Dick Merriwell's Trap: or, The Chap Who Bungled

“Was it?” said the tall fellow, in a queer way.

“Perhaps it is the ghost of Cadet Bolt that is romping around here once more,” suggested a mocking lad.

“What do you think, Smart?” questioned a boy with squinting eyes.

“I have found it a bad practise to think,” answered Ted evasively. “It is wearing on the gray matter, don’t you know.”

But they observed that Smart was not as lively and jocular as usual.

“This spook seems to be a collector of relics,” said Dick. “He has collected something wherever he has appeared. First he got away with Smart’s comb and brush, then Gorman’s watch; Savage lost a knife, and Wilson is also out a watch.”

“Well, what do you think of it?” was the point-blank question put to Dick.

“It’s very remarkable,” confessed Merriwell.

“Oh, there’s nothing in the ghost-story, of course!” said a bullet-headed boy.

“Perhaps there is,” said Dick.

“What?” cried several, in surprise.

“You don’t believe it?” said one. “You don’t take stock in spooks?”

“I might not take stock in this one,” admitted Dick, “if it were not that he has taken stock wherever he had visited. In other words, the fact that he has carried off some valuable articles leads me to believe in him.”

“But how – ”

“Why – ”

“You don’t – ”

“I can’t see – ”

“You mean – ”

“It seems likely that somebody, or something, has been prowling round this building,” said Dick, cutting them all short. “There goes the breakfast-bell.”

There was a general movement to form into ranks to march to the dining-hall by classes, as was the custom, and the subject was dropped for the time being.

CHAPTER XXVII – DICK MAKES A DISCOVERY

The mystery of the “spook” that had so suddenly appeared at the academy grew with every night. Strange sounds were heard in the corridors, sentinels were frightened, and little articles and things of value continued to disappear from the rooms of the cadets.

“I wonder if this yere spook has visited us, pard?” said Brad Buckhart, one morning.

“Why?” asked Dick.

“My knife is gone now. The critter seems to take to knives and such things as a duck takes to water, and so I thought maybe he had wandered in here and appropriated my sticker.”

But Brad dismissed the matter with that, nothing more being said about it.

The “spook” excitement continued to provide a topic of interest for the boys, but the approach of the football-game with the New Era A. A. finally surpassed it in interest.

Various were the opinions expressed in regard to the probable outcome of the game with New Era. Some thought New Era would not be able to score, some thought she would make the game interesting, some even thought there was a chance for her to win; but the majority seemed inclined to the idea that Fardale, thus far undefeated, would not fall before this team.

When the report came that the Trojan A. A., which had been defeated by Fardale, had not permitted New Era to score and had rolled up twenty-eight points, it seemed a settled thing that the cadets were to have an easy time of it. The members of the team grew overconfident, something Dick warned them against.

“Oh, we’ll eat those galoots up!” declared Buckhart.

“Perhaps so,” said Dick; “but we don’t want to be too sure of it. You know it is never possible to know just what to expect from one of these independent teams. They are full of tricks, and they are not over-particular about their methods.”

“Oh, if they are looking for rough-house, they can find it! Remember what happened to the Trojans when they tried that sort of business.”

Dick remembered that the Trojans had been battered into a state of amazed decency.

Chester Arlington’s interest in the football-team seemed very keen. He was out every day to watch practise, and he cheered and encouraged the boys like a most loyal supporter of the eleven. He even went further than that. Darrell’s shoulder had been injured, and Chester declared he knew just how to massage the muscles to bring it back into perfect condition. He peeled off his coat, to the surprise of all, and gave Hal’s shoulder a rubbing after practise each day.

And it was a fact that Darrell’s shoulder improved amazingly beneath this treatment. Seeing which, some of the other fellows, who were bruised or lame, ventured to ask Chester to give them a little attention.

Dick was not a little surprised when Arlington consented and seemed so intensely eager to have every man on the team in the finest possible condition.

Buckhart looked on in deepest distrust. Leaving Arlington in the gym, working over Bradley, stripped of coat, vest, and hat, and sweating handsomely, Brad followed Dick from the building and spoke to him as they walked toward the barracks.

“This yere Ches Arlington is puzzling me some, I admit I can’t just make out his little game now.”

“Then you think he’s up to some game?” asked Dick.

“Pard, he’s crooked. He’s been against us ever since he found he couldn’t get on the team. There is no reason why he should flop now.”

Dick thought how Chester had been compelled to humble himself and ask a favor. Was it possible there had come a change of heart in the fellow?

“I suppose you’re right, Brad,” he said. “But I don’t see what harm he can do. He seems to be doing considerable good.”

“I wouldn’t let him put his paws on me if every bone in my body was out of place and he could put them all back!” exploded the Westerner. “Bradley’s just thick-headed chump enough to let him do it.”

In the meantime, Arlington had attended to Billy Bradley, who was the last one to seek his attention, and had donned his coat and vest and found Hal Darrell waiting. Bradley departed, leaving Arlington and Darrell together.

“Well, Arlington, old man,” said Darrell, with a puzzled smile, “I never thought you’d come down to it.”

Chester flushed a bit.

“Come down to what?” he asked.

“Rubbing these fellows you consider so far beneath you. It is amazing!”

“I suppose so,” admitted Chester.

“You have turned Good Samaritan.”

“For my own benefit.”

“For your benefit?”

“Exactly.”

“I fail to catch on. How for your benefit?”

“I’ve got to get on my feet somehow, Darrell. You know my dislike for Merriwell has led me into betting heavily against Fardale, and I have been soaked good and hard.”

“Yes, I know.”

“I know you did, but every time I thought I had a sure thing. With Merriwell off the team I should have been eager for Fardale to win. With him on it, I hated him so much that I was more than eager for the other side to win. Fardale secured victory after victory; but that simply made me all the more confident that the tide must turn and she must lose. What’s the result? I’m flat. Of course, I can get more money, but really, old man, I’m ashamed to call for it.”

Thinking of the money Chester had lost and had squandered in foolish ways, Hal did not wonder that he was ashamed. Truly, it was astonishing that a boy of Chester’s years could have so much money to fling about without thought or reason.

“That’s the explanation,” nodded Arlington. “I must get on my feet somehow.”

“I don’t see how you expect to do it by – ”

“This time I’ll back Fardale.”

“Why, you can’t find any one to bet on New Era.”

“Oh, yes, I can! Those New Era fellows have sent some chaps into town looking for bets.”

“Why, great Scott! we downed the Trojans, and the Trojans buried New Era!”

“All the same, the sports who are looking for bets seem confident that New Era will make Fardale look like thirty cents.”

“But you say you’re broke. How are you going to – ”

“I’ve raised money on everything I could hook. I’ve borrowed some. I want to borrow ten of you, Hal. You know I’ll pay if I lose, but I won’t lose. Will you let me have a sawbuck? It’s my chance to get even, and I’m going to make the best of it.”

“Why, yes, I think I can squeeze out a tenner,” said Darrell.

“But you will be in up to your eyes if we happen by any chance to drop this game.”

“If Fardale loses, I’ll have to make a clean breast to mother and get her to put me on Easy Street again. But Fardale’s not going to lose. That’s one thing I’m sure of. And I want every man in the best possible condition. That’s why I’m working so hard on the fellows who will let me polish them up. See?”

Hal saw, but still it seemed strange that Chester Arlington, proud, haughty, independent, should do what he was doing.

The following day was Friday. After practise Arlington again stripped in the gym and gave his attention to those who would have him.

There was more or less football talk, and the boys gradually dressed and wandered out. A few were left when a little incident occurred that must be recorded.

Again Arlington was working over Bradley. Sweating, he paused to pull out his handkerchief and wipe off his face. As he removed the handkerchief from his pocket a knife dropped to the floor. He picked it up and then paused, staring at it.

Dick noticed this, and he saw Chester stop and stare at the knife. He also noted a frown on Arlington’s face, a puzzled expression. Suddenly Dick showed interest.

“Let me see that knife, Arlington,” he demanded.

Chester surrendered it.

“Is this your knife?” asked Dick, with something like accusation in his voice and manner.

“No,” admitted Chester, “it is not.”

“But it came out of your pocket?”

“It dropped to the floor when I took my handkerchief out. I never saw it before.”

Dick stood looking straight at Chester. Somehow Arlington’s manner seemed truthful. In a moment, however, he grew angry beneath Dick’s persistent gaze.

“What do you mean by staring at me that way?” he demanded hotly. “Do you think I’m lying?”

“No,” said Dick, turning away and putting the knife in his pocket. “I know the owner of this knife, and I’ll give it to him.” Then he walked out.

Chester started as if to follow him, but stopped and turned back, saying to Bradley:

“I think you’re all right now.”

“Here’s your knife, old man,” said Dick, as he handed the knife over to Buckhart in their room after supper.

“Hey?” exclaimed the Texan. “Why, why, where – ”

“It is your knife, isn’t it?”

“Sure as shooting. But where did it come from?”

“I saw Chester Arlington pick it up from the floor in the gym.”

“When?”

“To-day.”

Brad looked surprised.

“Why, it couldn’t have been there ever since I lost it,” he said. “Somebody would have found it before this.”

“It seems that way,” said Dick; and he did not explain to Brad that the knife had fallen first from Chester’s pocket as he pulled out his handkerchief.

Why Dick chose to keep silent on this point he hardly knew. He was mystified over the knife incident. Chester Arlington did not seem like a fellow who would resort to petty robbery. Surely he would not steal an ordinary pearl-handled knife, worth perhaps three dollars, when he spent money lavishly? And yet Dick had heard it hinted within a day or two that Chester was hard up, and that his parents had declined to advance more money for him to squander until a certain time had passed.

Strange thoughts were flitting through Dick’s head. Placed in a desperate situation, would Chester be tempted to pilfer? The “spook,” the missing trinkets and articles of value, these things Dick thought about. Then he wondered if there was not some way for him to solve the mystery and clear up the whole affair. But, in the meantime, the football-game with New Era took his attention.

CHAPTER XXVIII – A SLIPPERY TRICK

In the following manner the two teams faced each other on that dark, wet, dreary Saturday afternoon:

A snow-storm had been threatening, but had turned to a rain-storm, the weather becoming milder. It was not a downpour – just a weak, unpleasant drizzle.

But a drizzle could not keep the cadets from turning out to witness the game. They packed the seats reserved for them. There was not the usual large gathering of spectators from the village and surrounding country, although the attendance was not light.

The visitors were the first to come trotting out on the field. They wore some sort of leathery-looking suits, and in the rain those suits glistened strangely. They did not resort to the practise of falling on the ball in warming up, but passed the ball from hand to hand and did a little kicking.

The Fardale team came jogging out in their well-worn suits. They went at the preliminary practise in the usual manner.

Brad Buckhart squinted at the New Era players, a peculiar expression on his face.

“Whatever sort of suits have they got on?” he said, turning to Jolliby.

“Ask me sus-sus-sus-something I cuc-cuc-can answer,” stuttered the tall boy.

“This rain makes ’em shine like grease,” said Brad. “They’re a queer-looking bunch.”

The cadets had given their team a cheer on its appearance. The band was not out. But the boys were prepared to sing and root in earnest.

Dick Merriwell had looked the enemy over. One of the fellows attracted his attention. When he drew aside with the referee and the captain of the visiting team, he said:

“Captain Huckley, there is a man on your team whom I know to be a slugger, as well as a professional. His name is Porter. I have played baseball against him, and know what he is.”

“Porter?” said Huckley, not at all pleased. “I think you must be mistaken about his character. He’s all right.”

“Then he has changed greatly for the better,” said Dick. “He has no great liking for me. I had some trouble with him once.”

“Well, you can’t ask me to break up my team just because you happened to have some trouble with one of the men on it.”

“I don’t ask you to break the team up; but you may find it a good plan to give Porter warning to play straight football. Those fellows up there on the seats won’t stand for crooked work.”

“That’s all right,” came with a sneer from Huckley. “We’ll have a snap with your little team to-day, Captain Merriwell. There won’t be any need of our resorting to anything but the simplest kind of football.”

“That remains to be demonstrated. Perhaps you may change your mind later.”

“Time is passing,” said the referee. “The game will begin late now.”

“We’re ready,” announced Dick grimly. “Flip the coin. Mr. Huckley may call it.”

“Heads,” said Huckley, as the coin spun in the air.

“Tails,” announced the referee. “Your choice, Captain Merriwell.”

There was not much wind, and Dick decided to kick off. So Fardale took the ball and the eastern goal to defend.

Singleton kicked, but, in spite of the fact that there was no wind, the ball flew off to one side and went out of bounds. When it was brought back the big fellow took plenty of time and smashed it hard and fair.

Up into the air and away sailed the ball. Over the muddy field raced Buckhart and Shannock.

Sampson caught the ball. He made no attempt to return the kick, but leaped forward.

Buckhart seemed to have the fellow foul. He tackled, but somehow he failed to hold the fellow, his hands slipping off in a most surprising way.

Sampson dashed onward.

Gardner fancied he saw his opportunity. He closed in on the runner and made a beautiful leap for a tackle.

“He’s got him!” cried the cadets.

But, although Gardner’s hands fell fairly on the runner, he was unable to hold Sampson, who slipped away from him and still kept on.

Darrell was the third man to tackle the runner, and he brought him down, although Sampson nearly slipped from his grasp in the struggle. But New Era had carried the ball back to her forty-yard line.

“Whatever have those galoots got on?” growled Buckhart, as he hurried to get into the line-up. “Why, I tackled the fellow all right, but he went out of my hands like grease.”

Gardner said nothing. He felt chagrined over his failure to stop Sampson. There was plenty of confidence in the New Era players as they lined up for the scrimmage.

There was a sudden signal, a single word spoken, and the ball was snapped and passed to Sampson.

The runner went straight into Fardale’s center, which was the strongest point of the home team’s line.

Those fellows in the shiny suits hit the line hard, and Sampson came through on the jump. It seemed that a dozen hands grabbed him, but he twisted and squirmed and slipped away and kept on for ten yards before being stopped. Merriwell was in the scrimmage, and he made a startling discovery.

“Boys!” he palpitated, as they prepared to line up again, “their suits are greased!”

It was a fact!

The leather suits, each suit made in one piece, were greased! That explained how it was that the tacklers had been unable to hold the man who carried the ball even when they clutched him with their hands.

That explained how Sampson had been able to slip through the center of Fardale’s line when many hands were placed upon him to restrain him.

If anything, the dampness added to the slippery condition of the leather suits, and the New Era players were like a lot of greased pigs.

Merriwell was thunderstruck. Never had he heard of such a trick, and when the truth dawned upon him he felt completely nonplused.

New Era gave Fardale little time for thought. She had the cadets “going,” and she meant to keep up the work. Again a word was spoken as a signal, and again the ball went to Sampson. There was a rush toward center, but Sampson circled to come around the right end.

Dick dashed to meet the fellow. He doubted if it would be possible to hold Sampson if he made a fair tackle. Therefore, as Sampson came round the end Dick charged him at full speed, plunged into him heavily and bowled him over.

The ball flew from Sampson’s hands.

Dick had expected the shock, and he recovered in a most amazing manner. With a dive, he caught up the ball and leaped away.

A New Era man grabbed for him. He thrust out his hand, caught the fellow under the chin and pushed him off with a thrust that actually lifted him off his feet.

Another came down on Dick, but Merriwell was like a cat on his feet and dodged away.

“I must do it!” thought Dick, as he darted toward the enemy’s goal-line.

They were after him. They sought to pen him in. He flew through them. The cadets rose on their seats and roared.

“Go, Merriwell!” they shrieked. “Go on, Merriwell!”

Considering the condition of the field, considering the fact that there were pools of water and the ground was wet and slippery, Dick’s speed was surprising. His dodging was even more surprising. It seemed that Dick was certain of getting through for a touchdown.

Austin cut down on him from one direction. Dick got past the visiting full-back. Then, with a clear field before him, he turned to make straight for the goal.

The other players, spread out and strung out, were coming after him. In that moment, when success seemed certain, Dick slipped. He had kept his feet in turning, twisting and dodging, but now he slipped and came near going down. He was up and away again, but Austin was close upon him.

“He’ll make it!”

“No, he won’t!”

“Austin has him!”

It was true that Austin had made a beautiful tackle, catching Dick about the legs and bringing him down so near the goal-line that another bound would have carried the ball over.

Then the pursuing players came pouring down upon them. In the lead was Porter, New Era’s right end.

Porter jumped into the air to come down on Dick with both feet, evidently hoping to put Captain Merriwell out of the game.

As Porter jumped into the air Dick rolled to one side, seeking to break Austin’s hold on his legs.

That saved him from serious injury. Porter struck him with one foot only, and then, as he reeled to fall, Brad Buckhart booted him with all the strength of a muscular leg, lifting him clean over the goal-line.

There was a mad roar of rage from the cadets who had witnessed Porter’s dastardly act. Another roar of satisfaction as they saw Buckhart lift the fellow with a swinging kick. Then it seemed that those watching lads would rush down from the seats and come pouring on to the field.

“Hold them back!” cried Professor Broad, the athletic instructor and master of the gym.

Thirty or forty lads, many of them wearing chevrons on their sleeves, joined with Professor Broad in restraining the excited witnesses.

On the field it seemed that a fight was imminent. Some of the New Era men wanted to tackle Buckhart, and he promptly invited them to come on.

“Sail right in, you galoots!” he cried, swinging his clenched fists in the air. “If that’s the kind of game you want to play, you’ll get all that is coming to you! You hear me shout!”

Captain Huckley restrained his men.

“The whole thing was unintentional,” he said.

“Not on my part,” promptly confessed Brad. “I kicked the onery skunk, and I meant to do it, you bet! He tried to stamp out my pard, and I’d shot him full of holes if I’d had a gun!”

From behind the ropes where he was being held in check, Chester Arlington cried:

“That’s the stuff, Buckhart! Get at him again!”

The excited cadets had been checked, but they were standing, looking black enough as they glared through the rain at the mud-bespattered players.

“Put him off the team!”

Somebody raised the cry, a dozen caught it up, it swelled louder and louder, it rose to a mad roar for the removal of Porter.

“Put him off! Put him off! Put him off!”

“Are you all right, captain?” asked big Bob Singleton, who had pulled Merriwell to his feet.

“All right,” assured Dick, squirming a little. “Nearly lost a rib, but I’m all right.”

“Porter jumped you with both feet. It was lucky you rolled just as you did.”

“Porter, eh? Where’s Captain Huckley?”

“Here,” was the answer.

“You know what I said about that fellow. He – ”

“No use to fuss about him now,” said Huckley. “The umpire disqualified him. He’s out of the game.”

This was true, and a substitute had been called to take Porter’s place.

The game went on, Fardale lining up with the ball within two yards of New Era’s goal.

The ball was snapped and passed back to Darrell. In a most surprising manner, two or three of New Era’s forwards slipped through Fardale’s line and had Hal before he could make an advance. Down he went. A loss of three yards! This was bad work.

“Hold fast in the line,” urged Dick. “Don’t let them through like that!”

“Talk about greased lightning!” grumbled Harry Dare.

“Can’t hold them,” said Gardner desperately. “Hands slip right off!”

“Whatever sort of a game is this?” growled Brad Buckhart, in deepest disgust. “Are they allowed to wear suits like that? Are they allowed to grease themselves so a fellow can’t get hold of them at all?”

The New Era players laughed in the faces of the Fardale lads.

“There are some things about this game you chaps do not know,” sneered Durban, who had taken Porter’s place.

“We may be able to teach you a trick or two before the game ends,” flung back Buckhart.

But Fardale could not seem to do much with these slippery fellows, and she failed to advance the ball, failed in trying for a field-goal, failed so dismally that the watching cadets groaned with dismay.

New Era took a turn at rushing the ball along the muddy field. She plowed into Fardale, and soon it seemed that the cadets had no show at all.

Chester Arlington, his rain-hat slouched over his face, was pale to the lips as he saw those greased players slip through Fardale’s line for steady gains, saw the ball carried along the muddy field toward Fardale’s goal, realizing in his heart that the home team was playing against a terrible handicap.

“Just my luck!” he thought. “Here I’ve been betting against Fardale and losing right along; to-day I bet on her, and these duffers come along with a trick that makes our team look like a lot of dubs. I’m beaten again! Lord have mercy! the old lady will have to cough up now, and that’s a fact!”

He groaned aloud when the thought of the dreadful condition financially that he would be in if Fardale lost that game. If Fardale lost! There seemed no doubt about that, for New Era walked straight along to a touch-down and then kicked a goal.