The Original
© Gilbert Patten
WNU Service
SYNOPSIS
When Bart Hodge, a vain youth of sixteen,
alights from a train at Fardale, he stumbles
over a half-blind dog and in a rage kicks
the animal. The dog's owner, Tad Jones, a
small, shabby boy who supports his wid-
owed mother, denounces him. This nettles
Bart and he slaps Tad. Frank Merriwell,
an orphan of Hodge's age, prevents him
from further molesting Tad. Although the
two do not come to blows. Hodge sneeringly
says they will have to settle their differences
later. He and Merriwell had come to Far.
dale to attend Fardale academy. While
Hodge consults Joe Bemis, truck driver for
John Snodd, about his baggage, Merriwell,
accompanied by Tad and his dog, Shag,
start walking to Snodd’'s place. Presently
the Snodd truck, with Hodge driving, rum-
bles down the road and kills Tad's dog.
CHAPTER I—Continted
ee Den
“Why,” said Frank, after he had
paid the taxi driver, ‘how did you
get that impression, Mr. Snodd?
If you are Mr. Snodd.”
“I am,” said the farmer. “My
man, Joe Bemis, said you told him
you'd rather walk than ride with
him.”
Merry smiled. “But that was be-
cause I wanted to stretch my legs
after a tiresome train trip. It wasn’t
because I objected to the truck,
sir.”
“And that other feller — Bert
Hodge—he said you made a squawk
at the deepoe because he stepped
on Tad Jones’ old dog by accident.”
“Oh, I see.” Frank's smile grew
broader. ‘Well, did he tell you,
also, that he kicked the dog and
slapped Tad for objecting to that?”
The man's eyebrows lifted and
came down again. ‘“‘Huh? Why, no,
he didn’t say anything about that,
but he did say Tad got sassy.”
“Maybe, Mr. Snodd,” said Tony
Acerro, “he no tell-a you he run
over that dog-a up on the hill when
Joe let-a him drive-a the truck.”
“Hey? What's that, Tony?”
Snodd’s eyes had widened in sur-
prise. “Run over Tad's dog? No,
he never mentioned that. Did it
hurt the dog much?”
“Only just kill-a him,” said Tony.
“This-a boy come get-a me to
fetch-a Tad and his dead-a dog
home. Now maybe you have-a to
pay for that dog-a, Mr. Snodd.”
With which consoling remark, he
let in the car's clutch and drove
away.
“Why now, shucks!” said John
Snodd, pulling at his chin whiskers.
“That old dog was half blind, and
he wasn't licensed anyhow. He
wasn’t worth two cents.”
“He was worth a great deal to
that little boy, sir,”’ said Frank.
““Tad’'s all broken up over it. His
mother, too."
Snodd shook his head soberly.
“Now that's too bad. I'm sorry it
happened. Bemis had no business
to let that Hodge feller drive. But
1 don't believe either of them knew
the dog was run over.”
“Maybe they didn't,” allowed
Merriwell, “but Tad had to jump
for the ditch to get out of the way
himself, and he just made it. 1
didn't admire the way Hodge
grinned over that. It didn't seem
“like a joke, to me.”
“You're right,” agreed the farm-
er. “I'll give Bemis a dressing
down for letting that boy drive the
truck.” He beckoned to Frank.
“Well, come on in, young feller.
I've had your trunk took up to your
room. I'll show you where it is.”
It was a comfortably furnished
and pleasant room. Neatness made
up for style and taste. That was
the first thing Merry noticed. Then
he discovered there was running
water, which Snodd had piped from
a spring on higher ground. And
there were electric lights, with pow-
er drawn from the line that sup-
plied the academy. From the win-
dows the academy buildings could
be seen amid the trees, less than a
fourth of a mile away.
Stripped to the waist, he was get-
ting rid of the dust and grime of
the train journey when somebody
knocked on the door. ‘Just a mo-
ment,” he called, grabbing a towel
and using it vigorously.
When he opened the door a little
and peered round the edge of it he
was surprised to find that the one
who had knocked was a strange
boy with a whimsical, smiling face.
“Hello!” said Frank.
“Hello,”” said the other. “My
name's Barney Mulloy and my
room’s the next one to this. Like
yourself, I'm here to break into
Fardale academy. I've been hear-
ing you wear a high hat, and 1
thought I'd like to look at it—if
you don’t mind at all.”
“Come in, Mulloy,” said Merry,
opening the door wide. “But the
hat's in my trunk and I haven't un-
packed it yet.”
“It disagrees with the rumor that
you had it on when you arrived in
town,” chuckled Mulloy, accepting
the invitation to enter. ‘‘But then,
1 don’t believe all 1 hear.” His
quick eyes surveyed Frank's fine
torso, clean, strong arms and ge-
nial face. *“‘And it’s not much of a
sissy you look like, either,” he add-
ed.
“I that's one of the rumors
you've heard,” laughed Merry, as
he shut the door again, “I'm going
to brand it as pure hodge-podge.”
Barney Mulloy clapped his hand
over his mouth to smother a whoop
of appreciation. ‘‘Hodge-podge is
right,”” he agreed. “My window was
open when you arrived. What I
heard led me to believe Mr. Hodge
had misrepresented you, Merriwell.
That's why I butted in on ye so
soon.” .
“You're as welcome,” said Frank,
‘as a certified check. Take a chair
and be comfortable while I'm dress-
ing.”
He liked this lad on whose tongue
lay a slight touch of Irish brogue.
“Now how's it happen you're one
of the late-comers, like myself?”
Barney wondered, as he sat down.
Merry explained: ‘‘My uncle—he's
my guardian—was sick. Otherwise
I'd been here when the school
opened.”
“Oh, it's a guardian you have?”
“Yes. You see my father and
mother are both dead.”
‘“Hm-m, then it's a bit worse off
than I am you are, my lad. My
good mother, saints rest her, is
gone, but I've got a father living
¥ ! | |
{
fog GY
“Now That Was Different,
Barney.”
that's as fine a policeman as ever
walked a beat. And it's his plan
that I'll have a better education
than he picked up in old Limerick."
Barney said it proudly, and Frank
liked him better still. A spark had
been struck; they had clicked.
“But there's a bit of trouble,”
Mulloy went on. “Maybe I'll not
get into this school now.”
“Why, how's that?"
“Oh, I neglected to send them no-
tice I'd be coming a little late.
Now the dormitories are full and
I've been scratched off the list.”
Merry whistled. “Well, Barney,
something will have to be done
about that.”
“I'm afraid it can't be. It's not
much encouragement I got from
the dean when I saw him today.”
“Now look here,” said Frank.
“My Uncle Asher has an old friend
in the academy here. His name is
Horace Scotch and he’s a professor.
I'm going to see him tomorrow and
I'll talk to him about you. We'll
have to find a way to get you back
on the list, Barney. I'l do my
best.”
It was so unexpected, so friendly
and generous, that Mulloy's quick
tongue was silenced for a moment.
An odd look, half smile and half
frown, sprang into his Celtic face.
He stood up again on his sturdy
legs.
“It's a sweet mess of lies Bart
Hodge told about ye, Merriwell,”” he
said, “but maybe you won't want
to dirty up your hands on a snake.
If that's the way you feel, just
leave him to me.”
With true Irish spirit, Barney Mul-
loy was ready and eager to fight
for a friend, and he had picked
Frank Merriwell for a friend in
short order. But Frank promptly
declined Barney's offer to silence
Bart Hodge in the manner he had
proposed.
“That,”’ he said, laughing, "‘cer-
tainly would make me look like the
sissy Hodge said I was. I've been
brought up to fight my own battles
when fighting is necessary, but I
never go hunting for trouble.”
‘Oh, yes?” said Mulloy, his eyes
twinkling. “Then what made ye
jump in quick as a wink when you
saw Mr. Hodge kick a dog and slap
the boy that owned him?"
“Now that was different, Barney.
Nobody but a poor fish could have
stood still and let him get away
with that.”
Barney nodded his head. ‘Now
I've got your number,” he said. “So
I'll sit on the side-lines and do the
cheering. It's a notion I've got that
the show will be good when it comes
off.’
Somebody was playing the piano
in the big front room when they
came down to supper. Through the
open door Merriwell got a glimpse
of the back of a slim, fair-haired
girl whose hands were fluttering like
white butterflies over the keys. Only
a glimpse as he walked past the
door, but not many young girls
could play like that in these days
of canned music and the radio, and
he was interested.
“Who's that, Barney?” he asked.
“A pip,” said Mulloy, grinning.
“Name's Inza Burrage. She's got
a brother in the school.”
“Is she staying here at Snodd’'s?”
“Oh, no. But Snodd’s got a sad-
dle horse she rides like a cowgirl,
and she's chummy with Belinda,
who's throwing a kitten party this
evening—no gents allowed. She ar-
rived early.”
“Who's Belinda?"
“Snodd’s daughter.
but a bit of a bouncer.
us our rations."
Belinda was serving Bart Hodge,
who had arrived ahead of them,
when they entered the dining room.
She was, as Barney had stated, “a
bit of a bouncer,” but she had a
pleasant, intelligent face. Hodge
apparently was jollying her, but he
dropped it at once and put on an
air of dignity when they came in.
“Too bad about that old dog, Mer-
riwell,” he said. ‘Neither Bemis
nor I knew the truck hit him. Mr,
Snodd says that even you don’t think
I ran over him intentionally.”
“I wouldn't like to think that you
—or anybody else—would delib-
erately kill a small boy's pet dog,
no matter how worthless the crea-
ture might be, Hodge.”
“Thanks,” acknowledged Bart. He
smiled as he said it, but it seemed
to Merry that there was a sneer
hidden behind the smile.
After that Hodge took no part in
the conversation. He ate hurriedly
and left the table before Frank and
Barney were much more than half
through the meal. With a show of
careless generosity, he dropped a
bill beside his plate as a tip for
Belinda.
“I'm glad that baby's gone,”
growled Mulloy. "It's good food
Mrs. Snodd cooks, but the sight of
kim soured it for me.”
“Oh, forget him," advised Frank.
The sound of the piano, which had
continued at intervals, ceased en-
tirely a few moments after Hodge
left the room. But it was a sur-
prise for Merriwell and Mulloy, re-
passing the door of the living room
a little later, to see Bart stand-
ing beside thq stool on which the
fair-haired girl was sitting. She
had turned from the instrument and
was listening as he talked to her
with the self-assurance of a fellow
who had no doubt of himself. Frank
got a good look at her now.
“A pip is right, Barney,” he said.
“The nerve of that guy!” mut.
tered the Irish boy.
Merry pulled at his elbow.
“Let's go for a walk,” he proposed.
Far away in the east, the round
moon spilled silver over the still
bosom of the ocean. Golden lights
glowed warmly in the windows of
the school dormitories. The night
was as mild as a night in June,
but its pleasant odors were those of
September. Crickets were fiddling
in the roadside grass. Somewhere
from within the academy grounds
came a chorus of boyish voices
singing a school song as Frank and
Barney walked slowly past the open
gate.
“Sounds pretty,” said Mulloy.
“Swell,” said Frank.
They didn't talk much until they
had followed a well-trodden path
down to the shore, on which the gen-
tle rollers of a rising tide were
breaking white. Then their tongues
were loosened. For more than an
hour they sat there and chatted of
many things that interested them
both. They joked and laughed a
great deal. And before they started
back for John Snodd's place they
felt as if they had known each other
all their lives.
On the road at the foot of the hill
Frank halted and stared at two
A good kid,
She'll pass
approaching figures. A small boy
was being pulled along by the leash
clinging.
called wonderingly.
“Sure it's me, Frank,” was the
reply, as the boy was dragged to-
ward them by the dog. ‘I've come
over to show yer my new dog. But
don't you touch him, for he ain't
feelin’ well 'nd he might bite yer.”
The hair on the animal's back was
bristling. It growled sullenly with
its nose thrust out toward Merry
and Barney. White foam dripped
from its mouth. Mulloy looked hur-
riedly around.
““Hold him, me lad,” he said, “till
I climb a tree.” ’
“Oh, he won't touch yer 'less I
tell him 0,” said Tad Jones, “but
I'd just like to see that feller Hodge
kick this dog. Tige would chaw a
leg right off from him if he did.
Wouldn't you, Tige?"”
The creature growled still more
alarmingly.
“Where'd you get that beast,
Tad?” asked Frank.
“Oh, Silas Gleason gave him to
me when he heard my Shag had
been run over 'nd killed.”
“But there's something the mat-
ter with him.”
“Silas Gleason said he was sick
a little but that he'd be all right
in a day or two. He just can't seem
to stay still, that's all.”
“Now look here, Tad,” said Mer-
riwell. “I don't like the way that
dog is acting. You better take him
right back to Gleason and tell him
you don't want him. If you don't
you'll have trouble with him.”
“Oh, no, Frank!" protested the
boy. “Oh, no! I do want him. I
gotter have a dog, 'nd this one'll
look out for himself 'nd me, too,
when any big bum like Bart Hodge
gets fresh. I'm goin’ to keep him.”
To the relief of Mulloy, the dog
switched round suddenly and began
to pull in the opposite direction.
“He wants to go back home now.”
said Tad, 'nd he's so strong I gotter
let him have his own way. Good-
night, Frank.”
Merry watched the huge animal
dragging Tad away by the leash.
“Now what do you think of that,
Barney?" he asked. “Isn't that a
fine dog to give a small boy to
play with?”
“He acts hungry,” said Barney.
“If 1 had him, it's arsenic I'd feed
him on."
CHAPTER II
When Frank and Barney came
back from their moonlight stroll the
lower rooms of John Snodd's big
white farmhouse were all aglow
with lights. From the open win-
dows of the living room flowed a
flood of girlish chatter and gay
laughter. Three automobiles were
parked in the yard at the side of
the house.
“Well now,” said the Irish boy,
“all the signs indicate Miss Snodd’s
party is off to a good start. Too
bad we can’t crash in on it, Frankie,
no dogs—I mean no gents—would
be allowed.”
“Wait, Barney.”
was on Mulloy's elbow. “Listen.”
A gayer burst of laughter came
from the house. As it subsided they
heard several of the girls urging
somebody to “tell another.”
of them. “That one was just
screamingly funny.”
“Maybe gentlemen are barred,
Barney," said Frank, “but it seems
that a ‘gent’ has crashed the gate.”
“Now on my soul,” said Mulloy
in amazement, ‘‘the big bang is
right in the middle of it.
beat that?”
riwell
(TO BE CONTINUED)
Intoxication
Substitution of a mechanical
smeller for the policeman’s nose will
soon be the order of the day in
automobile accidents involving sus-
picion of intoxication, according to
Dr. R. N. Harger, professor of bio-
chemistry and toxicology at the In-
diana university school of medicine,
relates a writer in the Public Safety
Magazine.
Declaring that the use of breath
has offered a practical possibility of
determining the state of intoxica-
tion, Dr. Harger said that his labo-
ratory has developed a new reagent
for alcohol which will absorb alcohol
from the air or breath.
This mechanical nose, convenient-
ly enclosed within a small box,
measures and records the driver's
alcoholic content for use in court,
according to the Indiana scientist.
“If the subject will not or cannot
blow his breath into a suitable con-
tainer, the breath may be sucked
through the apparatus by means
a pump so that it is possible
carry out this test without
touching the subject,” he said. **
feel that this has considerable ad-
vantages from a legal standpoint,
since the procedure simply substi-
policeman’s nose.”
policeman’s nose or any layman's
nose, for that matter, provides most
an intoxicating charge.
permissible evidence, there
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wa
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