Читать книгу Frank Merriwell's Chase; Or, Exciting Times Afloat - Burt L. Standish - Страница 4

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All were surprised by Merriwell’s sudden move.

Frank had seen a person appear in the open door of the freight house, look at him, and then dodge back. Although he obtained but a glimpse of this person, Merry fancied he knew him.

Into the doorway he sprang, and looked around. On every hand were boxes and barrels and piles of freight, but no one was to be seen. The opposite door was standing open.

“Must have dodged out that way,” muttered Frank, and he darted toward the door.

But when he reached the door, he looked in vain for the person he fancied he had seen.

“My eyes may have fooled me,” he said.

He had been followed by several of the cyclists, and they were staring at him in amazement. He saw that he must make some explanation, or they would think him deranged.

“It’s all right,” he laughed. “I fancied I saw a person that I know. He appeared there in the doorway, and then retreated into the building. I may have been mistaken.”

“You must have been,” said Mart Woodock.

“Come out and meet the girls,” said Howard Dustan. “They are waiting to be introduced.”

So Merry was escorted into the presence of the girls and introduced to each one in turn.

“We had begun to believe you were not coming to Belfast at all, Mr. Merriwell,” said a vivacious little blond named Mabel Mitshef, but called “Mabel Mischief” by her friends.

“I came near missing Belfast,” acknowledged Frank; “but, after going to Bar Harbor, I learned something about this place that made it seem very attractive to me, and so I decided to come here. Already I am satisfied that the stories I heard about Belfast are true.”

“My!” cried Mabel. “You make me curious. I wonder what stories you could have heard?”

“Well,” smiled Frank, “I heard that Belfast had the prettiest girls of any place on the Maine coast.”

This threw the girls into confusion, but Mabel had sufficient presence of mind to say:

“If you came here because of those stories, I hope you will not be disappointed, Mr. Merriwell.”

“If the girls I have already seen fairly represent the fair sex of Belfast, I am sure I shall not,” bowed Frank.

Frank’s back was turned toward the freight house door, so he did not see the hateful eyes which peered out at him. The owner of those eyes drew back in a moment, muttering:

“Yes, it is Merriwell—curse him! I dodged him just in time. He would have seen me if I hadn’t hidden amid those boxes. He must not see me now.”

The speaker was Parker Flynn, who claimed to be the rightful owner of the yacht, White Wings, and who had made a desperate attempt to capture her by force in Rockland harbor ten days before this story opens.

Flynn wore a bicycle suit, and he quickly stole out of the freight house by another door, found a wheel outside, mounted it and rode away swiftly.

In the meantime Frank was chatting with his new friends, fascinating them by his wit and easy manners. They had heard much of him, and not one of them was disappointed in his appearance.

“Mr. Merriwell,” said Dustan, “I took care to bring along a wheel for you when I heard you were coming into the harbor. Of course, I took a chance about fitting you, but I have the best wheel to be found in the city, and I think it can be adjusted to suit you, if it is not right.”

“But I have my yachting suit on.”

“Never mind. I have trouser guards.”

“Still I do not fancy riding this way. If I am to be escorted into the city by the Belfast Wheelmen, I will wear a riding suit. I have one on board, and can get into it in fifteen minutes. Of course, I do not wish to keep any of you waiting if you——”

“That’s all right!” cried several.

“Go ahead and get your suit,” nodded Dustan.

Diamond and Hodge had remained in the boat awaiting orders from Merry, and now he hastily descended the stairs and stepped into the boat.

“To the yacht,” he said.

Away they went, the two oarsmen pulling with such grace and skill that they won the admiration of those watching from the wharf.

“What’s up, Merry?” asked Jack, eagerly.

“The Belfast Wheelmen are here to meet me, and they are going to escort me into the city.”

“Well, how in the name of all things wonderful did they know you were coming—for they must have known it?”

“You know the City of Bangor passed us just outside the harbor as she was coming in on her way down river.”

“Yes.”

“Well, there was a Camden man on her, and he saw us.”

“Is that the way of it?”

“Sure. He recognized the White Wings, and, as soon as the steamer reached the wharf, he told them we were coming. Then there was a hasty gathering of the wheelmen to meet us. That is how it came about.”

“Why are you going back to the yacht?”

“To get into a riding suit. They have a wheel for me, and I am to ride up into the city with them.”

“Say!” burst impulsively from Diamond, “these people down this way are too much for me! I don’t understand it! I thought we’d find a lot of farmers and woodsmen, and I didn’t dream we’d ever run into anyone who had heard of you, Merriwell. Instead of that, they seem to know all about you, and they are ready to give you a royal welcome wherever you go. Bar Harbor was the only exception, and I will bet there are persons there who know all about you. They didn’t know you were in town, that’s all.”

“How about Green’s Landing?”

“Oh, that’s different. That place is situated so far from the mainland that——”

“It has regular steamboat connections with the mainland, and the daily newspapers reach it, but——”

The boat softly touched against the side of the yacht, and Frank did not wait to say anything more. Over the rail he went at a bound, and hurried down into the cabin.

“Eh?” grunted Browning, rising up from a bunk. “Back so soon? What for?”

“To see if you are helping Hans get things trimmed up,” said Frank.

“I am,” declared the lazy fellow, settling back comfortably. “I am looking after things down below here, while he attends to things on deck.”

Frank laughed. It was like the big fellow, who really seemed too lazy to draw a breath without an effort.

With skill that would have done credit to a “lightning change artist” in a variety show, Frank got out of his yachting suit and leaped into his bicycle suit. Then he pulled on a Yale sweater, brushed his hair, caught up his cap, and hurried on deck.

Jack and Bart were waiting. Frank did not hurry after appearing on deck. With the utmost deliberation, he looked around, gave some orders, and then walked to the rail and got into the boat.

Arriving at the wharf, Dustan met him at the head of the stairs, laughing.

“How you did it so quick I can’t tell, and still you seemed in no particular hurry.”

They went round to where the wheelmen and girls were waiting. The bicycle brought for Frank was new and a beauty. Merry tried it, and, to his surprise and satisfaction, it seemed to fit him perfectly.

“It doesn’t need adjusting,” he said.

“We have a hard hill out here,” said Woodock. “Some of us can’t climb it. There are but two girls in town who can do it, and they are with us.”

“You will ride with me at the head of the party,” said Dustan, speaking to Frank. “Miss Mischief and Miss Hazle will ride with us. They are the ones who can climb the hill.”

“Perhaps I can’t climb it,” smiled Frank.

“I think there is no danger of your failing.”

They started. From choice it seemed Mabel Mischief rode at Frank’s side, chatting with Hattie Hazle, who was next to her. Hattie had dark eyes and hair, presenting a strong contrast to the lively blonde.

The hill proved to be rather steep and difficult, but Frank and Dustan pedalled up it without permitting their wheels to falter or sway on the steepest grade. The girls found it more difficult, but they stuck to it persistently till they accomplished the ascent.

Looking back, it was found that more than half the party was trundling the wheels, so those who had ridden up dismounted and waited for the others.

With the hill behind them, the party was formed again, and then they rode along the elm-shaded streets into the business portion of the city.

“Will you ride about the city, or shall we go directly to the club rooms?” asked Dustan.

“I would enjoy seeing something of the city.”

“That will suit us.”

So they rode about the place, and Frank was pleased with its general appearance.

At last they arrived at the club rooms of the Belfast Wheelmen, and there the girls left them, Mabel and Hattie bidding Frank good-by, but expressing a hope that they might see him again.

Dustan led the way into the club rooms, and Merry followed. Just as Frank was entering, a person attempted to come out hurriedly and brush past him.

With an exclamation of satisfaction, Frank grasped this individual, holding him fast.

“Wait a minute,” cried Merry. “I think I know you!”

“Leggo!” snarled the man.

“In a moment. Ha! I thought as much! I saw you down at the wharf, but you dodged me. We have met again, Mr. Parker Flynn!”

With a savage curse, the man struck straight at Frank’s face.

“Look out!”

Dustan tried to catch Flynn’s arm, but was not quick enough.

“All right.”

Frank dodged the fist of his foe.

“Blazes!”

Flynn snarled out the word, trying to recover and strike again.

“No, you don’t!”

With a twist and a snap, Merriwell flung the desperate fellow against the wall and held him there, despite all his struggles.

“Break away!”

Mart Woodock tried to part them, but was prevented by Dustan, who spoke swiftly and sharply:

“Let them alone! Merriwell knows what he is doing.”

“But—but——”

“He can handle Mr. Flynn.”

“Flynn is our guest. We can’t see him misused.”

“There is no danger that I will misuse him, gentlemen,” cut in Frank, still holding the fellow against the wall. “I have not offered to give a blow in return for his.”

“He attacked me—he assaulted me!” cried Flynn, in a half whine. “I never did anything to him. I call on the members of this club for protection.”

“You do not need it, Flynn,” said Frank, “for you are in no danger.”

“Then let me go.”

“In a minute. First, I want to tell these gentlemen just who and what you are. I know you.”

“And I know you!” hissed the rascal, his face growing dark. “You are a thief! You were arrested as a thief in Rockland! You can’t deny it!”

“I was arrested——”

“Hear that! hear that!” shouted Flynn, triumphantly. “He confesses it! He owns that he was arrested!”

“I was arrested on a warrant sworn out by you,” admitted Frank, quietly. “I do confess that.”

“That’s enough.”

“Perhaps so. Why didn’t you stay and prosecute me? Why did you take to your heels and fly from Rockland?”

“Business——”

“Business caused you to run away, eh? Tell the truth! You knew I had sworn out a warrant against you, charging you with an attempt to capture my yacht by force in Rockland harbor.”

“I didn’t care for that. It’s not your yacht. It’s mine.”

“Indeed! Then why didn’t you remain in Rockland and recover possession of it by legal means? You claimed to have bought it of a man who is now in an insane asylum. You fancied Benjamin, of whom I purchased it, was on his way to Alaska. When you discovered that Benjamin was in Rockland, you were so frightened that you lost not a moment in running away.”

“It’s a lie! I didn’t care anything about Benjamin. The White Wings belongs to me, and I will have her sooner or later. I am not talking through my hat, either.”

“If you don’t let it alone, you will land in prison. I shall not fool with you. I can push you now if I wish, but I’ll be satisfied in exposing you. You have been a guest here. It is plain you have had the freedom of the club. I scarcely think you will be admitted in the future, for I brand you as a rascal and a ruffian unfit for the society of gentlemen.”

Flynn turned crimson, and then he became ashen pale, while his eyes gleamed redly and his features betrayed the terrible fury that possessed him.

“All right!” he said, his voice being husky with anger. “I’ll make you sorry for it. I have said all along that I was not done with you.”

“The best thing you can do is to get out of Belfast and this State in a hurry.”

“Oh, I’m not frightened!”

“I may swear out another warrant against you.”

“Go ahead!”

“If I do, I can shove you. I have witnesses.”

“Your own gang, and they will swear to anything you want ’em to. Let go—let go, I say! Take your hands off!”

“Steady!” and Frank again pinned him against the wall, despite his struggles, holding the man with an ease that astonished the witnesses. “I will let you go when I am ready—not before. I am not done talking to you.”

Flynn’s anger was terrible to see. His eyes glared and he actually frothed at the mouth. At that moment he looked as if he longed to annihilate Merry.

The fellow stopped struggling, but suddenly he drew something from beneath his coat—something that flashed.

“Look out, Merriwell!”

Now Woodock tried to catch hold of the fellow, but Flynn struck at Frank with that bright thing, and Merriwell dropped to the floor, with a gasping exclamation.

“He’s stabbed!” shouted Dustan, horrified.

Clang!

The knife fell from Flynn’s hand to the floor. The ruffian stared down at Frank a moment, and then he whirled toward the door.

“Stop him!”

Howard Dustan shouted the words.

“Don’t try it!” grated Flynn.

One of the spectators did try it, however.

Out shot Flynn’s fist. Smack!—it struck the fellow fairly in the mouth, knocking him down.

The desperate rascal leaped over the one he had struck down and was outside in a moment. His wheel was there. Onto it he leaped, his feet found the pedals, and he shot away.

“He’s killed Merriwell!”

“I—think—not,” gasped Frank, speaking with difficulty. “He’s simply—knocked the wind—out of—me.”

Then he sat up, with his hands pressed to the pit of his stomach.

“Why, he stabbed you there!” exclaimed Dustan.

“Don’t think so,” said Merriwell, with a rueful smile. “He came near it. Belt buckle turned knife. He meant to do it, all right. Took me by surprise. I was to blame. Wasn’t on guard. Blow knocked wind out of me—that’s all.”

“Thank Heaven for that! I thought he had done you up. But he meant to, and that was a crime! After him, fellows! Don’t let him get away! Thomaston prison is good enough for him!”

Already two or three had rushed out and started in hot pursuit of the fugitive, raising an outcry on the street. They soon disappeared.

Merriwell arose, looking thoroughly disgusted.

“I was not smart, or he’d not taken me by surprise like that. Wasn’t looking for that kind of a blow.”

“You can thank fortune he didn’t murder you,” said Dustan. “Why, I never saw anything like it! He struck like a snake!”

“He is a snake. It surprised me to find him here.”

“Don’t blame us. He had papers that showed he belonged to two of the leading cycling clubs of Boston. He is a smooth talker, and he literally talked his way in here. Woodock seemed to take to him, for some reason, and they were friendly. He is pursuing him now.”

“Well, Mr. Flynn left something behind to remember him by,” smiled Frank, picking up the knife. “I believe I will keep this.”

“Tell us everything about your trouble with him, if you really were not harmed by that knife,” urged one of the wheelmen.

Examination showed a dent in the buckle of Frank’s belt, but his clothes were not cut and he was entirely uninjured, although, as yet, he had not fully recovered his wind.

When he could talk with ease, Merry told how he had seen Flynn the first time shortly after taking possession of the White Wings in Boston, how Flynn had showed a bill of sale for the yacht, made out to him by Fergus Fearson, a former owner, and how the encounter had ended in the discomfiture of Flynn, as Frank had proved the bill of sale was dated nearly ten days after Fearson sold the yacht to Jack Benjamin, of whom Merriwell purchased it.

Flynn had sworn to have the yacht, and, as the White Wings was entering Rockland harbor one foggy morning, several days after the encounter in Boston, the claimant and some fellow rascals had tried to take possession of her by force, one of the gang pretending to be Sheriff Ulmer.

Frank had not been fooled, and he demanded to see their authority. As they could show none, they were warned not to attempt to board the White Wings.

They did attempt it, however, but were repulsed by Frank and his friends and forced to retreat.

Then came the arrest of Frank on his appearance in Rockland, but Flynn had discovered the presence of Benjamin in the Limerock City, and then he had not stopped to prosecute, but had quickly and discreetly disappeared.

“The boys will catch him,” said Dustan, with confidence. “You can put him behind the bars, Mr. Merriwell, and you must do it.”

But, to the surprise of all, the pursuers returned after a time, coming back in a body, and announced that the fellow had given them the slip. He had ridden like the wind, turning corner after corner, and they had followed as hotly as they could. At last they came up with a rider they believed their man, but found it was another person. In some way he had dodged them after turning a corner.

Dustan looked angry.

“That was beastly luck!” he exclaimed. “But we’ll catch the fellow, Mr. Merriwell, I promise you that. He assaulted you here in our rooms, and we shall feel it our duty to see that he is arrested. Come with me, and I will take you where you can swear out a warrant against him.”

“I do not fancy that will do any good,” said Frank. “He thinks he stabbed me, and he will not stop till he has left Belfast far behind. You’ll not see him around here again.”

“You are right,” nodded Dustan; “but we can put an officer on the track of him. We’ll run him down.”

“It isn’t worth while, for it will cause me a large amount of trouble. I shall have to appear against him and testify, and I do not wish to take the time for that. He will not trouble me again, so I will let him go.”

“It’s your affair,” said Dustan, “so you may do as you like, but no person can try to stab me and get off so easy.”

By this time it was known on the street that an encounter had taken place between two guests of the wheelmen, and the report that one of them had tried to stab the other was enough to provide a fertile topic for conversation.

But when it was known that the one murderously assaulted was Frank Merriwell, the famous star twirler of the Yale baseball team, the tongue of gossip wagged freely.

A crowd gathered in front of the building in which the club rooms were located. The greater part of the crowd were boys and young men, and their conversation showed that every one had heard of Merriwell and all were eager to see him.

One of the club members came in after passing through the crowd, and he was laughing.

“I was not aware you were so well known in Belfast, Mr. Merriwell,” he said. “Those youngsters out there are wild to get a peep at you. I just heard one of them say you were a bigger man than the President of the United States.”

Frank blushed.

“By Jove!” he exclaimed. “If this thing keeps up, I’ll have to travel through Maine in disguise. Had to get out of Camden because I was too well known.”

“They are talking about your famous double shoot. I wonder how that story started.”

“What story?”

“Why, the story about that double curve. Of course, there may be an out drop, or something like that—in fact, we know there is such a thing. But a double curve that consists of an in and an out is an utter impossibility.”

“Why an impossibility?” smiled Frank.

“Because there is no scientific explanation of it.”

“There is no scientific explanation of any shoot.”

“What is that? Why, it can’t be that you mean to tell me that, Mr. Merriwell?”

“Mr. Wallace is an authority around here on baseball, Mr. Merriwell,” said Howard Dustan, quickly.

Frank bowed.

“Do you claim to explain the science of shoots and curves, Mr. Wallace?” he asked.

“Why, it is simple enough,” assured Wallace, boldly. “What astonishes me is to hear a college man like you, reputed to be a great pitcher, declare there is no scientific explanation of shoots.”

“You think I should be able to explain them?”

“Certainly.”

“I am not. What is more, never yet have I met a pitcher who could. I have met several who have tried it, but they tripped themselves and showed their own ignorance before they had finished. If you can explain shoots, I shall be very pleased to listen.”

“Why, it seems easy enough. If a ball leaves the pitcher’s hand so that it is whirling swiftly, the resistance of the air is bound to cause it to deviate from a straight course. I should think anyone might understand that.”

“That seems simple enough,” confessed Frank, still smiling. “It might seem to explain the ball that curves gradually and regularly, but it does not explain any shoot. If you have followed baseball closely, Mr. Wallace, you have thousands of times seen balls which left the pitcher’s hand and seemed to shoot straight ahead for more than two-thirds of the distance to the batter. Then you have seen them give a sudden jump or shoot to one side or the other. Indeed, some of these shoots are so sudden that the ball almost seems to make an angle in the air, instead of a curve. I am afraid you will find it difficult to apply your explanation to that kind of a ball.”

Wallace looked somewhat bewildered.

“I have not thought much on that point,” he confessed.

“I have,” said Frank, “and so have thousands of intelligent persons. Thus far not one of them can give a satisfactory explanation of the odd shoots of a ball. They say it is the way the pitcher takes hold of the ball—the way it leaves his hand. That is true. But it frequently occurs that two pitchers take hold of the ball in a manner entirely dissimilar to throw the same curve. They do not deliver it in the same manner, and yet the ball curves the same. They know that by taking hold of it just so and throwing it with just such speed they can obtain a certain curve; but ask them to explain why the ball curves and you will see some very puzzled gentlemen. You say the whirling motion of the ball, resistance of the air, and so forth. It may be you are right, but explain the shoot. Photographers have tried to catch it so they could see just how it curves in the air. Thus far these attempts have not proved satisfactory. Fame awaits the man who first explains the shoot and makes his explanation convincing.”

The club members had gathered around to hear what Merriwell was saying. They were greatly interested.

“Still,” said Wallace, “you would not have us believe that, on one delivery, a ball can commence to curve one way and then reverse and curve the other?”

“Really, sir, I am indifferent whether you believe it or not. I know such a thing happens. I know that I can throw the double shoot when I am in good condition and feeling just right. I know I take hold of it in a certain manner, give my arm a certain swing, and my wrist a snap. The ball starts out straight, shoots one way and then reverses and shoots the other. I am not the only one who can pitch that ball. I first saw it pitched by a Maine man, Billy Maines, of Windham. Then I set about trying to get it, and, by the merest accident, I hit upon it. I have tried to show other good pitchers how to throw it, but they are not persistent enough—they get discouraged after a while and give it up. But there is something more wonderful than the in and out double shoot.”

“What can it be?”

“A rise with a drop on the end of it.”

“What? You don’t mean to say anybody can pitch a ball like that?”

“I believe there is a man in the National League that claims to do it. Those who have seen him work say he really does pitch such a ball.”

“Impossible! The only drop it can have is the one given it by natural gravitation.”

“I know it seems that way, but they say his ball rises steadily after leaving his hand till it is more than two-thirds of the distance to the batter, and then takes a most remarkable down shoot. It is said to be a wicked ball to hit.”

“Well,” said Wallace, “I shall take no stock in such yarns till I am convinced by the evidence of my own eyes—and then I don’t know as I could believe it.”

“It is plain that you are prejudiced, and any man will waste his time who tries to convince you. There are hundreds of people in the country to-day who will not believe it possible to throw any kind of a curve. Some of them will not be convinced. They are not worth wasting time upon.”

With that Frank turned away. Wallace paled and pressed his lips together, for he felt that Merriwell’s final words were a thrust at him.

Mart Woodock slipped up to Wallace and muttered in his ear:

“That fellow thinks he knows it all. He makes me sick!”

“Well, I’m not stuck on him myself,” sulked Wallace. “I do not fancy being given even a mild calling down by such a chap as he.”

Then they drew aside by themselves and talked in low tones.