Frank Merriwell's Return to Yale

"Well, that – "

"What made you think those fellows were students?"

"Why, they said they were; they gave the year of their class, which made them out to be seniors. They had big wads of money that they wanted to bet, and they got into conversation with me by asking what odds would put up on myself in the high jump."

Frank grunted to express his disgust, and asked:

"Did they talk like students?"

"I thought so."

"I don't believe they were," said Frank, "for there was something in their manner that didn't make them seem like students, and besides that, I can't believe any more than you that Princeton men would try to win out in these contests by deliberately disabling any of our fellows.

"Of course, I can understand how, in an exciting match like a game of football, a man's temper might get the best of him, but to try to lame a fellow in cold blood hours before the beginning of the event is a little too much for me to think of when it comes to a student, whether he's from Princeton, Harvard or anywhere else."

"Then, who were these fellows?" asked Higgins.

"They may be New York gamblers, for all I know," Frank answered, "but in any case I think they are men not connected with Princeton in any way, who are trying to make sure of their bets by disabling the leading contestants in the other colleges."

"Then but for you I suppose I might have been seriously lamed?"

"I don't know, Higgins; I'm taking no credit for what I did, but I hope you see that you made a grave mistake in not coming back to the Murray Hill on time."

"I do, and will look out that such a thing doesn't happen again."

"Where's Mellor?" asked Frank, suddenly.

"I don't know."

"Didn't he start out with you?"

"Yes, but we didn't keep together long."

"Where did he go?"

"We separated at the corner of Thirty-second Street and Broadway. I was for going down Broadway, but he said that he wanted to see something of the Tenderloin district."

"The Tenderloin!" exclaimed Frank, with a groan.

Instinctively he hurried his steps.

"Hasn't Mellor turned up yet?" asked Higgins, hurrying along with him.

"No, and unless he's more careful than you were there's no telling what mischief he may have got into."

Higgins looked as penitent as if he had been guilty of a serious crime. The flush on his face had entirely gone now, and he was quite pale.

"See here," exclaimed Frank, cheerfully, "you've had your scolding, so now brace up and forget it. If you feel the slightest soreness from that kick, give yourself a good rubbing when you get to the hotel, and go to bed."

"Aren't you coming?" asked Higgins, for Frank had stopped short.

"No."

"What shall I say to the fellows?"

"Nothing; or you might tell them that I met you and ordered you to the hotel; if they ask for me, you don't know where I am, and that's all there is to it."

Higgins nodded and went on obediently to the Murray Hill.

Frank, boiling with indignation and sore with anxiety, set off toward the corner of Thirty-second Street and Broadway. He had no foolish idea that he would find Mellor there, but as that was the last place where he had been seen, it seemed to be the most sensible point from which to begin a search for him.

When he arrived at the corner he looked about a moment and then entered a hotel, and going to the telephone closet, rang up the Murray Hill and asked for Browning.

"Bruce," he said, when he heard a familiar hello in the receiver at his ear, "has Mellor returned?"

"No, but Higgins has."

"All right. Good-by."

"Hold on, Frank."

"Well?"

"Are you coming back soon?"

"I don't know."

"Rowland and Hill expect you to take a run with us up the avenue this evening."

"I'll be there if I can."

"What are you up to, anyway?"

"That's my business, old fellow; say nothing about it, but if I don't turn up, go ahead with your run without me."

With this Frank hung up the receiver without giving Bruce any further chance to ask questions.

His object in not explaining what he was about was to prevent any of the contestants from worrying. He was pretty sure that Higgins would not speak of his own adventure, and he did not care to have even cool-headed Browning suspect that there was anything so serious in the wind as a deliberate plot to disable Yale athletes.

It seemed to Frank as if he had never been in so serious a situation. There had been times in his travels when one adventure or another had brought him in danger of his life, but at such times his mind was usually easy; now he was oppressed by responsibility and anxiety for others.

The credit of Yale depended upon the good showing at the intercollegiate games; whether they won or lost was not so much of consequence as that the Yale crowd should do their best.

As one of the managers, Frank felt responsible for the good condition of every man in the party.

He set out down Sixth Avenue looking to right and left and glancing in at the door of every saloon he passed.

Near the juncture of Sixth Avenue and Broadway are a number of places where gamblers resort, and it was in one of these that Frank half suspected and feared to find Mellor.

Business was lively in all these places at this hour. Men of all conditions were at the bar discussing all manner of sporting events.

Once in a while, as Frank made his way through the crowded barrooms, he overheard some remark about the coming college games, but it did not seem as if the professional sports took very much interest in them, and nothing occurred to give him any clew as to Mellor's whereabouts.

He continued on down the avenue, running through every place he came across, until he got as far as Twenty-third Street. There he paused, feeling rather discouraged.

It is worse than looking for a needle in a haystack to hunt for a man in New York.

Farther down the avenue there were other saloons, but he had already passed out of the district most frequented by gamblers.

He had no other theory on which to pursue his search, and it seemed to him that it might be better to return to the hotel and let Mellor turn up or not, as it might happen.

A public telephone sign caught his eye across the way, and he again went over and rang up the Murray Hill. This time it was Rowland that he asked for, and when Rowland was at the 'phone Frank told him briefly that he was on the hunt for Mellor.

"Don't mention it to anybody," Frank added, quickly.

"Have you any idea what's become of him?" asked Rowland.

"Mighty little," answered Frank. "But if he hasn't returned to the hotel yet I'll make another short trip before I give it up."

Mellor had not returned, and the conversation with Rowland was not continued.

Frank retraced his steps up the avenue, but this time he did not make so careful a search as he had before; he simply glanced in at various doors and passed on.

At length he turned in at Thirtieth Street, intending to call at a drinking resort on Broadway, which was known to be popular with gamblers.

He had taken but a few steps when a sound of laughter attracted him and he paused suddenly. It came from his right hand.

He noticed that he was standing near the side door of a saloon which he thought he had thoroughly investigated on his downward trip.

He remembered then that he had not looked in at any of the so-called private rooms at the back.

This laughter evidently came from such a room, and he was quite certain that he distinguished Mellor's voice. He waited a moment until the laughter ceased and then he heard this in thick accents:

"Shet 'em up 'gain! I c'n rasshle any man 'n Nighted Shtatesh, drunk er shober."

It was Mellor's voice, and Frank's heart sank like lead. For one miserable instant he was in doubt as to what he had better do.

His disgust and anger were so great that he felt like leaving Mellor to his fate, for it would serve the freshman right to let him continue filling himself up and so lose all chance of making a decent appearance in the contests of the following evening.

Then it occurred to Frank that after all there might be some little hope that Mellor could pull himself together sufficiently to make a good effort.

In any event he was a Yale student, and as such Frank felt bound to look after him; so after the slightest hesitation he entered the side door of the saloon and opened a door leading into the small room from which had come the laughter and the sound of Mellor's voice.

He saw the big freshman with a silly smile on his face seated at a table, holding an empty glass unsteadily in his hand, and trying to talk with three companions, each of whom wore a rosette of orange-colored ribbon upon the lapel of his coat.

None of the three had been in the crowd with Higgins, so far as Frank could remember their faces.

They did not look up when Frank entered, for they supposed, as Mellor himself did, that the bartender was coming in to get an order.

"Fill 'em up!" said Mellor, stupidly, rapping his glass upon the table. "Letsh have 'nother round."

His eyes were bleary, and although he glanced at Frank he failed to recognize him. The latter stood still for a second or two to control his indignation; before he spoke the bartender entered with a bottle of champagne, the cork of which was already drawn.

"I suppose it's the same, gents?" he said, in a businesslike tone.

"Shame old Shampaggeny water," returned Mellor, holding his glass upside down.

One of the men at the table reached over and righted Mellor's glass, which the waiter promptly proceeded to fill.

"Here'sh ter good ol' Yale!" stammered Mellor, bringing the glass to his lips with the aid of the man who had helped him to hold it steady.

Frank could remain quiet no longer. He reached over the table, and with a sweep of his arm knocked the glass from Mellor's hand and sent it flying against the wall, where it broke in a hundred pieces.

CHAPTER XI

A REPORTER'S INFLUENCE

The wine spattered in the face of the man who was helping Mellor. The latter looked up in stupid wrath, and then it dawned on him suddenly that the interruption came from his manager.

He gasped, hiccoughed, sat back in his chair and tried to rise. Meanwhile the other two fellows with the orange rosettes had sprung to their feet, and were trying to push Frank from the room.

In this the waiter joined them, and, for a moment, therefore, Merriwell had his hands full. They were lively hands, though, and in much less time than it takes to narrate it he had struck out right and left and landed stinging blows upon the faces of two of his antagonists.

The bartender, who was a heavy fellow, who had probably had plenty of experience in dealing with tough customers, set down the bottle of wine and attacked Frank with great fury.

He made the mistake of supposing that he could hustle the intruder out by mere force, and in so doing he put up both hands to catch Frank by the shoulders.

This gave the athletic student a better opportunity than he could have asked for. In quick succession the bartender got two blows, one full upon the mouth, and the other on his neck.

He went down on the floor with a thump, and catching at the table for support, overturned it. The bottle of wine fell upon him and drenched him.

The others, who had staggered back under the force of Frank's first blows, now tried to push their way out. The room was a very small one, and there was but one door.

It was evident that they were not there for fighting, and had no wish to defend their drunken companion, no matter what Frank's object in making the attack had been.

As Frank's only anxiety was in getting Mellor away, he did not attempt to stop the others from going out.

The rumpus attracted the attention of everybody in the main room of the saloon, and by the time the bartender had been sent to the floor a dozen or so others, most of them customers of the place, came crowding up to see what was the matter.

"Letsh not fight, Mer'well," said Mellor, with a tremendous attempt at dignity. "Letsh not get mixed up in a row."

He, too, tried to walk out, but the way was now barred with other bartenders who had come to the relief of their comrade.

They might have fallen upon Frank and beaten him badly, for they far outnumbered him, if it hadn't been that at that moment a policeman took a hand in the affair.

He had been passing the side door of the saloon at the very moment when Frank struck the glass from Mellor's hand.

He had entered at the first sound of a ruction, and had been in time to get a glimpse of Frank as he struck the bartender to the floor.

There was a lot of excitement and confusion for a moment, during which Frank stood with his fists still clinched and his jaws shut hard together, waiting for the next turn.

Everybody connected with the saloon denounced him as an intruder, and the one who had made all the trouble.

Frank thought hastily of explaining the real situation, but he refrained from doing so, as that would surely make the whole thing public, and he did not want any such disgrace to be attached to Yale's part in the intercollegiate games.

So when the policeman roughly put him under arrest he submitted quietly and went to the station house. A couple of bartenders followed, dragging the almost helpless Mellor with them.

Yale's champion wrestler at that moment was too far gone to realize fully what was taking place. He staggered along between the bartenders, protesting that there had been a "mishundershtanding," that he was a gentleman, and that as soon as the matter had been explained he would return to the saloon and "set 'em up" for everybody.

Frank walked in silence, feeling extreme humiliation, not for his arrest, but for the disgrace that a Yale athlete was bringing upon his college.

When they stood before the sergeant in the station, the policeman told briefly how he had heard a row in progress in the saloon and had got there in time to see Frank doing all the fighting.

The sergeant looked at the bartenders, and one of them said:

"This man," pointing to Mellor, "was entertaining a party of friends in the back room when the other chap came in, and without saying a word tried to clean the place out. Everything was peaceable and quiet until he came in."

The sergeant took up a pen, and looking at Frank, asked:

"What is your name?"

"Frank Merriwell," was the quiet response.

"Huh!" grunted the sergeant, as he wrote the name, "I thought from your looks you would say Jones of nowhere. What is your residence?"

"New Haven."

"Have you got anything to say for yourself?"

"Not at present."

The sergeant looked surprised, and hesitated a moment before he asked a number of other questions.

They were such questions as are always put to prisoners concerning their age, their reasons for being in the city, and their own account of what had happened.

Frank gave his age, but to the other questions refused to reply. Accordingly the sergeant ordered both him and Mellor to be searched, and after a vain attempt to get any information out of Mellor, both were locked up.

A considerable crowd had collected in the main room of the station house during this, and Frank remained quietly in his cell until he felt certain that all the curiosity seekers had gone out.

Then he called to a doorman and asked if he might speak to the sergeant or the captain. It took a little persuasion to get permission to do this, but Frank got it finally, and was taken upstairs again.

The main room of the station was then deserted by all except the doorman and the sergeant. The latter looked at the young prisoner inquiringly.

"I'd like to send for somebody," he said, "and will pay liberally for a messenger. You've got my money, and therefore know that I can pay any decent charge."

"Yes," said the sergeant, "you're well heeled. Who do you want to see?"

Frank thereupon gave the name of a Supreme Court judge. The sergeant's eyes opened wide.

"What do you want of him?" he asked.

"He'll come down here in a hurry," Frank answered, "if he knows that I'm locked up."

The sergeant sat back in his chair and thought a moment. It was perfectly plain to him that Frank was not intoxicated, and his whole manner was that of a gentleman.

The sergeant was probably wondering whether the name Merriwell might not be a false one, and whether this prisoner might not be the son of the judge mentioned.

While he was wondering what he had better do about it, a young man entered the station with a businesslike air, and stepping up to the big desk, said:

"Good-evening, sergeant, anything going on?"

Then he caught sight of Merriwell, and exclaimed:

"Great Scott, Merriwell, what are you doing here?"

"I'm a prisoner, Mr. Matthews," Frank responded.

The young man stared at Frank for just an instant, and then turning to the sergeant, said:

"Anybody in the captain's room?"

"No," was the reply.

"Come in here," said Matthews, taking Frank by the arm and walking him across the room.

When they were in the captain's room, Matthews shut the door, motioned to a chair, and sat down opposite Frank.

"Now, then," he said, "what's got into Yale?"

"Mr. Matthews," Frank responded, "I hate to say that I'm sorry to see you, but a newspaper man is the last man in this whole world that I would care to tell this story to."

"Well, but see here, Merriwell," responded Matthews, earnestly, "a newspaper man isn't a born fiend, you know; I'm not likely to forget that I'm a graduate of Yale, and I certainly am not going to hurry off with an item to my paper that will bring you into any disgrace.

"Yale graduates are getting to think a good deal of you, Merriwell, and I brought you in here to see if there might not be some way to help you, not to get a sensational item."

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Matthews," said Frank, "but I had an idea that when a man became a reporter he could think of nothing but news and things to write about."

"That's business," said Matthews, "sure enough, but I'm an old Yale man, at least I'm older than you, but I graduated only a couple of years ago, you know, so sing your song and let's see if there isn't something I can do."

Thereupon Frank told the reporter all about his difficulty. He explained how Mellor was hopelessly drunk in a cell, and how he had got arrested while making an attempt to get Mellor away from his companions.

"By Jove!" said Matthews, under his breath at last, "I don't blame you for doing what you did, Merriwell, but perhaps it would have been better if you had avoided a row and simply induced Mellor to go out with you."

"I don't think I lose my head very often," Frank responded, "but I must confess I did then. It was just maddening to see him soaking there with three scoundrels who had undoubtedly set out to get him filled up. Anyhow, there's no use regretting what I did, for here I am, and next to having Yale win in the contest to-morrow night, I'd rather keep this thing from becoming public."

"I can fix that easily enough," said Matthews, confidently. "The sergeant doesn't know that you're a Yale man, and even if he should, I'll prime all the other reporters who cover this district at night, and get them to say nothing about it. You needn't worry on that score, Merriwell, the only thing to do is to get you and Mellor away from the station house."

Frank then told how he had wanted to send for the judge referred to.

"He's known me since I was born," he explained, "and was an intimate friend of my father. There's no doubt that he would believe me, and I suppose his word would go with the police."

"Yes, it would, but it's a long way to his house, and he may not be at home. The captain will be in in two or three minutes, and we'll see if I haven't got influence with him."

In less time than Matthews had supposed, the captain came in. To Frank's great astonishment, the reporter easily persuaded the captain to release the two students.

It is not very often that a police captain has an opportunity to do a favor to a newspaper man, and when a chance does occur, he's quick to take it, for the reporters of New York newspapers can make or unmake a policeman's reputation.

The only thing in the way of letting the students go was the fact that the bartenders in the saloon where the fight occurred had made a charge against Frank.

That was quickly fixed by the captain, who went himself to the saloon and suggested that the charge be withdrawn.

Of course the suggestion of the captain was enough. The bartenders were glad to withdraw the charge if he advised it.

Therefore Frank had not been a prisoner half an hour before he and Mellor, accompanied by Matthews, were rolling across the city in a closed cab on their way to the Murray Hill.

When they arrived there they used a good deal of caution about going in, for Mellor was quite as stupid as he had been at first, and both Matthews and Merriwell were anxious to prevent anybody from becoming aware of his condition.

They got him into the Turkish bath there without observation, and gave an attendant a liberal fee to look after him for the night.

CHAPTER XII

ON THEIR GUARD

The other Yale men were out for their evening run when Frank was at last ready to join them.

He did not try to follow them, for he had been so disturbed by the excitement of his adventure with the police, that he thought it best to rest; so when the students returned they found Frank in bed, and no one disturbed him.

Next morning early he got Rowland and Hill together and explained the whole affair to them. They were indignant, mad and disgusted all together.

"We'll send Mellor back to New Haven on the first train!" exclaimed Hill.

"It would serve him right," added Rowland, "if the faculty should hear of this and expel him."

"The faculty mustn't hear of it," said Frank, decisively. "The thing I've worked for most in all of this is to prevent any sort of disgrace, and if Mellor can be put into condition for making a wrestle, it'll be better for all of us that he should go into the contest."

"He'll never be able to last a single round," groaned Hill.

"If he should go down at the first catch," said Rowland, "everybody would suspect that he was out of condition, and then what would come of it?"

"Well, perhaps he isn't so badly off as you think," suggested Frank. "He may be able to put up a good front. Let's go down and see how he is."

The suggestion was adopted at once, and the three went down to the Turkish baths. The assistants who had been feed to look after Mellor said that the student was asleep on a couch.

Frank and the others went to the sleeping room and stood by the couch looking at Mellor in silence for a full minute.

As he had been very carefully rubbed and thoroughly steamed the night before, and as he had been sleeping for many hours, he looked now quite as well as usual.

The three managers looked at each other and nodded. They understood each other; it was better that Mellor should be allowed to appear in the wrestling match that night, even though he was almost surely doomed to defeat.

They were about to withdraw when the wrestler opened his eyes.

"Hello, boys," he said, suddenly, and he sat up.

"How are you feeling?" asked Merriwell.

"Bully!" replied Mellor, with emphasis. Then his face flushed and he looked down at the floor.

"I guess you remember what has happened," remarked Hill, contemptuously.

"Yes, I do," responded Mellor.

"What do you think of yourself?" asked Rowland.

"You're a fine man to carry Yale's banner to victory, aren't you!" demanded Hill, savagely.

"Hold on, fellows," interrupted Frank; "there's no use in rubbing it in. How did it happen, Mellor?"

"Oh, it's just my confounded foolishness," Mellor replied, with a groan; "I wanted to see a little bit of city life, but I had no idea of drinking. I had heard of a place where all sorts of toughs resorted, and I went in there simply to look on."

"Better have stayed in the hotel," muttered Hill.

"Go on," said Merriwell.

"Well, there was quite a crowd there, and among them were two or three Princeton students."