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Frank Merriwell at Yale; Or, Freshman Against Freshman

<h2> CHAPTER VII. </h2> <h3> A SURPRISE. </h3>  It was singular how quickly Browning learned that Merriwell had contemplated working a job on him. It seemed an absolute certainty that some one of the party in Merriwell's room had gone forth and "blowed." Who had done so was a question. As was the most natural thing, considering his dislike for the fellow, Frank felt that Roll Ditson was the telltale. Of this he had no proof, however, and he was too just to openly condemn a man without proof. It was certain that Browning had learned all about it, for he sent word to Merriwell to go slow. At the same time, in all public places he avowed the utmost contempt and disregard for the freshman who had done up Diamond. "The boy is altogether too new," Browning sneered. "What he needs is polishing off, and he is bound to get it." Now, Frank had won admiration from the sophomores, and there were one or two who did not like Browning and would have given not a little to have seen him beaten at anything. This being the case, it is not surprising that Merriwell received an anonymous note warning him to keep in his room on a certain evening and look out for squalls. Frank knew Browning would not come alone, and he determined to be prepared. With this object in view, he gathered ten stout freshmen and had them come to his room early on the evening mentioned. The curtains were drawn closely, and the arrivals were astonished to see a lot of Indian toggery piled up on tables and chairs, imitation buckskin suits, feathered headdresses, bows, arrows, tomahawks, and so forth. On Merriwell's table was a full supply of Indian red grease paint. "Oh, say," gasped Ned Stover, his eyes bulging, "what's this—a powwow outfit?" "This is the result of the idea you fellows gave me when you spoke of capturing scalps the other evening," laughed Frank. "Select your suits, gentlemen, and proceed to make up." "Make up? What for?" "Just you make up, and I will tell you what for afterward." Merriwell's influence was sufficient to induce them to obey, and he aided them in the work. "Blate grazes—I mean great blazes!" chuckled Rattleton, as he rubbed the war paint on his face. "Won't we make a bloodthirsty gang of roble ned men—er, noble red men!" The boys aided each other, and Frank assisted them all. "Aren't you going to make up, Merry?" asked Bandy Robinson. "Not now. I am to be the decoy." "The decoy? What's in the wind, anyway?" "Well, I have it pretty straight that some sophs, led by Browning, are coming to take me out for an airing to-night." "Eh? Take you out?" "Yes." "And he means to take them in," laughed Rattleton, arranging a war bonnet on his head. "That's just it," nodded Frank. "If they come here, we'll be ready for them. If they do not come, we'll call on Mr. Browning." "I'm afraid this is rather a serious matter," said Dismal Jones. "Oh, don't begin to croak!" cried Rattleton. "Merriwell knows his business. Hurry up with your makeup. Can't tell how early the sophs will call." So the boys hastened to complete their disguise, and a decidedly savage-looking band they were when all was completed. Frank surveyed them with satisfaction. "Ah! my bold warriors!" he cried. "I am proud of you. To-night—to-night we deal the enemy a terrible and deadly blow." "We're ready to hear what the layout is," eagerly said Ned Stover. "Well, you are to retire to Robinson's room, which is exactly opposite this, and wait. I have two fellows outside to let me know when the enemy approaches and to take a hand in the game at the right time. When I whistle you are to make your way into this room if you have to break down the door. That's all." The boys retired to Robinson's room, where they smoked and waited with great impatience. Frank sat down and coolly went at his studies. Nearly an hour passed, and then there was a sound of wheels outside. The sound stopped before the door. A few moments later some one ascended the stairs and there came a knock on the door. "Come in," called Frank. The door opened, and Roll Ditson sauntered in, smoking the inevitable cigarette. "Hello, Merry!" he cried, looking around. "All alone?" "All alone, Ditson," yawned Frank. "It's beastly stupid but I am having a hard pull at my studies." "Better come out with me and get a little air. It's stuffy here." "Oh, you'll have to excuse me to-night. I don't believe I'll go out." Ditson urged, but Frank persisted in refusing. Roll stopped near a table and picked up a stick of grease paint. "Hello! what's this?" he exclaimed. "Aren't going into amateur theatricals, are you, Merry?" "Oh, I don't know," smiled Frank. "I may do a turn." Ditson looked at Merriwell curiously, as if in doubt concerning his sincerity, but Frank simply continued to smile. "Indian red," said Roll, reading the lettering on the stick. "You don't mean to become a big chief, do you?" "Perhaps so." "Well, you are pretty sure to become a big chief here at Yale, old man," said Ditson, with apparent earnestness. "You will be a leader here some day." "Think so?" "Oh, I am dead sure of it." "Thank you." Merriwell yawned again. "Oh, come on!" Ditson urged. "You're stupid from digging over those books. Come out and have a walk." "No." "You won't?" "You'll have to excuse me to-night, Ditson." "All right. But say, I came near forgetting something. As I came in, there was a fellow down to the door who said he wanted to see you." "A fellow? Who was it?" "Don't know. Some of the students, I think." "Oh, if that is the case, go down and bring him up, Ditson. You can open the door and let him in without disturbing Mrs. Harrington." "All right," nodded Roll. "Sorry you won't come out, old fel. You'll get grouchy. Good-night." "Good-night." Ditson went out, and Frank heard him descending the stairs. "There'll be music in the air," muttered Merriwell as he again lay back in his chair, elevating his feet to the top of the table. "But the surprisers are liable to be surprised." He heard the front door creak. Often he wondered why Mrs. Harrington did not grease the hinges. Frank had good ears, and it was not long before he was sure he could hear rustlings and whisperings in the hall. Then one person seemed to ascend the stairs very slowly, but he made out that there were two or three others with that one, the others stepping as softly as possible. Merriwell remained cool and apparently quite unaware that anything unusual was taking place. The footsteps reached the head of the stairs and advanced to the door, on which there was a distinct knock. "Come in!" Frank once more called. The door was promptly flung open, and into the room strode a person who was wrapped in a big overcoat and wore a wide-brimmed hat slouched over his eyes. His face nearly to his eyes was covered with bushy whiskers. "Hello!" exclaimed Frank, as if surprised. "Who are you?" "'Sh!" hissed the stranger, with a warning gesture. "Are we alone?" "Yes." "Where is your roommate?" "Out." The fellow whistled sharply, and the next minute four masked lads appeared at the door and leaped into the room. One of them slammed the door shut and the others sprang at Frank. Merriwell flung a book at the first one, and it struck the fellow's mask, tearing it from his face. The well-known countenance of Bruce Browning was exposed! "Good-evening, Browning!" cheerfully called the lively freshman as he darted behind the table. "I have been expecting a call from you." "Grab him!" directed Browning. "Get hold of him!" Frank was on the point of uttering a whistle, but it was not required, for the whistle that came from the lips of the disguised fellow had served as a signal to the painted braves. There was a bang at the door, which flew open as if assaulted by a catapault, and into the room poured the disguised freshmen. The Indians leaped upon the masked sophomores, and for a short time a very sharp struggle took place. Bruce Browning did his best to escape from the room, but three of the savages laid hold of him, and he was finally subdued. "Out of the house with them as soon as possible," ordered Frank. "Come on, two or three of you. We must nail the hack and the fellows outside." Down to the door he led the way. Mrs. Harrington came out into the hall, caught a glimpse of the painted faces, uttered a wild shriek of terror, and dodged back, slamming the door. "All ready?" said Frank as he prepared to fling open the front door. "All ready!" panted Harry Rattleton, close behind him. "Don't let anybody get away," warned Merriwell. "I will look after the driver." "Go ahead." Creak! open swung the door, and out into the night leaped a youth who seemed to be hotly pursued by four painted and bloodthirsty-appearing redskins. The hack was standing exactly as Frank expected it would be, and he was on the box with the driver at two springs. "It's all right," he asserted. "We've got the fellow up there, though he did kick up some. A part of our gang was rigged up like Indians, and they nipped him all right." "It's the divil's own set ye shtudints are!" muttered the driver. "Av ye hurry, Oi'll sthay to take him away; but Oi'll not remain here long, fer it's th' cops will be down on us roight away." "We'll get away ahead of the cops, don't fear that," declared Frank. "They're bringing him downstairs now. We had to take two or three others with him; but well not bother with them long." "Arrah! th' poor freshman!" said the driver. "Oi'd not loike to be in his place this noight!" He was completely fooled, thinking all the time that Frank was one of the party he had brought there to capture the freshman. As they rushed out Frank had seen a fellow standing near the open door of the hack, and that fellow had promptly taken to flight at sight of the Indians, two of whom pursued him hotly. Frank hoped they would be able to overtake the fugitive, for if one of the party escaped he would report to the sophs, who were bound to make a big hustle to rescue their captured comrades. The disguised freshmen came downstairs, bearing their captives, who were swiftly thrust into the hack, which was a big, roomy, old-fashioned affair. As many of the freshmen as could do so piled inside and upon the hack, and then Frank gave the signal, the driver whipped up his horse and away they went. "East Rock," said Frank. "Eh?" exclaimed the driver. "Thot's not pwhere ye wur goin' in th' firrust place." "We have changed the programme. East Rock is where we are bound for now." "All roight, me b'y." The triumphant freshmen felt like shouting and singing in jubilant mood. Indeed, Rattleton could not refrain from "letting off steam," as he called it, and he gave one wild howl of triumph that made the streets echo: "'Umpty-eight! 'Umpty-eight!" "Break it off!" sharply commanded Frank. "Want to let the sophs know we're up to something?" "I don't care." "They might raise a rescue party and follow us." "But they wouldn't frop any chost—I mean chop any frost with us." "Pwhat's thot?" came suspiciously from the driver. "An' is it not softmores ye are yersilves?" "Of course we are," returned Harry, instantly. "Thin pwhat fer do ye yell fer 'Umpty-eight?" "Oh, it's a way we have. Don't mind it, but keep on driving if you want to retain your scalp, paleface. We are mighty bad Injuns!" The driver knew how to pick out the darkest and most deserted streets. By the time the outskirts of the city were reached the freshmen were bubbling over. Frank Merriwell improvised a stanza of a song, and in a few moments the entire band caught the words and the tune. As the hack rolled along toward East Rock the freshmen sang: "We belong to good old 'Umpty-eight, For she's a corker, sure as fate, sure as fate. We have met the sophomores, And they're feeling awful sore; So hurrah for good old 'Umpty-eight! 'Umpty-eight!" "Begobs! ye're th' quarest gang av softmores Oi iver saw!" cried the driver. "An' it's not wan av yez Oi remimber takin' up to th' freshman's boording house." "We have changed," explained Ned Stover. "And it's the first change I have seen for a week," declared Harry Rattleton. "I'm waiting to hear from the governor." "Howld on," said the driver. "Oi want to see the mon thot hired me." He threatened to pull up, but Frank caught the whip and cracked it over the horses. "What do you want?" asked Merriwell. "Oi want me pay." Now, Frank knew well enough that the driver had received his pay in advance, but he was beginning to suspect that the party that hired him had come to grief, and so he was for exacting an extra payment from the victors. "Look here, driver," said Frank, sternly, "I want your number." "Pwhat fer?" "In case it may appear later on that you have received money at two separate and distinct times for doing the same piece of work." "Get oop!" yelled the driver. "It's ownly foolin' Oi wur." So the hack rolled on its way, with the happy freshmen smoking and singing, while the captive sophs ground their teeth and railed at the bitter luck. Inside the hack Dismal Jones, most hideously bedaubed, was smoking a cigarette and brandishing a wooden tomahawk at the same time, while he sat astride of Bruce Browning, who was on the floor. "This is a sad and solemn occasion, paleface," croaked Dismal. "You have driven the noble red man from his ancestral halls, which were the dim aisles of the mighty forests; you have pushed him across the plains, and you have tried to crowd him off the earth into the Pacific Ocean. Ugh! You have pursued him with deadly firearms and still more deadly fire water. You have been relentless in your hatred and your greed. You have even been so unreasonable that whenever a poor red man has secured a few paleface scalps as trophies to hang in his wigwam you have taken your trusty rifles and gone forth with great fury and shot the poor Indian full of hard bullets. You have done heap many things that you would not have done if you had not done so. But now, poor, shivering dog of a paleface, the injured red man has arisen at last in his might. If we are to perish, we are to perish; but before we perish, we will enjoy the gentle pleasure of roasting a few white men at the stake. Ugh! We have held a council of war, we have excavated the hatchet, we have smashed the pipe of peace to flinders, or something of the sort, and have struck out upon the war trail." "You act as if you had struck out," growled one of the captives. "That's because he has had a few balls," gurgled Browning. "Talk about being burned at the stake! That's not torture after being obliged to inhale his breath. My kingdom for some chloroform! Will somebody please hit me on the head with a trip hammer and put me out of my misery?" "Whither art thou bearing us, great chief?" asked one of the captives. "We will bare you out yonder," answered Dismal. "At the stake you shall stand arrayed in the garments nature provided for you." "I don't care for tea," murmured Browning—"not even for repartee." "This is worse than being roasted at the stake!" muttered a soph in a corner. "It is severe punishment." "Help!" cried Dismal. "Somebody take me out! I can't get ahead of these miserable palefaces." "You'll get a head if I ever find a good chance to give it to you," declared the voice of Puss Parker from the darkness. Outside the painted savages were roaring: "Farewell! farewell! farewell, my fairy fay! Oh, I'm off to Louisiana For to see my Susy Anna, Singing 'Polly-wolly-woodle' all the day." And thus the captured sophomores were borne in triumph out to East Rock, and as they were the ones who engaged the hack, they paid for their own conveyance. Never before had anything like it happened at Yale. It was an event that was bound to go down in history as the most audacious and daring piece of work ever successfully carried through by freshmen in that college. And Frank Merriwell was to receive the credit of being the originator of the scheme and the general who carried it out successfully.       <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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