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Frank Merriwell at Yale; Or, Freshman Against Freshman

<h2> CHAPTER XIX. </h2> <h3> WHO IS THE TRAITOR? </h3>  "Hello, fellows!" cried Ditson. "How are yer, Jones! I am surprised to see you here. Is it possible you have let up cramming long enough to make a call? Why, I have even heard that you had your eye on some classical scholarship prize as soon as this. Everybody who knows you says you're a regular hard-working old dig." "There are fools who know other people's business a great deal better than their own," said Dismal stiffly. "That's right," nodded Ditson, who made a great effort to be rakish in his appearance, but always appeared rather foxy instead. "But I tell you this matter of burning the midnight oil and grinding is not what it's cracked up to be. It makes a man old before his time, and it doesn't amount to much after he has been all through it. Goodness knows we freshmen have to cram hard enough to get through! I am tired of it already. And then we have to live outside the pale, as it were. When we become sophs we'll be able to give up boarding houses and live in the dormitories. That's what I am anxious for." "It strikes me that you are very partial to sophs," said Dismal, giving Roll a piercing look. Ditson was not fazed. "They're a rather clever gang of fellows," he said. "Freshmen are very new, as a rule. Of course there are exceptions, and—" "I suppose you consider yourself one?" "Oh, I can't tell about that. But supposing I am; by the time I become a soph some of the newness will have worn off." "I am not particularly impressed with any freshman who seems to think so much of sophomores. You ought to stay with them all the time." "Oh, I don't know. They have treated me rather well, and I have found the most of them easy people." "They seem to have found some freshman easy fruit. Somebody has been blowing to them about our crew." "I know it," was Ditson's surprising confession, "and that's why I dropped in here. I wanted to tell Merriwell about it." Jones gasped for breath. He was too surprised to speak for some minutes. Ditson took out a package of cigarettes, offering them first to Harry, who shook his head. "What?" cried Roll, amazed. "You won't smoke?" "No." "What's that mean?" "I have left off," said Harry, with an effort. "Left off? Oh, say! that's too good! You leave off!" A bit of color came to Rattleton's face, and he gave Ditson a look that was not exactly pleasant; but Roll was too occupied with his merriment to observe it. Frank was studying Ditson. He watched the fellow's every movement and expression. Roll knew it was useless to offer cigarettes to Merriwell or Jones, so he selected one from the package, kneaded it daintily, pulled a little tobacco from the ends, moistened the paper with his lips, and then lighted it with a wax match. "Say, Harry, old man, I pity you," he said, with a taunting laugh, looking at Harry. "I've tried it. It's no use. You'll break over before two days are up—yes, before one day is up. It's no use." Rattleton bit his lips. "Why, you are dying for a whiff now!" chuckled Ditson. "I know you are. I got along a whole day, but it was a day of the most intense torture." "There may be others with more stamina than you, Ditson," snapped Rattleton. "Just because you couldn't leave off a bad habit, it's no sign that nobody can." "Oh, I suppose not. But what's the use? Don't get hot, old man. You ought to know my way by this time." "I do." "What is it that you came to tell me?" asked Frank. "Eh? Oh, about the sophs. Those fellows seem to know more about our crew than I do." "What do they know?" "Why, they know our men are using English oars, have adopted a new stroke, and have done several other things. Now, those are matters on which I was not informed myself." "How do you know the sophs know so much?" "I've just come from Morey's. Went in there with Cressy. Fine fellow, he is. While I was in there Browning and his crowd wandered in. They were drinking ale and discussing the race. I heard what they were saying. Couldn't help hearing, you know. They were talking about our crew and the new methods you had introduced. It was mighty interesting to me, as I didn't know about those new methods myself." "How innocent!" muttered Jones. Ditson elevated his eyebrows. "What's that?" he demanded. "Why shouldn't I be innocent? I am not on the crew, and the men are training and practicing secretly. I have had no way of finding out what they were doing." "But some sneak has!" cried Rattleton, fiercely, "and he's been and blowed all he found out!" "Unless somebody on the crew has done the blowing," suggested Roll, exhaling a great puff of smoke. "That is barely possible, you understand." "Possible! No!" cried Frank. "There's not a man on the crew who would do such a thing!" "Oh, well, I suppose you know. But I understand there are two who are kept in form as substitutes. One of them thinks he should be on the crew. He is rather jealous of somebody who fills his place. He might be the one who has talked too much." "You don't mean—" "Rattleton ought to be able to guess who I mean," craftily said Ditson as he arose. "I'm not calling names, for I don't know anything certain. If I had proof—but I haven't. Never mind. You ought to know enough to watch a certain fellow who thinks his place is filled by a person not his equal. He says there is favoritism in the matter. I rather think I have spoken plainly enough. Wish you success, Merry, old man. Evening, fellows." Ditson departed. Our hero, Rattleton and Jones sat and looked at each other in grim silence for several minutes. "Well?" Frank broke the spell, looking keenly at Jones as he spoke. "I dunno," mumbled Dismal, falling into the manner of speaking that had been habitual with him from his childhood. "I dunno—hanged if I do!" "You thought you knew when you came in, my boy." "That's right; but I dunno but I was off my trolley. And still—" "Still what?" "I don't like the man I suspected, but I never thought the fellow shrewd enough to play a double game." "Perhaps it is because you do not like him that you suspected him." "Oh, it may be—it may be. And I don't suppose that is a square deal. I didn't have absolute proof." "You were going to name him when Ditson came in." "I was, but I will not call any names now. I propose to look into this matter somewhat. Likely it's too late to prevent the traitor from completing the damage, but he can be exposed. It will be some satisfaction to see him held up to public scorn." "That is true, Dismal, and I want you to do your best to find out who the man is. Make a sure thing of it. Get positive proof, if possible." "Whoever he is his sin is sure to find him out." There were footsteps on the stairs and the sound of laughing voices. The door burst open and several freshmen came trooping in, as if they felt quite at home there. Lucy Little was at their head, and his face showed excitement. "I say, Merriwell!" he cried, "are you out for a little sport to-night?" "That depends on what sort of sport it is." "'Sh!" said Little, mysteriously. "Close the door, uncle." A fellow by the name of Silas Blossom, who was familiarly called "uncle," obeyed. Little looked at Rattleton and then stared hard at Jones, who had the face of a parson. "I don't know about you," he said, "but I think you are all right. Even if you have scruples I don't believe you will blow." "Very kind!" grunted Dismal. "The rest of the gang is all right," said Little. "Then give us your scheme," spluttered Harry, whose curiosity was thoroughly aroused. "Don't bush around the beat—I mean beat around the bush." "What do you fellows say to a turkey chase?" asked Little. "A turkey chase?" "Yes. Out around West Rock way. There are plenty of old farmers who have good fat turkeys out that way. It is a good cool night, and we can capture two turkeys without trouble. Then we'll take 'em in here and have a roast. Are you wid us?" "Those who are not wid us are agin' us!" fiercely declared Bandy Robinson. "And that is dead right, me b'hoys," nodded Arthur Street, who was known at Yale as Easy Street, on account of his free-and-easy way. Merriwell hesitated. He was in for any kind of honest sport, but he did not quite fancy the idea of stealing turkeys. "Why don't we buy our turkeys at the markets?" he asked. The other lads stared at him in astonishment. "Buy them!" they shouted. "Say, are you dafty, man? Where would the fun come in? You know better than to propose such a thing." "Stolen fruit is ever the sweetest," quoth Uncle Blossom. "It's not many fellows we would take into such a scheme, but you were just the man we wanted, Merriwell. If we bought a turkey we wouldn't have any appetite for it. Now, the run out into the country and back will give us an appetite. One fellow will have to stay here and get the fire ready, while the rest of us chase turks. Come on, man—it's what you need to start your blood circulating." Merriwell seemed to suddenly make up his mind. "I am with you," he said as he arose. "Who stays and looks after the fire? We don't want anybody along that can't run." "Well, I'm no sprinter," confessed Dismal. "I'd like to go along, but I'm afraid I'd peg out. I'll have things ready when you show up. But what time will you be back?" Frank looked at his watch and then made a mental calculation. "It will be about eleven," he said. "All right." "Say, Jones," said Street, "just go down to Billy's and get a few bottles of beer. We'll need it to wash the turk down." "And cigars," cried Blossom. "Don't forget cigars. What would a turkey feast be without a smoke afterward?" Matters were soon arranged, and it was not long before five freshmen left Mrs. Harrington's "quiet house" for freshmen, and started along York Street at a brisk, steady jog. Merriwell took the lead, and the others came after him at regular distances. The night air was rather sharp, and there was a bright moon. Along the streets of New Haven the five freshmen ran, and those who observed them supposed they were some crew in training. Merriwell set a moderate pace, for he knew it was likely they would need all their wind on the return. There was no telling what sort of a scrape they might get into. Rattleton was behind, taking things as easy as possible. He filled his lungs with the crisp, clear air, and it made him feel like a young race horse, but he held himself in check. Street actually loafed along, although he managed to keep his place. "If one of us is caught, he'll be like the gangplank of a steamer," called Harry as they left the main part of the city and entered the suburbs. "How's that?" asked Blossom. "Pulled in," chirped Rattleton. "Don't stop to throw anything this way. Keep right on." "They say Browning was caught swiping turks in his freshman year," said Lewis, "and it cost his old man a round sum to settle and keep the thing quiet, so Bruce wouldn't be expelled. Dad Browning has got money to burn." "Well, his son's a good match for him," Merriwell tossed over his shoulder. "A good match for him! Oh, say!" gasped Robinson, exhibiting signs of sudden weakness. Away they went, laughing and jesting, finally leaving the city behind and getting out into the country. Up hill and down dale they steadily jogged, covering mile after mile in a rather surprising manner. At length Merriwell called a halt, and they held a council of war. Blossom said he knew where they were certain to find turkeys, and so they gave him the lead. He confessed that there was a chance of getting into trouble, as the owner of the turkeys had been robbed before, and he might be on the watch. That simply added zest to the adventure, and there was not one of the party who would have consented to look elsewhere for their turkeys. They finally came in sight of a farmhouse that sat on the side of a hill. Near the house was a stable and sheds. A large orchard lay back of the sheds. "There," said Blossom. "That is where old Baldwin lives, and his turks are in one of those sheds." "Crumping jickets—I mean jumping crickets!" exclaimed Harry. "How bright the moon shines! If he's on the watch we can't get anywhere near those sheds without being seen." The boys began to realize that they were engaged in a decidedly perilous adventure. If one of them should be caught it would mean almost certain expulsion from college, besides a heavy fine if the case were carried to court. "We'll have to approach by way of the orchard," said Frank. "Does Baldwin keep a dog?" "Sure—a big half-blood bull." "That's nice. We are liable to find plenty of fun here. Every man must provide himself with a stout and heavy club to use on that dog in case of emergency. That is important. The lights are out, and it looks as if the farmer and his family were sleeping soundly, but, as Jones says, appearances are sometimes deceptive. We'll have to take our chances. Three of us will go through the orchard. The other two must get near the house in front and be ready to create a diversion in case we are discovered. Harry, you and Bandy take the front. You are both good runners. If Mr. Baldwin and his dog get after us, attract his attention in some manner." "And get him after us?" "That's the idea." "Jupiter! I wish I had brought a gun for that dog! Bandy, you are liable to have to use those crooked legs of yours in a decidedly lively manner before the night is over." When everything was arranged Harry and Bandy advanced along the road, going forward slowly, while Frank, Blossom and Little made a detour and came into the orchard. The hearts of the boys were in their throats, and still there was something about the adventure that filled them with the keenest delight. Each one had secured a club, and they were ready to give the dog a warm reception if he came for them. Little watched beneath a tree, while Merriwell and Blossom slipped up to one of the sheds which had a favorable look. In the meantime Rattleton and Robinson had got near the front of the house and were hiding in a ditch, waiting and listening. "I am surprised that Merriwell should agree to take a hand in this," whispered Harry. "He is a queer chap—has scruples about doing certain things. I thought he would object to hooking out a turk." "Oh, such a thing as this isn't really stealing," protested Robinson. "It is different." "In our minds, but not in the mind of Farmer Baldwin, by a long shot. If we're caught it will be called stealing." "Oh, well, a fellow who won't do anything like this is too good for this world. He's got wings sprouting." "You know well enough that Merriwell is no softie," returned Harry, rather warmly. "He's proved that. Any man has a right to his ideas, and if he thinks a thing wrong he's justified in refusing to have anything to do with it." "Perhaps so; but Merriwell is right on the limit now." "How?" "He will not drink, he does not smoke, and I never have heard him cuss." "Does it make a fellow a man to drink and smoke and swear? I tell you you'll go a long distance before you find a fellow who is any more of a man than Frank Merriwell. I was dead lucky when I got him for a roommate." "You're stuck on him. I say he is all right, but he is on the limit. I believe the fellows would like him better if he would break over once in a while." "I doubt it. But it is awful still around here. I wonder where that dog can be? It would be a surprise if the fellows got away with the turks without making any noise at—" There was a sudden hubbub, a terrible squalling and squawking, the barking of a dog, and the report of a gun!       <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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