Читать книгу Frank Merriwell's Marriage; Or, Inza's Happiest Day - Burt L. Standish - Страница 8

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It was mid-afternoon when Frank and Bart again appeared at the clubhouse. They came walking briskly up the road, and were greeted by Fuller, who, with others, was waiting for them on the veranda.

“I suppose you’re too tired after that climb to think of inspecting our field right away?” said the president of the club.

“On the contrary,” smiled Merry, “that has simply whetted our appetite for more.”

“Then come on.”

A number of club members accompanied them. Fuller led the way along a broad walk and out through a small grove. They came upon a broad, level field, like a plateau. Round the field ran a fine track, inclosing a baseball diamond and football ground. At one side were long rows of open seats, rising in tiers. At one end of the oval was the trackmaster’s house, which also served as a bathhouse and contained dressing rooms for the competitors.

Merry was surprised.

“Certainly I didn’t look for this here,” he confessed. “I was wondering where you could have a field up among these hills. This is splendid.”

“Oh, my father knew what he was about when he selected this location!” laughed Fuller.

They walked along the track, noting its splendid condition.

“It must have cost a pretty penny to lay this out and build this track,” said Hodge.

“It did,” nodded Fuller; “but it’s paid for, and we don’t owe a dollar.”

At the far end of the track they came to the golf links, where a number of enthusiasts were enjoying the sport.

At this moment, seemingly in an accidental manner, Ross Cleaves, the champion of the club, accompanied by Manton, Frost, Fisher, and two or three others, came up to the teeing ground.

“Why, hello!” cried Manton, with attempted pleasantness. “Here’s Merriwell. We were just speaking of you, Merriwell.”

“Were you, indeed?”

“Yes; I was telling Cleaves he ought to challenge you for a round of the links. You have a knack of winning at everything, but we think Cleaves could take a fall out of you at this business.”

“I concede the probability,” said Frank.

This did not satisfy Manton at all.

“Do you dare try him a round?” he demanded. “He’s looking for some one who can make it interesting for him.

“Then I’ll recommend Hodge,” said Merry, placing a hand on Bart’s shoulder. “He’s fairly good at it.”

“It takes some one who is more than fairly good.”

“Does it? Well, perhaps Hodge will prove good enough to keep Mr. Cleaves busy. If Mr. Cleaves isn’t satisfied after it’s over, let him come to me, and I’ll try to give him satisfaction.”

“He seems inclined to duck,” said Frost.

Bert Fuller was annoyed beyond measure. He walked over to Manton and Frost, to whom he spoke in a low tone, his words being heard by no others.

Manton shrugged his broad shoulders and turned away.

“Well, I’m looking for some one,” said Cleaves. “Mr. Hodge will do, if Mr. Merriwell doesn’t feel like it this afternoon.”

Without a word, Bart began to peel off, another golfer having offered his clubs for use.

Although he was not in golfing rig, Hodge was quite willing to do his best.

Cleaves teed carefully, addressed the ball in graceful form and led off with a long, beautiful drive. The ball did not rise high into the air, but went sailing away, away until it almost seemed that it would be lost to view.

In the meantime, Fuller had obtained a caddie for Hodge.

“There’s a starter for your man, Merriwell,” said Manton.

Frank spoke to Bart in a low tone:

“Beat this man if you can,” he urged. “I am confident that you can make him hustle if you play half as well as you did in Ohio last week.”

Hodge had won a golf trophy in Ohio.

Having teed, Bart selected a club, got the hang of it, and then addressed the ball. His form was faultless, and he made a drive that seemed fully as handsome as that of Cleaves.

“Well!” was the exclamation of Fuller; “he did that in style. I believe he drove quite as far as Cleaves.”

The two opponents sauntered leisurely down to look for their balls, and it was found that Hodge had driven some yards farther than Cleaves.

It happened that both balls had lodged favorably. Cleaves sent his sailing toward the little flag that marked the first hole. Bart did the same. Then Cleaves made a handsome approach, lodging close to the hole. Hodge fell off somewhat.

“Cleaves makes it in four,” said Frost. “Hodge will be one behind on the first hole.”

Cleaves did make it in four.

Then Bart took his time, pulled some grass away from the vicinity of his ball, selected another club and astonished every one by dropping the ball into the hole.

“A piece of luck, nothing more!” exclaimed Fisher.

“All right, Bart,” nodded Merry. “You have your eye with you to-day, and I’m satisfied that you’ll make it interesting. I’m not going to follow you round the links. You’ll find me at the clubhouse when you’re through.”

Bart nodded.

“Well, what do you think of that, Manton?” hissed Frost, as Frank turned away and, accompanied by Fuller, retraced his steps toward the athletic field. “He seems to consider the thing is settled. The crust of that fellow!”

“It is settled,” said Manton. “Hodge had luck to start with, but Cleaves will put it all over him. What are you going to do? Shall we follow them round?”

“Let’s.”

“All right.”

Something more than an hour later, as Frank sat on the veranda of the clubhouse, chatting with Fuller and others, George Branch came hurrying up.

“Well, what do you think?” he cried. “That was a hot one! They kept neck and neck all the way around. Neither one was more than a hole behind at any time. And then, at the finish, the last hole was made in two. It was amazing.”

“Who won?” cried several.

“Hodge,” answered Branch. “He——”

But he was checked by a shout of incredulity from several of the young men on the veranda.

“What are you giving us?” demanded one. “Hodge won? Hodge defeated Cleaves? Go on!”

“It’s straight,” declared Branch. “I don’t blame you for being incredulous. Cleaves is sore.”

Even then some of the club members fancied he was “stringing” them. They had fancied Cleaves invincible. The good start made by Hodge had seemed an accident; but they knew it could be no accident that the visitor had pushed Cleaves all the way round the course.

Others who had followed the contestants now appeared, and they confirmed the statement of Branch. Hodge had won.

Fuller turned to Merriwell.

“You must have had confidence in your friend all the time,” he said.

“I did,” nodded Merry. “I knew what he could do, for I saw him take the trophy at the St. Andrew’s Club, of Oberlin, Ohio, last week. We were made honorary members of the club and urged to compete for the cup. Hodge competed and won it.”

“Let’s walk over to the trackmaster’s house, Merriwell,” invited Fuller. “We’ll find them there.”

They sauntered over together, followed by some of the others. Manton and Frost were talking with Cleaves in front of the trackmaster’s house. Manton frowned at Merriwell as he approached.

“You did that very cleverly,” he said. “I suppose you’ll take the glory of your friend’s clever accomplishment?”

Frank was more than annoyed.

“I fail to understand why you should suppose anything of the sort,” he retorted.

“Why, you didn’t dare go against Cleaves, so you pushed Hodge into it. You have the reputation of being a great all-round champion, but I’ve noticed that much of your glory comes from the accomplishment of your friends. If any one wishes to know your secret method, that is it.”

“Evidently you’re something of a sorehead,” said Merriwell. “It’s a remarkable thing that a club of this sort always has at least one sorehead among its members. I wish to remind you that neither Hodge nor I came here with the idea of butting into your club and showing what we could do. We were invited as guests. You have attempted to show us up. Blame yourselves if things have not gone to suit you.”

“That’s plain talk,” said Bert Fuller. “I regret to see you exhibit such a spirit, Manton. At the suggestion of the social committee, I invited Mr. Merriwell and Mr. Hodge to visit us. They should be treated with proper courtesy while here.”

It was a proper calldown for Manton. At first the fellow seemed ready to fly into a burst of uncontrollable passion. His face grew crimson and then turned ashen. He dared not make an insulting retort to the president.

“You’re taking me in a literal sense,” he finally managed to say. “Can’t you let me chaff Merriwell a bit? It seems to be the only satisfaction we can get out of him.”

“Unless he enters for some of the special events at the meet,” put in Frost. “The broad jump and the high jump, for instance.”

“And the pole vault,” said Manton. “But I presume he’ll put some of his friends in for these things.”

“That will save him,” nodded Frost.

Frank laughed.

“I’m not here to kick up trouble. Do you think your best men will engage in the events named?”

“Sure.”

“Well, I had not thought of participating; but, just to please you, I’ll agree to enter for the jumping and the pole vaulting.”

“Good enough!” cried Manton. “I see your finish!”

Hodge had been washing up inside. He came out now, looking fresh as a daisy.

“Cleaves is a better man than they had in the St. Andrew’s Club, Merry,” he said. “I won by a lucky drive.”

“I told you it was luck!” exclaimed Manton triumphantly. “I knew it!”

But now Cleaves spoke up like a man and declared there was not much luck in the persistent manner in which Hodge had kept him at his best all round the course. He confessed that he had done his level best to get a lead on his opponent, but had found it impossible to draw away from him.

“I expect he’ll give me another opportunity,” he concluded. “I shall then try to square the score.”

“You shall have the opportunity,” promised Bart.

Suddenly Manton assumed a different air. Laughingly he walked over to Frank, observing:

“Perhaps I’ve been a trifle hasty, Merriwell; but you can’t blame us for feeling it when you and your friend come here and down us so easily. This is supposed to be a club of champions. If you were to defeat us at everything, the papers would make sport of us. As it is, some of the papers have been inclined to poke fun at us and call us a lot of bluffers. We think we’re the real thing; but you’ve taken us off our guard. Were you ever taken off your guard?”

“Oh, yes, I fancy so.”

“I’ve heard not. Why, I’ve even been told that no man could catch you napping and get the advantage of you. I don’t believe that, you know.”

“I presume not.”

“No, it’s ridiculous,” said Manton, pretending to turn away and stepping behind Merry.

Quick as a flash he clasped Merriwell round the body, pinning his arms at his sides.

“There,” he said, “you see how easy it is to prove the falsehood of the statement. I have you foul now.”

“Do you think so?” asked Frank.

“I know it. You can’t do a thing.”

Merry was angry, but he kept a check on his temper. He resolved to teach the fellow a lesson.

Instantly he dropped to the ground, coming down on his right knee. At the same instant, Manton’s arms having slipped up round his neck, he seized the man’s right wrist, pressing on a certain muscle in such a manner that it caused a sharp twinge of pain. He pulled forward sharply, turning Manton’s wrist to the right. Thus, in a twinkling the fellow found himself jerked over Frank’s back and losing his balance. As Manton was falling, Merriwell rose sharply to his feet, and the fellow was hurled flying through the air, to fall flat on his back ten or twelve feet away.

It was done so swiftly that few saw just how it happened; but all realized that the gentleman pugilist had been tricked and grassed at a moment when he had fancied he was demonstrating the ease with which Merriwell could be taken off his guard.

Manton was dazed. He sat up, his face expressing bewilderment, chagrin, and rage.

“What—what——” he muttered hoarsely.

Then he turned his head and glared at Frank. He saw Merry standing quietly, with his hands on his hips, smiling the least bit.

“I trust you are not harmed, sir,” said Frank politely. “As you had secured a grasp on me from the rear, it was necessary to be a trifle violent.”

“Good land!” gasped Bert Fuller.

Manton rose to his feet.

“You tried to break my neck!” he grated, his face livid.

“Oh, no,” denied Frank. “Had I tried, you would have a broken neck now, I assure you of that.”

The gentleman pugilist felt of his arm and shoulder, which had been severely wrenched. He saw some of the witnesses smiling, while others were regarding him with pity. That was enough to infuriate him beyond restraint.

“I’m disgraced if I do not thrash that man!” he thought. “I’ll do it here and now!”

Having arrived at this determination, he tore off his coat.