Frank Merriwell at Yale E-Book

Burt L. Standish

• Herausgeber: Publisher s11838
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

Frank Merriwell is a fictional character appearing in a series of novels and short stories by Gilbert Patten, who wrote under the pseudonym Burt L. Standish. The character appeared in over 200 dime novels between 1896 and 1930 (some between 1927 and 1930 were written by other authors with the same pen name), numerous radio dramas in 1934 and again from 1946 through 1949, a comic strip from 1928 through 1936, a comic book (four issues) Frank Merriwell at Yale, and a 12-episode serialized film in 1936. The book series was relaunched (with a different author) in 1965, but only three books were published. And now this book republish in ebook format. We believe this work is culturally important in its original archival form. While we strive to adequately clean and digitally enhance the original work, there are occasionally instances where imperfections such as blurred or missing pages, poor pictures or errant marks may have been introduced due to either the quality of the original work. Despite these occasional imperfections, we have brought it back into print as part of our ongoing global book preservation commitment, providing customers with access to the best possible historical reprints. We appreciate your understanding of these occasional imperfections, and sincerely hope you enjoy reading this book.

Leseprobe

Frank Merriwell at Yale

By

Burt L. Standish

Table of Contents

CHAPTER I. TROUBLE BREWING.

CHAPTER II. CHALLENGED AND HAZED.

CHAPTER III. THE BLOW.

CHAPTER IV. THE FIGHT.

CHAPTER V. THE FINISH.

CHAPTER VI. A FRESH COUNCIL.

CHAPTER VII. A SURPRISE.

CHAPTER VIII. THE "ROAST" AT EAST ROCK.

CHAPTER IX. THE DUEL.

CHAPTER X. AT MOREY'S.

CHAPTER XI. "LAMBDA CHI!"

CHAPTER XII. FRESHMAN AGAINST SOPHOMORE.

CHAPTER XIII. JUBILANT FRESHMEN.

CHAPTER XIV. THE RUSH.

CHAPTER XV. ON THE BALL FIELD.

CHAPTER XVI. TO BREAK AN ENEMY'S WRIST.

CHAPTER XVII. TALKING IT OVER.

CHAPTER XVIII. MERRIWELL AND RATTLETON.

CHAPTER XIX. WHO IS THE TRAITOR?

CHAPTER XX. A HOT CHASE.

CHAPTER XXI. ROAST TURKEY.

CHAPTER XXII. A SURPRISE FOR FRANK.

CHAPTER XXIII. THE YALE SPIRIT.

CHAPTER XXIV. GORDON EXPRESSES HIMSELF.

CHAPTER XXV. THE TRAITOR DISCOVERED.

CHAPTER XXVI. THE RACE.

CHAPTER XXVII. A CHANGE OF PITCHERS.

CHAPTER XXVIII. THE GAME GROWS HOTTER.

CHAPTER XXIX. THE END OF THE GAME.

CHAPTER XXX. RATTLETON IS EXCITED.

CHAPTER XXXI. WHAT DITSON WANTED.

CHAPTER XXXII. DITSON IS TRAPPED.

CHAPTER XXXIII. "PLAY BALL!'"

CHAPTER XXXIV. A HOT FINISH.

"'He Finally Found Himself Slugged Under the Ear and Sent Flying over a Chair.'"

CHAPTER I. TROUBLE BREWING.

  "Here's to good old Yale—drink it down!

  Here's to good old Yale—drink it down!

  Here's to good old Yale,

  She's so hearty and so hale—

  Drink it down! Drink it down! down! down!"

From the open window of his rooms on York Street Frank Merriwell heard the distant chorus of a rollicking band of students who had been having a merry evening in town.

Frank had passed his examinations successfully and had been admitted as a student at Yale. In order to accomplish this without taking a preparatory course at Phillips Academy, he had found it necessary to vigorously "brush up" the knowledge he had acquired at the Fardale Military Academy which was a college preparatory school.

Professor Scotch, Frank's guardian, had been of great assistance to him, for the professor knew just about what would be required at the entrance examination, and he had kept the boy digging away away at the propositions in the First Book of Euclid, had drilled him in Caesar, caused him to spend weary hours over Virgil and the Iliad, and made him not a little weary of his Xenophon.

As he passed without a condition, although he had been told again and again that a course at Phillips Academy was almost an absolute necessity, Frank was decidedly grateful to the professor.

Professor Scotch's anxiety had brought him to New Haven, where he remained "till the agony was over," as Frank expressed it. The little man bubbled over with delight when he found his protégé had gone through without a struggle.

Having secured the rooms on York Street, the professor saw Frank comfortably settled, and then, before taking his departure, he attempted to give the boy some wholesome advice.

"Don't try to put on many frills here the first year," he said. "You will find that freshmen do not cut much of a figure here. It doesn't make any difference what you have done or what you have been elsewhere, you will have to establish a record by what you do and what you become here. You'll find these fellows here won't care a rap if you have discovered the North Pole or circumnavigated the globe in—er—ah—ten days. It will be all the better for you if you do not let them know you are rich in your own name and have traveled in South America, Africa, Europe, and other countries. They'd think you were bragging or lying if you mentioned it, and—"

"You know well enough that I am not given to boasting about myself, professor, and so you are wasting your breath," said Frank, rather resentfully.

"Hum! Ha! Don't fly off the handle—keep cool. I know you have sand, and you're made of the right kind of stuff; but you are the greatest hand to get into scrapes I ever saw, and a little advice won't do you any harm. You will find that in many things you cannot do just as you would like, so you must—"

"I'll get into the game all right, so don't worry. You will remember that I did fairly well at Fardale, and you should not worry about me while I am here."

"I will not. You did well at Fardale—that's right. You were the most popular boy in the academy; but you will find Yale is far different from Fardale."

So the professor took his departure, and Frank was left to begin life at college.

His roommate was a rollicking, headstrong, thoughtless young fellow from Ohio. Harry Rattleton was his name, and it seemed to fit him perfectly. He had a way of speaking rapidly and heedlessly and turning his expressions end for end.

Frank had been able to assist Harry at examination. Harry and Frank were seated close to each other, and when it was all over and the two boys knew they had passed all right, Harry came to Frank, held out his hand, and said:

"I believe your name is Merriwell. Mine is Rattleton and I am from Ohio. Merriwell, you are a brick, and I am much obliged to you. Let's room together. What do you say?"

"I am agreeable," smiled Frank.

That was the way Frank found his roommate.

Harry was interested in sports and athletics, and he confided to Frank that he was bound to make a try for both the baseball and football teams. He had brought a set of boxing gloves, foils, and a number of sporting pictures. The foils were crossed above the mantel and the pictures were hung about the walls, but he insisted on putting on the gloves with Frank before hanging them up where they would be ornamental.

"I've taken twenty lessons, old man," he said, "and I want to point you a few shows—I mean show you a few points. We'll practice every day, and I'll bet in less than ten weeks I'll have you so you'll be able to hold your own with any fellow of your age and weight. Ever had the gloves on?"

"A few times," answered Frank, with a quiet smile.

"That's all the better. I won't have to show you how to start in. Here, here—that hand goes on the other glove—I mean that glove goes on the other hand. That's the way. Now we're off. Left forward foot—er, left foot forward. Hold your guard this way. Now hit me if you can."

Almost like a flash of lightning Frank's glove shot out, and he caused the glove to snap on Harry's nose.

"Whee jiz—I mean jee whiz!" gasped the astonished boy from Ohio. "You're quick! But it was an accident; you can't do it again."

He had scarcely uttered the words before Frank feinted and then shot in a sharp one under Harry's uplifted guard.

"Great Scott! You do know some tricks! I'll bet you think you can box! Well, I'll have to drive that head out of your notion—I mean that notion out of your head. Look out for me now! I'm coming!"

Then Harry Rattleton sailed into Frank and met with the greatest surprise of his life, for he found he could not touch Merriwell, and he was beaten and hammered and battered about the room till he finally felt himself slugged under the ear and sent flying over a chair, to land in a heap in one corner of the room. He sat up and held his gloved hand to his ear, which was ringing with a hundred clanging bells, while he stared astounded at his roommate.

"Wow!" he gurgled. "What have I been up against? Are you a prize fighter in disguise?"

That experience was enough to satisfy him that Frank Merriwell knew a great deal more than he did about boxing.

As Frank sat by his window listening to the singing, on the evening that this story opens, he was wondering where Harry could be, for his roommate had been away since shortly after supper.

Frank knew the merry singers were sophomores, the malicious and unrelenting foes of all freshmen. He would have given not a little had he been able to join them in their songs, but he knew that was not to be thought of for a moment.

As he continued to listen, a clear tenor voice struck into that most beautiful of college songs when heard from a distance:

  "When the matin bell is ringing,

    U-ra-li-o, U-ra-li-o,

  From my rushy pallet springing,

    U-ra-li-o, U-ra-li-o,

  Fresh as the morning light forth I sally,

  With my sickle bright thro' the valley,

  To my dear one gayly singing,

    U-ra-li-o, U-ra-li-o."

Then seven or eight strong musical young voices came in on the warbling chorus, and the boy at the window listened enchanted and enraptured, feeling the subtle charm of it all and blessing fortune that he was a youth and a student at Yale.

The charm of the new life he had entered upon was strong, and it was weaving its spell about him—the spell which makes old Yale so dear to all who are fortunate enough to claim her as their alma mater. He continued to listen, eagerly drinking in the rest of the song as it came through the clear evening air:

  "When the day is closing o'er us,

    U-ra-li-o, U-ra-li-o,

  And the landscape fades before us,

    U-ra-li-o, U-ra-li-o,

  When our merry men quit their mowing,

  And along the glen horns are blowing,

  Sweetly then we'll raise the chorus,

    U-ra-li-o, U-ra-li-o."

The warbling song died out in the distance, there was a rush of feet outside the door, and Harry, breathless and excited, came bursting into the room.

"I say, old man," he cried, "what do I think?"

"Really, I don't know," laughed Frank. "What do you think?"

"I—I mean wh-what do you think?" spluttered Harry.

"Why, I think a great many things. What's up, anyway?"

"You know Diamond?"

"The fellow they call Jack?"

"Yes."

"I should say so! It was his bull pup that chewed a piece out of the leg of my trousers. I kicked the dog downstairs, and Diamond came near having a fit over it. He's got a peppery temper, and he was ready to murder me. I reckon he thought I should have taken off my trousers and given them to the dog to chew."

"He's a Southerner—from Virginia. He's a dangerous chap, Frank—just as lief eat as fight—I mean fight as eat. He's been in town to-night, drinking beer with the boys, and he's in a mighty ugly mood. He says you insulted him."

"Is that so?"

"It's just so, and he's going to dallenge you to a chewel—I mean challenge you to a duel."

Frank whistled softly, elevating his brows a bit.

"What sort of a duel?" he asked.

"Why, a regular duel with deadly weapons. He's awfully in earnest, Frank, and he means to kill you if you don't apologize. All the fellows are backing him; they think you will not fight."

"Is that so? Looking for me to show the white feather, are they? Well, I like that!"

"But you can't fight him! I tell you he's a fire eater! I've heard that his father killed a man in a duel."

"And that makes the son dangerous! No, Harry, I can't afford to—What's all that racket?"

The sound of voices and of many feet ascending the stairs could be heard. Harry turned pale.

"They're coming, Frank!" he exclaimed. "It's the whole gang, and Diamond is with them. He means to force you to fight or squeal!"

CHAPTER II. CHALLENGED AND HAZED.

The voices were hushed, the feet halted in the hall, and then there was a sharp knock on the door.

Before Harry could reach the door Frank called out:

"Come in."

Open flew the door, and there stood the tall, straight, dark-eyed Southerner, with half a dozen other fellows behind him.

"Mr. Merriwell," said Diamond, stiffly, "I have called to see you on a very important matter, sir."

"Walk right in," invited Frank, rising to receive them. "Bring your friends in. State your business, Mr. Diamond."

The party came trooping in, and Frank was not a little astonished to observe among them Bruce Browning, a big, strong, lazy sophomore, a fellow who was known to be a great hand to plan deviltry which was usually carried into execution by his friends. As for Browning, he was not given to exerting himself when he could avoid it.

That a soph should associate with a party of freshmen seemed but a little short of marvelous, and Frank instantly scented "a job." Believing he had been singled out for the party to "jolly," his blood was up in a moment, and he resolved to show them that he was not "easy."

Jack Diamond drew himself up, his eyes fastened threateningly on Frank, and said:

"Sir, you had the impudence to kick my dog, and when I remonstrated with you, you insulted me. I demand an apology before these gentlemen."

Frank held himself in check; he appeared as cool as an iceberg.

"Sir," he said, "your confounded dog spoiled a pair of ten-dollar trousers for me, and I demand another pair—or satisfaction."