CENTRE HALL, PA.
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, rumbles
down the road and kills Tad's dog. Occupy-
ing a room next to Merriwell's in the Snodd
home is Barney Mulloy, who dislikes Hodge.
They become good friends. Merriwell offers
to help Mulloy get into one of the academy
dormitories by appealing to Professor
Scotch, a friend of Merriwell's Uncle Asher.
As they leave the house that evening Hodge
is talking to Inza Burrage, a friend of Be-
linda Snodd. Later they meet Tad, who now
has another dog. That night Bart Hodge
crashes a party given by Belinda Snodd.
Hodge sings and the lovely Inza Burrage
plays the piano. When Merriwell, seated on
the porch with Mulloy, sings a comic song,
Hodge rushes out, accusing him of insulting
Inza. She steps between them, telling Hodge
that Merriwell is too cheap to deserve his
notice. Next day Merriwell and Mulloy rush
to a grove on John Snodd’'s farm to warn a
picnic party that a large dog is running
amuck. Hodge tries to convince Inza that
this is just a trick of Merriwell's. Inza, at
tempting to escape the maddened animal,
injures her ankle. Hodge flees In terror.
Merriwell single-handed holds off the mad
dog and saves Inza. John Snodd shoots the
animal. Later, Merriwell and Mulloy call on
Professor Scotch, who says the overcrowded
condition of the dormitories makes it neces-
sary for them to share a room-—with Bart
Hodge. An erroneous version of the mad
dog episode, obtained from Hodge, who
tries to hide his own cowardice, appears in
the local paper. Later Hodge and his friends
jeer Merriwell and Mulloy as they enter
Union hall, where they have to share a
room with Hodge. Hodge and his friends,
including Hugh Bascomb, football fullback,
are trying to intimidate Merriwell and Mul.
loy when Inza's brother Walter enters. The
plan of Hodge's cronies to embarrass Merri
well is all shot to pleces.
CHAPTER V—Continued
— ee
“Um-m,"” said Walter, lifting his
eyebrows slightly. “Maybe I was
misinformed. I was told they had
brought salt to rub into your
wounds. I fully expected to find you
smarting severely, but you don't
look very miserable."
“Oh, quite the contrary, sir.”
“Well, I see you've
you don’t have to ‘sir’
sophs like it, but just between our-
selves we'll pass it over.”
His eyes discovered the newspa-
per on the floor
had dropped it, and he picked it
up. “Your paper?’ he asked, look-
ing at Frank again.
“I think it belongs to one of the
visitors. A high-browed young gen-
tleman was reading aloud from it
when Mulloy and I came in. This
is Barney Mulloy, Mr. Burrage. A
pal.”
Burrage gave Barney a cordial
handshake also before he spoke to
Merry again: ‘I guess the highbrow
you mention was reading the dirt I
came here to see you about, Merri-
well. I've read it myself and it's
pretty crummy. I've just come back
from the village after talking to my
sister about it. She's ready to put
on her war paint and go out after
scalps.”
Hodge had sought retirement in
the background. The appearance of
Inza's brother had filled him with
apprehension. Already the set-up
which he had rigged with Bascomb's
aid had been knocked into a cocked
hat, and now the climax threatened
to ditch him in a grand crash.
“Inza asked me to see you as
soon as I got back here, Merriwell,”’
Burrage went on. ‘‘She suggested
writing a letter to the paper herself
and telling the truth about what
happened.”
That was something Frank hadn’t
expected and it brought a flush into
his face. ‘Now that was kind of
her, Mr. Burrage,” he said, “but I
don’t think it'll be necessary. The
Pasteur report will settle whether
the dog was mad or not.”
“But what she's sizzling over is
the statement made by Hodge. She
says he ran away and left her to
the mercy of the dog, and she's
sure the beast would have pounced
on he: when she twisted her ankle
and fell down. She thinks it was
marvelous, the way you faced the
furious creature and fought him off
until John Snodd arrived and shot
him.”
Now Bart was forced to step for-
ward and defend himself. His face
was white and his voice husky and
unsteady.
“1 don't” know whether the dog
was mad or not,” he said. “I never
said I did. But I didn’t run away.
What I did was get the other girls
out of there as quick as I could. I
thought Merriwell and Mulloy ought
to be able to take care of Miss
Burrage.”
Burrage gave him a crushing
look. ‘I've taken the trouble to
talk to those other girls also,” he
stated. ‘‘They say you didn't stop
for anything when you saw the dog
coming. They say you hit the high
spots and were rods ahead of them
when they got out of the grove.”
“They—they lie!” Hodge choked
for a moment. “I—I-—the minute I
saw they were all sale I went back.”
“After it was all over. After you
me. The
heard Snodd’s gun and figured he'd
shot the dog. That was really he-
roic. I won't tell you what my sis-
ter thinks of you, Hodge. I'll spare
your feelings that much.”
Bart tried to speak again, but
the words wouldn't come. Every-
thing had turned topsy-turvy. It
was a bitter pill to swallow.
“Now you've pulled another boner
by getting this gang in here to fry
Merriwell,”” Burrage added.
“Well, Merriwell’s a bum sport if
he can’t take a joke,” put in Hugh
Bascomb.
“That's right,” agreed Frank
cheerfully, “but I didn't stick out
my chin for it.”
‘“‘He took it,” grinned Mulloy,
“and handed it right back again.
And how!"
“I'll confess I was a trifle sur-
prised when I came in,” said Bur-
rage. ‘‘The wrong persons seemed
to be shell shocked. How come?”
Nobody answered. Looking about
as proud as if they had been caught
raiding a hen-coop, the fellows who
had come there to take Merriwell
over the jumps were edging to-
ward the door.
“Oh, well,” said Walter, smiling,
“we'll pass that over as unfinished
business."
“But you can bet it will be fin-
ished,” growled Bascomb.
Burrage turned on him sharply,
the smile gone from his face. ‘Look
here, Bascomb!"” he said. “You
have a way of getting rough when
-—
“It Begins to Look as if You Can
Take Care of Yourself, Merri
well.”
you catch a Tartar. Fun is fun, all
right, but the kind of stuff you pull
sometimes isn't funny. You better
watch your step. Now put on your
roller skates and take your little
playmates with you."
Scowling sullenly, the big fellow
led the retreat, and Hodge slipped
out also. The day was spoiled for
him.
“It begins to look as if you can
take care of yourself, Merriwell,"”
said Burrage, when the door had
closed behind the departing guests,
“but I'm going to warn you to keep
your eyes skinned for Bascomb.
Hodge isn’t half so dangerous as
that big gorilla; and somehow
you've made him love you like poi-
son."
“Why, he never did a thing but
look at Bascomb's mouth and throw
a fit over his first view of the Grand
Canyon of the Colorado,” said Mul-
loy quickly.
Walter Burrage caught his breath
and gave a shout of laughter. “Oh,
so that was it! The Grand Canyon!
It fits! But if that name sticks,
Merriwell, he'll hate you to his dy-
ing day.”
Walter Burrage did what he could
to put Frank and Barney in right
at the school. He took them around
and introduced them to several fel-
lows who, like himself, had got
somewhere. “Friends of mine,” was
what he called them, and it was
enough. It carried weight. It im-
pressed even Dean Graves, with
whom he finally left them, in the
dean's office.
Henry Graves was a calm, friend-
ly man who had a way with boys.
He could make them feel very com-
fortable in his presence, or very un-
comfortable, if there was a good
reason for it. Sympathy and un-
derstanding were his chief qualities.
He always seemed to know when to
be lenient with a fellow who had
slipped a cog, and when to crack
down. Youthful human nature was
his study, and he pursued it daily.
He gave Frank and Barney the
biggest part of an hour. This, he
told them, was their day to get
themselves settled into place. To
morrow the routine of the school
would begin for them. And what he
had to say about that routine pre-
pared them well for it. They knew
how to fall into line when they left
him.
Fellows on their wav to and from
classes gave them hardly a glance
as they roamed about the campus
and among the buildings, eagerly
taking everything in. The freshmen
were easy to spot. The mere con-
sciousness of being freshmen made
them appear unbaked, no matter
how much they tried to hide it,
“And, of course, we look just as
green as they do, Barney,” said
Frank, smiling.
“Maybe we do,” allowed Mulloy,
“but I've lamped two or three raw
ones that would taste like spring
grass to a hungry cow.”
Whether Hodge was seeking to
avoid them or not, they saw no
more of him until class hours were
over. Then, as they were lingering
near the big gymnasium to see the
football squad come out for prac-
tice, they got a surprise. Bart was
one of the fellows in playing suits
who streamed forth from the open
door and started to trot away to
the fleld.
“Do you see what I see, Frank-
je?’ gasped Barney, his eyes
threatening to explode like soap
bubbles.
“Why, I'm batty,” said Merry, “if
it isn't our beloved rbommate!”’
“But how could he make it so
sudden? Will ye tell me that, now?"
“Fine work by his friend Bas-
comb, He's sold Hodge to the coach.
There's your answer, Barney.”
A swift-footed boy, carrying =a
football, had got off ahead of the
others. Now he wheeled suddenly
and booted the ball back toward
those who were following him. But
the kick was much too lusty and
the pigskin soared over them and
came bounding erratically toward
the watching freshmen after it fell
to the ground.
Merriwell scooped it up, gave it a
deft, quick turn in his hands,
dropped it and kicked. The thing
sailed as if shot from a cannon.
Over the heads of the squad mem-
bers, far over the head of the one
who had given it the first boot, it
zoomed.
would recover the ball
Frank return it.
“Yea-a!" shouted an astonished
fellow. “Where'd that guy get
Charlie Brickley's leg?"
Merriwell took hold of Mulloy's
arm and turned him around. ‘Now
that we've seen what we've beheld,”
he said, *‘let's totter back to our
roost in Union hall.”
An odd look had come into the
Irish boy's face. ‘You've been
holding out on me, Frankie,’ he
charged. “Why didn’t you tell me
you played football?"
*1 don’t.”
“Come now, laddy, you gave your-
self away. Didn't I see you collect
that ball when it was dodging like a
rabbit chased by a hound dog?
Didn't 1 watch you drop-kick it like
one of the old masters? Didn't it
go for a ride that was scmething to
pant about? It was the work of an
educated leg, whether you stole the
leg from Charlie Brickley or not.
Now come clean, old scout.”
“Well,” said Merriwell seriously,
“Il don't play the game any more,
Barney. I'm all washed up.”
“And what's the cause of that,
I ask you?!”
Frank took a little time to reply
as they walked on. “Let's not go
into it," he evaded. “It's a thing
of the dear, dead past that's be-
yond recall, if you don't mind a
slight touch of poetry. I suppose we
all have our bitter secrets.”
Mulloy was surprised and puz-
zled. “Oh, well,” said he presently,
‘far be it from me to embarrass
you, pal. But there'll be others.
If it's on the level that you've quit,
you made a break when you showed
your stuff back there. I'll lay you
odds you get a call for the squad.”
“That'll be just too bad,” said
Frank, “for I'll have to duck it."
Glancing sidewise at his compan-
jon, Barney saw something that
They saw
added to his puzzlement. There was
a shadow, he thought, on Merri-
well’s habitually frank and cheerful
face.
Getting back to their room again,
they found that their trunks had
been delivered and moved in while
they were away. They unpacked at
once and stowed their belongings as
well as they could into closets and
drawers where space had not al-
ready been seized by Hodge. Later,
a porter took the trunks away for
storage.
The dining hall at the academy
was still called the mess hall, as it
had been in former days. It was a
sight for Frank and Barney at meal
gry fellows whose talk and laughter
was a pleasant sound for youthful
ears.
signed to the freshmen.
They looked around for Hodge in
vain. He was not at any of the
freshman tables. But that was
ter of some fellows who were talk-
ing football revealed that meals
squad in a smaller room reserved
for the athletic teams.
“Well,” said Barney, speaking to
Frank from the side of his mouth,
less of him.
tite, too.”
The half hour given to the eve-
satisfying. They struck up acquaint-
ances with a dozen sociable class-
mates in their vicinity, Everything
was free and easy and everybody
seemed happy. This was the life.
sure it's no dream,” said Mulloy
as they walked back to Union hall.
Tad Jones was waiting for them
on the steps. His grin, as he hailed
them, seemed to have a meaning
all its own.
“Somebody sent
Frank,” he said.
guess who.
me for you,
“Bet you can't
Just bet you can’t.”
“If you're that sure,” said Merri-
well, “I won't try. Spill it, Tad.”
“It's Miss Burrage, that's who.
She's over to Mr. Snodd's 'nd she
wants you to come there right
away.”
Barney's elbow jabbed into
Frank's ribs. ““The call of the wild,”
he chuckled. “If you answer it,
you're lost.”
“But I'm too weak to resist,”
laughed Frank.
A clear sunset had left a silvery
afterglow in the sky. The bright
day was lingering like a departing
guest at the door.
Inza was sitting in a little road-
ster and talking to her brother,
standing beside the car, when
Frank turned into Snodd’'s yard with
Tad trotting at his side. She was
laughing at something Walter was
telling her. Barney had called her
“a pip.” It fell short; she was the
roof.
“Hi, Miss Burrage!" cried Tad.
“Iii, there! I got him. I fetched
ai,
him. I made him come.”
said as they came up.
have to pull a gun on him?"
Her laughter had faded down to
an odd smile.
to explain.
cise with a knife 'nd fork.”
cascaded.
comes to athletics, I'm strong for
that course.”
Walter was laughing with them.
ness, Merriwell.
kickers do it with their mouths.”
(TO BE CONTINUED)
The urban American has little
conception of the European peas-
ant, unless it be as the romantic
figure of novel and opera, writes
Carl Joachim Friedrich in the Yale
Review. Except in certain remote
sections, the American farmer is
very different from the peasant of
long-settled countries. To be sure,
both farmer and peasant are en-
gaged in agriculture. But the typi-
cal American farmer is a small
scale producer whose outlook is that
of the business man. In fact, a
great many American farmers are
business men.
While such business men-farmers
are also to be found in Europe, they
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Apart from the owners of the large
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ther to son, not entirely unchanged,
of course, but, nevertheless, inter-
woven with ancient ways of doing
things.
These ancient ways at their best
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the peculiar local conditions of soil
and climate, as well as to plant
and animal life; at their worst, they
impose cumbersome hindrances to
an effective production under mod-
ern conditions of trans-oceanic com-
petition. But whatever they are,
most peasants accept them without
question. They do their work in
their particular fashion, merely ‘‘be-
cause it has always been done that
way.”
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