Читать книгу Frank Merriwell's Athletes: or, The Boys Who Won - Standish Burt L. - Страница 2

“Well, Oi nivver saw th’ loikes av this!” exclaimed Barney, in amazement. “It’s loike bein’ back at Fardale ag’in.”

“You pet my poots!” grinned the Dutch boy. “Id makes me think der time uf dot Hodge vos hazed der oldt poathouse in. You tidn’t like dot so much as you might, eh, Partly?”

“I can’t say that I ever took to hazing much,” confessed Hodge, who looked moody and worried.

“Yaw, dot vos der trute. Dot vos der nighd ven I sing dot peautiful hymn caldt ‘Bull For der Shore.’ I remember me dot song. Id vent someding dis a vay:

Dunnerwust roared forth the song as loudly as he could, and Frank hastened to stop him, laughing as he said:

“Good gracious, Hans! this is no menagerie! It is a first-class hotel, and we’ll be fired out if we make such unearthly noises in the rooms.”

“I don’d toldt you so?” exclaimed the Dutch boy in surprise. “Don’d der beople der hodel in abbreciate goot musicks?”

“Possibly they do when they hear it.”

“Vell, oben der toor und gif um der chance uf their lifes. I vos goin’ to sing again alretty soon.”

“If you try it, I’ll throw you out of the window!”

Diamond gave a sigh of relief.

“Talk about a Chinese orchestra!” he muttered. “There are other things quite as bad.”

Hans looked sad.

“I vos afraidt mein voice vos not abbreciated,” he said. “Id vos hardt ven a veller feels so goot he vants to varble like der pirds und der friendts uf him von’t gif him a shance. Oxcuse me vile I shed a tear. Vill somepody lent me an onions?”

“Oi’m glad ye’ve got somebody to hold ye down, ye Dutch chaze,” grinned Barney. “It’s mesilf has been unable intoirely to kape th’ Dutchmon shtill, Frankie. It’s in danger av bein’ arristed he has put us twinty toimes a day.”

“What I want to know,” said Frank, “is how it happens that I find you two together here in San Francisco.”

“Vale,” said Hans, “I comes me oudt here to visit mein cousin, Fritz, undt I runs me acrost Parney.”

“But, Barney, the last I knew of you you were in London with your Sister Bridget. I didn’t suppose you were in America.”

“It’s an accidint Oi’m here at all, at all,” averred the Irish lad. “An’ it’s yesilf thot’ll be moighty interisted whin Oi tells yez how thot accidint happened.”

“Yah,” nodded Hans; “he vos sure to trop deat ven you toldt him der odder berson of dot vas San Vrancisco in.”

“I am getting intensely interested already,” said Frank. “Go ahead, Barney, and tell the story. We’ll all sit down and listen.”

“Excuse me if I lie down,” murmured Browning, as he stretched his massive frame on a couch. “I am troubled of late with that tired feeling.”

“Vot you took vor him?” asked Hans, anxiously. “I’d vos tangerous ven you let him go und don’t took nottings.”

“The best thing I have found to take for it is a rest.”

“Do you know why the Chinese make such good actors?” asked Rattleton.

“You toldt me dot.”

“All right. They make good actors because they never forget their cues.”

“Yah! yah! yah!” cackled Toots, the colored boy, who had been keeping still and remaining in the background. “Land ob watermillions! dat boy Rattletum cayan’t help sayin’ dem fings. It jes’ comes nacheral wif dat boy.”

“Meester Raddleton must haf peen eatin’ eggs,” observed Hans, soberly. “He vos full uf yokes.”

Toots stared at Hans, and then, suddenly seeing the point, he had a fit. He laughed till Frank threw one of Browning’s bicycle shoes at him. The shoe struck the colored lad and knocked him off his chair to the floor. He picked himself up and sat down without a word, looking sad and subdued.

“Now, Barney,” said Frank, gravely, “be good enough to go on with your story. I think we have quieted the menagerie.”

“Begorra! Oi nivver saw such a crowd as this in all me loife,” declared the Irish lad. “It’s a jolly ould party it is.”

Then he began his story:

“It’s nivver a bit av money could Oi make in London, an’ so, whin Oi got a chance to go to Australia wid a foine gintlemon thot gave me a job on his ranch, Oi shnapped it up quicker thin ye could wink th’ two oies av yes.

“But afther Oi got there Oi didn’t loike the place a great dale. It wur too fur away from anything at all, at all, an’ it’s lonesome Oi got; so Oi wint to th’ gintlemon an’ told him. It’s a foine splindid mon he wur, fer he said to me, sez he, ‘Barney, me b’y, it’s sorry Oi am to have yez go, but Oi don’t want to kape ye av’ ye’re lonesome an’ homesick.’ Wid thot he wur afther givin’ me a roll av money thot he said Oi could pay back av Oi ivver got th’ chance, an’ Oi packed me hooker an’ shtarted fer Sydney.

“It’s a roight shmart town thot same Sydney is, as ye know yersilf, Frankie, fer it’s goin’ there ye wur th’ last toime Oi saw yez. Oi wur moighty intheristed in that place, an’ wan day who should Oi mate roight on th’ strata but – Oi’ll bet ye can’t guess in a thousan’ years, Frankie.”

“Yah,” nodded Hans; “he don’d peen aple to guess in zwei t’ousan’ year.”

“Then I will not try,” said Frank. “Who was it that you met, Barney?”

“It wur th’ girrul ye used ter be so shtuck on at Fardale, me b’y.”

“What, not – not – ”

“Inza Burrage!”

“Yah, Inza Porrige,” grinned Hans.

Inza Burrage was a young lady of whom Frank had been very found in former days, and she still held a warm corner in his heart.

“Goodness!” cried Frank. “Inza – in Australia?”

“Sure she wur, me b’y. Ye know th’ last toime ye saw her she wur wid her fayther, an’ th’ ould gintlemon wur thravelin’ fer his hilth on th’ continent.”

“Yes, yes.”

“They wint to Italy.”

“Yes.”

“It wur there that Misther Burrage met Lord Stanford.”

“Who is Lord Stanford?”

“An Inglish gintlemon wid more money than brains.”

“Und he vos nod der only bebble on der peach,” put in Hans.

“What about him? How does he come into the Story?” asked Frank.

“He made love to Inza, me b’y.”

“Made love to her? Why, she is nothing but a little girl.”

“It’s forgittin’ ye are that she has been gettin’ oulder, as well as yersilf. She is almost a young lady now, me b’y.”

“But not old enough to think seriously of love.”

“Is it that oidea ye have, Frankie? An’ do yez fergit how Rolf Raymond, her cousin in New Orleans, troied to make her marry him?”

“That was an outrage, for she was a mere child.”

“Ye’ll see a change in her whin ye mate her. An’ it’s her fayther thot’s lookin’ out for a foine match fer her.”

“Impossible! I am sure Mr. Burrage would not – ”

“Sure is it ye are! Ha! ha! Whoy, it’s thot th’ old gintlemon wur thravelin’ fer more than fer th’ hilth av him.”

“Barney, I can’t believe this.”

“Belave it ur not, it’s the truth, an’ he wur afther makin’ her marry Lord Stanford.”

“What an outrage – what an outrage!” shouted Frank, springing to his feet and excitedly pacing the floor. “Don’t tell me he succeeded in forcing her into such a marriage!”

“He would have sucsaded av Oi hadn’t sane her.”

“And you, Barney – what did you do?”

There was a twinkle in the eyes of the Irish youth.

“Oh, Oi did nivver a thing!” he chuckled. “She told me iverything about it.”

“And then – then what?”

“She wanted me to hilp her run away.”

“Did you?”

“Did Oi? Well, say! Did ivver a swate girrul appale to Barney Mulloy thot he wurn’t ready to break his neck fer th’ loikes av her?”

Frank’s excitement grew.

“Barney, you are a trump!” he shouted. “I could hug you! What did you do? How did you do it?”

“She told me she had some money av her own with which she could pay her way back to th’ Unoited Shtates.”

“Yes, yes!”

“All she wanted wur to get away widout her fayther ur th’ lord knowin’ a thing about it.”

“And you aided her?”

“Me b’y, she didn’t know how to do th’ thrick, an’ so I was afther securin’ passage fer her on a steamer bound fer San Francisco.”

“And did you – were you able to get her away? Did she get on board without being stopped?”

Barney nodded.

“She has an aunt in Sacramento, an’ she said she would be all roight av she could rache thot lady.”

“In Sacramento? And she is there now? You aided her in getting to her aunt? Barney, you should have a gold medal!”

“Waid a bit, me laddibuck; you’re gettin’ ahid av me shtory. Oi got her onto th’ stamer, an’ Oi took passage on th’ same craft. As Oi didn’t have money to burrun, Oi come in th’ sicond cabin, whoile she came firrust class. All th’ same Oi found a chance now and thin to chat wid her. She told me all about her aunt. She said her aunt could make th’ fayther av her give up th’ skame to marry her off to the Inglish lord.”

“Blessings on that aunt!”

“Wait a bit! wait a bit!”

Frank showed alarm.

“Don’t tell me she could not find her aunt, or that the woman refused to aid her!”

“Nayther thing happened. It war loike this: Another stamer sailed fer San Francisco the day afther us.”

“What of that?”

“It wur a fasther stamer than th’ one we wur on, Frankie.”

Merriwell’s fears were fully aroused.

“Go on! go on!” he cried.

“Av course her fayther an’ th’ Inglish lord diskivered she had run away, an’ they found out she had taken a stamer.”

“They followed on the other?”

“They followed a pace.”

“Followed a piece? Why, how were they to turn back?”

“Nivver a bit did they do thot, but th’ last parrut av th’ trip we wur folleyin’ thim, an’ nivver a thing did we know about thot.”

“They passed you without your knowing it, you mean.”

“Thot is phwat Oi mane.”

“And then – then – ”

“Whin we lift the stamer at this port, they wur there to receive us.”

A cry of dismay broke from Frank, and then he suddenly became quite cool in his manner, the change being so pronounced that it was startling.

“I presume they took charge of her?” he said, grimly.

“Thot’s phwat, an’ they nearly took charge av me whin they found me wid her. An officer wur called to arrist me, but it’s a roight loively pair av legs Oi have, an’ th’ polaceman nivver got his fingers on me collar, though it wur some high dodgin’ Oi did.”

“What became of Inza?”

“Thot is phwat Oi’d loike ter foind out, Frankie, an’ it’s two days Oi’ve been thryin’ to do so.”