Читать книгу Frank Merriwell's Marriage; Or, Inza's Happiest Day - Burt L. Standish - Страница 11

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It was the day of the Eagle Heights meet. The morning was misty, but by eight o’clock the sun drove the mists flying down the river toward the sea and shone forth from a cloudless sky of blue.

Never at any country club for amateur athletes had there been such a gathering of “swell” followers of sport for sport’s sake. Contestants came from various parts of the East, and people of wealth, who were interested in open-air sports and who could attend, appeared to witness the events.

Frank Merriwell and a number of his friends reached the clubhouse at nine o’clock in the forenoon.

They were welcomed cordially. Frank met a number of young athletes whom he knew and was given the “glad hand” by all of them.

“I presume you’re going to give the rest of us a show here to-day,” laughed one. “You’re not going in for all the honors?”

“Hardly,” he answered. “I’m entered for three events, and no more—the broad jump, the high jump, and the pole vault.”

“That’s a relief! Let’s see, who are the principal men you’re up against in those things?”

“Jack Necker seems to be the jumper they count on.”

“Necker? Oh, yes; he’s from Hartford. Well, by George! He’s a corker! And in the pole vault?”

“Denton Frost is the representative of this club. They say he is a wonder.”

“Yes, I know about him. He’s a good man, too. Here’s hoping you have luck.”

Bart Hodge had been wandering around. He came back to Merry after a while.

“Manton is here,” he said, in a low tone.

“Is he?”

“Yes. He’s looking pretty well, too. Shows scarcely a mark.”

“Well, I’m looking for no further trouble from him.”

“I don’t think he’ll tackle you personally, although I have no doubt that he would enjoy cutting your throat.”

A little later Wallace Grafter, accompanied by a thickset, florid-faced, baldheaded man, came upon Merry.

“Mr. Merriwell,” he said, “I want you to meet my father.”

“Is this the boy ye told me about, son?” cried Reliable Mike, as he grasped Frank’s hand. “Well, it’s a fine-looking lad he is, to be sure. And ye say he has good fighting blood in his veins? He looks clever, but not at all dangerous. I’m proud to know ye, Mr. Merriwell.”

“Thank you, Mr. Grafter; I’m very glad to meet you, too.”

“Whist now! Do ye think ye can win at the pole vaulting?”

“It’s impossible to say. I shall do my best.”

“Do. Me boy has a dollar on ye. That chap ye had some trouble with when ye first came here kept after Wallace. He wanted to bet ye wouldn’t win the pole vault. He even offered odds. Betting is bad business for a young man, but Wallace couldn’t stand it, and he took the chap for the limit.”

“I’m sorry he bet on me,” said Frank; “but under any circumstances I shall do my level best. I agree with you that betting is bad business for a young man—or an old man, either.”

“Aw, it’s not so much harm for us old bucks who have learned the ways of the world. It runs away with the young fellows. If they win, they blow the money. If they lose, they can’t afford it. We’ll watch ye, my lad.”

With another hearty shake of Frank’s hand, Reliable Mike drifted along in company with his son.

Dick Starbright and Dade Morgan were there, and they enjoyed more or less popularity as the friends of Frank Merriwell.

When Merry reached the track he was astonished at the size of the gathering. He had not expected half as many people would be present.

The various committees and officials were at work, athletes were moving about over the field, and there was a general air of eagerness.

Great numbers of people were present in carriages. They were the relatives of competitors, and the handsome turnouts told that their stations in the world were not humble ones.

At one side was a double stand, part of which faced the track and part the field. The seats were uncovered.

The early events of the day were to take place on the track, and, therefore, the portion of the stand fronting the field was unoccupied, while the other section had begun to fill up.

A remarkable number of girls and young ladies were there. They were dressed in summer garments and added color and beauty to the scene.

Frank and Bart entered the stand just as the starter’s pistol barked and sent off fourteen clean-limbed young chaps for the mile run.

The day’s events were begun.

The run proved to be an interesting affair, three of the runners fighting for victory right up to the last foot of the finish. One represented Eagle Heights, and he strove as if his life depended on it to start the day with a victory for the club.

But Martin Sayers, of the Knickerbocker A.A., won by not more than a yard, although he fell over a moment after he breasted the tape.

The mile run was followed by a bicycle race, which was won by George Branch, greatly to the satisfaction of all Eagle Heights.

Then came the eight-hundred-and-eighty-yards run, and this was won by a man from the Bison A.A., of Buffalo.

Dade Morgan found Frank in the stand.

“See here, Merry,” he said, “I’ve just learned something that may interest you. Young Grafter has bet a thousand dollars that you will win the pole vault this afternoon. Hobart Manton is the man he’s betting with.”

Frank frowned.

“It might teach Grafter a lesson if he lost,” he said.

Morgan gasped.

“What?” he cried. “You don’t mean that you’ll let Denton Frost defeat you?”

“Frost is not the only other man in the pole vaulting.”

“But he’s reckoned as a sure winner, cutting you out. That tough, Manton, seems to believe he is, anyhow. I don’t understand why he should be so positive. Watch out for treachery, Merry.”

“I don’t see what can be done to spoil my chances in the pole vaulting.”

“Fellows like Manton will resort to anything. I want to see him lose his money. It will hurt him. He has taken advantage of your generosity in keeping still about the fight, and now he’s blowing that you are a faker.”

“That was his first claim when I appeared here. I fancied I had taught him something different.”

“He’s your bitter enemy. I feel that he will try to injure you before the day is done. Watch out.”