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Frank Merriwell at Yale; Or, Freshman Against Freshman

<h2> CHAPTER VI. </h2> <h3> A FRESH COUNCIL. </h3>  Diamond was in a wretched condition. Hunk Collins, his roommate, procured two slices of fresh beefsteak, and the Virginian had them bound over his eyes, while his face was bathed with soothing and healing lotions; but nothing could soothe his bruised and battered spirit, and Collins said he was kept awake all night by hearing Diamond grind his teeth at irregular intervals. Even when he slept near morning the Southerner continued to grind his strong white teeth. Collins was dropping off to sleep from sheer weariness when he awoke to find his roommate astride him and clutching him by the throat. "This time I'll fix you!" mumbled Diamond, thickly. "I'll kill you, Merriwell—I'll kill you!" Then he struck feeby at Collins, who rolled over and flung him off. They grappled, and it was a severe struggle before Diamond was flung down on the bed and held. "What in thunder is the matter with you?" gasped Collins, whose hair was standing. "I'm not Merriwell! Have you gone daft?" "Where are we?" "Why, in our room, of course. Where did you think we were?" "I didn't know. I was dreaming." "Well, if you are going to be this way often, I'll have to take out a life insurance policy or quit you." "Don't mind. I'll be all right in the morning. Oh, hang the luck!" Then the passionate Southerner turned over with his face toward the wall. Collins smoked a cigarette to quiet his nerves, after which he got into bed once more. At intervals he could feel the bed shake, and he knew Diamond was shivering as if he had a chill. In the morning Diamond was not all right. He was ill in bed, and it was necessary to call a physician, although he protested against it. His eyes were in wretched shape, but when the doctor questioned him, he persisted in saying he had injured them by falling downstairs. Of course he could not appear at chapel or recitations, and he sent in an excuse. Then Mr. Lovejoy came around to investigate. Now, Mr. Lovejoy was most mild and lamblike in appearance, and one would have thought never in all his life had he indulged in anything that was not perfectly proper. But appearances were deceptive in the case of Mr. Lovejoy. When a student at Yale he had made a record, but he had been fortunate, and he was never detected in anything the faculty could not approve. By those who knew him he was regarded as a terror, and by the faculty he was looked on as one of the most quiet and docile students in college. When Cyrus Lovejoy became an instructor he did not forget the days when he had been a leader in scrapes of all sorts, and he was not inclined to be prying into the affairs of students under him. Not only that, but he could be blind to some things he accidentally discovered. So when Mr. Lovejoy reported that John Diamond's eyes, being naturally weak, were inflamed by too close application to his studies, especially in the evening, no one thought of investigating further. The doctor, it was said, had forbidden Diamond to attempt to study for several days, and had ordered him to wear a bandage over his eyes. Two or three evenings after the fight a party of freshmen gathered in Merriwell's room, for they were beginning to realize that Frank was likely to be a leader among them. "I say, fellows," cried Dan Dorman, who was sitting on the sill of the open window, with a cigarette clinging to his lips, "do you know what Diamond is doing?" "He's doing his best to cure those beautiful eyes of his," said Bandy Robinson. "I'm giving it to you straight that he was out to-day and went down to the nearest gun store," declared Dorman. "Collins says he bought a Winchester rifle, a shotgun, two revolvers, a bowie knife, a slungshot, and a set of brass knuckles." "Wo-o-oh!" groaned Dismal Jones. "Why didn't he purchase a cannon and start for some battlefield?" "Look out, Merry," laughed Ned Stover. "He's after your scalp." "He'll have to get a bigger outfit than that before he takes it," declared Harry Rattleton. "How about it, Merry?" asked Bandy Robinson. "I'll tell you, fellows," said Frank, who was not smoking. "Diamond is not the fellow to give up whipped very soon. I'm dead sure to hear from him again." "He's a cad," growled Dismal Jones. "I think you fellows judge him rather harshly," said Frank. "He is a Southerner, and he looks at many things differently than we do. From his standpoint he seems to be right." "Well, he'll have to get those notions out of his head if he wants to stay in college," airily declared Dan Dorman. "Now, I came here with the idea of falling into the ways in vogue. Everything goes with me. That's the way to get along." "I am not so sure of that," Merriwell returned. "A man must have some individuality. If you do everything everybody wants you to, it won't be long before they'll not want you to do anything." "Oh, well, what's the use to be always hanging off and getting yourself disliked?" "One extreme is as bad as the other. Now, I make allowances for Diamond, and I am not inclined to believe him such a bad fellow." Harry Rattleton flung a book across the room. "Oh, you give me the flubdubs!" he exploded. "Why, that fellow hates you, and he means to do you some time. Still you are soft enough to say he's not such a bad fellow! It's disgusting!" "Time will tell," smiled Frank. "All of you fellows must admit that he has sand." "Oh, a kind of bulldog stick-to-it-iveness," murmured Stover. "I'll tell you one thing," said Bandy Robinson; "now that Diamond has not blowed, he's going to be backed by some of the leading sophs." "Eh? What makes you think so?" "Oh, I've got it straight. Browning has been to see him." "No! Why, Browning is king of the sophs!" "And he is jealous of Merriwell." "Jealous?" "Sure. He says Merry is altogether too 'soon' for a fresh, and he must be taken down. I tell you I've got it straight. He'll put up some kind of a game to enable Diamond to get square." "Well, this is rather interesting," confessed Frank, showing that he was aroused. "I'll have to look out for Mr. Browning." "He's a hard fellow to go against," solemnly said Dismal Jones. "He's a Le Boule man, and they say he may take his choice of the other big societies next year." "Oh, what's that amount to?" "It amounts to something here; but then he's a fighter, and he is authority on fighters and fighting." "He is too fat to fight." "They say he can train down in a week. He was the greatest freshman half-back ever known at Yale." "Half-back—Browning a half-back! Oh, say, that fellow couldn't play football!" "Not a great deal now, perhaps, but he could last year. He'd be on the regular team now, but his father swore to take him out of college if he didn't stop it. You see, Browning is not entirely to blame for his laziness. He inherits it from his father, and the old man will not allow him to lead in athletics, so whatever he does must be done secretly." Frank was interested. He wondered how a fellow like Bruce Browning could come to be know as "king of the sophomores," unless such a title was applied to him in derision. Now he began to understand that Browning was something more than the lazy mischief planner that he had seemed. Frank's interest in Browning grew. "And you say he is backing Diamond?" "That's the way it looks from the road." "Well, Mr. Bruce Browning may need some attention. It is he who puts the sophs up to their jobs on us. We ought to put up a big one on him." "That's right! that's right!" "Merry," said Jones, "set the complicated machinery of your fertile brain to work and see what it will bring forth." "That's right! that's right!" "I'll have to take time to think it over." "We have a few soph scalps," grinned Rattleton, pointing to a number of caps with which the walls were decorated, all of which had been snatched from the heads of sophomores. "Have the rest of you fellows done as well?" "I have lost two," confessed Dan Dorman. "They seem to single me out as easy fruit." "And haven't you made an attempt to get one in return?" asked Bandy Robinson. "I haven't had a good chance." "If you wait for a good chance you'll never get a scalp. You must snatch 'em whenever you can." "By Jove!" laughed Frank, "this talk about scalps has given me an idea." "Let's have it!" exclaimed several of the boys in unison. "Not now," he said. "Wait till I have perfected it." Roll Ditson strolled in, smoking a cigarette, and said: "Hello, Merry! Hello, fellows! What's up? Council of war?" "Just that," said Dan Dorman. "Merry is perfecting a scheme to put a horse on Browning." "Eh? Browning? Great Scott! Is that so? He's a bad man to monkey with. Better let him alone, Merry." Ditson had a patronizing way that was offensive to Frank, who had given him numberless digs; but he was too thick to tumble or he deliberately refused to take Merriwell's words as they were intended. "You'll have to kick him before he knows he's not wanted," Rattleton had said. "Thank you for your advice," said Frank, with mild sarcasm—"thank you exceedingly! Perhaps you are right." "Oh, I know I am. I don't want to get the king after me, and I don't believe you care to have him on your trail. He is the most influential soph in college. Why, his name is on a table down at Morey's." Ditson looked around as if his last statement had settled the question of Browning's vast superiority over all sophomores. Morey's was the favorite resort of the students, and no freshman could enter there. It was an old frame house, with low-posted rooms, and there one could drink everything except beer. No beer could be had at Morey's. Morey's was headquarters for the Society of the Cup. This cup had six handles and was kept in a locked closet. On the cup was engraved in large letters the word "Velvet," which is a well-known Yale drink, composed of champagne and Dublin stout, a drink that is mild and soft, but has a terrific "kick." Besides the word "Velvet," a number of students' names were engraved on the cup, and no one whose name was not there could ask the proprietor to show the cup. The marked tables were two round tables on which names of the frequenters of the place had been cut in the hard wood. One table had been filled with six hundred and seventy-five names and was suspended against the wall, where it would revolve, and the other tables were fast filling up. Merriwell laughed at Ditson's statement. "I don't see as it is such a wonderful thing for a soph to get his name on one of those tables," he said. "If you had said that Browning's name was on the cup, it would have seemed a matter of some consequence." "It may be, for all I know. Sophs are not in the habit of telling us everything. Steer clear of Browning, Merry, old man." "Thanks again! You have made me so nervous that I think I will take your advice." "That's right, my boy—that's right," nodded Ditson, swelling with importance. "Always listen to your uncle, my lad, and you will never go wrong." The other lads seemed rather disappointed, but Merriwell said nothing more of his scheme to get a "horse" on Browning—that is, he said nothing more that night.       <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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