© 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-
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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<bearing animals as a means of
livelihood for the Indians and Eski-
mos, the Canadian government has
set aside large areas as native
game preserves.
While the fur trade is still a chief
industry, the future of the north-
west territories lies also in the de-
velopment of its mineral resources.
Previous to 1929 the most
mineral development was the dis.
covery of oil on the Mackenzie river
near Norman.
Dating the Yea
Christendom did not begin to da
its years from the
until almost 550 A. D., says Collier's
Neely, hen the method was
uced Dionysius us,
learned monk of Rome. Exige
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Makes 'Em Say: "How Trua"
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