of finding out,” he returned, in his careful, precise
nes. “Not being a baseball fiend, I can’t hazard an

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

  

 
  
 
 

 

 

 

  

 
 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

   

:

“That’s a cinch,” spoke up Howard Canfield, the
third of the trio. “They’ve got a much better team
than they had last year. They say their new pitcher
is a crackajack, and all down the line they seem to
have spruced up a whole lot.”

There was silence for a moment, broken only by a _
slight gurgle as Grath gulped down the contents of
his glass. The three fellows were sitting in a. back
room of Hutton’s, where they had been consuming
beer for some little time. The fact that they confined
themselves to this inexpensive beverage was in itself

‘significant ; they were not usually so abstemious. :

Presently Baker drew forth some cigarettes in their
pasteboard box and handed them to Canfield, who was
not, at the moment, smoking. He took one and eyed
the end of it curiously.

“Peters, eh?” he commented. “I thought you al-
ways smoked Hamid’s.” 7

“T do sometimes,” Baker returned vaniaaly:

Morgan Grath’s eye twinkled maliciously. He was —
the sort of fellow who seems to enjoy the trials
§nd tribulations of other people on general principles.
 

—

 
   
   
   
 

Pee

i Dal?” he asked crossly. .

aa wee

the
more amusement did he derive from a contemplation
of the other’s hard luck; but, even among those who
were his friends and intimates, signs of trouble or
unhappiness were ‘sure to please him and arouse his
sarcastic comments.

“Peter's cigarettes aren’t good enough for that sil-
ver case of yours, I suppose,” he remarked signifi-

Of course, the greater nis dislike was for a man,

cantly,
some time back,”

A slight flush colored Baker’s thin, pale face, and
he began drawing patterns on the table with one fin-
ger in a casual manner.

“T—er—must ‘have left it at home,” he began,

Grath laughed loudly. ,

‘“What’s the use of trying that bluff between friends,
Dal?” he demanded. “Your uncle’s got the case; why
not come out with it straight? It’s no disgrace to: be
strapped, and, by jingo! T’ll bet you’re. not in it as
bad as: I am.’

He hesitated and scowled.

~“T don’t know when I’ve been up against it the way
I am this minute,” he went on. “I owe right. and
left around town, but that don’t’ bother me so much
as my poker debts. 'They’re something fierce. There’s
got to be something doing pretty quick or I'll be at the
end of my rope in two whisks of a lamb’s tail.”

“T thought you had a good.thing last night,” Can-
field remarked. ‘You certainly told me that they were

a lot of easy marks.”

Grath’s face darkened.

“Bah!” he snarled. “Easy marks, nothing! I was
the easy mark. What do you know about that? Me—
stung! mee I'll bet there was something crooked about
the game.”

‘Baker’s pale eyes: brightened with an interest which

the mention of poker always aroused in him.

“T didn't hear about that,” he said cae “Who'd

you play with?’ 6.) | eb
“J expected to _
make a killing, They were friends of King’s, and you

“A lot of sharks!” art Grath.

know what a dub he is. Don’t know enough to come
in out of the rain, and they looked just about as lack-
ing. But, thunder! what’s the use in. whining? The

thing’s over and done with, and I dropped about a

hundréd in paper. They're staying here over the eens,

and if I can’t settle up by that time, ’m a goner.’

_ He looked impatiently at Baker,

“Can’t you think of some way of raising, the dough,
“We're both i in the same bof.

“Seems to me that I haven’t seen that for

pretty good at thinking up things.”

 

WEEKLY.

You'd never have hockéd your cigarette case if you
hadn't been up against it.”

“Well, I do owe a little,”
mitted hesitatingly.

the thin-faced junior ad-—
‘“‘ISatz had the impertinence to tell —
me to-day. that he wouldn't make me any more clothes © 4
until I’d settled the bill. I felt like slapping his face. —
Why, the account’ s only been running since Septem-
ber.”

“This year, or last?” grinned the thickset youth. é
The sight of his companion in misfortune was in- -
finitely pleasing. When Baker admitted to owing a lit- ti :
tle, his acquaintances were tolerably certain that he
was in a pretty bad way. He was self-contained and

secretive to a marked degree,

   
  
   
  
   
 
  
   
 
       
       
   
      
   
     
       
     
       
       
    
      
     
   
   
   
 
    
 
 
   
  

“This year, of course,” he retorted indignantly. “T
settled last year’s account--er-——long ago. It’s outra-
geous for him to expect any more money so soo—er— _
before the end of the term.’

“T suppose he’s afraid it'll slip your mind when a
mer comes,’ Grath remarked sarcastically. “But we’re .
drifting from the point. -How are we going to make
a raise? Why don’t you use your head, Dal? You're

Baker turned on him impatiently. _ is
“Don’t you suppose I have been thinking?” he de-
manded pettishly. ‘The trouble is the right thing
doesn’t seem to come. It’s no use counting on poke
That would never bring in SHoghs: he fellows ant

   

  
  

  

thing else.” |

  

He adjusted his glasses absently over tite thin nos
It was a somewhat sizable nose, and the pinched nos
trils made it curiously resemble the beak of a hawk.

Grath glanced at Canfield and winked significant
It was quite true that Baker found his college mat
not so a inclined as Jet, had once he -

  

his distinctly irregular methods of gaming, and, thou
the facts had not been generally nade known, 6 $

  

  

sult that the junior’ $ income from cards had grad
been cut down to alist nothing, ET

“T wish I knew more about: baseball, Fs Pa

  

 

    
Tike aoe,

     
 

or

[here's always a_ chance,’ explained Canfield.
| “They've made a corking showing in the two games
oe | they've played, but I certainly wouldn’t put my money
| up against Yale so long as Dick Merriwell is on the
_ pitcher's slab.” |
__ Baker’s pale eyes narrowed and an angry flush ap-
peared on his face. He hated Merriwell with all the
venom that was in him,
Dick’s name roused him to anger.

“Bah!” he snorted contemptuously.
You might think he was the whole team.”

“He isn’t quite that,’ Canfield said quickly; “but
the nine would be mighty bad off without him. There

isn’t any love lost between us, but any one’s a fool
who doesn’t recognize his ability as a pitcher.”

_ “Humph!” snapped Baker, as if unwilling to admit
‘even that. “And you think Williams would have a
good chance of winning if he didn’t pitch?”

Canfield and Grath both nodded.

“Sure,” the former said emphatically. “From what
I’ve heard, their new pitcher is away ahead of Hal
Darrell, and, if the rest of the team is anyways up to

Anuff, I'll bet they could win out.”

“But you couldn’t keep Merriwell out of the box
with grappling irons,” put in Grath viciously. “Makes
‘me sick the way he plays to the gallery, and doesn’t
give anybody else a show. This is his last year, too,
and you don't s’pose he’s going to miss a single trick,
‘do you? No, sir. He'll strut into the box with his
airs and pert every blessed big game this season, or I
miss my guess.”

From which it will be seen that; Morgan Grath’s
feeling toward Merriwell was far from friendly. Dick
had never happened to cross him particularly, but he
hated the popular senior from general princigles and
‘was intensely jealous of his success as only an unsuc-
cessful, bitter nature can be. Moreover, he had sworn

  
  

and the very mention of

  
  

*“Merriwell!

  
  
  
 
   
    
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
 
    
 
   
  
  
    
  
   
   
  
 

turned down on the gridiron, and in his mind it was
but a step from the Texan to his chum and roommate.

_ Dallas Baker made no comment on these remarks.
He sat with his head slightly bent, and there was an
absorbed expressioti in the eyes which were fixed on
the filmy, blue spiral of smoke floating upward from
he cigarette between his fingers. With his other

  
  
   
   
  

10usly, seemingly unconscious of what he was doing.
Suddenly the tapping ceased and he looked up.
“Suppose Merriwell could be induced to leave New
Haven,” he remarked quietly, “and should fail to turn
n time for the game.”

 
 
  
  
 

   

 

to get even with Brad Buckhart because of having been '

an@he tapped the table top rhythmically and monoto-

WEEKLY. ce

sniffed Grath incredulously. “How do
you think you're going to bring that about?” ,

“Never you mind how,” retorted Baker. “T’ll tell
3ut it would do the trick, wouldn’t it?”
” Canfield said promptly. “If I
was positive he wouldn’t show up, I'd be willing to bet
every cent I could scrape together on Williams. But
I don’t see

“Good!” interrupted the thin-faced chap. “It would
be a pretty sure thing, then. Well, listen, and I'll tell
you my idea.”

“Humph!”’

you that later.

“Likely it would,

 

CHAPTER II.
THREE TRAITORS TO. YALE.

Baker leaned forward and put both elbows on the

table. His two companions eyed him interestedly, but
there was a look of decided skepticism on Canfield’
face.
“The first thing, of course,” began the thin-faced
chap, “is to hit upon Something which will take him
away from New Haven—to New York, say—some-
thing so plausible that he'll believe it without ques-
tion.”

“Exactly,” put in Canfield. “If you can do that,
you'll have just about solved the problem. But you'll
‘have to be some smarter than I think you are, Baker,
if you expect to pull wool over Merriwell’ s eyes. He's’
no fool, let me tell you.’

“Neither is he the only original Sherlock Holmes, as
you seem to think,” retorted Baker sharply. “He'll
fall to a wéll-laid plan as quick as anybody else. But —
getting him to New York is by no means the hardest
part of it. The difficulty would be to keep him there.
I can think up half a dozen schemes, any one of which
would fill the bill.”

“Humph!” growled Grath. “You're so awful smart
—prove it. Give us one of the half dozen and see how
it hits us.”

“T will,” Baker returned promptly. “A fake letter
or telegram.”

“Rot! That’s old,as the hills.
that in half a minute.”

He’d wise up to

“He might if you were going to write it,” retorted _

Baker sarcastically. “But I “fail to see how he'd
smell a rat if the thing was composed with care and
signed by the name of somebody he knew. You re-
member Joe Cohen, don’t you?”

“Sure. He was one of Merriwell’s chums who grad-

  
  

eee ye

Pye Se.

Es Ses En

‘ COVer.

- Grath.
_ happens aftet the fellow meets him at the station?”

~ they sometimes have prize Bets
_ don’t know of
“By Jove!” Grath burst out Audiol, his square
hi face illumined with a sudden light.
ie the ager didn’t I rie of it penne me

712) TOR

 

4

uated last year. Sickening the way he toadied around
and got a place on the varsity nine.”

“Well, Cohen is now in business in New York,”
pursued Baker. “I happen to know through a fellow
he writes to now and then. Suppcse Merriwell re-
ceived a letter from him saying that he was in desper-
ate trouble, and asking him to come on at once to
help him out. Don’t you suppose he’d snap that bait?”

Grath’s expression was less doubtful.

“He might,” he admitted grudgingly, “provided the
signature was all right.”

“Leave that to me,” the thin chap said confidently.
“T can get hold of one of his signatures, all right, and
it won't be hard to copy. The rest of the letter could
be typewritten.”

Howard Canfield looked far from convinced,

“What good would it do to get him to New York?”
he asked. “He'd go straight to Cohen’s office—he
must know where it is—and the minute he found out
the fake, he’d beat it back to New Haven again.”

“Yes, that’s right,’ agreed Grath. “How about
that ?”’

Baker’ sighed wearily.

“You fellows don’t seem to be overburdened with
ingenuity, I must say,” he drawled. “You don’t sup-
pose I’d be fool enough to write such a letter without
appointing some special place of meeting, do you? It
could be’ worded so that Merriwell would believe the
Jew had gotten into trouble and had to keep under
He might even say that he would be waiting
at a certain place, but that a friend of /his would meet
Merriwell at the station and bring him there.”

“Say, you're not so slow, after all, Dal,”
“That sounds pretty good to me.

& ; ;

admitted
And what

Baker frowned.

“That's where I’m stuck.
New York who could take the part, and I don’t know
any place which would do for Merriwell to be taken

t

to. It ought to be an out-of-the-way place, but not
too much, so’ as to start him suspecting before he’s

safe. And it ought not to be a house where people

_ live. He's likely to make a row, you know, when he
finds himself shut up. A welkbuilt boathouse that
he couldn’t break out of is about what I have in mind,

or one of those second-rate athletic clubhouses, where
Oras Haney I

 

“The very thing!

be kidnaping, you know; and, though they’re a sporty. }

I don’t know pecana in.

altogether Sees

WEEKLY.

 

“What is it?” asked Baker eagerly.

“The Barney McTeague Athletic Club,” explained © 3
Grath. “I’m a member, you know; joined it last year ‘ 4
so’s I could take in the bouts they have all through ©
the winter. Pretty tough crowd, but I’ve seen worse.
They've got a joint over in East Tenth Street that
would fill the bill down to the ground. Old Maloney,
the ex-champion heavyweight, you know, looks after
things, and is the only one who lives all the time in
the place. Oh, thunder, though! I don’t believe the
fellows would stand for a thing like this. It would

 

  
  
  
  
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
   
   
  
   
  
  
     
   
   
  
  
 

 

lot, I doubt if

“Don’t tell them why you're doing it,’ Baker inter-
posed eagerly. “Make up some story about it’s being
a joke, or the result of a bet. Anything like that
would go if it was well thought out. The main thing
is to have found the place. By Jove! This just fits”
in, One of the fellows belonging to the club coul a
meet Merriwell at the station. You could find on
fellow; at least, who could be trusted with the truth;
he’d probably be glad of a chance to pick up some
money on the game. He gets Merriwell to the club-
house and into a room on the pretense that Cohen is
there. Lock the door, and the thing is done. He'll
have to stay there until you give the word to let him
go, which need not be until after the'game is over. I
can’t see why that wouldn’t work.”

“Nor I!” exclaiméd Grath, enthusiastic at fast
“You're all to the good, Dal. I hadn’t any idea yet
could dope out the thing so well.”

“Of ‘course, it would be necessary to put scree
in Cohen's letter about not letting anybody know,” -
Baker added, as an afterthought. “Otherwise, he
would explain to Graham, or some one, where he. Ww

 

    

 
  

   
 
 
  
 

  
   
 
   
  

     
      
    
      
 

can’t see where the lan could be bettered,
well’s almost certain ta bite.

 
       
 
 

  

   

refuse to respond ‘to this ae which, naturally ‘i
shall make. convincing and urgent.” ‘ 49
There was an Seer of self- satisfaction

      
 
 

  

   
 

 
 

his narrow shoulders with something of an air, a a
glanced at Canfield for his approval. = aie

~

The latter had taken little part in the discuss mn
though he had followed it erate Heid not loc

    

 
 

   
 
 

  
  

   
TIP TOP

 

_ “Well,” Baker said sharply, noticing the look of
doubt on the youth’s face. “What's the matter
with it?”

“It sounds pretty good,” Canfield admitted: slowly ;

“put, just the same, I'll bet it won’t work with Dick
Merriwell. He’s too shrewd, altogether.”

_ “Pshaw!” exclaimed Grath: “Of course, it'll work.
You're grouchy because you didn’t think of it yourself.
What's there to make him suspect? He can’t possibly
know what we're up to.”

“Of course not,” put in Baker tartly. . ““Why should
he? The letter won't put him wise, I'll vouch for
that. I'll get hold of one of those he’s written to
Willis—some of them are typed, you know-——and dope
out a perfect imitation of the signature, besides hunting
up a typewriter which is exactly the same. If we're
careful, the thing will work like a charm.”

“Well, I’m sure I hope so,” remarked Canfield. “It
would certainly put me on my feet to plank some coin

-/ ona sure thing like this; but, somehow, I don’t feel at
all sure a

 

ss “Oh, cut that out, for gracious sake!” put in Grath

impatiently. “You must have had something for lunch
that disagreed with you. We're going to pull this off
as sure as shooting; and [J tell you what, I'll get about
as much fun out of seeing this blowhard Merriwell
fooled as out of the money I'll make—though it won't
_ be so substantial.”

Baker’s eyes narrogved|
‘ < - “Yes!” he snapped viciously. ‘That's the main thing
- with me, I owe him a long score, and this will help
_ to even things a little, I’m only sorry he'll never know
who he has to:thank for it.”
His tone was so exceedingly bitter that Grath and
Canfield exchanged swift glances.
_. “What are you so hot against him for, Dal?” the
former asked curiously. “When did he do you dirt?”
The thin fellow recovered himself swiftly. He had
not meant to let so much out, even to his friends; for
neither of them knew of Merriwell’s expoatire of his
cheating. rf
_ "Never mind that,” he said shortly.
ing to do with this case.
pantie all the details.

  

  

  

 
 

“It's got noth-

 
 

 

We want to get busy and .

, .then he was acutely conscious of a curious something. :
Of course, Grath, a have to.

  
      
       
      
   
     

WEEKLY.

He tapped the bell smartly.

“With all that coin in the near future,” he chuckled,
“T reckon we can afford to make it high balls, eh?”

The acquiescence was swift and unanimous.

CHAPTER IIL

“BRAVE MOTHER YALE.”

      
     
     
        
       
      
     
     
     
      
        
     
     
   
       
     
     
          
         
         
    
   
      
     
      
 
    
    
     
   
   
     
 
   

Of the three men who were so calmly and coolly |
plotting to bring about the defeat of their alma mater |
on the diamond, two of them did so without the slight-
est qualm. Morgan Grath was animated, first, by a . |
vital, pressing need for money, and, secondly, by an in-
tense personal dislike for Dick Merriwell. With Dallas
Baker the motives were reversed; for, though he was
desperately hard up, the thought which had been up- —
permost in his mind as he planned out the ingenious
scheme was that he would humiliate Dick and make
him suffer. ‘

' Neither of them gave a thought to the effect such
treachery would have on Yale. In them there was
no glimmering spark of college spirit.. They both re-
garded the great university at New Haven simply as
a means to an end, a spot in which to get as much pleas-
ure and profit—in divers ways—while they were there;
but to which they would never throw a single back-
ward glance after it had been left behind.

Horace Canfield was a rather different type. Rather
wild, he had thrown his lot with the fast crowd at
New Haven from the beginning. That had always
been his ideal of college life—painting the town red,
cards, pool, a merry evening about a round table at
such places as Hutton’s, and so on. Constant asso-
ciation with such men as Grath, Baker, and their ilk
had bred up in him an outward contempt for college
spirit as something weak and driveling; good enough
for some people, perhaps, but scarcely fitting in the ©
man of the world he conceived himself to be. .

There are some fellows who really think in this way,
and Canfield was one of them. Most of the time he
thoroughly believed what he said, too; but now and

 

within him which was at total variance with his blasé, _
sophisticated attitude toward the werd and his fetiow ;
beings. ?
 Atabig football era. perhaps, when Yale had made j
a splendid play or a touchdown, and that thundering,
booming roar would burst! from a thousand enthusi-
astic throats, billowing across the field in great waves

  
 

6 Fin Tor

of sound like nothing else in all the world, Canfield
had experienced a chilly flicker down his spine and
his throat had tightened spasmodically. It was gen-
erally only for a moment. He usually recovered
swiftly his customary attitude of calm superiority over
such foolish emotions, but the fact remains that he
had felt them.

At other, most inexplicable times, that annoying sen-
sation had assailed him. He remembered the last
commencement exercises when the old men had come
back in swarms and droves, to be boys again for a
few brief days. They had come from the four cor-
ners of the earth. Many of them had been battling in

_ the world for years, and yet they came gladly, eagerly,
from love of their alma mater and the intense, over-
whelming desire to see old scenes, old faces.

At first Canfield had laughed at the absurdity of it.
Then he laughed no longer, for that strange thrill
caught him up and engulfed him, and with it this

time was a pang of wistful jealousy. For a single

. instant he felt that he had missed something infinitely

’ precious, and he was sick at heart.
could, he took refuge in that false sophistry and told
himself that he was becoming weak and maudlin.
But, somehow, there was little comfort in it.

ie To-day, as he sat listening to the plot of two Yale

men striving to bring about the defeat of their own

As soon as he

a varsity for money and revenge, he had been for a>

moment appalled at the casual coolness with which
| they discussed the details. How could they bring
themselves to do it without a qualm or the slightest
_ hint of compunction?

For a moment Canfield \ was tempted to rise up and
denounce the whole proceedings, but that moment with
its better impulse swiftly passed. He was not a par-
ticularly strong character, and he dreaded the scorn-
ful ridicule which would be his portion. He felt,
moreover, that he had\ deliberately chosen these’ men
_« for his companions and as deliberately adopted their
views for his own. It would be absurd to assume now
the pose of shocked righteousness. He was, moreover,
extremely hard up himself, with no other way of rais-
ing money; and so he sat still and listened, and, in
the end, agreed to the traitorous scheme.

But when the trio separated late in the afternoon,
Canfield went his way with heart full of a disgust and
self-contempt which he could not wholly smother.

feat on the diamond; tried to keep his mind on the im-
‘mense relief which money would bring to him; tried
_ hard to dwell upon the chagrin and humiliation that

Jet a few squeamish qualms upset him.

He tried to tell himself that Yale would survive a de-"

WEEKLY.

  
  
    
  
 
  
   
  
   
  
 
 
 
      
         
 
     
       
       
     
       
     
     
       
 

would be Dick Merriwell’s portion if the plan was
successful. In vain. He could not rid himself of
the feeling that he was a traitor.

His dislike for Merriwell had come about from
natural causes. His friends were all Merriwell’s
enemies, and from daily hearing of the slurs and
innuendoes and downright accusations which were
hurled at the popular pitcher he had come insensibly
to believe them. He had, in addition, chosen to be-
lieve himself slighted when he appeared the year be-
fore to try for the nine; for he really did like base-
ball and played a fair game.

Unfortunately, though he attained the scrub for a
few weeks, he was unable to bring himself to cut out
the smoking and drinking and late hours, and had,
consequently, been twice warned and then dropped.
He laid the blame on Merriwell, not knowing that
Dick had done his best to take his part against trainer
and coaches; and the result had been an intense dis-
like for the senior, which had not, however, blinded \ a
Canfield to his ability and mental powers.

Troubled, perplexed, and doubtftil, the junior ate
his dinher in somber silence, and then started for a °
walk alone. At one minute his mind was made up to
let well enough alone and take advantage of the op-
portunity to straighten himself out financially. Such
another would never come, and he would be a fool to
And then he
would be seized by those vague, shadowy doubts. —

Little by little, however, the voce of expediency and
‘materialism became stronger and drowned the voice
of conscience. After all, he was not taking any active
part in the scheme. Baker and Grath had divided the
duties among themselves so that there was nothing left
for Canfield. All he had to do was to scrape together
what money he could, and put it up on Williams, after
Merriwell’s absence from the game had Bet a
‘sured.

Consequently, by the time ce had returned to the —
campus, his mind was made up and settled.

He struck in from Elm Street through the nama
passage between Durfee and Battell Chapel, and sud-
denly in the shadow he stopped. The moon was just
visible through the waving branches of, the elms, and
its silvery light made dancing patches on the velvety
green of the campus. All about him, some vague
shadows, some looming grayly, others standing out in-
clear relief, were the jagged, picturesque outlines of the —
college buildings which had looked down upon so many :
generations of Yale men, had seen so many years of

strife and play and fierce, earnest sesh ja i

Fy ‘

  

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ay

   
 
  
  
 
 
 

 

 

  
 
 
 
 

   
  
 
 
 
 
  
    
   

himself,

Yale.
to have wasted those years when he might have
His shoulders shook with a suppressed sob.

TP i TOR

A gentle breeze soughed through the branches of
the old, old trees; the air was soft and balmy, and the
earth smelled of spring and bursting, growing things.
And, as Canfield stood there drinking it all in, seeing
things he had never seen before, somewhere from close
at hand a clear tenor voice broke the dusky stillness; a.
voice so full of throbbing, passionate earnestness that
the surprised youth caught his breath and dared not
stir for fear of missing a single note:

“Fairer than love of woman,
Stronger than pride of gold,
Stands, nor shall fail, love for old Yale,
Mother of love untold.
‘Mother of love,’ proudly we call thee,
Singing together a-down the long line.
Light from above ever befall thee!
Hear thou and cheer thou the hearts that are thine.”

Something clutched Canfield’s heart and squeezed it
tight, It hurt—hurt desperately, and his fingers spread
out against the rough stone of the chapel as if to steady
Again the voice sounded, and this time there
were others—a bass, a barytone—who joined in the
singing; but he did not heed them. His ears were all
for that throbbing voice, which soared above the others
and seemed to be singing for him alone:

“Far down the march of ages,
Near to the goal at last;
Brighter the haze of coming days,
Than all the storied past,
‘Brave Mother Yale;’ wondrous the story
Writ in the living rock, aye to endure.
On to the goal, from glory to glory
Sure we thy tread, and our loyalty sure.”

Every word was like a stab of a knife to the boy in
the shadow, In that moment he saw himself as he
was, stripped of the false beliefs, false standards, and
false ideals which he had wrapped around him. Where
was his loyalty? He had none; he was a traitor to
He had been blind—willfully, foolishly blind—

 

His eye-
lids stung, and then he straightened suddenly as the
last verse of that song began:

“Beacon of truth uplifted, —
Set in the Northern sea.
While yet they live, thy sons shall give -
Honor and love to thee.
Star of our hope, shine on forever!
Naught can the calm of thy radiance pale.
' Guarding thee yet, failing thee never,
Still shall we love our brave mother, old Yale.” :

The voices died away and silence fell—silence, that |

Be
/

    

WEEKLY. 7

is, save for the gentle wind stirring the branches of the ©
elms. All at once something seemed to snap inside
the tortured youth, and, turning swiftly, he pressed his
burning face against the cold, rough stone of the
chapel wall, his frame shaking with the emotion which
overwhelmed him at the thought of what he might
have been, and what he was.

‘‘A traitor,” he muttered brokenly—‘‘a traitor with-
out a single redeeming excuse!”

How could he have listehed quietly and calmly with
no word of protest to that plot for Yale’s defeat! He
had no college pride—no love—no loyalty; he had no
honor, even. ‘)

“But it isn’t too late!” he cried passionately. “It
hasn't happened yet, and, if I can help it, it won't.
PuU—Pll———~ :

He stopped abruptly. What could he do? If he
went to Merriwell and told him of the plot, he would

betray the men who had trusted him and would, more-

over, be involved himself. The old weakness of char-
acter came back, and he hesitated. He could not bear
the thought of having évery one know how much he
had countenanced. With frowning brow he stood
there, thinking.

“T could write a letter to Merriwell, or his chum,
Buckhart, I suppose,” he thought, at last. “I needn't
sign it, and could disguise my writing. That would
put them wise, and no one need ever know. I believe
that’s just what [ll do,”

A moment later he stepped softly from the shadow
and hurried along the walk toward Lawrence. A swift
backward glance showed him the steps of Durfee, si-
lent and deserted, in the moonlight. The singers had
disappeared. a
/ “They ve gone, * he murmured, |
was.’

But, though he never knew, it was Dick Merriwell’s
voice which jhad awakened him and filled his mind
with remorse and those strange new thoughts of love
and pride and loyalty to his alma mater.

“T- wonder who it

 

.. CHAPTER IV,
MERRIWELL DISAPPEARS,

The better impulses of a man like Horace Canfield
seldom continue long in their first strength and inten-_
sity. Habit is powerful and the fear of ridicule even —
more so, | , be

He went to bed with the firm intention of composing

¥

 
   
 

8 TIP TOP

and sending his warning letter at once, but the calm
consideration of the morning hours made him hesi-
tate. He wanted a little more time to plan out what
his. attitude toward his old cronies would be. He did
not Wish to break off with them directly, for they were
he had. Moreover, such a step would
be sure to arouse their suspicions.

And so he waited a little. After all, things might
not pan out as they had expected. There might. be
some hitch in the arrangenients at the New‘ York end
which would put a stop to the whole affair and make
it unnecessary for the junior to do anything. Besides,
there was plenty of time to send the warning. It was
only Wednesday, and the game was not scheduled to
take place until Saturday.

Morgan Grath departed in high spirits: for New
York at noon, and Baker proceeded at once with the

the only friends

composition of the decoy letter, an occupation which,
so immersed him that he did not notice Canfield’s nerv-
ous uneasiness.

It was late when the thickset fellow returned from
town, but the two other men were awaiting him in
Baker’s room with decidedly different feelings. Grath
was jubilant at the way things had gone and much
pleased with his own cleverness in arranging matters
so satisfactorily.

The members of the athletic ait had agreed readily
to carry out the supposed joke, and the one man to
whom the truth had been told proved equally willing
to take his part. The room had been selected for Mer-
riwell’s imprisonment, and all that remained was a
notification of the train on which the victim would
arrive. 7 {

Canfield heard all this with sinking heart. There
seemed to be nothing for him but to write the note he
had planned, but which, he disliked sending, for all
sorts of possibilities of discovery kept recurring to him.
He tried to throw cold water on the scheme by per-
sistent, pessimistic references to Merriwell’s cleverness
and the impossibility of catching him napping, but it
was of no avail. Baker and Grath were perfectly sure
that the thing would succeed, and upbraided their com-
panion for being a poor sport. ‘In despair of accom-
plishing any good, Canfield gave it up and left them
still discussing details.

He supposed—and, in fact, such had been the first
idea—that the plot would not be put into execution
until the day before the game. His dismay, therefore,
can be imagined when Baker, meeting him casually on
_ the campus toward noon on Thursday, calmly informed
him that he and Grath had decided to make a change,

4

WEEKLY.

moving the matter ahead one day. The letter had been
dispatched that morning, Gratl having taken the first
train west on purpose to post it, and was probably even
now in Merriwell’s hands. In it the three-thirty train
to New
Cohen’s friend would meet, and,

York had been mentioned as the one which
no doubt, Dick was
even now preparing to take it.

Canfield, by a great effort, managed to retain his
self-control until Baker passed on. Then he rushed
wildly to his room, berating himself frantically for
having delayed so long. There he found that he had no
paper save that with the address printed at the top,
and which was, moreover, of a distinctive quality that
would be recognized, even with thé top torn off.

Out he dashed to a stationer’s and consumed more,
valuable time selecting a quire of cheap ruled stuff.
Back to his desk he flew, and then followed an exas-

perating, tormenting hour. Sheet after sheet was writ-

ten on and destroyed, for fear of the writing being too —

much like his own, or the thing not composed in just
the way he wanted.

At last it was done, and then came the problem of
sending it. The post was not sure enough. There
was no other delivery until late in the afternoon. A
messenger was risky, and it was out of the question to
leave it himself. More time was lost weighing the pros
and cons of this question, until, distraught, he decided
to risk paying a boy in the street to take it to Merri-
rooms at Durfee. By a happy thought he had

well’s

‘addressed the missive to both Merriwell and Buckhart.

He thought it safer in case Dick should not chance to
be in the rooms when it arrived. ue

He went considerably out of his way to find a boy
who did not live near enough the campus to be likely
to recognize him again, and, with a sigh of relief, saw
the letter on its way, the bearer having been given in-
structions to leave it in a conspicuous place in the room
if there was no one there, or slip it under the door in
case the, place was locked up.

\

That done, he went into a restaurant lor his belated
luncheon, which was not eaten with much appetite.

RS ee se ke toe *

Merriwell hurried through his dinner that day with
a speed which: was quite out of the ordinary. Prac-
tice was to begin at two promptly, and he had several —
things to do before ‘he started for the field. -Conse-
quently he was reatly to leave the table before most of
the other men were more than half finished.

“Coming over to the rooms before you go down: i he |
asked, as he paused beside Ceene

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Dee LOE,

- “T reckon not,” returned the Texan. ‘Thought I’d
go right down to the field from here.”

“Well, I'll meet you there, then,” Dick said hur-
riedly. “I’ve a few things to do first, but I ought to
make the field by two, anyhow.’

Hastening through the campus, he reached Durfee
and ran upstairs. As he entered the room, his eyes
caught the white gleam of a letter on the floor, which
had evidently been thrust under the door by the post-
man. Stooping quickly, he picked it up.

-“Humph—that’s funny,” he murmured curiously.

Tearing it open, his eyes traveled rapidly down the
sheet, his face clouding swiftly with an expression of
worried anxiety. He went over it again carefully, and
then stood silent, fingering the paper absently, his fore-
head drawn down in a frown.

“Of course, I’ll have to go,’’ he murmured presently.
“Tl get hold of Graham and tell him

He paused, and the frown deepened.

“No, I can’t do that, either,” he went on quickly.
“He doesn’t want any one to know about it. I wonder
what the deuce can be the trouble?”

 

There was another momentary pause, and then Dick
threw up his head and squared his shoulders.

“They'll be wild, but I can’t help it,” he said firmly.
“T'll never have it said that a friend in trouble called
on me in vain. I'll just leave a note for Brad telling
him that I’ve been called away by something very im-
portant, but will surely be back in time for the game.
Explanations can come afterward.”

The decision made, he wasted no further time, but
hurried into the bedroom, and made a swift change of
clothes. In less than ten minutes he was ready. The
note had been scrawled and stuck in one side of the
lamp shade, where Buckhart could not fail to see it the
instant he entered the room. Then, grabbing up a
derby, Dick whisked into the hall,/slammed the door be-
hind him, and ran downstairs. |

CHAPTER V.
BUCKHART VANISHES,
“Surely he understood that practice would begin at
two?” Jim Graham said questioningly.

“He sure did,’ Buckhart returned promptly. “He

_ hustled through dinner right lively, because he wanted
to do something before coming here, but he said par-

 

   

; ticular that he’d make the field at two sharp.”

 

     

WEEKLY. 9

“Well, I can’t think what’s keeping him,” Graham
remarked impatiently. “It’s not like him to be late.”

It was a quarter past the hour set for the extra-early
practice, and the field was waiting for Merriwell.
Every one else was there, but he had not’yet shown up.
Some one was knocking out flies for half a dozen fel-
lows scattered about’the diamond, and at one side Dar-
rell was pitching to Joe Crowfoot.

It had been Merriwell’s own suggestion that they
have a regular game to-day, instead of desultory prac-
tice, and it did seem odd that he should be the one to
hold it up.

Another ten minutes passed, during which Buckhart
began to show signs of a growing uneasiness, while
Graharn and the coaches grew more and more rest-
less.

“Do you suppose he can be in the track house dress-
ing?” the captain inquired presently.

The Texan shook his head.

“T’ve had my eye on it for the past twenty minutes,”

he returned. ‘He hasn’t come in the gate.’

He frowned a bit, and then went on with sudden
determination :

“I tell you what, Jim; you go ahead and start some
kind of practice and I'll slip onto.a car and see if I can’t
round him up. I don’t savvy a bit what’s kept him,
but it must be something special, for he’s never late.”

“Well, ahead, then,’ Graham acquiesced.
“How’ll you know, though, if he passes you on a car?”

go

“T'll keep my eyes sure enough peeled for that,” the
Texan smiled. ‘““They’re not a whole lot of people on
the cars this time of day, and I’ll stand on the plat-
form and rubber at every one that passes. He can't
come in the motor, ’eatise it’s not ready yet.”

Without further words, he started across the field at
a lope and disappeared through the gate. Graham
watched him out of sight, and then, with an uncon-
scious sigh which accorded well with his perplexed ex-
pression, he turned to the waiting players.

“Get busy, boys, and start work,” hg said tersely.*
“Darrell, you get into the box and pitch until Merri-
well shows up. Crowfoot can catch. Stillman will
twirl on the scrub. Let’s see. I reckon. you can take
Crowfoot’s place at third, Philbin, until things
straightén out again. Varsity in the field, and hit her
up, boys. Remember, we haven’t got a whole lot of
time before Saturday.”

The\men obeyed promptly, and in a few minutes the
siecice game was well under way. r

The first inning went with a fair amount of swing

j \

/t

 
   

   
 
  
   
    
     
   
 
 
 
 
   
  
  
  
 
   
  
  
 
  
 

10 TIP LOR
and.snap. Graham did his best to conceal the worry
which filled his mind, but he could not seem to keep
his eyes from straying toward the distant gate through
which he hoped to see the two figures appear at any
moment.

But when an hour had gone by, and neither Merri-
well nor Buckhart had shown up, his nervousness be-
gan to show itself in an unwonted irritability and im-
patience, which was, perhaps, called for by the care-
lessness and slightly slipshod methods of some of the
men.

Merriwell’s absence, and the inexplicable lingering
of Buckhart, could not help but start the fellows guess-
ing; and when a man’s mind is not entirely on his play-
ing, that playing cannot help but suffer in quality.

Graham had made no explanations, but the fellows
who stood near him at the beginning of the afternoon
knew that Dick had not expected to be away from the
field. They had also seen Buckhart start off to find
him with the apparent intention of returning at once.

_ All this was, of course, known presently to every man
on the field; and, as the afternoon wore away without
either pitcher or catcher showing up, a distinct un-

- easiness began to make itself felt,

Jim Graleam was bound to keep his attention on his

work and get all he could out of the men, but at the

__ same time numberless suspicions, conjectures, and fears

assailed him. He thought of every conceivable reason

to account for the mystery—illness, accident, family

troubles which might call Dick suddenly away, and a

dozen more possibilities; but not one of them, save,

perhaps, a fatal accident, would préyent a man of Mer-
riwell’s thoughtfulness and thoroughness from sending
at least a word of explanation.

The time seemed to pass with incredible slowness,

-and when at last the conviction that Buckhart was not

going to show up became a certainty, the captain of the

varsity grew more and more nervous and worried.
He found himself throwing swift glances at the gate

when he should have been attending to the game. A

~ + hundred times the had looked that way in vain, but still

it drew his eyes like a magnet. Several times he fum-
bled badly, and more than once made errors of judg-
ment which were unusual and would have, been inex-

-cusable under any othér conditions. At last he could

' stand the Suspense no longer, and, giving the word for

the practice to stop for the day, he made his way

* swiftly to Barstow, the head coach. -

“I can’t think what’s become of them,” he said, ina,
worried tone. ia don’t understand, it at all.”

- Barstow’s face was serious and perplexed. ‘

was open, and on the floor within a suit, still attached |

_as if a cyclone had struck them.

 

WEEKLY.

“Nor I,” he returned briefly. “It’s not at all like
Merriwell to skip off this way without a word. I hope z
nothing serious has happened. As for Buckhart—— | ~
But get into your clothes as quickly as you can, Jim,
and we’ll hustle back to the campus. Perhaps we may
learn something there.” a

Half an hour later the two left the car and made
at once for Durfee. They met one or two students on
the way, but none of them had seen Dick that after-
noon, nor had they heard of anything in the way of an
accident happening. te

“That’s a relief so far as it goes,” Graham remarked,
as they reached the entrance to the dormitory. “If
anything serious had happened to Dick, you can be
sure it would be all over the place by this time.”

They ran up the stairs, two at a time, reached the
door of Merriwell’s room, and pushed it open without
the formality of knocking. For a full minute they
stood with their backs to it, making no sound as their
eyes took in the disorder of the place. (|

Buckhart’s baseball clothes were strewn about on
every side as if he had torn them off in frantic haste.
The trousers lay half on a chair, half trailing on the
floor. One shoe was under the table, while the other Hae
had been flung into a far corner of the room. The
shirt, inside out, as it had been stripped over ,the
catcher’s head, was crumpled in a heap near the bed-

Gea

ee ee

2
Serna eet

 

 

es

oe
\

room door. au
Without comment, the two men stepped quickly over
age

it, and entered the inner room. ae
Here the disorder was even greater. Theclosetdoor =|

 

to its hanger, had been jolted from the réd above, and |.
lay amid a pile of shoes which were scattered about
Several bureau
drawers sagged open, and their contents had been bur-
rowed into as if some one had deliberately striven to
see how ‘much of a mess he could make in the shortest _
possible time. A pile of clean handkerchiefs was —
scattered over the floor, and some fresh collars had —
slipped from the top drawer and rolled eomaty the hs
bed. : ae

Graham drew a long breath and turned a odiiladl ie
face toward his companion. i

“What the deuce does it mean?” he asked’ bewil- 4
deredly. ea ae
ate has idecttiy made a quick chihtlpe: and i
gone,” Barstow said slowly. t

 
         
    
         
     
        
   
     
 

“Bet where would he go?” Graham cried. “Why 2
would he go oer Wiknote saying a wn to any
one?” Ne Se

    
     
 

 
  
   

¥ fy

 
LIP TOE

“T haven't a notion,’ the coach returned. ‘‘It’s some-

thing to do with Merriwell’s disappearance, of course.

bt

 

i He may have found that Merriwell needed help, and
i hotfooted it after him as fast as he could go.”
at “But what ” began Graham.
et “T’ve no more idea than a child,’ Barstow put in
| quickly. “If we knew that, we'd have a key to the
‘a puzzle. It’s a most mysterious thing. I can’t under-
oye stand it. Dick hasn’t had anything on his mind lately,
<t2 has hay’ |

“Not that I know of,’ Graham answered: ‘“He’s
seemed just as he always is. I’m sure he wasn’t count-
ing on being away from the field this afternoon. From
what Brad said, he hurried through dinner because
he had something to do here before coming down.”

“Any idea what that something was?”

“No, but I don’t imagine it was anything very im-
portant. Letters, or something of that sort, I fancy.
But do you think it’s possible that he’s left town?”

“T don’t know what to think,” the coach said slowly,

 

his eyes roving about the room. “Whose suit case is

that in the closet ?”’

 

) Graham stepped quickly.to the open door and
he looked in.
ao | “There's two of them,” he said shortly. “One on

top of the other. One of ‘em’s Merriwell’s, the other
Buckhart’s. Both got initials on the end.”

“That doesn’t look as if either of them had gone
far,” Barstow murmured thoughtfully. ‘What are
you looking for?” :

Graham was still poking about in the closet.

 

 

“Dick’s bag,’ he explained. ‘“He’s got a small trav-
eling bag that he uses sometimes in place of the suit
case. I don’t see it.”|
He searched the room thoroughly, even looking un-
der the beds, but without avail. Evidently the bag
G was not there.

Bye | _. The coach, meanwhile, was doing a little hunting on
his own hook, but that also proved fruitless.

Y

“Tt’s almost uncanny,” he! said, in a worried tone, as
they stood a little later in the sitting room. “There
isn’t a scrap of a note anywhere which would give us
a hint as to where he’s gone or what the trouble is.

I’ve looked all over the place. It’s not like Merriwell
~ to go off this way-without leaving a word. But the
a bag’s gone, and apparently Buckhart has gone, either
_ with him or after him. TI confess I’m stumped.”

  

Graham was unable to help him out in the slightest.

_ tremendous relief, to be sure, to find that apparently
_ Merriwell was all right physically. No accident seemed

He was bewildered and totally at sea. It had been a

4a

WEEKLY.

    

     
  
  
  
   
  
  
   
   
  
 
 
 
 
    
    
       
   
   
       
      
      
     
    
 
     
   
   
    
      
      
     
 

I]

to have happened to him. But the fact that he had
gone away of his own free will, taking a bag with him,
as if for a more or less prolonged stay, without leav-
ing a single word of excuse or explanation, was in-
comprehensible.

“It looks to me,’ Barstow said presently, in a .
thoughtful tone, ‘‘as if both of them had been in a |
big hurry. In the bedroom Dick has certainly wasted
no time packing his bag, while Buckhart seems, to have
thrown off his clothes the minute he struck the room. I
should say they must have gone together, and must
have wanted to catch a certain train. I can’t tink of
anything else which would make them rush so.”

“And if Brad followed Dick,” Graham suggested,

“how was he to know where Merriwell was going un-
less a note had been left behind? We haven’t found
anything of the sort.”

“Buckhart might have taken it with him,” the coach
remarked, “though he'd hardly have thought of it,
considering the tear he was in.” 3

He hesitated a moment, and the worried frown deep-
ened on his forehead.

“There's certainly going to be the deuce to pay if
they don’t show up pretty quick,” he went on anx-
iously. “The game’s not forty-eight hours away, and
you know what we’ve heard about Williams.” ;

“Thunder, yes!” burst out Graham. “They’ve got a
the best team they’ve had in years. That pitcher of ]
theirs is a wonder. If Darrell has to go into the box ©

Phew!” ee

It was not a reassuring thought, and the faces of
both men were very serious as they stepped into the hall
a moment later. They had scarcely closed the door be-
hind them when Eric Fitzgerald, one of Merriwell’s -
friends, appeared at the head of the stairs.

“Dick in?” he asked, as he caught sight of them.

Graham shook his head.

“No,” he returned shortly.

“Humph!” commented Fitzgerald. “Where's he
keeping himself? Hasn’t he got back from the field
yet?”

“He wasn’t on the field this afternoon,’ Graham in-
formed him hastily. - .

The slim fellow whistled.

“He wasn’t! By Jove! I wonder if that could have
been he I saw on the College Street car headed for the
station? It looked like him, but I didn’t think it could
be. Where’s he gone?”

 

 

 

The coach and the captain both shook their heads.
They would have given a good deal to have been able to —
answer that question.

   
     
   
 
  
  
   
   
  
   
 
  
   
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
   
  
    
    
        
     
     
       
       
 
   
    
      
      
        
 
   
    
     
     
    
     
 

CHAPTER VI.
THE WARNING LETTER.

Buckhart ran out of the gate just in time to hail
a car and swing himself aboard. He stood on the rear
platform keeping a keen eye on the cars passing him
in the other direction, but: he reached the campus with-
out having seen any one on them who, resembled his
roommate in the slightest. By the time he had reached
Durfee, he was begigning to be almost worried.

“It’s sure got me,” he muttered, as he took the stairs
with a rush. “He never did a thing like this before.”

Bursting into their sitting room, the’ first thing
which met his eye was a folded note stuck conspicu-
ously in the lamp shade, and, seizing it, he twitched it
open with a single motion of his muscular fingers. As
he took in the brief contents, an expression of utter
bewilderment overspread his face.

“Suffering catamounts!’ He ejaculated. “What do
you think of that! ‘Called away by a very important
-matter. Can say nothing further, but will explain fully,
if possible, when I return. Tell Graham that he can
count absolutely on my being back at New Haven in
time for the game Saturday.’ ’

Crumpling the paper in his fist, Brad scowled.

“Important matter!’ he growled. “Thunder! It

sure must be to make him get up and dust this way
without telling a soul where he’s gone. Can't he trust
achap? It’s got my goat a-plenty. What the mischief
is there that would make him fly off with the game
not two days away? ‘And Williams, too! If he
shouldn’t happen to get back in time-——— Gee! I hate
to think Hello! What's this?”
-  _Happening to drop his eyes to the table before which
he stood, the Texan saw, lying almost under his hand,
a letter. He took it up quickly and looked at it. It
was addressed plainly to Dick, and had been posted in
New York that very morning. From the manner in
which the envelope was torn it looked as though the
missive had been opened in great haste.

 

Buckhart fingered it hesitatingly. The ty pewritten
address gave no clew to the sender, but there was not
_a particle of doubt in his mind that this was what had
caused his chum’s sudden disappearance. When Dick
_ left him at the training table, the Texan felt perfectly
sure that he was not then contgmplating a departure

which had been left by the postman during the morn-
ing, and that was what had caused the whole mysteri-
- Ous\business.

ne cays he was dying to open it, Brad hesitated. It

  

WEEKLY.

from New Haven. He had probably found the letter,

‘three-thirty from New Haven to-morrow.

was not intended for him to read. Dick must have
left it there by mistake in the hurry of his departure.
Wavering, Buckhart made a fresh discovery. Upon
a pile of books at one corner of the table lay a third
white missive, which he instantly snatched up.
he growled. “Why, the place is
alive with ’em! Ah-ha! ‘R. Merriwell or B. Buck-
hart.’ That’s some like. That suits your uncle Dudley
down to the ground.” ;

“More letters,”

Ripping it quickly open, this is what he read: #@

“Mr. MERIWEL, or BUCKHanrt, if he ain’t in: This is
to tell you thet ther is a plott to get you to neu york
an kep you ther till after the basebal gaim on satur-
day. sertain partyes want willums colege to win cause
they hev monie up at ods. You will hev a leter siggnd
Cohen teling a hard luck storie, but it is a fake dont
pay no attenchun to it it is onlie to get you away from
nue haven to a plase in neu york wher they will lock
you upp so you kant pitch I write this to Buckart also
in case you aint in, he is a tru man. Be Warned.

“A WELWISHER.”

As he took on the meaning of the illiterate-appear-
ing letter, the Texan’s face grew dark with fury and
his eyes flashed. ,

“If that’s true, P1I——”

He dropped the anonymous letter and snatched up
the one directed to ick. The matter had become too
serious for any questions of ethics.

Blazes!’ he roared.

and looked at the signature.
“Cohen!” he exclaimed furiously. “Joe Cohen!”
Then, glancing swiftly back to the beginning, he

read the single page hastily. It bore no address, only

the date—yesterday.

“Dear Dick: Everything has gone to smash, and
It isn’t my fault, believe me, it
isn’t; but the proofs against me are fearfully con--  —
demning. Won’t you come on at once and help me
[/shouldn’t ask this, but remembering what _

I am a ruined man.

out ?
friends we were in the old days, I feel, somehow, that
you'll be able to help me out of this tangle.
brain always was so much better oiled than mine.
“T am writing this in the office, but I don’t dare stay
here after to-day. There is an examiner due here to-
morrow, and then it will be all up. I am going to stay
quietly at a
advice as to what the best thing will be.
your coming,

surely be able to make that.
“Don’t tell a soul about ehicpleahe

 

Without an in-
stant’s hesitation, he ripped the sheet from its envelope

Your: |

good place I know of until I can get your
‘Tl trust to -
and will have a safe friend to meet the

You'll -

You know
how such things hurt a man’s name, and if—there’s

 

a
my
a
“y

ju
ri

th
hi
hi

lo
Ti
D

ut

m

uf

 
     
         
  
Fake wee

 

just one chance in a thousand—the thing can be made
right, I’d hate aw fully to have had even ‘the rumor get
ground that | w asn't square.
“Yours in desperation,

“JOE Conen.”

 

ee at
ee

L

4 For a single instant Buckhart stood there, his face
4 the veritable personification of fury. The thought of
», his churn decoyed into a trap like that by an appeal to

his generosity and friendship made him speechless.
' Then he let loose the floodgates of his wrath.

‘|. “Thunder and lightning!” he roared. “The dirty,
| low-down curs! If I could get my hands on them,
} I'd sure twist their necks off. How the mischief did
Dick ever fall for it?’ Who’s the fellow that blabbed?

Ss

ee ee

| Three-thirty!”

4 He glanced swiftly at the clock. It was five min-
| utes past the hour.

a “He hasn't gone yet,” he exclaimed hopefully. “But
i, maybe he did; maybe-he took the two. Anyhow, it’s
a ‘up to little Bradley to be up and doing.”

Then garments began to fly in all directions until
the room was cluttered with them, as the Texan tore
off his baseball suit and dashed into the bedroom for
some other clothes. And all the time there was a
thunderous, growling monologue which rose and fell
as he gave vent to his surcharged feelings.

In an almost incredible time he was back in the sit-
_ ting room again, carrying in one hand a small traveling
_ bag of Dick’s, into which he had stuffed a few things
_ snatched at random from the bureau drawers. He
was going to be prepared to follow his chum if he did
- not find him at the station, and his own suit case was
_ too big to bother with.

_ “Where the deuce is my hat?” he roared, looking
- fiercely around. “Never where it ought to be. Well,
this'll do.”

is Grabbing a plaid cap of Dick’s, he thawted! for the
door, only to turn back to the table, snatch up the three
letters, and cram them into his pocket.

“May want ’em, you caii’t tell,’ he muttered, as he
slammed the door behind him.

_ Three minutes later he swung onto a car, which
would land him at the station just about in time for the
tr rain.

  
  
  
  
  
  
   
   
   
    
   
   
    
    
  

 

 
  

CHAPTER VIL.

THE PLOTTERS REJOICE,

   
 
 

 

We've got to get to that blamed quick, Dal.

     

WEEKLY. 3

their plot and make assurance doubly sure as to Mer-
riwell falling into their snare. They knew well that
nothing but a matter of extreme importance would
keep Dick away from. baseball practice, and so they
strolled through the gates
ter up and down, as if waiting for the game to com-
mence.

With pleased satisfaction, they observed that Mer-
riwell was not with the crowd on the diamond. Out-
wardly indifferent, but with inward jubilation, they
took in the prevailing air of impatient waiting. They
saw Buckhart detach himself from the little group, and
jog across the field to the gate.

“He’s bit, all right,’ Grath muttered gleefully.

“It’s a sure thing,’ Baker agreed, in an equally re-
pressed tone, which held an underlying note of venom-
ous satisfaction. “There isn’t much use staying here
any longer, is there?” .

“No; we may as well run up to Hutton’ s. I think
Pl shoe Maloney to be sure and be on the job. He
won't be leaving the clubhouse for some time yet, but
there’s no harm in being certain. Seen Canfield?”

Baker smiled sourly. .

“Yes, about noon. That fellow’s getting cold feet,
Grath. When I told him that the thing was going to,
be pulled off to-day, I give you my word he looked as
if he was sorry as the mischief. If he had anything

a little before two, to saun-

‘to gain by blowing to Merriwell, I'll bet he’d do it.”

Grath laughed loudly. @

“Oh, you're wrong thete, Dal,” he returned. “He's
a good enough fellow and wouldn't give us away. The
trouble is he’s got the idea in his nut that Merriwell
can’t be fooled, and he’s afraid to put his money up.”

“Just the same, I’m glad we shifted the day,’ Baker
said, as they signaled an approaching car. “It don't
give him a chance to play any tricks.”

Twenty minutes later they entered Hutton’s, and
Grath at once called up his friend at the Barney Mc-
Teague Athletic Club to make sure he was on the job.
That done, the two made themselves comfortable at a
table in the back room, ¢

“He'll send me a wire here as soon as the thing’s
cinched,” Grath remarked, taking a big swallow from
his glass. “Then we can get busy and lay our bets.
The min-
uté it leaks out that Merriwell isn’t in New Haven
and they don’t know where he is, once will drop like
a thousand of brick.”

“Naturally,” agreed Baker, somewhat impatiently.

“T don’t know a lot about baseball, but you can’t tea ch cae

me ei I've got all the money [ could beg or ber-

  
 

row, in my pocket. The minute the word comes I'll
commence to unload.”

Toward four o’clock Horace Canfield appeared and
dropped into a chair beside them. He had just come
from the field, where, arriving rather late, he had
found both Buckhart and Merriwell missing from
among the players,’ but had not dared to make inquiries
of any one for the particulars.

Grath greeted him boisterously.

“Where's. your wonderful Merriwell now?” he
jeered.. “Thought we couldn’t fool him, didn’t you?
Well, he’s bit, all right, and swallowed hook and line
along with the bait. He’s on his way to New York
now, with Maloney waiting for him at the Grand Cen-
tral.” ;

Canfield’s heart sank, but he managed to hold him-
self together fairly well, for he was not anxious for the
two to suspect his real feelings.

“Are you sure about that?” ‘he asked quickly.

“As sure as I want to be,” retorted Grath. “Any-
how, inside of two hours we'll be having a wire from
Maloney which’ll cinch things. What’ll you drink?”

Canfield hesitated, and then ordered beer. Feeling
as he did, it seemed an intpossible thing to put in two
solid hours listening quietly to the bluster and blow
of these two fellows for whom he had taken such a
dislike, and yet he had to do it. He must know at the
earliest opportunity exactly how matters stood. Evi-
dently his letger had arrived too late. . Merriwell could
not have gone to the train directly from his rooms,

‘but there was a possible chance that things might not
connect at the other end.

And so he waited, his silent,
meanor and palpable restlessness a strong contrast. to
the cheerful satisfaction of his two companions. His
nervousness was, in fact, so patent that more than once
he caught a gleam of speculation in Baker’s pale eye
which made him brace up and_affect an interest in their
conversation.

But the minutes dribbled stingily along like a miser’s
money doled out reluctantly, and it was almost six
o’clock before the head of a messenger boy was thrust
in at ‘the door and the youngster’s Diet eyes ranged
about the room.

“Grath X” he inquired curtly.

“That’s me,” snapped back the thickset fellow.
“Hustle up, son.’ < ’

The boy advanced and handed him a yellow eny elope,
which he slit open, ‘hurriedly. An irrepressible grin of
satisfaction overspread his face.

he said; and the boy departed, whis-

almost morose, de-

“No answer,”

TEP’ OR

 

WEEKLY.

 

  
 

j
tling shrilly, while Baker caught the paper tossed to
him, and scanned it eagerly |

“All right; got him; plunge to the limit,’ ”
with glistening eyes. “Good! That settles it.”

He eine to Canfield with a sneer.

“Humph!” he snorted. “There’s your clever Mer-
riwell. Bit like a sucker, just as I thought he would.
A bluff, that’s all his smartness is. Ha! ha! Well,
I’m not kicking. It’s money in our pockets. He’s

he read,

‘shut up hard and fast, and he'll stay there safe until

the Williams game is over. Jove! I wish, though, he
could know whose brain is responsible for having put
him there.”

“Come on, Dal,”
door. “Don’t waste so much time.
do. Hustle

Baker crossed the room slowly.

“Aren't you coming?” he jeered, looking back at
Canfield. “You're not afraid now of it’s not working,
are you?”’ 2

Canfield moistened his dry lip
head toward the speaker.

“Don’t—wait for me,” he stammered. ‘“IJ—I—
haven’t got the money with me. I—didrt think it
would work. I’ll—have to get it at home.”

Grath said impatiently, from the

s; he did not turn his

Baker disappeared with a nasty laugh, and silence —

fell upon the room. Canfield dropped his chin into his

cupped hands.

his mind pleasant thoughts. ¢

Dick had fallen into the trap. Even in the face of
certainty, the thing seemed incredible. One, of his
firmest beliefs since he had come to his senses was
that Merriwell would see through the deception and
refuse to bité; he had banked on it, and that was one
of the reasons which had made him delay writing his
letter. |

Apparently he had been wrong, and, as he sat there»

thinking, he felt that he himself was to blame. If he
had only been a little braver and risked a little more,
the thing could not have come about. Why had he not
written and sent the letter the moment the thought
came into his mind? Why had he allowed the consid-

eration of self and the petty fear of being found out to ns

get the better of his judgment?

He sat there silent for a long time before he began
to realize the futility of regrets. The past was irrev-
ocable. He could not change it.
mained, and, at the thought of what possibilities. were

left him, his heart sank even lower. | The only honest, i
upright thing for him to do was to go pen to Buck-_

    

|

We've got alot to

The expression on his face was not a_
happy one, nor were the thoughts which fiitted through |

The future only re-.

   

a

—

eect

<

SRR etntotemmn stirs
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ear

   
  
   

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PLES LOE

 

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Poet

i

hart or Jim Graham and tell the whole humiliating
story, sparing no one, least of all himself.

_ Canfield shuddered as he thought of the results of
_ guch a step. The story would spread through New
_ Haven. It would be known everywhere, and the
£ names of the men who had planned and executed the
i treacherous plot would be execrated beyond. belief.
7 His own would be among them, for he knew there
; would be no discrimination.

b He dared not do it. He was afraid.

i CHAPTER VIII.

bi THE ENCOUNTER AT THE GRAND CENTRAL.

2 Y Buckhart reached the New Haven station just as the
i three-thirty train was pulling in. Swinging himself
¢ onto the last car, he waited until the engine had
i started, and then made his way slowly throughout
4 the length of the train without seeing anything of his
i friend.

1 “Must have taken the other one,” he thought,-as he
ap gettled down in the car just behind the smoker.

- The Texan was far from being a fellow with a cool,
ti E analytical mind who weg events in the balance,
_ foreseeing and preparing for every possible contin-|

gency. He was more the type of man who is governed

_by his feelings. His likes and dislikes were very

strong and were sometimes founded more on intuition

than reasoning; and, though his temper was usually

| under perfect control, he was still subject to rare flare-

| ups of rage, fierce in their intensity. and sometimes
lasting in duration.

\= ‘The present moment was an occasion of this sort.

- Buekhart probably cared more for Dick Merriwell
a than he did for any one else in the world. His devo-
tion was tinged a little with respect, for he realized

perfectly that his chum was a fellow of a mental cali-

_ ber which he could never hope to attain; but that re-

spect in no wise mitigated or lessened the deep per-

sonal attachment (which existed between the two.
The Texan could bear with perfect equanimity at-
Aditi upon himself, whereas the same things said of
his chum made him bristle with resentment, The dis-
covery of the treacherous plot to decoy Dick to New
York and keep him there by force drove him wild with
fury, and for at least an hour he sat in his seat in-
wardly boiling and seething with helpless rage.

‘The methods which the unknown plotters had used
seemed to him especially contemptible. An appeal to
Dick’s sympathy was always sure of success, and a

  

 

  

  

WEEKEY. 15

call for help from one of his old friends scmething
the Yale senior would always respond to instantly.
Brad had sometimes: thought him almost too chari-

table. Certainly no other bait would have succeeded so
well, and in all probability Merriwell’s very eagerness
to come to Cohen’s assistance had made him less cau-
tious than was his wont.

So Buckhart-raged and fumed for more than an
without another thought. Cooling gradually,
he began to look ahead and lay plans. How was he
to locate his chum once he reached the city? Unfor-
tunately neither the fake Cohen letter nor the illiterate
anonymous scrawl gave the slightest hint as to the
place where Dick was to be decoyed) Pulling out both
the letters, Brad read them carefully through again.

“Not a hint,’ he muttered disconsolately. ‘And
New York’s some big place.”

He glanced again at the scrawly, arsig nes note.

“Wonder who the deuce the gang is?” he thought.
“Don’t seem as if any college man could be low down
enough to try a thing like that, and yet ‘Tl be
hanged if I don’t believe this thing is written purposely
that way to throw us off the track. He’s spelled every
word wrong he possibly could—gone out of his way
to twist them around; and yet some of the letters are
all to-the good and don’t look a blamed bit like some
of the others. Uses a comma all right in the first
line and a couple of periods later on. Then he drops
punctuation marks altogether like as if he’d remem-
bered a roughneck wouldn’t put °em in. Wish I had
Dick’s detective mind. It sure w ould be like print to
me then.” |

He was still sitter shoes this when the train be-
gan to pass through the upper reaches of the city; but

hour

 

the sixties were flashing by before he remembered a

vital omission of his with a sudden start and a swift
rush of color to his sunburned face.

“Thunder!” he gasped. “If I’m not all kinds of a
prize idiot. I’ve piked off without-a word to Jim as
to where I’ve gone or what’s the matter. Suffering
cats! I judge he’s tearing his hair out by the hand-
ful, and no wonder, with his complete. battery melted
into thin air and the game with Williams day after
to-morrow. He sure must be calling me bunches of
pretty names about now. I'll have to wire the old
scout the minute I land.” |

By this time the train was rumbling through the

Park Avenue tunnel, and the Texan, eager to be the te

first off, picked up his bag and’ walked to, the end
of the car.
the: See toward the temporary waiting room

He presently alighted and hurried along

     
   
      
    
     
 
    
      
    
      
    
    
 
    
    
 
    

   
  
     
  
 
  
   
  
 
    
 
 
 
   
   
   
  
 
   
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
   
 

aad

TLRS TOP

which was being used, pending the erection of the new
station.

Passing through the gates into the rough, boarded
passage, he glanced casually at the little crowd of peo-
ple waiting there. It was the usual heterogeneous col-
lection of fathers meeting their daughters or mothers
their sons, with the—also usual—few who refused
to be classified, and Buckhart was about to pass on
when his attention was attracted to one of their num-
ber who seemed to be observing him with close atten-
tion.

He was a young fellow of peshape twenty-two or
three, well dressed with a touch ‘of flashiness to his
scarf and waistcoat and an indescribable air of sporti-
He stood

 

ness in his general make-up and manner.
close to tHe right-hand side of the wicket, and, passing
through, Brad caught an appraising flash of the fel-
low’s black eyes which swiftly dropped to the bag he
was carrying, and then ranged back over the Texan's
person until they rested on his face.

There was a curious expression of indecision in
them, as if he thought he knew Buckhart, but was not
quite sure; and Brad, conscious that he had nevet
laid' eyes on the man before, wondered for whom he
might be mistaking him.

‘But, after all, it mattered very little, and he was
about to pass on when the young fellow stepped quickly
to his side.

“Beg pardon,” he said, in a low tone; “but you're
from New Haven, aren’t you?”

3uckhart hesitated an instant.

“Yes,” he answered shortly.

“And your name’s Merriwell, I think,’ pursued the
other, with growing confidence.

The Texan repressed a start with difficulty. He
realized at once the explanation of it, and his mind
was made up in an instant.

“Well, what if it is?” he inquired slowly.

The fellow smiled. Perhaps it was that thing be-
loved of romantic novelists, a “flashing smile.” The
display of gold teeth was certainly dazzlipg enough.

“I’m the man who was to meet you,’ he said signifi-
cantly. He lowered his voice instinctively and added,
“From Cohen, you know.” .

The Texan’s face cleared.

“Oh, I see,” he said almost genially. “I was ex-
pecting—er—a different sort of fellow, somehow.”

“Hope you're not disappointed,” the’ youth said
jauntily. “My name is Henry Brown, and I’m one of

poor Joe’s best friends.”

-

WEEKLY.

 

   

  

f
By this time they were walking side by side toward/

the waiting room. There was an enigmatic look in
Buckhart’s dark eyes as he glanced sidewise at. his
companion. .

“But what’s the trouble?” he asked, in a voice which
he strove to make anxious. “I couldn’t understand

much from his letter. He seemed to think it pretty

serious, but I can’t imagine Joe doing anything

crooked.”

“Crooked!” exclaimed Mr. Brown, with an interest-
ing display of indignation. ‘Of course he hasn't. Joe
couldn't be crooked to save his life.” —}

He hesitated an instant and then went on swiftly,
his eyes looking straight ahead of him.

“It's a plot against him. Some one—we can’t find
out who it is—has embezzled in the office and man-
aged to lay the blame on Joe. It’s a dastardly scheme
to try and ruin an innocent man and, at the same time,
escape with the loot. If I could get my hands on the
fellow, I’d certainly take it out of his hide.” ,,

His fists were clenched and his eyes flashed the in-
dignation which filled him at the thought of such
treachery against his dearest ‘friend.

Buckhart suppressed a smile with difficulty. The
fellow’s mannef was alm®&t convincing, though his
vocabulary had evidently been derived from a perusal
of lurid detective stories. The adventure really prom-
ised more entertainment than the Texan had supposed.

“You have no suspicions at all?’ he asked quietly.

Mr. Brown hesitated an instant.

“None whatever,” he returned. “It must be—er—
one of several men, of course, but just which one is
impossible to say. The guy—that is, the fellow—who
did it must have been a smart one to fool everybody.
But Joe thinks you may be able to help find him out.
He says your headpiece is all to the good, and, being

 

as you and him were such pals

“Of course,’ Buckhart assured him, as the fellow

paused. “We are friends yet and, naturally, P’ll do.

my best to help him out.” |
They had reached the waiting room, and Mr. Brown

hesitated an instayt, his eyes trailing toward the tele-

graph booth. . 3
“Would you—er—mind waiting just a minute, Mr.

Merriwell, while I send a wire?” he asked. “Impor-
I’ve been all morning with

tant business, you know.
Joe, and sort of let my business go to pot.”

“Go ahead,” the Texan agreed at once. “I’ll wait
fight heresy 64g . ;

 

 

    
         
    
    
        
        
       
   
     
     
     

    
   

LP

 

The «fellow walked hastily across the room. The

instant his back was turned Buckhart dropped his

: e beg and fumbled in his pocket for a scrap of
paper.

re ae ae o “Now's my chance for putting Jim wise to where

I am,” he muttered. “It’s sure doubtful when I'll get

another.”

he stripped off the

| ; Hurriedly fishing out a letter,
side

envelope and scrawled a message on the blank
and that he
He would be back by. Saturday, sure, if the thing was
possible.

 

Having signed it and written the address, he looked
-anxiously|about for some one to whom he could in-
trust it. There were no’porters or railroad officials
in sight; not even a messenger boy.

  
 

“Place is alive with ’em when you don’t want ’em,”

he muttered.

 
 

But there was no time to waste. His conductor
would be returning soon, and he must get rid of the
message before that. He hastily scanned the faces
of the people sitting on a row of benches near by. One,

looked good to

  
  
 
 
 

a young fellow reading a newspaper,
him, and he stepped over and touched him on the shoul-
der. ae

“Tt’s kind of a cheeky thing o ask,”
“but would you mind sending this message
There's a

 
 
 

he said, in a

  
 

low_tone ;
for me as soon as I’ve left the station?
special reason why I can’t do it myself.”

    
 

The chap hesitated an instant as his eyes scanned the
Texan’s face. ;

“Why, he said.
-an hour to wait, and might as et do thé it as any-
thing.”

 
  
 

sure,” “Tye got three-quarters of

  
 
  
 
 

“You're a brick!” Bricker’ told him. “And you'll

be helping me out a-plenty.”’

 
 
 
 

He thrust the paper into the BEY: s hands, and
with it a dollar bill. 1,

“Thanks alot,” he said, and started back to where
he had left his bag.

“Hold on a minute,” called the other.
some change out of this.”

  
 
 
    
  

“There'll be

\

 

“Never mind, partner. Haven’t got anything
oy smaller,” explained Buckhart. ““Kgep it or give it
away; I don’t care which. I haven't got time to stop.
And thank you again.”

> He had just time to pick up his bag and lean indo-
_ lently against a post when Mr. Brown appeared hur-

 

»

of it, telling Graham that Merriwell was in trouble
had come to New York to help him out.

 

TOP W EE KL y 17

rying toward him, and in a moment they were making
their way toward the street.

CHAPTER

a. HE

{X.

WRONG MAN

9

3uckhart asked, as they
stepped to the sidewalk. “He wrote that he did not
dare show himself at the office to- day.’

“No, there is gates in that,”
swered evasively. ‘“He’s
we belong to. It’s down on Tenth Street.”

3etter take a taxi, hadn’t we?” asked the Texan.
“We certain can make better time that way.”

Henry Brown agreed,‘and in a few minutes they
Brown was not as lo-
‘He seemed to have

“Whereis. Joe staying?

i fa cain an-

                            

were speeding downtown.
quacious as he had been at first.
talked himself out, and he sat silent, looking out of
the window, while Buckhart, equally preoccupied, was
busy revolving matters in his own mind.

He ,had taken this step on the impulse of the mo-
ment without thought or plan of any kind. By allow-
ing himself to be mistaken for Merriwell he had
hoped, vaguely, to be able to help his chum; but now
he began to wonder just how he was going to do it.

The fact that the fellow beside him—whose name’

he was convinced was no more Brown than his own—
had been waiting at the Grand Central, looked very
much as though Dick had not yet fallen into the snare.
There was a possibility, of course, that some one else
had met the two-o’clock train and had failed to com-
municate the fact to Mr.’ Brown, in which case the
Texan’s arrival at the clubhouse would-be most op-
portune.
Another possibility, which he had not thouglit of
up to now, was that there might have been some sort
of inclosure in the decoy letter telling Dick how to
reach the clubhouse in case he took any other train
than the three-thirty.s In that case he had probably

Already been trappéd, and the Texan looked forward

with much enjoyment to his own atrival on the scene
of action.

The taxi whirled into Second Avenue and purred its
way southward at a good clip.. At Tompkins Square
it turned east, slowing down as the driver edged in
toward thé curb to read the numbers,
stopped.

“Well, here we are, Mr. Merriwell,”’

and at last ©

said »Brown, —

    
         
  
   
   
    
   

   
  

18 TIP? DOP
in a voice which was evidently intended to be light
and casual, but which betrayed a little nervousness on
the part of the sporty youth. “Joe’ll be mighty glad
to see you.”
He opened the door, and, stepping out, walked to-
ward the house, leaving Buckhart to pay the fare, with
‘ a mental characterization of his companion as a cheap
sport.
As the taxi chugged away, the Texan looked around
in stwprise.-
“Where do we go?” he asked, catching sight of
3rown standing near the stoop of a shabby: brick
» house.
“This way,” returned the youth, indicating a low
archway which seemed to tunnel under two buildings.
“Tt’s in the rear.”

Without comment, Brad gripped his bag tightly and
plunged into the gloom of the passage. In a thoment
they were through, crossed a narrow open space and
ascended the steps of a tumble-down wooden edifice
with closely shuttered windows and a general air of
desertion and decay.

“Pretty bum-looking joint from the biiteide? ” apolo-
gized Mr. Brown; “but it’s left that way on purpose.
We have a lot of sparring bouts in the winter, you
know, and don’t care about attracting too much atten-
tion to the place. You'll find it’s a lot different in-
side.”

“No doubt,” Buckhart remarked,
thinking more of the surprise in store for his com-
panion than of: the esthetic beauties of the club-
_ house.

He had no definite plans, for he knew nothing defi-
nite of the conditions he would find. If Dick was
there, a decided rough-house would probably follow ;
for he was determined to get his chum away at once.
If he had not yet arrived Well, circumstances
would have to govern his conduct'in that case.

rather grimly,

 

In silence he followed 1
door and into,a dark, narrow hal
door behind him and led the way toward a brightly
lighted room on the left.

“We'll just go in here first,”
“Some of the fellows are here, I guess, but they're all
| good friends of Joe and will be glad to meet you.”

~ Buckhart smiled grimly in the darkness, and fol-
lowed close upon the other’s heels.
how glad Joe’s dear friends would be when they found
‘out that Mr. Brown had cogralled the wrong man.

iis conductor through the
Brown closed the

he said casually,

 
 

 
 

' low, retreating forehead, from which was brushed back

He wondered just:

   

    
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
  
  
   
 
 
  
  
   
  
   
  
  

WEEKLY. j

stepped was long and =
low and distinctly The soiled,
spotty walls were decorated with pictures of pugilists
cut from magazines, and highly colored prints of rac-
ing subjects. The floor was grimy beyond descrip-
tion, and the furniture looked as if it had stood more

The room into which they

flashy in appearance.

 

than its share of wear and tear

Three pool tables ranged along its length, and about
one of them a group of fellows were watching two
of their number handle the cues with more or less skill.
They all looked quickly up at the entrance of Brown
and his companion, and Buckhart seemed to feel a f
sort of tension in the air which was scarcely in accord 7
with the ostensible facts of the case.

“Well
ate, distinct tone,
Cohen hasn’t gone out.
him,”’

Brown said, in a curiously deliber-
“this is Mr. Merriwell.
He’s very anxious to see

, fellows,”
I hope

 

Sey abe polio

“Warning them, eh?” thought Buckhart. “Now
they'll play up to his game and say that Joe’s in some
back room.”

His eyes ranged over the group appraisively.

in ae a

et

’ he said to himself. “A lot of cheap
I opine I can lick the bunch

“Tt’s a cinch,’
sports and crap players.
with one hand.” ah 4

Brown’s words were followed by an oddly drawn- 22
out pause. One of the pool players laid down his cue
and straightened up, his black eyes fixed intently.on ©  *
the Texan's face. He was short and stocky, witha
a quantity of greasy black hair, its tight curliness due 4
to the tongs instead of nature. ee

His expression was one of surprised incredulity =
which was followed by swiftly flashing certainty as r

   

he took a step forward.

   

“Merriwell!” he cried furiously. “You fool! This
is not Metriwell. You've got the wrong man.”

“Not Merriwell!”
face paling.

“Of course he isn’t!” retorted the other. sharply. I;
“I’ve seen Dick Merriwell often enough on the dia- .
\This is somebody else.” ;

 
        

gasped the alleged Brown, his

      
 

 

      
 

mond to know him.

  
 

Brown drew his breath with a hissing sound,
“But the bag,” he faltered doubtfully ;
Besides, he said

“the initials.

     

 

 
   

“T said nothing!” roared Buckhart, turning on him.
“You took me for Merriwell, and I let it go at that.”

 
   
 

He gripped the fellow by the arm with a strength —

     

which drew forth a ery of pain.

   
 

a
ning iy tae oe
ee

PERKS age, ere

 

ee e
Ss
<

 

 
  
   
  
  
  
   
     
  
  
   
  
    
  
  
   
  
   
  
  
 

 

  

be. But first let me tell you just one thing. 53
narrowed, and the mocking smile vanished from his
puhace.
_ joint looking for the fake Cohen, and you dubs try to
keep him here against his will by locking him up or

~*~

_this little game of puss in the corner won't, be one, two

ce eae

“You little shrimp!’ he said fiercely. “You low-
down coyote! Where is he? What have, you done
with him? Tell me instanter, or I'll break you in
two.”

“T don’t know anything about him,”
rified fellow, struggling to break away.
you was him. Blackie!
thing? He'll kill me.” :

The Texan shook him till his teeth

gasped the ter-
“T thought
Why don’t you do some-

rattled, and then

gave him a shove which sent him reeling against the

nearest pool table.

“Come on, you scum!’ he cried, to the
others, who were crowding toward hini, some of them
without any great show of eagerness.’
enough of you. Afid, are you? Might have known
that nobody but cowards would try to put over any-
thing like this.” .

His sneering, contemptuous tone goaded the crowd
to a fury, just as he hoped it would. He was simply
yearning to give a lesson to the gang that had plotted

turning

“There's sure

his chum’s realiza-
tion of the strategic value of his position near the door
which prevented him from rushing them.

This was unnecessary. Led by the low-brow ed fel-
low, they made a dash toward him, and in a moment
Brad was having the time of his life. He caught the
leader under the chin with a straight,

discomfiture, and it was only the

clean swing

which sent him crashing against the wall. Two more
followed him. The next man was picked up bodily

and tossed after the others. Those who remained re-

treated hurriedly of their own accord before this rag-

ing, giant of a man, leaving Buckhart standing alone,
his eyes gleaming joyously and his big fists clenched.

‘Any more?” he inquired pleasantly. “Come right
along; don’t be bashful. Nobody else wants to try.
for a good cigar? Waugh! There’s nothing to this. .
I could toss you runts around all night and not start
the perspiration.”

>

There was no answer, nor any other sound save the
rapid breathing of the shrinking crowd, who gazed at
him in awe-struck silence. Buckhart bent and picked
up the bag he hdd dropped when the fracas began.

“All right, don’t, then,” he jeered.
and leave you to your diversions, whatever they may
His lids

“T’m going now,

“If my pard, Dick Merriwell, shows up in this

any such foolishness, I'll come back to-morrow, and

 

all: '

| granted.

 

  

WEEKLY.

19

three to what'll be coming to you then. Just stow
that into your nuts and keep it here, ‘cause I mean ex-
By-by, you bunch of

actly what I say, and then some.

candy kids. Next time you dope out a little game like

this, get wise to. what you're up against before you
start in.”
He turned deliberately,

hall, opened the door, and stepped out into the swiftly

walked through the narrow
falling’ darkness. As he hurried through the tunnel
he chuckled a little at the thought of the consternation
Then the chuckle ceased with
amazing suddenness, and he stopped abruptly on the

he had left behind him.

sidewalk.

Merriwell had left New Haven that afternoon on
Apparently he had not yet
shown up at the clubhouse in search of the mythical
Cohen. Where, ~ How
putting in the time since his arrival in New York?

\

the two-o’clock train.

then, was he?

CHAPTER X.

THE PUZZLE DEEPENS,

The Texan wheeled westward. Walking slowly to-
he turned this question over in his

Tompkins Square, he stopped

ward Broadway,

mind. Reaching
anew

“By thunder!
phatie-tone that a ragged, sharp-faced newsboy heard

> he exclaimed aloud,

it and scampered up.
“Carry your bag, mister?” he shrilled, with a per-
fectly serious face.
“What’s that?” growled Buckhart absently.
- “Carry your bag for a dime,” the urchin repeated.
Buckhart grinned. The bag was an unusually small
one of the sort which holds about enough for going
away overnight, and Brad had been swinging it from
two fingers with quite as much ease as a lady carrying
a shopping bag at her wrist.
“Do I look that helpless?
chuckle.
Here’s

” he inquired, with a

a nickel for you.” | :

The boy caught it deftly, muttered his thanks, and |

sped off, leaving the Texan to digest the new and ex-
tremely unpleasant possibility which had just occurred
to him.

How did he know that Dick was in New York at
From the beginning ‘he had taken every, rything for
He had assumed that his friend had has-

had he been

in such an em-

“Beat it, and try to rope in-somebody else. —

  

          
       
         
   
      
| niga aye ciannaeenr ert ipec ae ALT Be) egret are roe

  
 
  
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
  
 

 
  

20

tened on in reply to Cohen’s letter of appeal, and he
was still inclined to think that this was at the bottom
of the mystery. But in reality he was far from cer-
tain.

As he resumed his walk slowly westward, he tried
to place in his mind the various features of the case
which were fixed and sure beyond peradventure.

Dick had, certainly left New Haven suddenly and
unexpectedly on business, which he had described as
most important and about which he had been decidedly
reticent.

He had left behind him in their rooms the letter pur-
porting to come from Joe Cohen, but which Brad had
learned to be a fake. If that letter was not the cause

of his hurried departure, what was?
Dick had not taken the train specified in the letter,
and for that very reason he had apparently escaped
_ the snare which had been laid for him. ,
“By jingo!” exclaimed Brad suddenly. “I wonder
if he could have taken the two o’clock. When he didn’t
find apy one to meet him, perhaps he phoned Joe at
his offige on a chance of getting him. If that’s

what he’s done, I’m the goat.’ He’d find out right away

Say!

_ that the thing was a fake, and would take the next
train back to New Haven. That sounds some good to
me, but I reckon the drinks are on little Bradley this

 

 

time. Where's a phone, I wonder.”

 

 

He did not find one until he had reached Fourth
i Avenue, where a sign outside of a cigar store attracted
his attention. Diving in, he made for the instrument
at once. Though he’ feared it was too late, he looked
: up the number of Cohen’s office and called it. There

¥

_ other end of the wire.
“Weil?”

  

hart inquired.

  

~ “Yes!” The word was snapped out like the crack

of a revolver.

99

“Well, don’t get excited about it,” the Texan

  

Mr. Cohen. He’s not there, 1 suppose?’

_ “No, he’s not.”

 

was a long wait, followed by an impatient voice at the.

“This the Harmsworth Banking Company?” Buck-_

TIP TOP. .WEEKLY;

“Can you give me his house address?”

A number on West Eighty-third Street jangled in
Brad’s ear, and was followed instantly by the click as
the unknown individual hung up the receiver.

“Short, sweet, and to the point,” murmured Buck-
hart. “I wouldn’t have his disposition for money.
Maybe he’s working overtime, though. That would
account for it.”

With some’ difficulty he located the Eighty-third
Street number, which was an apartment house, only
to learn that Cohen was not expected until about ten
o'clock.

“That’s settled,” he muttered, as he left the instru-
ment.

Paying the tolls, he left-the store and walked slowly
up to Fourteenth Street and thence to Broadway.

As he stood on the curb waiting for the traffic to
pass, his eye caught the sign of a telegraph office across
the way, and he hastened over. Ina very few minutes
a message to Jim Graham had been dispatched, asking
the captain of the varsity to phone him at once at the »
Occidental Hotel. Brad was soon clinging to the strap
of an uptown Broadway car.

It was after seven when-he reached the hotel, raven-
ously hungry. For a minute or two he debated
whether or notito take a room, finally deciding against
it. If he found, as he hoped, that Dick was even now
back in New Haven, there would be no necessity for

spending the night in New York. So he checked his

bag, left word at the desk that he was expecting a mes- ~ f

sage from New Haven, and made his way into the
restaurant.

Here hie tried to forget his worries and enjoy the
bountiful meal he had ordered, and he succeeded for
the most part, though every time a page appeared
chanting the name of a guest, he started up only to
find that some one else was wanted.

He finished leisurely and returned to the lobby, |
where he had been sitting for nearly half an hour be-

fore his call came. i

/

Jim Graham was distinctly pettish. With the let-

down from his first very natural fear that something |.

. } ‘ > ' t {
serious had happened to Merriwell, he was unques-.

—s
“

_

 

   

i Ag

      
       
   
   
       
   

 

 

 
     
      
 
    
    
    
      
    
   
 

Lie eee

PS ‘
} rte tionably short tempered. He had received Buckhart’s

~~

| first wire just before supper, and characterized it at
| once as the vaguest, most idiotic message which had
ever been sent; it told absolutely nothing.

Brad chuckled and then put his question about Dick.

Instantly Graham’s tone changed.

| “ere?” he exclaimed. “No, of course not. Great

4 heavens, Brad! Do you mean to say you don’t know
te where he is? I thought you were with him. But
| what's the trouble? What's taken you both to New
r York? Can’t you tell me anything?”

| Briefly the Texan explained that it was Dick’s busi-
He
tried to cheer the downcast captain, though he himself

| ‘ness and that he seemed to want it kept’ quiet.

was far from cheerful, and ended the conversation by
saying that he would do his very best to find the miss-
ing man, and would wire or phone the instant he had

any news.

 

Ai He came out of the booth, his face somewhat trou-
_ bled.

“Theory number two smashed,”

 

he murmured.

“He’s evidently staying overnight with Cohen, or, at

  

least, they’re having dinner together. ‘That accounts

 

_ for Joe’s being away, of course. Well, there’s nothing

 

 

 

for it but an hour’s wait. It’s only nine now.”

__, The hour. proved to be one of the longest the Texan
had ever remembered, though he did ‘use part of it by
‘registering and taking his bag to the room which was
assigned him; for he would be unable now to return
to New Haven that night, Once in a while he thor-
oughly enjoyed the lights and bustle and life of a big

hotel, but to-night they had no charms for him.

But everything has an end, and ten o’clock struck
at last. Deliberately, Buckhart let another fifteen. min-

  

utes go by in order to spare himself a disappointment

 
 

if Cohen did not return home promptly. Then he pro-
ceeded to the telephone and called the number. In

a couple of minutes a familiar voice answered.

 
 

_ “That you, Joe?” the Texan asked eagerly. “This

is Buckhart. . ‘Yes, ran down this afternoon.

  

noon? . . . Oh, you haven't.”

  

Say, Joe, have you seen anything of Dick this after-

er en

may ET gee es

  

WEEKLY. 21

look in his eyes. When Cohen finished speaking he

hesitated an instant before replying. Instinctively he
felt that the fewer people who knew of his chum’s trip
to New York! the better Dick would be pleased. Since
Cohen knew nothing about it, nothing would be gained
by telling him.

“Yes, he’s in town,’ he went on at last. “I just

thought he might have run in to see you this after-'

noon. He hasn’t—er—showed up yet, and I was be-

ginning to wonder some where he was. . . . Hotel
Occidental. Why, sure, if we have time. I

rather reckon, though, that we'll be hiking back early.

Yes, fine and dandy. How’s everything with
you? That’s good. Coming up to see the old
burg pretty soon, aren’t you? . . . Be sure you do.
Well, by-by.

He dropped the receiver into place listlessly and sat

Be good.”

there in the booth for some minutes without moving.
The somewhat mechanical smile which had been the
unconscious accompaniment to his jocular talk with
Joe vanished the instant that talk had finished, leaving
his face worried and perplexed.

“He hasn’t been near Joe to-day,’ he muttered.
“Where in thunder is he? and how am I going to find
him?”

: CHAPTER XI.
LIGHT (AT LAST.

The Texan did not pass a very restful night. It was
long after midnight before he finally forced himself to
stop thinking and fell into an uneasy slumber.

Rising rather early, he took his plunge, dressed, and
was one of the first down for breakfast.

He was decidedly at a loss to know what to do next.
With no hint of a clew to guide him in his search, he
felt as if he were up against it. He still clung to the
belief that the decoy letter was the underlying cause

for his chum’s disappearance, and, as he sat in/the

—

lobby after breakfast, he tried to figure out the chances _

of Dick’s having fallen into the trap laid for him.

It did not seem possible that Merriwell could have

‘

Vtaue

PO a AR My NR he ad OR Rae Gl, WE

appeared at the Tenth Street clubhouse before he did-

  
    

    
 

 
   
   
   
    

ey

   

      
    

 
    

       
      
   
      
     
    

     
ee

here?”

- grinned.

22 7he a OF

that afternoon. The surprise of the men there at the
appearance of a stranger when they were plainly ex-
pecting Merriwell was too genuine to admit of such a
thing. But Dick might very easily have been delayed
from some cause or other and shown up there after
Brad had departed.

The Texan, therefore, determined to make another
trip down there and go over the joint from top to bot-
tom. It was the only possibility which occurred to
him, and anything was better than sitting around won-
dering what to do.

A few minutes later he was seated in the corner 3
a downtown Broadway ‘car listlessly watching the
throngs of passing people on the sidewalk, his mind
busy planning how he should proceed when he ‘reached
the end of his journey.

Somewhere along the twenties there was a momen-
tary block which nro the car to a standstill directly
Opposite the opening of a side street. Then, just as
the signal to go ahead was given, Brad saw a man
hurry out of that street and run\toward the curb as
if he had intended to take the car.

He missed it and drew back to wait for the next
one, which was following closely, but the Texan leaped
to his feet with a gasp of incredulous amazement.

The man was Dick Merriwell! f

Buckhaft tore open the door and leaped off reck-
lessly. He had been carried almost to the’ next cor-
ner, but, whirling around, he tore back to where he
had seen his chum and grabbed him just, as he was
about to step into a waiting car.

“You old varmint!”” he cried joyfully, removing

Dick from the step by main force and almost carrying,

him to the sidewalk. “A right fine lot of trouble

you've given us,”

Merriwell, recovering swiftly from his astonish-
ment at being thus assaulted and swept off his feet so

unexpectedly, recognized the Texan with an exclama-

tion of surprise.

“Brad! he cried. “What on earth are you doing

_ “Seerns to me I ought to be asking that?” Buckhart

“You've had me worried a-plenty, pard.

‘’

WEEKLY.

But it’s all right now. I don’t know how you've

escaped that gang, but you seem to have done it. I
reckon\you were on your way there now. Don't do
it. The letter’s a fake.”

hake t., “Letter?”

“Yes, the letter from Joe Cohen asking you to come

Dick repeated blankly.
on at once. It’s a frame-up to get you away from
New Haven and. keep you away till after the game.”
Merriwell looked at his chum keenly to make sure
he was not joking, but the Texan had never been more
earnest. Dick shrugged his shoulders resignedly.
“T haven't the remotest idea what you're talking
about,”’ he said quietly.
Buckhart’s jaw dropped, and his eyes widened.
“Do you mean to say that you didn’t read that letter
from Joe which I found open in tl the sitting room after
you'd gone?” he gasped.
“First time I’ve heard of ‘it,’ Dick returned
“What's the trouble with Joe?”
2 “That’s what all

Some low-down, onery coyotes

promptly.
“Nothing, Brad ‘said dazedly.
the rumpus is about.
cooked up this scheme to keep you out of the game on
They forged

the letter asking you———_ But here it is; you can read

Saturday so that Williams would win.

it for yourself.”
He started to fish around in his pocket, but Dick
stopped him. |
“Show it to me on the car,” he said,-stepping out

and signaling one which was approaching.

ae ve got

to get down to Washington Square in a hurry.” am
Without comment, the Texan followed him, and |
when they were ensconced in a corner of the car he
produced the decoy letter. .
Dick read it through: in silence, but when he folded ©
it up his face was stern and his mouth hard. |
“And you say there’s nothing in this?” he asked

quietly. “How’d you find out?”

Buckhart explained briefly, telling of his return to 4
the rooms to find out why Dick had not shown up on.
the field, and of his discovery of the three letters there:
He produced- the warning note, which Merriwell ex-—
amined carefully, and. went on to narrate his visit ‘to
the East Side Athletic Club and what had occurred

 

 
iP tor

“Of course, when I found the letter open on the
“T supposed that was what had

It jibed all right

table,’ he concluded,
taken you hotfoot to New York.
‘with the note you left, and I allowed you'd forgotten
the other in your hurry.”

~Merriwell said

“Never saw it until this minute,”

calmly. “How it came to be there and open I haven't
an idea.”
“Then what under the sun are you doing here?”

asked the bewildered Texan.
Dick smiled.

ss
*

I. “That’s not exactly my secret,” he explained. “I
i think, though, that the person to whom it belongs will
a ‘gratify your curiosity very shortly.”

1p Buckhart had to be content with that. He knew
it the utter futility of trying to persuade his chum to

tell something he had made up his mind not to tell,

and so he waited events with ill-concealed impatience,

oa as a
a pie we ©

pe Fo)

spending the time in giving further details of his ad-
ventures, and retailing a little of the consternation
which Merriwell’s sudden departure had created among

: m the members of the varsity. vas

  
  
 

Avenue and walked down to Washington Square,

  

where Dick led the way to the entrance of an apart-

  

-ment house, the puzzled Texan following him silently.

  

§
Brad was still more amazed, when they alighted on

 
  

the third floor, to see Dick push open a door and enter

 

    

without hesitation. As he stepped into the narrow hall

   

after his friend, he was reduced to a speechless condi-

  

‘tion by the sound of a woman’s voice from the front

 
  

“Well, it’s about time you appeared.
about sending out a search warrant for you,”

- Dick laughed.

i “T’d have been on time, but I was held.up on Broad-
es | way by a woolly cow-puncher from Texas,” he chuck-
a : : td, brought him along so that you could put the

blame on him.”

  

We were just

   
   
   
  
  
   

      
     
   

  

!’ Brad exclaimed. “Well, I'll be hanged!’

Transferring at Eighth Street, they got os at Fifth

I was thinking about.

    

WEEKLY. 23

the chair where she had been sitting and advanced
with outstretched hands.
” she smiled.

‘Well, this is a surprise, “Tm awfully

glad to see you, Brad.”’

“So am I, June,” the Texan gasped. ‘And you, t60,
Chet.”

He grasped the hand of Chester Arlington, a clean-
cut young fellow, who came forward from the win-
dow. Then he looked again at the girl.

“but Dick

“T didn’temean to butt in,” he stammered ;
nevér said where he was taking ED
“You're not butting in at all,’ June retorted em-

phatically. “It’s splendid to see you again. But how
do you happen to be in New York?’
Dick put in before the

hustled on last night to save

“That's a long story, June,”
ee

me from a conspiracy.”

/
Texan could speak.

The girl’s eyes widened with surprise, and Merri-
well hastily explained the details of the scheme to keep
him out of the game.

“Curious coincidence, wasn’t it?’ he commented,
when the indignation of June and her brother had
subsided.) “The plotters overlooked just one thing,

however: They realized, of course, that I knew
Cohen’s handwriting too well for them successfully to
forge an entire letter, and so they wrote it on a type-
letters are written. I
did—that Joe can't

All his typed letters are

writer, just as some of Joe’s

as I

 

don’t suppose they knew
use a machine to save his life.
dictated. He! might pick out an epistle with one fin-.
ger, but what man jn his alleged position would stop to
do that when he could scrawl the letter by hand in a.
tenth the time? So you see, even if I had read the let-
ter, I should, probably, have smelled a rat.”

He hesitated an instant and glanced at Chester Ar-
lington, :
“Brad is somewhat curious to know what really did

bring me to New York,” he smiled. “I didn’t tell him,
because I wasn’t sure how you'd feel about it and
whether you wanted any one to know.”

“Of course I do,”

shouldn’t have minded Brad, anyway; it was the others

Arlington said quickly.  “T

Anyhow, it’s all over nogy.”

- He turned to the wondering Texan.

 
 

24 TIP TOP

“The whole business is perfectly absurd now,” he
explained ; “but it had me worried like the mischief
for a while. You see, day before yesterday I had
some valuable securities to take from the office to,the
bank. I didn’t know what was in the package, but,
of course, got the usual itemized receipt and turned
it in when I got back. I hadn’t been out of the boss’
private office two minutes when he called me back and
wanted to know what had become of the fifty-thou-
sand-dollar bond which was not down on the receipt.
It was news to me, for I’d seen nothing of it. The
thing was negotiable and as good as gold. They
phoned the bank, but nothing was known about it
there. :

“Well, towtake a long story short, while he didn’t
actually accuse me of taking it, Weatherbee intimated
as much, and said that I was responsible for its loss.
You can imagine what a state of mind I was in when
I got home. Such an accusation would ruin me. June
was here for a short visit, and she got even more’
worked up. It was her suggestion that she write and
ask Dick to come on and help us out. I didn’t want
to. I knew that there was an important game on Sat-
urday, for we had planned to run up and see it; and
I knew how much it would mean for Dick to break
away just now. All the same, June wrote, and, of
course, Dick hustled on at once and showed up here

just before dinner last night, I knew he would. He’s

’

 

a perfect brick the way he sticks to his friends
“Rot!” interrupted Merriwell. “Any fellow would
do the same thing. Cut it out, Chet, for goodness’
sake.”
“All right, I will,” laughed Arlington. “But Ill
not forget it in a hurry. Well, we spent the evening
talking things over and planning our campaign to-
day, but about half-past ten who should telephone hut
old Weatherbee. He’d found the blasted bond in ie
pocket of the coat he wore day before yesterday.
Couldn’t remember putting it there or anything about
it. He gets those absent-minded streaks, you know.
He was positively abject; crawled all over the place.
for having had such a suspicion. But [didn’t cotton
_ to him for a cent. I’m going to leave him the first of
% the month. [ had an offer about a week ago which [| -

FRE AILIIO

WEEKLY.

 

was considering, and this cinches it. I don’t propose <
to stay where I’m not trusted any more than that. So :
you see the thing has cleared itself up in an absurdly 1%
simply way, and I feel like the deuce to have brought
Dick down on a wild-goose chase.”

oe ” . : ‘Ty? °
“Yo needn’t,”’ Merriwell smiled. “It’s given me a

chance to see you both, and that’s worth a good many i.
trips. to New York.” "
Though he spoke in the plural, he happened to be *
looking at June, who flushed a little atthe expression . j
in his eyes. Chester pulled out his watch. P
“Well, I must be off,” he said. ‘I’m late now, but J ‘ 4
wanted to stay until you came back from your errand 4 :
uptown.” : | a é
“T reckon we'll be able to make the ten-thirty train &
back, Brad,’ Dick remarked. ‘So we may as well go ‘
along.” i ae
Buckhart assented, and followed Arlington into the 1 i.
hall, where he had left his hat. | . | ,
Dick lingered behind. | | a 1

“Good-by,” he said quietly, taking the girl’s hand.

 

“Tt isn’t for long, though, for I'll see you on Satur-

day. { ) see 1
“Yes, of course,’ she murmured. “I’m crazy to see ae

ae ae

New Haven and—and everything again.” b ORE:

She hesitated an instant and dropped her eyes. Dick

 

still held her hand rather tightly.

 
 

“It was splendid of you to come on this way to

 
 

 

7 ar
help us out,” she said, ina low tone. “Til never for- |

  

get it.”

  
 

“Surely you didn’t have any doubts of my respond- y

 

ing to your appeal, did you?” Dick asked quietly.

 
 

“No-o, I can’t say I did. You see I know how true

 
 

you always aré to your old friends.” ,

 

 

She raised her eyes suddenly to his. :

f

 
 

“T do hope you'll find out who the wretches are that —
tried to play that beastly trick on you,” she said hotly, -
her cheeks mantling with an indignant flush. “It
makes me wild to think of it. They ought to be put
in prison—or something.” | ; |

“T'll try,’ Dick smiled. “I rather think we'll un-—
earth them somehow. But I really must go, Good-by_

 
 
  

          
      
 

  

again—until to-morrow.”

 

   
 

LE cere.

He pressed the slim fingers, turned to make sure
they were quite alone, and then—and then he turned
and hurried out after his friends, who were waiting
with some impatience at the elevator.

When he had gone, June walked over to the win-
dow and pressed her face against the pane. Pres-
ently, as the three men issued from the building and
hurried up the street, the girl’s eyes following them

eagerly. But, though there were three of them, she

saw but one, and long after they had disappeared she .

waited there gazing down into the little park, a curi-
ous, far-away look in her eyes and her lips curving in
a faint smile.

CHAPTER AN:
SHATTERED HOPES.

The day was perfect and the grand stands were

crowded by enthusiasts eager to witness the conflict
_ between Yale and Williams. Many were the rumors
| of the prowess of the latter team, especially the won-
derful new pitcher, and there was a consensus of opin-
jon that the Elis would not find v ictory easy.
In the third row, directly behind the plate, sat Mor-
gan Grath and Dallas Baker. Their faces were smil-
ing, and apparently they had no doubt of the result of
the game. Both had put up every cent they could
"scrape together on the opposing team, and were look-
‘ing forward confidently to a clean-up which would
set them on their feet again.

“No word from your friends at the club, I suppose?”

aker inquired, as his eyes ranged the field, where the
Williams team had just started preliminary warm-
ing up.

“No, but I haven’t expected any after that first wire

saying that everything was all right,’ Grath answered.

“Any-
ay, neither Merriwell.nor Buckhart have been seen

od suppose not,” the thin-faced junior said.

ince Thursday. It was a stfoke of pure luck the way

he Texan vanished, though I can’t understand it, my-

f. Do you suppose he could have gone off on a
™~

Grath returned carelessly. “It don't

“Perhaps,”

\

WEEKLY.

make much difference why he went so long as he’s
gone. Ah! There they come.’

A cheer arose as the little crowd of stalw art men
wearing the varsity letter issued from the trackhouse
and trotted toward the diamond. The two conspira-
tors scanned them closely to make assurance doubly
sure. Neither* Merriwell nor Buckhart were among
them.

This fact was very soon apparent to others on the
stand, and presently puzzled inquiries began to arise
on all sides.

“Where’s Merriwell?

to-day?”

Surely he’s going to pitch

“He must be there somewhere.”
“No, he’s not, nor, Buckhart, either.”

“Well, I don’t understand it. They must be on the
field.”

“Must they?” jeered Grath in his companion’s ear.

“It'll be amusing to see how the crowd takes it when

they find their pet isn’t going to show“up.”

“Won't it?”
Do you see Darrell and Crowfoot warming up over

Baker smiled. ‘‘There’ll be a riot.

there?”

A distinct feeling of uneasiness began to be noticed
among the onlookers when it became plain that the
two star men of the team were absent. All sorts of
theories were aired, but no one seemed really to know
anything. What had happened, and why were they
absent at this\of all games?”

All at once a shout. arose, followed by a burst of

cheering. ‘. es

>

“What | is it?’ d Seclatnned Grath, looking around be-

wilderedly. ‘What are they yelling for?”

Be

His companion did not answer. His face was fixed

on two figures who had just issued from the track
house and were rapidly approaching the diamond.
Grath, following the direction of his gaze, gave a gasp
and turned pale.

“It can’t be them!” he muttered incredulously.
“Have I got ’em again, Dal? They look like——”

Baker swallowed hard. His face was set in hard
|
lines, and in his eyes was an expression of bitter dis-

‘appointment.

nila i ha sel iar his aerate ects. srl oe aber eh!

dremel d

 
   

26 TIP TOP

“They are—Merriwell and Buckhart,” he said, in

a cold, lifeless voice. “Something has happened. I

Hush!’

 

don’t understand it. I don’t see how
He broke off and gripped his companion’s knee, as

Grath burst out in a furious imprecation.
“Hush !” “Be still!

one will hear you and find out.” .

repeated Baker savagely. Some

Let us draw a veil over the souls of the two plot-
ters. Bursting with fury, which was all the more try-
ing from the necessity of denying it expression; bewil-
dered and amazed; aghast at the thought of the utter
financial ruin which would be their portion, they saw
Merriwell and his chum take their places with the
others, who greeted them as if nothing out of the way
had occurred.

They could not know, of course, that Dick had
_ planned his dénouement purposely, in order that the un-
known traitors would:suffer to the utmost where they
would. most feel. it—their pockets. Since their return
from New York, he and Brad had both kept out of
sight, and none but members of the nine, sworn to
secrecy, knew that they were in New Haven.

They had remained in the track house when the oth-
ers went out on the field more as a joke than anything
else. Dick was sure that the plotters would attend the
game, and he wanted to give them as much of a shock
as was possible. He succeeded.

For more than an hour the two sat there, not daring
to leave the stand for fear of exciting suspicion, and
_ witnessed as pretty an exhibition of brainy pitching
as Dick Merriwell had ever given. They saw, with
gritting teeth and sweat-moistened brows, the Wil-
liams team overcome and vanquished. ‘They heard
the thunderous burst of voices which sent Merriwell’s
name echoing across the field. And, when at last the
game was over and they could leave the stand, they
were positively. weak from the strenuous emotions

which they had been obliged to smother and conceal.
In another part of the stand June Arlington and her
brother looked on with eager enthusiasm, and when the
last inning was over they both hastened into the dia-
mond, where Dick was lingering,
“You were perfectly splendid,”

yy es bright as stars. “I never saw you pith better.”

the girl cried, ia —well’s theipeiite Work; or,

  

WEEKLY.

 

  

The varsity pitcher bent in an exaggerated bow.

“You overwhelm me,” he smiled, as he stood erect.

“But it was abject fear that kept me keyed up. You're
such a baseball fan, June, that [ know you'd give me
a roasting if I fell down.”

The girl laughed and was about to make some jok-

 

ing rejoinder when a student approached from be-

hind. a°

° { vs . * os
“Beg pardon, Merriwell,’ he said. “I just wanted ae
to ask you if you got that letter I left in your rooms | °

the other day. It was delivered to me by aoe and -
I opened it before I saw that it was yours.’

Turning, Dick arisiabd Richard Merrifield, a
sophomore whom he knew slightly, and whose simi-

larity of name had more than once caused mix- Be in

 

the matter of letters and so forth.
“Oh, yes, *

There wasn’t any one in the rooms when you left it,

he returned quickly, “I got it, all right.

 

was there?”
“No, I put it on the table, meaning to speak to you
about it, but I haven’t run. across you till to-day.”

 

“Tt wasn’t im-

 

“Thanks very aiees Dick smiled.

a

 

portant, anyway.”
When the sophomore had Vevsbedde Dick's eyes mike

 
 

June’s. si
‘lve

 

“So that was the reason,” she said quickly.

  

been wondering how that part of it came about.”

 
 

THE END.

  

Next week you will have a corking baseball story.
with a liberal sprinkling of the spice of excitement in_
it. The practice and the work on the diamond are
not all the things that go on in the course ofa baseball
season. The players are human beings with all the
frediltjes of their kind, and some of the things that hap- i
pen on the inside are quite as exciting, if not more SO, |
Ges the ste vom in the field. The way ies whic

  
  
  
  
   
  
 
  

eS ry ae

  
  

siege as a manager ever stacked up against will
wrt) you nie a new interest in the Same, and show

 
  

 
   
 
       

Shortstop.” : No, 788. Out May 2oth.

   
wegen a A ree os
Eitechn aoe eee ae

IR “POR: WEERLY.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

NEW YORK, May 13, 1911.

 

 

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STREET & SMITH, Publishers,
79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York City.
%

Cia E Smitn,
Grorcg C . Smita,

} Proprietors.

 

HOW FRENCH DETECTIVES WORK.

\
Every good detective has, to some extent, his own way of

working, which is varied, of course, according to the circum-_
_ stances. As a rule, however, the Parisian agent has a freer hand,
and works in a bold, self-reliant manner. This follows from his -

- isolation ; he is less helped by informatién received, and too badly
paid to buy it; so he is forced to acquire it by his own exertions.
A favorite method is to assume the disguise of a workingman
or hawker. And here it may be said that the use of an elaborate
make-up exists only in books. Every zealous hand has his own
little wardrobe, and the simpler the better; the most effectual
_ disguises are those which best assimilate the wearer to common
life. The Parisian has two in particular—the blouse and the
workman’s apron. “Shadowing” is always done by two men, one
some little way behind the other. Each carries a change of dress,
to wit, a blouse worn sashwise round the waist, and a casquette
carried inside the shirt. The moment the first man fancies him-
self perceived, he gives place to the second, and, dropping behind,
slips the blouse over his jacket and exchanges his felt hat for the
casquette. Thus metamorphosed, he resumes his place.

DO ANIMALS BLUSH?

Several of the higher apes share with a man the involuntary
habit of blushing. The blush of an ape extends over a larger
portion of the body than that of a human being. Any sudden
shock, or pleasure, or surprise, or a fit of anger will bring out a
vivid blush on the face of an ape. It may be said that all ani-
mals which perspire through the skin are more or less capable

_of blushing, for a flush on the skin is simply the result of a rush |

of blood, due to relaxation of the muscles controlling the vedsels
underlying the skin.

,

) KNOCKING ABOUT.

It is a good thing for a young man to be “knocked about in
he world,” though his soft-hearted parents may not think so.
Il youths, or, if not all, certainly nineteen-twentieths of the
sum total, enter life with a surplusage of “eonceit. The sooner
they are relieved of it the better. If, in measuring themselves
th wiser and older men than they are, they discover that it is
nwarranted, and get rid of it gracefully of their own accord,
well and good; if not, it is desirable for their own sakes that it
penociced out of them.

A DESPERATE ACT.

By HENRY BARTON.

It is many years since the events that I am about to relate
happened. It is the only instance, I think, during a long career,
in which my life was in any great peril; an instance savoring
more of melodrama than actual life, but thrilling enough while
it lasted.

It was a case in which I owed my escape to an act so desperate'
as to warrant the idea that quiet and peaceable citizens, when »

interfered with, are prone to be as dangerous as the most lawless
of men.

I was a youngster of two and twenty at the time, reading law
in the office of a prominent lawyer.
change fot me when old Fogson called me into his office one
morning and informed me that he had business of a private and
pressing nature, which necessitated my taking a traveling trip at
once.

“T want you to take this money to Mr. Warren’s,” said he, in-
dicating a pile of bank notes which lay upon’the table. “Count
it.

I counted through the notes, which were of all values, from
five dollars to fifty.

“How much?” inquired the old man.

“Thirteen hundred,” said I.

“Just so,” he replied. “From this moment you are responsible
for it. Put the notes in that wallet, and don’t lose sight of them
till you have handed them over to Mr. Warren in person, and
taken a receipt for them. Ther e’s a train leaves at twelve-twenty,
which I want you to catch.”

I_ went off blithely, wondering what new extravagance’ our
erratic client had been guilty of that he should want the money
in such haste and in such a shape. I thrust the wallet into my
overcoat pocket—it was too large to go mto any other—and,
arriving at the station, took a ticket for Dayton, the nearest
station to the residence of Mr. Warren.

We didn’t travel very fast in those days, and I was cramped
and chilled with sitting by the time I reached my station. The
landscape was gray and indistinct, with the damp.discomfort of a
November day, as I stood on the bleak, deserted platform, arid
watched the train depart.

I expected to find a vehicle of some sort awaiting me, but I

was disappointed, and after standing and gazing around for a

few seconds, I followed the station master as he was about to
enter his ‘office, and asked him the way to Hazelton.

“Hazelton, ” he eRe slowly; “it’s a good twelve miles from
here.”

“T suppose there’s been “nobody bfre to meet me?” I suggested.

He shook his head.

“T must hire a conveyance of some sort, then,’ said I. “Where
can I get one?”

The station master meditated.

“You won't get anything of the kind about here, sir,” said he.
“If you take my advice, you'll put up here and walk over to-
morrow. It’s a clean place, though it’s small.”

This would never do; my orders were imperative.

“Is it an easy road ?”

“The road’s easy enough,” was the reply. “You take that road
leading up the hill there for about two miles, till you come to an
empty cottage. Go up the lane by the side of that, and you'll

strike oe rer: You might, perhaps, get a wagon at the -

Cauliflo Tavern there; but if not, it’s as straight as you can
go after that.”
I thanked him, and buttoning up my coat passed through the
office, which was warm and cheerful with a huge fire, into the
ad beyond, and commenced my journey. I was a good walker,
and besides that, I had made up my mind that I would be able

‘to get a vehicle of some sort at the Cauliflower.

By the time I reached the cottage indicated by the station
master it was pitch dark, and I had not met a soul. The night
was cold and raw, and neither moon nor stars were visible. By
walking round the cottage I found the lane, and then increased
my speed, with a view of getting as quickly as. possible to the
inn, for the large sum of money in my pocket made me uneasy.

In my endeavors, I must have crossed the highroad without
knowing it, for by and by I found myself on broken ground,
apparently ‘of a plowed field, and becoming uneasy, I tried to
retrace my steps and get back to the station. It was useless; I
could not see two yards in front of me, and at length I aban-
doned the attempt, and pushed bi doggedly across the ae

‘ hoping every moment to find some habitation.

It was quite a pleasant —

peti

i

Cr
adit cee

eisai!

 
TIP TOP

I walked for hours across what I afterward found to be a
large stretch of marshy land, and | was beginning to think of all
the tales I had heard of travelers walking in a circle and return-
ing to their starting point, when | saw in the distance a faint
light.

My spirits revived, and forgetting my fatigue, I stepped out
briskly toward it. As I got closer I saw that the light came
through a dirty blind drawn across a small window; and walking
up to the door, which was just discernible, | rapped smartly upon
it with my knuckles.

The sound of voices inside stilled.

“Come in,” said somebody gruffly.

I raised the latch, and entering, found myself in the rough
barroom of a wayside tavern. A huge wood fire burned and
q@ackled on the hearth, around which sat three swarthy-looking
men and a woman.

“Good evening,” said I.

“Evening, sir,” said the oldest-looking man of the three, whom
I took to i the landlord, as he put down a weather-beaten gun
he was examining. ;

“I want to get to Hazelton,” said 1; “have you got a wagon of
any kind I could have?” ,

“I’ve not,” said the landlord.

“How far is it?” 1 inquired. The landlord looked hazily at
his companions.

“*Bout eighteen miles,” said one of them.

“I’ve lost my way, then,” said I. “I’ve walked from Dayton
station; I can’t possibly get to Hazelton to-night. Can I have a
bed and supper here?” ;

“Of course you can,” said the woman.
sir.”

Her manner was very civil, but her appearance was far from
alluring,

She was tall and extremely stout; her lilac print apron being
apparently tied around her waist by guesswork. Her gray hair
was drawn carelessly into a tight and unseemly knot at the back
of her head, and she leered at me amiably as she walked briskly
forward with a chair.

The men moved their chairs back, and the landlady, planting
mine full in front of the fire, assisted me to remove my over-
coat. I would cheerfully have dispensed with her assistance, but
fearful of arousing suspicions as to its contents, I raised no ob-
jections. ,

“I'll take it up to your room,” said the landlady, throwing it
across her arm. ;

“Oh, don’t trouble, I’ll take it up’ whén I go,” said I uncon-
cernedly. er ie

“It’s all right; I’ve got to go up there to see to your bed,” she
replied, and I heard her panting up the stairs.

When she was gone | took stock of my companions, and the
more I saw of them the less I liked them. Both the customers
were rough-looking, and neither was at any great pains to make
himself agreeable. A brief inquiry or two concerning my jour-
ney satisfied them, and they turned their gaze from me to the
huge iron pot which was bubbling over on the fire) and from
which issued a most delicious odor.

_ For some time I sat over the fire half dozing with the camfort
and warmth of it, until the stout landlady bustled about prepar-
ing supper. We all sat down together, the landlord being by no
means inclined to pay any foolish deference to me as a paying

“Come up to the fire,

guest, but I certainly made a good meal, for the iron pot con-’

tained a savory stew, and my long day's journey had reduced me
to an almost famished condition. . Reg

Supper finished, we drew up to the fire again, and I ordered

lasses around as I sat comfortably smoking. I sat until I had

inished my pipe, and then asked for a candle, saying that my
walk had made me very tired, and asking to be called at an early
hour in the morning, so that I could continue my journey.

The landlady, taking a tin candlestick from the dresser, lighted
me up the narrow, naked stairs, and leading the way into a small
_ bedroom set the light on a painted washstand and withdrew.

‘My first glance was for my overcoat, which was hanging from
a nail in the corner of the room, and\ to my great relief, I found
the notes intact. I resolyed not to be separated from them again,
and taking them from the wallet, made them into small parcels
and distributed them about my pockets.

The room was damp and cheerless, the only furniture being the
washstand before mentioned, a broken chair, and a_ small,
- clammy-looking bed. There was no lock to the door, and no
curtain to the, window, and, after a careful inspection, I blew out
_ the candle and lay down on the bed in my clothes. PI ig

WEEKLY.

| lay for some time half dozing in chill discomfort, until I was
aroused /by the sounds of shutting up downstairs. Doors.were
shut ‘and bolted, and I waited lazily to hear the sound of my
hosts’ feet coming upstairs to bed, for | wanted to order a stiff
glass of brandy and water, as a protection against the damp,
which seemed to be eating into my bones; but they were so long
in coming that I lost patience, and, quitting my bed, felt my way
downstairs in my stocking feet.

A light was still burning in the barroom, and I was about to
enter, when, through a small hole in the red curtain which was
drawn across the glass of the dgor, I saw, to my surprise, that
the other customers were still there. All three men were sitting
by the fire almost as I had left them, conversing in low tones, and
I had just laid my hand upon the door, which stood slightly
ajar, when they spun coins in the air and bent their heads eagerly
forward with the coins covered. At the sanre moment the huge
landlady approached, and loomed over them with a face like a
dirty white mask.

“Are you going to be all night?” she asked, in a low, tremu-
lous voice,

The men watched each other suspiciously, and uncovered the
coins.

“It’s you, Jim,” said the landlord, in a voice of great relief.

“Mind this,” replied Jim, in a shaking voice, “we're all in it;
one’s as bad as the other.”

There was silence.

“D’ye hear?” hissed Jim fiercely. “We're all in it, I say! I’m
doing the dirty work—that’s all.”

“Of course,” said the landlord soothingly.
my knife to do it with.” ;

“He’s dropped here all unknown,” said the landlady, speaking
rapidly. “It’s. right out of his way for Hazelton. Nobody saw
him or spoke to him. There’s more than a thousand dollars.”

“You shall have

“Tf he wakes and shows fight, you've all got to lend a hand,”, * é

said the man again. “Mind that.”

“Of course we will,” saml the landlady. “Give him a little while
longer. I'll go up and see whether he is asleep.” _

She moved toward the door, and, with my heart beating wildly,
I moved stealthily from it, and noiselessly darting up the stairs
gained my room and flung myself down on the bed, with my ears
strained to the utmost. ea

Things were so strange and quiet that I thought the terrible
woman had changed her mind, when I! heard a faint breathing —

outside my door, and in order to gain as much time as possible,’ |

I cleared my throat slightly and turned over in the creaking bed.
The breathing stopped, and I heard a slight rustle pass down-
stairs.
I waited a minute, and then got off the bed and looked about
for some weapon of defense. There was not even a poker, and: |
the flimsy furniture put all ideas of barricading the door out of
the question. My sole weapon was a tiny pearl-handled knife,
my fighting weight about one hundred and thirty-five pounds.
For some minutes I was half mad with the horror of my posi- —
tion as | sought wildly for some plan of escape. e
[ tried the window, but even if I could have undone the rusty
fastenings without noise and got my body through it, I should
only have tumbled onto the hard ground outside the barroom.
Then I went to the door and listened. All quiet below. They
were evidently waiting. a Ae
At the risk of being detected by anybody lurking at the foot
of the stairs, I crossed the landing and entered the room opposite’
in quest of a poker. The bedroom was as dreary as my own,
with a huge! four-post bedstead in the center; but a large lamp —
was burning, presumably to warm the room. Pee
As I stood there, shivering with cold and fear, I heard them
moving in the room below, and set my ‘teeth, as I thought my
time had come. Then all was silent again, and as I stood there —
one desperate means of escape occurred to me.
I crossed over to the lamp, and with trembling fingers began
to unscrew the top. Twice it squeaked. Another turn and th
pee wick, protected by the chimney, was laose in my Sea Ms
and taking up the reservoir, | poured the oil into the center of ‘

Lg

the bed. Then I removed the chimney and, throwing the lighted
wick on a dry part of the bed, softly closed the door and hastily 7
retreated to my own room, ; AE ae
‘I heard the saturated bedding catch with a muffled roar, an
from my window saw a reflection in the darkness outside. Sti

all was quiet below. I went to my door; then streaks of smok
poured out from the cracks of the door opposite on the landi

and beneath it I could see a red line. Then I heard a startle

cry from downstairs, and with no need to feign agitation, I riskec
the shout of: i) Rete pee

 

 
oa

 

LEAS TS

oe
aie
ee

“a¥

. something in his: ear.

- » man.

+.

FIP“ TOP

“Fire! Fire!”

It was answered from below, and the jandlord and his brother
ruffans came rushing up the stairs. With a powerful kick, the
landlord burst the door open, and a. dense volume of smoke and
flames came pouring out on the landing. There was no facing
it. I rushed downstairs; the lamb with the wolves.

“Get some water!’ I shouted. “Where's the water?”

They were all bewildered, but the landlord caught up a pail,
and shooting back the bolt of the door rushed out into the yard
to the pump. He came back with it half full, but by this time
the landing had begun to catch.

' The smoke filled the house, and we retreated to the yard as the
flames burst from the window. Then the landlady clutched her
husband fiercely by the shoulder and, glaring at me, whispered
That her words boded no good to me |
knew, and, trembling with excitement, | played my last card.

“Help!” I cried wildly; “fetch my overcoat., A hundred dol-
lars to the man who gets it.” :

I ran toward the house, followed by them du and, at a push
from the landlady, Jim dashed up the stairs and disappeared in
the smoke. JI gave myself up for lost, but the next minute he
was back again, black and scorched—and empty-handed.

I felt safe then, and safer still when a sturdy farmer came
galloping up and drew rein in the yard. He was joined in a short
time by others, and we stood in a knot watching the blazing inn.
One by one the spirit kegs burst and fed the roaring flames, and
in a marvelously short space of time all that was left of the inn
was a smoking, blackened ruin.

The farmer took me in for the night, but I kept my own coun-
sel, for arson is an ugly word, ahd I had no witnesses to bear
testimony to my extremity.

I rode over to Hazelton in the morning, and handed over the
money safely, réturning to the office in the afternoon. I did not
tell Fogson plainly what I had done, as I did not wish to make
him a party to it; but I have always thought the inkling I allowed
him to have was directly responsible for my rapid rise in his
good books and the business of the firm.

TRAPPED.

By H. H. STRONG.

“Are you game, Herbert?” said Val, halting under the wall.
| “As a fighting cock,” I replied stoutly. “Lead on.”

“We shall be trespassing, you know,” Val added. “Squire
Oswald is dead set against trespassers; that’s why he boarded
up the mouth of the cave. There’s nothing to tempt them now,

for few people would care to tackle the route I’m going to show.

to you, even if they knew of it. I’ve done it before, but, as |
said, it’s a trifle risky.” \

“Oh, if you're funking the job, all right,” I exclaimed dis-
gustedly. “Tell me how f am to get inside and I'll go by myself.
I’ve made up my mind to explore the cave in spite of Squire

Oswald. He had no right to shut it up. The beauties and mar-.
_ vels of nature ought not to be kept under lock ‘and key——”

“But
Not 5

_» “Umph—stop that rot!” interposed Val, with a laugh.
you're, mistaken if you fancy I’m trying to back out.
So come on!”

_ With that he clambered over the stone dyke separating Squire
_Oswald’s property from the main road, and I followed suit.
Making for the trees and bushes in the hollow, we wormed our
-way.through the tangled undergrowth until we came upon the

_ shallow stream that ran at the foot of the wooded slope. We
_ ascended the course of this brook for close upon half a mile,

_when our farther progress was stopped by a precipitous wall of
rock, At the base of this colossal rampart was the narrow

orifice from which the water issued—as it seemed, out of the

very heart of the mountain.
_ “There you are,” cried Val, pointing. “That’s the way in. Of

course, the main entrance is on the far side of the hill; this

is only the back door. There’s about ten yards of tunnel to be
crawled through before it widens out into the cavern itself.
The stream runs underground till it topples into the cave—

that's the waterfall you’re so anxious to see—and then it flows

along a deep channel across one end of the hollow and comes
out again here.”
I glanced at the hole in the crag dubiously, somehow I didn’t
rdlish.the idea of creeping up there now it had to be done.

-*fAfter a heavy rain the tunnel gets choke-full'of water,” Val
went on, turning his trousers up over his thighs. “We're lucky

WEEKLY.

in having had dry weather lately. But, I say, Herbert, what did
you do with the candle?”

“It’s in my pocket.”

“You'd best let me have it, as I’m to go first. Ive already got
the matches. We shall want a light inside, for the place is as
black as pitch. Are you ready?”

He waded out into mid-stream, under the bluff, and there
waited until I had completed my preparations. .

“Keep close to me,” he said, as we filed into the opening, “and
be careful about your foothold. These slippery stones are pre-
cious awkward to walk over.”

Like a couple of rats in a sewer—only not so easily, nor with
the same home comfort—on we went. From a diameter of five
feet at its muzzle, the passage contracted rapidly as we ad-
vanced; we were bent double during the greater part of the
journey, our backs brushing’ against the angles of the jagged
roof, our noses often within an inch of the cold, swift-flowing
current. The rock walls were dank and slimy to the toweh; the
very atmosphere seemed stifling.

Sincerely I began to repent ever venturing upon this fool-
hardy escapade, and I mentally vowed that no subterranean
Niagara, no stalactites or stalagmites on the earth or under it,
would ever tempt me to a repetition of the expldit. Had I
guessed what other adventures lay in store for me that day, most
assuredly I would have turned back there and then.

However, by dint of some rough scrambling we managed to
gain the inner end of the culvert. I could hear the gurgle of
the stream and the distant splash of the cataract, but ] could see
nothing; the huge hollow was dark as Erebus. :

“We must mind where we: tread,” said Vai. “If I recollect
rightly, there are seyeral loose rocks about here that only want
a touch to set them rolling. « Wait a minute; I'l! light the candle.”

“Hurry up, then; I’m beginning to feel a bit creepy.”

The feeble yellow flame did little to dispel the gloom, yet by
its aid we were able to make out something of our eerie sur-
roundings. We stood at the bottom of a deep trench or gully,
the sides of which rose sheer on both hands, that to the left
arching over, afar up, to form the roof of the cave, while that
on the right towered up for perhaps thirty feet, where it met the
real floor of the great vault at right angles.

“How in the world are we to_get up there?” cried I hastily.
“It’s simply impossible to climb*the front of that cliff; it’s as
steep as a house.”

“I'll show you the way presently,” replied Val. “But the won-
derful waterfall you so want to look at can be seen best from
this level. After we've rested a while ’II——— Great Heaven,
Herbert! What was that?” ;

It was a groan. A distinet, bloodcurdling groan—no doubt
about that. Close at hand, too. ‘

We gazed at each other with blanched visages, ovr teeth chat-
tering, our legs tottering under us. .

?” stuttered Vat the candle

“D-d-did you he-he-hear anything:
shaking in his hand. “A voice or—or—anything?”
Almost before the words had passed his lips the moffenful

‘moan was repeated, this time long drawn out, and rising gradu-

ally to a piteous wail. At the same moment, from behind a, flat

-bowlder in front of us, a white face came into view—a face,

coarse and haggard, its eyes bleared and wide staring.
_ Full of fear, Val and I turned and bolted for the tunnel, Val
dropping the candle in the haste of flight. Helter-skelter we |
scurried, over stones and through water, in the direction of the
circlet of white light that marked the position of the narrow
exit. Twice I stumbled to my knees, the sharp rocks barking
my shins most cruelly.; These mishaps enabled Val to get well
ahead, his flying figure being outlined indistinctly against the
faint daylight.
Suddenly I heard the clatter of falling stones, followed by a —
thud and splash that sent a thousand echoes rumbling through |
the vast hollow. Simultaneously the light of the sun was wholly
blotted out.

In his frantic rush to escape Val had incautiously started one —
of the nicely poised bowlders, which, rolling down the bed of
the stream, now lay wedged in the bottle neck of the outlet. 5

“Val! Val!” I yelled loudly, all thoughts of my own situation —
being forgotten in my dread lest he had been crushed beneath —

the ponderous weight. “Where are you? Are you hurt? Val,
Val!” | Sore Batre os

I received no answer; but behind me that awe-inspiring cry _
again rosé on the air. My terror was excessive. Oh, it was

. horrible! ps

Desperately I struggled to force my body between the edge of

the tunnel and the fallen rock; but, slim though I was, my ex

 
30 TIP EOP

ertions only resulted in a torn jacket and lacerated elbows. Nor
was my strength sufficient to move the heavy stone itself; I
tugged and strained at it with hands and shoulders until I
panted and staggered in dizzy exhaustion. Not an inch would
it budge.

In the delirium of fright I shrieked aloud again and again.
Then a prolonged silence fell upon the cave—a silence full of
unimaginable horrors.

The stillness was broken by a hoarse voice behind me
yet low and appealing in accent.

“For mercy’s sake, help me!” it murmured brokenly. “I’m
about half dead. Really I am. Don’t go for to leave me like
this here. Don’t, now, in pity’s name!”

“Who are you?” I ejaculated, taking courage at a sound
which, whatever else, was undoubtedly human. “What is the
matter with you?”

“T fell down these rocks Tuesday night, an’ I haven't been
able to stir since. I’m sure my leg’s broke. The agony, young
gentleman—the agony! Two days an’ two nights of it—an’ me
thinkin’ nobody would ever come nigh me. Oh, you won't
desert a poor fellow!”

There was an unforced ring of anguish in the man’s tones
that went to my heart. Wretched though my own plight might
be, his was certainly worse.

Groping about in the darkness, by the great good luck I
chanced to find the piece of candle which Val had cast aside. 1
was without the means, however, of obtaining a light for it.

“Yes, I’ve some matches in my pocket,” replied my unseen
companion, when I put the question. “Come over here. Walk
careful.”

Guided by the sound of his voice,»I reached him without any
disaster, and soon the candle was relit, He was half sitting, half
lying near the rock wall, his face contorted with pain, a short,
thickset, ill-seeming fellow enough. A few yards away I espied
a small canvas sack—a post-office mail bag! The sight set my
memory to work.

Three days previously the village postman, while crossing a
lonely corner of the matsh, had been attacked and stunned by
some unknown scoundrel, who had subsequently made off with
the official letter bag. $o far the police had failed to trace the
miscreant. Beyond question, MRre he lay before me.

“Yes ‘twas me done it,” the man remarked, noting my askant
glance. “It’s no use denyin’ it. 1 shall be lagged now, safe as
houses, an’ the sooner the better. I got in here same way as you
did, meanin’ to stick to the notes and vallybles in the letters an’
lie low till I na fair chance to clear off. Ah, an’ if it hadn’t

hoarse,

been for trippin\over them rocks I’d have——_ But I’m done

now; yes, I’m done now! You may fetch all the coppers you

\ please an’ nobody gladder to see ’em than me.”
I ye

“How can 1?” cried [, in distress. “That rock has blocked the
tunnel, and*it has crushed, it has killed Val. It-has killed poor
Val.’ ;

R#idly I told him of the terrible nature of our peril; we were
cut off forever from the world outside, immured as cruelly and
absolutely as if we lay forgotten in the deepest of dungeons.
No one knew of our presence there; probably no one ever would
know. We were buried alive. A lingering, appalling death by
starvation in total darkness would be our doom.

“Mercy me, young sir, you don’t say that !” exclaimed the terri-
fied ruffian. “Oh, it’s awful hard on a man. I can't stand an-
other two days of this torture; it'll drive me——”

His lamentations were interrupted by a. series of distant
crashes, followed by the snapping and’ splintering of broken
woodwork. Overhead I heard the stamp of hurrying feet; the
faint glimmer of light grew brighter moment by moment until
at last the familiar form of Robson, a lumberman, lantern in
hand, appeared on the brink of the upper level. Soon he was
joined by two stalwart sons, and—joy to my eyes ‘by Val
himself. : v4 :

Little more ‘remains to be told. By good fortune Val had been\
unharmed by, the falling bowlder, and, once in the open, away
he had dashed to the lumberman’s hut to relate his tale of terror.

Robson and his sons had ‘started: off to the rescue without delay,

making for the boarded-up entrance to the cave, whose barricade
did not long withstand the onslaught of their axes.

Eventually, the transport being one of no small difficulty, my
wretched companion was borne into the open air, and thence to
the hospital at Thursley. Here it was found necessary to ampu-
tate his leg at the knee.

On his recovery—severe though his punishment had already
- been—he was called upon to answer further for his dastardly

outrage upon the village letter carrier: :

WEEKLY. +

This is the ‘‘Get Together” Department. Here, every week, the
“Tip Top’ friends chat with the editor and with each other. . The
“Tip Top” family knows no geographical boundaries: all over the
great round earth, from Nofth to South, the members stand shoulder
to shoulder with Burt L. Standish for truth, honor, strength, courage,
and clean living. Many letters are received—letters of comradeship,
praise and friendly criticism—and while we have not sufficient space
for their immediate publication, they are all welcomed, in turn, to
their place by the fireside.

The Best.
I think Tip Top is the best weekly ever published, and I have
been reading it regularly for the last year. T. E. Woops.
Marble Falls, Tex.

Telling Others About It.

I like Tip Tor best because it is full of sense, good ways of
college, and open-country life; and it has done so much ‘for me
that | am exercising more than I was before. I am telling other
people about the common sense of Frank and Dick Merriwell
and the other fellows, and so on. B. SKRZYPKOWIAK.

Buffalo, N. Y.

Would Exchange Cards. /

I take great pleasure in writing to you, and telling how much
good reading I obtain from your paper. I would like to ex-
change post cards with some of your readers and hear what
they have to say. Thanking Burt J.. Standish for his great work,
I will close. Joun W. Harpster! ;

Cheboygan, Mich.

Soldiers Three.

As we have never/seen any letters from our city, we thought
that we would write and let you know what we think of Tip Top
WeeEkLy. We have been reading it now for over eight years,
and think it is just grand. ‘We think Dick, Frank, Brad, and
Claxton are the best. AVhat has become of Arlington and Dit-

_son? We would like to hear from them again. x

Of all the friends Dick ever had,
The best of them was dear old Brad.

” Hoping this will escape the wastebasket, we remain loyal Te}?
Toppers. MIKE, STICK, AND CEEpDy.
Canton, Ohio.

A Great Publication.

_ Being\a constant reader of the famous king of weeklies, hav-
ing read it from No. 8 to date, I wish to express my sentiments
regarding this great publication. I have never read a more in-

' teresting, instructive, good, clean story than that written by the

“greatest writer of juvenile fiction,” Burt L. Standish. When I~
finish my Tip Tor I always give it to my friends, and every one
to whom I have given it expresses an opinion, and every word, I
can assure you, is in its favor. My favorites are Diek, Brad,
Tommy, Big Hal, Frank, and Bart. Of the girls, June, Inza,
Mabel, and Claudia. I wish good old Joe Crowfoot would show . é
himself some more. I also wish for some of the Fardale crowd:

I do not use intoxicating liquors-in any form. I have learned
many good things from Trp Tor, and/can only say if'is the finest
and best ever written. Well, I guess I’m taking too much of —
your valuable time, but I assure you I could sit all day and tell
ofthe good Tip Tor has done. Wishing Tir Tor a long life,
and with three cheers and a'tiger for Burt L. and Street &
Smith, I beg to remain a loyal Trp-Toprer, Hector Hancock.

Henderson, Ky. /

 
lies for the past four

—— derful change has come.over him.

 

 

 

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 cents 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.

 

Special Exercise.

Pror. FourmMen: I have just finished reading Tir Tor No,
779, and regard it as one of the best books in the world, I haye
been reading the Tip Top for the past four years, and, being a
constant reader, I take the liberty to ask you a few questions.
Being a hotel clerk, | am inside most of the time. Please advise

me what exercise | ought to take during my leisure hours, 1 am
19 years old; 6 feet 1/2 inches tall; weigh 173 pounds ; chest, 34
inches; calf, 16 inches; thigh, 22 inches; neck, 151% inches. What

particular line of athletics am I built for? B. I, Donovan,

Mt, Pleasant, Mich.

Your chest should be at least ten inches larger, and you should
carry twelve pounds more weight. A man whose work is coh-
fining should provide himself with dumb-bells, chest weights, and
Indian clubs, and use them freely aud systematically. A half

hour of exercise in the morning, before breakfast, followed by a

cold bath, will fit you for the day’s work; and the same exercise
in the evening, before retiring, will insure restful sleep, and a
strong, healthy body. It is impossible to say what special line of
athletics you should take up; that is entirely a matter of personal
preference. Go in for the sports that most attract you, and train
yourself with particular attention to the requirements of those
"Sports.
When the Strong Become Weak,

Pror. Fourmen: Having been a reader of the king of eke.
eee 1 take the liberty to ask you the
following questions : am 16 years old; weight, 121 pounds;
ie height, 5 feet 6 inches; chest, 32% inches; waist, 25 inches. What
are my weak points? - ‘Now comes the most important part of all,
~ Do you think a fellow is morally weak whose will is very weak?
. Can he improve by consistent effort and become strong again?
_ IT have a friend who used to lead us fellows, but of late a won-
He has confided to me that
he has lost all or most of the will power he once possessed, and
yields to temptations very easily. Please tell me if he ean remedy
this fault, as he is a finé fellow, and I would like to see him his
- old self again. Thanking you in advance for Wau many favors,
I remain, ILLIAM OME. |.
Brooklyn, N. x,
" Your points are all below the standard, 5 chest should be.
six inches larger; your waist seven inches; and you should carry
- ten or fifteen more pounds in weight. All of these deficiencies ™
- can he remedied by careful attention to diet and training. A .
young man who has had a strong personality and will, and lost
them, i is indeed un fortunate ; but there must be in his’ gubcon-
_ sciousness a great reserve power to overcome his present weak-
ss, It is hard to undefstand how a strong natural will eould
t broken down except by the insidious inroads of bad habits, or
e evil influence of ill-chosen associates, Great trouble or grief
lay. break a will, but in the strong-willed man they usually tend
trengthen the will and character. Your friend should seek
remove himself from all bad faa and if he i is in the srip

WEEKLY.

man who has enjoyed the respect and admiration of his fellows,

   

     
 
       
 
   
 
  

  

31

of injurious habits, he should take some thought for his future,
and strive to exert the old foree, which can neyer be entirely
dead after it has once existed, If you have followed the Merri-
well stories, you have seen seores of cases just like that of your
friend, where young men have been saved from ignominy by a
friendly and sympathetic direction inte the right paths. For a

  

the choice between healthy popularity and social oblivion should
not be yery hard to make, If your friend cannot exert sufficient
force of will to pull himself out of the mire, it must be evident
that his old supremacy was acquired upon pure bluff, which never
holds a man in place very long.

 
   
   

     
     
      
      
       
       
      
    
     
      
        
       
      
       
 
      
      
       
       
     
       
       
   

Very Good.

Pror, FourMEN: Being a reader of Tip Top for several years,
I would like your opinion as to my measurements, Age, 19 years;
height, § feet 10 inches; weight, 168 pounds; chest, 38 inches;
waist, 33 inches; thighs, 22)4 inches; calves, 15 inches. C. S. B.
Norfolk, Va. a
Your measurements are much better than the average, being
very near to the standard, but your chest will still stand a de-
velopment of four or five inches. iy

Questions and Appreciation.

Pror. Fourmen: Haying been a reader of Tip Top for over
two years, I take the liberty of asking you a few questions. But
I would like to tell you first that Tre Top has done lots of good
to me, both mentally and, physically, I cannot give Tip Top
enough praise. If more men and boys read Tip Top it would be
a better world, What would you advise me to do for my left
leg? A year ago I broke a bone in the knee and had it set and
put in a cast. It hasn’t straightened out yet, and 1 haye had
everything done fer it. It makes me limp a little. Do you think
it does any harm to wear a belt every day? /Is there any way ta
put on flesh when you are growing very fast? I am 16 years of
age and weigh 117 pounds; my height is 5 feet 7 inches, Hoping
to see this in print, I remain, A Lover or “Trp Top.”

Chicago, Ill. ;

Injuries to the knee are often very hard to repair, but modern
surgery scarcely knows such a thing as failure, and you would be
very wise to consult the best surgeon you can find in your local-
ity. . Avoid those doctors who advertise and claim remarkable
cures: they are among the gravest dangers of our cities, The
best surgeons are none too good, and much of your future com-
fort may depend on going to the right man, A belt is an excellent —
thing to wear. Suspenders make a constant, drag upon the shoul-
ders, but a belt gives support to the abdomen and is not known
to have any injurious effects. You can best put on weight by
giving careful attention to your diet and exercise. Avoid tea,
coffee, stimulants, and tobacco; but drink all the milk and water
you can, and eat moderately of the plainest and most wholesome
food, chewing it very thoroughly. In your condition it would
not be well to indulge in any strenuous exercise, but you should
use dumb-bells and chest weights regularly, and walk i in the open
air as much as you can.

   
   

     
 
       
     
 
 
  

  

      
     
  
    
  
   
    
    
      
   
  
    
  
  
  

Good SEN

Prof, Fourmen; Having been a reader of Tip Tor for three
years, I now take the privilege to ask your advice concerning my a
_neasurements. They are as follows: Age, 15 year#; height, 5 |
feet 3 inches ; weight, 110 pounds; neck, 121%4 inches; chest, go —
inches; waist, 28 inches; thigh, 1714 inches ; calf, 1214. inches, I.

9 to gymnasium eyery Monday and Friday night, and I play

basket ball and baseball a great deal. I won first award in an ae
around athletic contest. I remain a loyal Tir-Toprer. ‘Gero, B

Cleyeland, Ohio.

With the exception of your chest, your measurements are al-
most perfect. Your gymnasium practice should keep you in
yery good trim, but*it would be well to call the attention of the
physical director to your deficiency and ask him to ss cs
special exercises for you.

  

 
  

   
  
 

  
   
 
ATS OF THE BACK NUMBERS’ OF

TIP TOP WEEKLY

THAT CAN’ NOW BE SUPPLIED

241—Frank Merriwell’s Kick. 559—Dick Merriwell’s Seven. 640—Dick Merriwell’s Shoulder. 719—Frank Merriwell’s Return
248—Frank Merriwell’s “Brassie” 560—Dick Merriwell’s Partner. 641—-Dick Merriwell’s Desperate Blow.

Shot. 561—Dick Merriwell in the Tank. Work. 720—Frank Merriwell’s Quest.
e46—Frank Merriwell’s Mastery. 562—Frank Merriwell’s Captive. 642—Dick Merriwell’s Example. . %21—Frank Merriwell’s Ingots.
247—Frang Merriwell’s Dilemma. 563—Frank Merriwell’s Trailing. 643—Dick Merriwell At Gale’s Ferry 722—Frank Merriwell’s Assistance,
249—Frank Merriwell’s Search. 564—Frank Merriwell’s Talisman. 644—Dick Merriwell’s Inspiration. Sec ene sete at’ the
250—Frank Merriwell’s Ring. 565—Frank Merriwell’s Horse. 645—Dick Merriwell’s Shooting. Thro
251—Frank Merriwell’s Party. 566—Frank Merriwell’s Intrusion. 646—Dick Merriwell in the Wilds. 724—Frank Mecriwell, the Always
2538—Frank Merriwell’s Skill. 567—Frank Merriwell’s Bluff. 647—Dick Merriwell’s Red Comrade a ; é p
254—Frank Merriwell’s Club. 568—Dick Merriwell’s Regret. 648—Frank Merriwell’s Ranch. 725—Frank Merriwell in Diamond
255—Frank Merriwell’s Scheme. 569—Dick Merriwell’s Silent Work. 649—Frank Merriwell in the Saddle Land.
469—Frank: Merriwell’s Retaliation. 570—Dick Merriwell’s Arm. . 650—Frank Merriwell’s Brand. %26—Frank Merriwell’s Desperate
485—Dick Merriwell in Manila. 571—Dick Merriwell’s Skill. 651—F rank Merriwell’s Red Guide Chance.
486—Dick Merriwell Marooned. 72—Dick Merriwell’s Magnetism. 652—Dick Merriwell's Rival. eee Merriwell’s Black Ter-
488—Dick Merriwell, Gap-Stopper. 573—Dick ete cat System. 653—Dick Merriwell’s Strength.
489—Dick Merfriwell’s Sacrifice Hit 574—Dick Merriwell’s Salvation. 654—Dick Merriwell’s Sec pb Work 728—Frank Merriwell Again on
490—Dick Merriwell’s Support. 75—Dick Merriwell’s Twirling. 655—Dick Merriwel:'s Wa the Slab.

‘
7
D7 §
7$

491—Dick Merriwell’s Stroke. —Dick Merriwell’s Party. 656—Frank Merriwell’s Re ii Visitor 729—Frank Merriwell’s Hard Game
492—Dick Merriwell Shadowed. —Dick Merriwell’s Backers. 657—Frank Merriwell’s Rope. 730—Frank Merriwell’s Six-in-hand
493—Dick Merriwell’ s Drive. 8—Dick Merriwell’s Coach. 658—Frank Merriwell’s Lesson. 731—Frank Merriwell’s Duplicate.
494—Dick Merriwell’s Return. )—Dick Merriwell’s Bingle. 659—Frank Merriwell’s Protection 732—Frank Merriwell on Rattle-
495—Dick Merriwell’s_ Restoration. 580—Dick Merriwell’s Hurdling, 660—Dick Merriwell’s Reputation. snake Ranch. |
496—Dick Merriwell’s Value. 581—Dick Merriwell’s Best Work, 661—Dick Merriwell’s Motto. 7338—Frank Merriwell’s Sure Hand
497—Dick Merriwell’s ‘‘Dukes.”’ 582—Dick Merriwell’s Respite. 662—Dick Merriwell’s Restraint. %34—Frank Merriwell’s Treasure
498—Dick Merriwell’s Drop Kick. 583—Dick Merriwell’s Disadvantage 663—Dick Merriwell’s Ginger. Yi Map. :
499—Dick Merriwell’s Defeat. 584—Dick Merriwell Beset. 664—Dick Merriwell’s Driving. 85—Frank Merriwell, Prince of
500—Dick Merriwell’s Chance, §85—Dick Merriwell’s Great Rival. 66! 5—Dick Merriwell’s Good Cheer. the Rope.
501—Dick Merriwell’s Stride. 586—Dick Merriwell’s Distrust. 666—Frank Merriwell’s Theory. 736—Dick Merriwell, Captain of
502—Dick Merriwell’s Wing-Suit, 587—Dick Merriwell, QLion-Tamer. 667—Frank Merriwell’s Diplomacy. the Varsity.
503—Dick Merriwell’s Skates. 588—Dick Merriwell’s Campsite. 668—Frank Merriwell’s HEncour- 737—Dick Merriwell’s Control.
504—Dick Merriwell’s Four Fists. 589—Dick Merriwell’s Debt. agement. 738—Dick Merriwell’s Back Stop.
505—Dick Merriwell’s Dashing Game 590—Dick Merriwell’s_Camp-Mates psp ohm Merriwell’s Great Work pret ee er 8 Masked En-
506—Frank Merriwell’s Tigers. $91—Dick Merriwell’s Draw. —Dick Merriwell’s Mind.
508—Frank Merriwell’s Flying Year 592—Dick Merriwell’s Disapproval. 6 1 —Dick Merriwell’s “Dip.” 740—Dick Merriwell’ s Motor Car
509—Dick Merriwell in Maine. 593—Dick Merriwell’s Mastery. 2—Dick Merriwell’s Rally. 741—Dick Merriwell’s Hot Pu auitt,
510—Dick Merriwell’s Pofo Team. 594—Dick Merriwell’s Warm’ Work er: }—Dick Merriwell’s Flier. 742—Dick Merriwell at Forest Lake
511—Dick Merriwell in the Ring. 595—Dick Merriwell’s “Double 674—F rank Merriwell’s Bullets. 743—Dick Merriwell in Court.
512—Frank Merriwell’s New Idea. Squeeze.” 675—Frank Merriwell Cut Off. 744—Dick Merriwell’s Silence.
513—Frank Merriwell’s Trouble. 596—Dick Merriwell’s Vanshing: 676—F rank Merriwell’s Ranch Boss 745—Dick Merriwell’s Dog.
514—Frank Merriwell’s Pupils. 597—Dick Merriwell. Adrift. 677—Dick Merriwell’s Equal. 746—Dick Merriwell’s Subterfuge.
515—Dick Merriwell’s Satisfaction 598—Dick Merriwell’s Influence. 678—Dick Merriwell’s Development. 747-——Dick Merriwell’s Enigma.
516—Dick Merriwell’s Discernment. 599—F rank Merriwell’s Worst Boy. 679—Dick Merriwell’s Eye. 748—Dick Merriwell Defeated.
517—Dick Merriwell’s Friendly Hand 600—Frank Merriwell’s Annoyance 680—Frank }<erriwell’s Zest. 749—Dick Merriwell’s. “Wing,”
518—Frank Merriwell’s New Boy. 601—Frank Merriwell’s Restraint, 681—J’rank Merriwell’s Patience. 750—Dick Merriwell’s Sky Chase,
519—Frank Merriwell’s Mode. 602—Dick Merriwell Held Back, 682—Frank Merriwell’s Pupil. 751—Dick Merriwell’s Pick-ups.
520—Frank Merriwell’s Aids. 603—Dick Merriwell in the Line. 683—Frank Merriwell’s Fighters. _752—Dick Merriwellon the Rocking R
521—Dick Merriwell’s Visit. 604—Dick Merriwell’s Drop Kick. 684—Dick Merriwell at the ‘‘Meet” 7 53—Dick Merriwell’s Penetration.
522—-Dick Merriwell’s Retaliation. 605—Frank Merriwell’s Air Voyage. 685—Dick Merriwell’s Protest. 754—Dick Merriwell’s Intuition.
523—Dick Merriwell’s Rival. 606—Frank Merriwell’s Auto Chase. 686—Dick Merriwefl in the Mara- 755—Dick Merriwell’s Vantage.
524—Frank Merriwell’s Young Crew 607—Frank Merriwell’s Captive. thon. 756—Dick Merriwell’s Advice.
525—Frank Merriwell’s Fast Nine. 608—Dick Merriwell’s Value. 687—-Dick Merriwell’s Colors. 757—Dick Merriwell’s Rescue.

526—Frank Merriwell’s Athletic Sone Merriwell Doped. 688—Dick Merriwell, Driver. 758—Dick Merriwell, American.

Field. 610—Dick Merriwell’s Belief. 689—Dick Merriwell on the Deep. 759—Dick Merriwell’s Understand-
527—Dick Merriwell’s Reprisal. 611—F Aon Merriwell in the Mar- 690—Dick Merriwell in the Morth ing.

760-—Dick~ Merriwell, Tutor.

528—Dick Merriwell Dared. Joods,
529—Dick Merriwell’s a 612—Frank Merriwell’s Fight for Sore k ) erriwell’s Dandies. 761—Dick Merriwell’s Quandary,
530—Frank Merriwell’s So Fortune. —Dick Merriwell’s “Skyscooter” 762—Dick Merriwell on the Boards.
531—Frank Merriwell’s old Flock. 613—Frank Merriwell on Top. 693—Dick Merriwell in the Elk eT ee Merriwell, Peacemaker,
532—Frank Merriwell’s House Party 614—Dick Merriwell’s Trip West. Mountains. 764—Frank Merriwell’s Sway.
533—Dick Merriwell’s Summer Team 615—Dick Merriwell’s Predicament 694—Dick Merriwell in Utah. rene Merriwell’s Compre-
534—Dick Merriwell’s Demand. 616—Dick Merriwell in Mystery 695—Dick Merriwell’s Bluff. ension ;
535—Dick Merriwell’s. Slabmate. Valley 696—Dick Merriwell in the Saddle. 766—Frank Merriwell’s Young
536—Frank Merriwell’s Summer 617—Frank ‘“Merriwell’ s Proposition 697—Dick Merriwell’s Ranch Friends Acrobat.
Cam 618—Frank Merriwell Perplexed. 698—Frank Merriwell at Phantom 767-——Frank Merriwell’s Tact.
537—Frank PMerriwell’s Proposal. 619—Frank Merriwell’s Suspicion. Lake. 768—Frank Merriwell’s Unknown.
538>-Frank Merriwell’s Spook- 620—Dick Merriwell’s Gallantry. 699—TIrank Merriwell’s Hold-back. 769—Frank Merriwell’s Acuteness.,
hunters. 621—Dick Merriwell’s Condition. | 700—Frank Merriwell’s Lively Lads 770—Frank | Merriwell’s Young
539—Dick~Merriwell’s Cheek. | 622—Dick Merriwell’s Stanchness. T01—IF sank Merriwell as Instructor Canadian.
540—Dick Merriwell’s Sacrifice. 623—Dick Merriwell’s Match, 40% 2—Dick Merriwell’s Cayuse, 771—Frank Merriwell’s Coward.
641—Dick Merriwell’s Heart. 624—Frank Merriwell’s Hard Case 703—Dick Merriwell’s Quirt. 772—F rank Merriwell’s Perplexity.
§42—Frank Merriwell’s New Auto. 625—Frank Merriwell’s Helper. 704—Dick Merriwell’s Freshman 773—Frank Merriwell’s Interyen-
543—Frank /Merriwell’s Pride, 626—Frank Merriwell’s Doubts. Friend. tion
44—-Frank’ Merriwell’s Young 627—Frank Merriwell’s “Phenom.” 705—-Dick Merriwell’s Best Form. %74—Frank ‘Merriwell’ s Daring Deed
© Winners.., 628—Dick Merriwell’s Stand. + 706—Dick Merriwell’s Prank. 775—-Frank Merriwell’s Succor,
5§45—Dick Merriwell’s Lead. 629—Dick Merriwell’s Circle. 707—Dick Merriwell’s Gambol. 776—Frank Merriwell’s Wit.
546—Dick Merriwell’s Influence. 630—Dick Merriwell’s Reach.  . 708—Dick Merriwell’s Gun. 777—F rank Merriwell’s Loyalty.
547—Dick Merriwell’s Top Notch. 631—Dick Merriwell’s Money. 709—Dick Merriwell at His Best. 778—MFrank Merriwell’s Bold Piay.
548—Frank Merriwell’s Kids. 332—Dic k Merriwell Watched. 710—Dick Merriwell’s Master Mind 779—Frank Merriwell’s Insight.
549—-Frank Merriwell’s Kodakers. 623—Dick Merriwell Doubted. 711—Dick Merriwell’s Dander. 780-—Frank Merriwell’s Guile. ,
550—Dick Merriwell, Freshman. 634-Die k Merriwell’s Distrust. 712—Dick Merriwell's Hope. T81-—F" rank Merriwell’s C ampaign.
551—-Dick Merriwell’s Progress. 635—Dick Merriwell’s Risk. ~  %18—Dick Merriwell’s Standard. 782—Frank Merriwell in the Na-
552—Dick4 Merriwell, Half-back. a 36—Frank Merriwell’s. Favorite. ~714—Dick Merriwell’s Sympathy. tional Forest.
553—Dick Merriwell’s Resentment. 6 37—F rank perenne. s Youn teres Merriwell in Lumber 783—Frank Merriwell’s Tenacity.
554—-Dick Merriwell Repaid. Clipper Land. 784—Dick Morkiwey 8 Self-sacrifice.
§55—Dick Merriwell’ s Staying. Power 638—Frank Merriwell’s Steadying 716—Frank Merriwell’s Fairness. 785—Dick Merriwell’s Close Shave.
556—Dick Merriwell’s “Push.” Hand. 717—F rank Merriwell’s Pledge. 786—Dick Merriwell’s Perception.
557—Dick Merriwell’s Running. 639—Frank Merriwell’s Record- 718—Frank Merriwell, the Man of 787—Dick Merriwell’s Myste “ae
558—Dick Merriwell’s Joke. Breakers. Grit. Disappearance,

PRICE, FIVE CENTS PER COPY —

‘Afyoa want any back numbers of our weeklies and cannot procure them from your news-dealer, they can be obtained direct
from this office. Postage-stamps taken the same as money.

‘STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS, 79-89 SEVENTH AVE., NEW YORK es

 

 
 
 

 

PARLY NUMBERS. OF ot ie

TIP TOP WEEKLY

WILL BE FOUND IN THE NEW MEDAL LIBRARY

 

 

A few years ago we were obliged to disappoint thousands of readers who wanted the
stories of 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 four weeks beginning with No. 150.
Here is a list of these splendid books which contain Nos. 1 to 509 of Tip Top

Weekly.

Our experience with these books has taught us that thousands of boys are

overjoyed at this opportunity to secure their favorite stories in a more compact and

permanent form.

150—Frank
167—Frank
178—Frank
184—F rank
189—F rank
193—F rank
197—F rank
201—F rank
205—F rank
209—F rank
213—Frank
217—Frank
225—Frank
229—F rank
233—Frank
237—Frank
240—Frank
244—F rank
247—Frank
251—Frank
254—Frank
258—Frank
262—Frank
267—Frank
271—Frank
276—Frank
280—F rank
284—Frank
288—F rank
292—F rank
206—F rank
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—Frank
344—Frank
348—Frank
352—Frank

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 Problen:.
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.
Merriwell’s Double Shot.

356—Frank Merriwell’s Baseball Victories

3590—Frank

Merriwell’s Confidence.

362—F rank
365—F rank
368—F rank
371—F rank
374—F rank
377—Frank
380—F rank
383—F rank
386—F rank
389—F rank
392—F rank
395—F rank
308—F rank
401—F rank
404—F rank
407—Frank
410—F rank
413—Frank
416—Frank
419—F rank
422—Frank
425—Frank
428—Frank
43I—Frank
434—F rank
437—Frank

Price, Fifteen Cents per copy.

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 Glory.
440—Dick Merriwell’s Promise.
440—Dick Merriwell’s Rescue.

452—Dick Merriwell’s Narrow Escape.

455—Dick Merriwell’s Racket.
458—Dick Merriwell’s Revenge.
461—Dick Merriwell’s Ruse.
464—Dick Merriwell’s Delivery.
467—Dick Merriwell’s Wonders.

470—F rank

Merriwell’s Honor.

473—Dick Merriwell’s Diamond.

476—Frank

Merriwell’s Winners.

479—Dick Merriwell’s Dash.
482—Dick Merriwell’s Ability.
485—D. x Merriwell’s Trap.
488—Dick Merriwell’s Defense.
491—Dick Merriwell’s Model.
494—Dick Merriwell’s Mystery.

497—Frank

Merriwell’s Backers.

soo—Dick Merriwell’s Backstop.

503—Dick Merriwell’s Western Mission.
506—Frank Merriwell’s Rescue.
509—I'rank 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.
530—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 Day.
557—Frank Merriwell’s Peril.
5360—Dick Merriwell’s Downfall.
563—Frank Merriwell’s Pursuit.
366—Dick Merriwell Abroad.
569—-Frank Merriwell in the Rockies.
5372—Dick Merriwell’s Pranks.
575—Frank Merriwell’s Pride.
578—Frank Merriwell’s Challengers.
581—Frank Merriwell’s Endurance.
s84—Dick Merriwell’s Cleverness.
587—Frank Merriwell’s Marriage.
590—Dick Merriwell, the Wizard.
593—Dick Merriwell’s Stroke.
s96—Dick Merriwell’s Return.
s99—Dick Merriwell’s Resource.
602—Dick Merriwell’s Five.
6os—Frank Merriwell’s Tigers.
608—Dick Merriwell’s Polo Team.

Published about March r4th, 1911.
611—Frank Merriwell’s Pupils.
Published about April 4th, 191T.
614—F rank Merriwell’s New Boy.
Published about April 25th, 1ort.
617—Dick Merriwell’s Home Run.
Published about May 16th, 1ort.
620—Dick Merriwell’s Dare.

 

STREET & SMITH, Publishers, NEW YORK CITY