© Gilbert Patten
WNU Service
CHAPTER 1
smn
A brakeman opened the forward
door of the smoking car and cried:
‘““Fardale! Fardale!”
Bart Hodge yawned and snapped
his half-smoked cigarette to the
floor. Letting his feet down from
the leather-covered seat before him,
he straightened up and gazed dis-
tastefully through the car window
at the frame houses of the small
town the train was pulling into.
Then he lifted his hand to attract
the brakeman’s attention.
‘““Hey, you!” he called.
here and take my bag.”
It wasn't a request; it was an
imperious command. But maybe
the man was deaf. At any rate, he
turned away and disappeared on
the car platform.
Flushing with annoyance, Hodge
picked up his handsome leather
traveling bag and carried it himself
as he followed two or three other
passengers who were moving to-
ward the door.
“Bum service on this dirty old
train,” he muttered. ‘No Pullman,
no porters, nothing but dirt and dis-
comfort. And look at this jerk-wa-
ter town I'm being dumped into!
What a place!”
Descending to the station platform
he nearly fell over a small, shaggy
mongrel dog that ran awkwardly
against his ankles. Quick as a flash,
he gave the dog a kick that bowled
it over, yelping with pain. Scram-
bling up, the animal took refuge be-
hind a small, shabby boy who was
offering peanuts and popped corn
for sale.
‘““Hi, there!” cried the boy.
“That's my dog! What'd you kick
him for?” He stepped forward and
faced Hodge indignantly.
“Keep your mangy old pooch out
from under people's feet, runt,” ad-
vised Bart. ‘““He almost tripped me
up.”
“But he’s blind in one eye 'nd
didn’t see yer. He wouldn't hurt
nobody, Shag wouldn't. 1 think
you're a big bum.”
“Oh, is that so?”
A back-handed slap sent the
owner of the dog reeling. Bags of
peanuts and popped corn, flying
from hig basket, were scattered
over the platform.
A hand gripped Hodge by the
shoulder and swung him round face
to face with another boy about his
own age. Neither appeared to be
more than sixteen.
“Now that was a nice thing to do,
wasn't it?" said the one who had
jerked Bart round.
His voice was scornful, his eyes
contemptuous. He had just de-
scended to the platform from the
steps of a car next to the smoker,
and his traveling bag lay at his
feet, where he had dropped it. He
was a good-looking lad in a manly,
wholesome way. Not quite as heavy
as Bart Hodge, but fully as tall,
he was poised lightly on his feet
as if ready for anything. And he
was not withered in the least by
Bart's glare of wrath.
For a moment Hodge was speech-
less. His teeth had snapped togeth-
er behind the slightly parted lips of
his petulant, willful mouth—the
mouth of a fellow of unreasonable
impulses and quick to take offense;
a fellow who could carry a grudge
and seek to get even for slights or
injuries. A vain fellow who wore a
signet ring, a handsome wrist
watch, and clothes extravagant of
pattern and extreme in cut.
“You'd better keep your hands off
me,” said Bart after a tense pause.
“And you'd better keep your
hands off that boy you just slapped,”
was the calm but grim reply. “1
don’t like to see dogs kicked or
small boys knocked around.”
“*Ch, you must belong to the S. P.
C. A.” sneered Hodge. ‘What's
your name, anyhow?"
“What difference does it make?
But 1 don’t mind telling you. It's
Frank Merriwell.”
“I'll just jot that down mentally—
for future reference. I noticed you
on the train, and I've a notion
you're on your way to Fardale acad-
emy."”
“It’s a good guess.”
“Well, I am too, and I'll be see-
ing you later, Mr. Merriwell. I'll
be seeing you!”
An odd smile
Frank Merriwell's face.
promise?’ he said.
“You can take it any way you
want to,” replied Hodge hotly. “1
don’t forget people who meddle with
my business.”
“Then I'll make you a promise,”
Frank retorted. “If it's your busi-
ness to kick dogs and cuff small
boys I'll be a meddler every time I
catch you at it.”
For a moment it seemed that
Bart Hodge was going to drop his
bag and pitch into Merriwell then
and there. But, never letting his
gaze waver for an instant before
Bart's wrathful glare, Merriwell re-
mained lightly poised, ready and
steady The tension broke sudden-
ly.
Hodge snapped his fingers. “It's
@ good act, big boy,” he said. with
&« force grin “Look at the yaps
who've nped to watch it.
“Come
flickered across
“Is that a
to spoil their fun, but I'm in a hurry
right now. We'll get together again,
Merriwell. It won't be long.”
“That's up to you,” said Frank,
“but just so I won't forget you,
you might tell me your name.”
“I'm Bartley Hodge, and I'll see
that you don’t forget me. Don’t let
that worry you.”
With a sweeping, scornful glance
at several persons who had paused
to watch the outcome of the encoun-
ter, Hodge walked swiftly away to-
ward the station baggage-room.
Merriwell felt a timid pull at his
elbow. “By golly,” said the owner
of the dog, grinning up at Frank in
an admiring way, ‘‘you made that
big bluff pull in his horns. We're
much obliged to you, me 'nd Shag
are. Ain't we, Shag?”
Shag wagged his tail, and barked,
Then he sat up straight with his
Was Going to Take a Swing at
You.”
forward paws drooping, cocked his
head to one side and seemed to take
Frank's measure with his one good
eye. His comical appearance
brought a quick laugh to Merriwell's
lips.
“Oh, he used to do lots of tricks
like jumpin’ rope 'nd walkin’ on
his hind legs before he got so old,”
declared the freckle-faced young-
ster proudly. “He's a good dog,
Shag is, 'nd it made me mad when
that big stiff kicked him.”
“I don't blame you,” said Frank.
“It made me a trifle hot, myself.”
“1 thought that feller Hodge was
goin’ to take a swing at you," said
the boy, ‘but I guess he didn’t dast
to with you lookin’ at him the way
you done.”
corn, Tad Jones,” said a man who
had been gathering up the scats
tered bags. "Only two of the bags
broke and spilled the stuff around.
This dime’'ll pay for them.”
“Oh, thank you, Mr. Brown,” said
Tad as the bags were restored to his
basket. “Business has been bad to-
day, 'nd that Hodge feller didn't
make it no better.”
“Look here, Tad,” said Merriwell,
you must know where John
Snodd’s place is.”
“Sure I do. It's near the 'cade-
my, 'bout a mile over the hill. If
you're goin’ there you better see
Joe Bemis about takin’ your bag-
gage along. He drives Snodd’'s
truck, 'nd you can ride with him,
too. That's him Hodge is talkin’
to over there now.”
“A mile will be just a good stretch
for my legs after that train ride. 1
think I'll walk it if you'll show me
the way, Tad. There'll be fifty cents
in it for you."
“Fifty cents! Gee, but that'll make
up for the bad business. You bet
I'll show you the way, Frank Mer-
riwell. - But if you've got a trunk
you want Joe Bemis to take you
better 'tend to it now.”
“Wait right here,” said Frank.
‘“Here’s your fifty cents in advance.
I'll be back in a couple of min-
utes."
He left a silver half-dollar in the
freckle-faced youngster’'s hand be-
fore hurrying away to interview Joe
Bemis, and boy and dog were
waiting on the spot when he re-
turned. He had delivered his trav-
eling bag to Bemis and turned over
the check to his trunk.
“1 been watchin’ you,” said Tad,
wagging his head. “Didn't know
but that Hodge guy’'d get dirty 'nd
start somethin’ with you.”
Frank laughed. ‘‘He seemed to
have forgotten all about me, Tad.”
“But he ain't, Frank. He's wait-
in’ for a better time. He said he'd
be seein’ you. I heard him. You
better look out for that bird.”
“Okay, I'll be watching. Where's
your basket, Tad?"
“Oh, I didn’t want to lug that, so
I left it with Jim Davis, who runs
the gasoline pump over ’crost the
street. I'll get it when I come back.
Ready to start, Frank?”
“Yes, let's go.”
The old dog trotted ahead of them
as they were climbing the hill. Be-
hind them the train was pulling out
of Fardale village. Beyond the hill
lay the exclusive school for boys,
the autumn term of which had
opened a week ago. Circumstances
over which he had no control had
delayed Frank's arrival. Now he
must pass special examinations to
obtain admittance.
Chatting with his guide on the
way up the hill, Merriwell learned
that the little fellow's father was
dead, that his mother was poor, and
that Tad was doing what he could
to keep the wolf away from the
door. Something like a magical
sympathy and understanding was
established between them.
When they came to the crest of the
long rise Frank found himself look-
ing down on the academy build-
ings, half a mile away. He paused
to take the scene in. Besides the
academy itself, there were dormi-
tories, a mess hall, gymnasium and
chapel. The walks were bordered
by rows of handsome trees, and the
tennis courts and athletic field were
not far distant. Students were mov-
ing to and fro, singly and in small
groups.
Beyond lay the open ocean, with
the sunshine of late afternoon warm
on its bosom. A building on the
shore of a sheltered cove appeared
to be the academy boathouse,
Thrilled, Frank took off his cap.
‘“So this,’’ he said, “is Fardale acad-
emy. Some school! Maybe I'll like
it” .
‘““Maybe!’” barked Tad Jones. “If
you don’t there's somethin’ screwy
with you. The fellers that can get
inter that school are dead lucky.
That's John Snodd's place down at
the foot of the hill, them white
buildin’s.”’
‘““Righto,” said Frank. *‘And now
I won't need you to pilot me any fur-
ther. But I hope we'll be seeing
each other often, pal.”” He held out
his hand.
the roots of his hair, Tad
hands.
Frank!’ he blurted.
his dog,
and his dog.
sound of a warning horn, a light
them.
but Bart Hodge was driving and Joe
Bemis, Snodd’'s man,
beside him.
“Look out, Tad!" Frank shouted.
Leaping toward the side of the
road, the boy tripped and fell. Like
an acrobat, he flipped his body over
and rolled into the ditch. He was
hidden from Merriwell’s view by the
dust raised by the wheels of the
truck.
Hodge grinned mockingly at
Frank, standing on the shoulder of
the road, as the truck rolled past
with unabated speed. The dust
caused Merry to shut his eyes for
a moment. As the truck rumbled
onward he heard Tad's voice call-
ing wildly:
“Frank! Frank! Come here,
Frank! He ran over my dog! He's
killed my poor little dog!”
More than an hour later, Tony
Acerro dreve his brand-new “taxi”
up to John Snodd's front door and
Frank Merriwell hopped lightly out
of the car.
Snodd was waiting on the steps.
“Well,” he said, taking his pipe
out of his mouth and looking Frank
over with a pair of keen blue eyes.
“1 see you arrived in style, young
feller. Sorry my truck wasn’t good
enough for you to ride in.”
His speech was sharp and brisk.
Like his neat white buildings and
everything around the place, he
looked prosperous. His
chin whiskers gave him a distinctly
rustic appearance.
(TO BE CONTINUED)
Thomas Parr, England's most fa-
fifty-two when he died in 1635. The
countess of Desmond lived to one
hundred forty.
More striking was the mysterious
Eighteenth century figure who
called himself the count of St. Ger-
mains, writes a Paris correspond-
ent.
Who he was, where he was born
and died, if he ever died, is not
known. Mme. de Gergy, wife of
the French ambassador to Venice,
tells of meeting him in Venice in
1710. She speaks of a man of about
fifty.
During the next 20 years St. Ger-
mains wandered through the capi-
tals of Europe. The only claim he
made for himself was that he un-
derstood alchemy.
In 1735 he turned up at The
Hague, making a profound .impres-
sion on Count Morin, first secretary
of the Danish legation, who referred
to St. Germains as a man who
locked about fifty and talked easily
of events 300 years old.
His friendship for Mme. de Pom-
padour in 1750 has been recorded.
Horace Walpole met him about this
time in London.
back in France, and 13 years later
he was in Brussels.
In
000 silver crowns.
He was seen in Vienna during the
French revolution and made his last
authenticated appearance in Paris
in 1820, still looking a man of about
fifty.
His death was reported a score
century. But many people believe
he is still alive, wandering alone
through those places where once he
rubbed shoulders with King Louis
dour.
Hypo, Crystalline Compound
line compound, made by boiling a
sulphite with sulphur. Its chemical
name is sodium thiosulphate. Hypo
and is used also for removing excess
chlorine from bleached fabrics.
I i
PRETTY girl is like a melody
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A
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The
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Pattern
artiome
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‘act” of
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Strange Facts
! Italy Conquered |
. with Chalk ®
piece of Chalk.” That is
Two years after
Columbus landed in America, this
French king took soldiers into
hand guns. Because Charles had
i
{
i
|
:
All he had
and go there.
Gunpowder was first
til almost a hundred years later.
The early hand gun consisted of
under the arm when the gun was
fired. The charge was inserted
from the muzzle. It was ignited
by a wick match applied to a
touch-hole on the side of the iron
tube. The match was held in a
hinged fork mounted on the stock,
enabling it to be brought into con-
tact with the gunpowder in the
priming pan. This match lock, so
arranged, was called the “harque-
bus.” The early hand gun was
called an arquebus.
Charles VIII set out for Italy in
1494 with 140 heavy cannon and
with one-tenth of his infantry
armed with hand guns. Before
the year was over his victorious
army had entered Rome.
The hand guns probably fright-
ened more people than they killed.
The smouldering wick match and
the powder in the firing pan were
exposed to rain so a gun often
misfired.
However, the new weapons were
effective and Charles VIII entered
Naples in May, 1495, in great
pomp and splendor to claim the
kingdom of Naples which his fath-
er had inherited. Charles planned
to conquer Constan but he
died three years after his famous
Songuest of Italy, at the age of
ios dunia.
Pattern 1435 is designed
sizes 12 to 20 (30 to 40 bust). Size
14 requires 4% yards of 39-inch
material, plus 2; yard contrasting.
Send your order to The Sewing
Circle Pattern Dept., 247 W. For-
ty-Third street, New York, N. Y.
Price of patterns, 15 cents (in
coins) each.
© Bell Syndicate. —WNU Service,
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E———————————
WNU-—4 2-38
S12 11810
of Health
Don’t Neglect Them!