© Gilbert Patten WNU Service CHAPTER VII—Continued am] Dick Springall, captain of the team, was talking to the coach when Frank entered the little office. Kane introduced them. Springall shook bands and looked the freshman over. Kane didn’t beat about the bush. “You've played football, haven't you, Merriwell?’’ he asked. “Yes, sir, some.” “Where?” “With Bloomfield high.” “What position?” “Backfield.” “Why haven't you come out for Fardale?” “There's a reason why I can't, Mr. Kane.” “What reason?” Frank could feel the heat getting into his cheeks. “I can’t answer that question, sir.” The coach's heavy eyebrows rose slightly. “That's odd. You must know how it sounds, Merriwell.” “I do.” Merry's embarrassment was growing. “But I can’t help it, sir.” “Huh! Were you any good?” “Well, now, Mr. Kane, you wouldn’t expect me to brag about myself, would you?" “I’ve seen you running in the gym and I've been told you can drop-kick a football pretty neatly. You're built right. You keep yourself in shape. We lost half our best men last year. We've got a big squad now, but it isn’t so hot. You don’t look like a slacker.” “I hope I'm not, sir.” “Well, whatever your reasons are for not joining the squad, there must be some way to get around them. I'd like to see you out on the field tomorrow afternoon.” Now Frank looked positively ill. “But I can’t come,” he replied as if denying himself something he would like to do more than anything else in the world. “If I could, I would. I hope you believe me, sir.” Kane was silent a few moments, gazing searchingly at the freshman, who appeared uneasy and dis- tressed. ‘‘All right,” he said pres- ently. “We'll drop it for the time being, but I'm not at all satisfied.” Merriwell went away from there feeling low. Something in Spring- all’s face had cut him deeper than the doubt and puzzlement of the coach, The captain of the team had classed him, and it wasn't any- thing to advertise in the newspa- pers. Frank didn't want to talk to any- body about it. Not even Barney. It was a sore spot that he wanted to hide. But hidden sore spots have a fortable. Somebody always gets to prodding around them. out of his mind, but it to shake thoughts of Inza Burrage much more easily, for he was con- vinced that she just didn’t stack up. Her brother was all right, all right, but plenty of first-string brothers had sisters who paid no dividends. They were not in the preferred class. Frank continued to avoid the foot- ball field. Whatever Coach Kane or Dick Springall thought of him, he couldn't help it. Two days later, Mulloy came gal- loping into their room and found Frank there, alone, and up to his ears in a math problem. The Irish boy was as cglm as the Atlantic ocean in a howling gale. “Do ye see me fist?’ he cried, shaking it in the air. “Do ye see it, lad?” “I don’t need a microscope for that,” said Merry. “Well, I'm looking for handcuffs to hold it. Already it's taken the power of my mighty will. Right in the middle of the campus, too.” “Now who was the careless of- fender who escaped death by the breadth of a hair, Barney?” “There were six of them and they were talking about you, Frankie. They put a question to me that touched me off. They wanted to know if it's true you're carrying ice- cream feet in your shoes since you got a little bit hurt in a game of high school football last season. That, they said, is the low-down some goofy guy has dug up about ye, me lad.” Frank's face had gone white. The sore spot had been uncovered. Somebody had done it and then had made haste to dish the dirt. Barney Mulloy couldn't get it. Ev- ery time he went into a huddle with himself and tried to find the answer the thing just wouldn't boil down. Still he was ready to bet his life that Merriwell was no quitter. He had seen plenty to make him dead sure of that. About most matters Frank was as frank as his’ name, but when it came to telling why he couldn’t play football he was as stingy as a slot machine. He simply wouldn't give down. *Nosey people are annoying, Bar- ney,” he had said, “but every time you let them put you on the de- fensive you've slipped. I've found out that a good reason can sound . like a poor excuse when you're forced to give it.” And that had left the Irish boy fog-bound, odge had fumbled badly in think- ing Merry couldn't fight just be- cause he wasn't the scrappy kind with a swollen sense of his own mportanee and great eagerness to make others conéede it. hen the time came to do so Frank had shown his speed, and the shock to his ene- my had been greater because of the delay. Good military tactics for a long campaign. Another thing he had shown by quickly stepping in between Barney and Bascomb when the latter had turned pugnaciously to pick up the Irish boy's slam about thimblerig- gers. He had shown that he would fight for a friend quicker than for himself. Even Bascomb had caught a glimmer of that truth. Now, only for one thing, Mulloy would have been sure of Merriwell’s disappointed enemies were out to smirch him with a lie forged by mal- ice from nothing at all. But Bar- ney had seen Frank lose color over the campus gossip which he had brought to his ears, and that wasn’t his way of reacting to pure bunk. He would have laughed at it. Still the faith of the Irish boy wasn't shaken. He told himself it “yr oe ‘““If—and When—He Makes An- other Pass at Me, He'll Get the Works.” would all come out in the wash, but he wondered when washday would Football talk was in the Fardale, for the date of the first game lay close in the offing. Coach Kane was said to be in a low state of mind about the team, but then ‘Old Kaney'’ had a habit of being pessimistic before he got the machine oiled up and running well. And, of course, the opening clash with Mayfield wasn't anything to lose sleep over, anyhow. That was in the bag, they said. It would be just good warming-up practice for State Second the following Sat- urday. That was when the home “Musketeers” would have to step into it to keep from being snowed under. Frank didn’t talk football, even with his classmates, and he avoided listening to it when he could. He other things, but scratch as his own cheerful self. There were moments, in fact, when something like an unhappy shadow haunted his face. He wasn’t in the great crowd of cheering fellows that gave the team a send-off Saturday, when it left for Mayfield in the big school truck and several private autos. Nor was he conspicuous by his absence: for those fellows, even if any of them gave him a passing thought, had no reason to imagine he would ever do anything they would want to write home about. Sitting alone in his room, he heard the sounds of the distant cheering, and the text book on which he had been trying to fix his attention was struck by the ague. He dropped the shivering thing and got up to walk the floor like an ani- mal caged from its rightful free- dom. Mulloy came, a while after the cheering had stopped, and found him still walking up and down. “Well,” said Barney, “I hope it won't break your heart to hear that our dear roommate didn’t make the trip with the team today. He was left in the lurch.” Frank felt like replying that some- body else had been left in the lurch, but he didn't. It was late in the afternoon when he made an excuse to get away alone . The autumn woods were putting on a faint gay touch here and there, but there was no faint touch of the light and gay in Merriwell's heart as he followed an old dirt road that wound through a grove beyond the hill. Jaws hard, hands sunk into his pockets, he swung along with his gaze on the brown road in front of him, He scarcely noticed the barking of a dog until he heard a shrill fa- miliar boyish voice calling to him. Then he saw them running toward him, Tad Jones and another dog. “By golly, Frank! By golly,” cried Tad as he came up, “I never spected to bump into you over here.” He was all steamed up, ex- cited and laughing. “Looker my new dog, Frank. Ain't he somethin’ slick? Just look at him, Frank.” Merriwell knelt down right there and fondled the lively black Scottie that responded as if he had found a long-lost brother. ‘Oh, gosh, he'll git you all over dirt, Frank,” worried Tad. “He's a grand dog. Just the right dog for you, Tad.” “That's the kind Miss Inza said he was, and she's always right, she is—'cept when she lets that sneak Hodge come sappin’ round her,” said Tad. ‘“What she sees in him has got me stumped.” Frank got up, brushing off the dust left by the dog’s paws. “Were you surprised when you got this dog, Tad?" “My stars, yes! That's why I call him S'prise for his name. You see, Miss Inza never tole me a thing about it till she fetched him. ’'Nd he was awful hungry 'nd she had me feed him first. 'Nd she talked to him 'nd tole him he b'longed to me, 'nd by golly he knew just what she said, for he just showed it that he was my dog from that minute. Don't you think she's swell, Frank?” "Oh, sure,” said Merry. From behind him came the sound of galloping horses. Turning, he saw two riders come round a curve of the road, side by side. They were very near and he recognized them instantly. Bart Hodge and Inza Burrage! Both wore riding togs, and, like Bart, flushed and she was laughing. A picture that would not be so easily kept out of dreams. see Frank and Tad until they were sweeping by. Then Inza ‘““Hello, Tad! Oh, hello, And on they went, with puffs of dust horses, “By golly!" said Tad Jones, star- ing at Bart's back. see somethin’ I'd like to That brought Frank's face. a wry I and S'prise together.” was his happy day. A raw wind from off the ocean brought in the dun drift of clouds late in the afternoon. Over Frank's head the night mail roared north- ward under a low and heavy ceil ing before he got back to the school. And there he found a cloud of gloom also, with much low moaning and muffled sounds of pain; for the telephone had brought the incredi- ble news that Mayfield had licked Fardale, 14 to 12. The school was stunned. Never since the dark ages before al coach had little Mayfield High ball game. Never until this black Saturday, on the morning of which the odds that Fardale would win again had been the sky against what have you. The first telephoned reports of the disaster had sounded like a hoax. baloney. Who had said so, wanted to know. And when told that Pete Smith, Fardale’s own reporter thority they had heaved sighs of re- lief, trying to be a funny guy. But when somebody called Dick Springall, the Fardale captain, and he confirmed the bad news the heav- ens came crashing down. Merriwell heard it from Bob Gagg. Gagg's almost missing chin, the bulging eyes behind his specta- cles, and the husky croaking of his agitated voice made him look and sound like a frog raising a lament from the depths of a dismal swamp. ‘And you better keep away from that gang on the campus, Danny Deever,” he said. ‘“‘They're talking about hanging slackers in the morn- ing.” A slacker! That was how they rated him. Of course it had come from the coach or from Springall, who had been present when Kane had talked with him. In his room, Frank stripped off his clothes. Then, wearing his bath- robe, he made for the nearest shower to wash off dust and perspi- ration. He didn't whistle as the cold water splashed over him. This wasn't his day for whistling. Mulloy was waiting for him when he returned. ‘‘Have vou heard the shocking tidings, Frank?’ he asked. “I've heard Fardale was beaten. That's all,” Merry replied. “Well, more details have come in. The Grand Canyon was full of He kicked like inchworm. Missed the bar twice, and those two points would have given us a draw, which would have been sad enough.” “It has been a gummy day.” “I think that big shot is just an- growled Bar- “If—and when—he makes an- pass at me he'll get the ’ " aiarm, ney. There was a knock on the door. called a voice. “Ask em to hold it one minute, please,” requested Frank, speeding "Now," said Mulloy, “who would “Your guess is as good as mine. If they'd said long distance was “Maybe it's something about— “Don’t be silly, Barney. would call me about that.” “Well, it's time ye were called.” barked the Irish lad, “and told to stop your ducking.” Merriwell was surprised, when he got inte the phone booth, to hear the voice of Tad Jones over the wire, The boy seemed to be all choked up with excitement and alarm. Nobody spluttered. Miss Inza but she's gone out again. Can't you come? You just gotter come, Frank!" me what's the matter.” “Oh, they've grabbed my dog! They've took him away from me! They've got him him!" “Who's got him?” 'nd they took him. They been killin’ dogs ‘thout no licenses, they'll" “Where are you now, Tad?” “Fletcher's drug store.” I'm coming.” (TO BE CONTINUED) Canada’s Arctic Areas Are Divided by Canada’s Arctic possessions are, geographically, divided by nature into two parts—the Western Arc- tic, reached from the Pacific ocean and down the Mackenzie river; and the Eastern Arctic, to which access is gained from the Atlantic ocean and Hudson bay. Brought about by the ever-widening search for minerals and by the use of aircraft as a means of transportation and exploration, impressions of the Northwest territores have under- gone considerable change within the past 20 years. Once regarded as being almost in- accessible, observes a writer in the New York Herald-Tribune, many areas are today within a few hours’ flying time of a number of cities and towns in western Canada. In spite of the northern latitude, the for local consumption, and the 80- called “barren lands’ yield a pro- fusion of wild flowers and mosses. Since the Seventeenth century the territories have been an important producer of furs, and have contrib. uted upwards of $27,000,000 in furs since 1922. Having in mind the need of conserving the game and fur