Frank Merriwell's Races Part 33

Winnie looked at him with added admiration showing in her eyes.

"That's what he did," nodded Collingwood. "It was the greatest display of grit I've ever seen. Do you wonder he flopped over in a dead faint when we crossed the line at the finish?"

The doctor looked at Frank's hand, which was now badly inflamed. After a thorough examination the physician glanced up at Frank and observed:

"If you were able to row with this hand, I rather think you'd endure burning at the stake by a band of Indians without uttering a murmur!"

"You dear fellow!" cried Winnie, with girlish enthusiasm; "I feel just like giving you a good hug!"

Then Frank blushed more than ever.

The doctor opened his case and proceeded to dress Merriwell's hand.

While the physician was thus employed Frank was somewhat surprised to observe at a little distance the same man who had offered him a drink of brandy as he was recovering from his swoon at the close of the race.

This man was watching the boy in a strange manner, but the moment he saw he was observed he quickly turned away.

Frank's curiosity was aroused.

"I wonder who he is and what he wants here?" thought the boy. "How did he get in here, anyway? He seems to take a remarkable interest in me, and I can't say that I like it."

The man walked away and mingled with the throng.

In a short time Frank's hand was cared for, and the doctor gave directions for future treatment of the felon.

"It is bound to trouble you for some time, and you will find it very painful," he said. "After what you have done to-day, I doubt if you sleep much to-night."

"I don't care if I do not sleep for a week so long as Yale won!"

declared the boy.

"You have the true Yale spirit," said the doctor, approvingly. "Yale men carry that unconquerable spirit out into the world, and that is why Old Eli turns out so many successful men in all walks of life. I think there is no fear as to your future, my boy."

"Thank you, sir," said Merriwell, simply.

CHAPTER XX.

SPURNING A BRIBE.

"I would like to speak with you."

Frank felt a touch on his shoulder, and the words sounded in his ear. He turned quickly and found himself face to face with the mysterious stranger.

It happened that at that moment they were alone, nearly all the throng having gathered about three fellows who, with banjo, mandolin and zither, were making some lively music.

"What do you want?" asked Frank, rather suspiciously.

The man beckoned for him to come aside.

"I have something I wish to say to you, and I do not care to be overheard by others," he declared.

"Well, I wonder what sort of a snap this is?" thought Merriwell.

He hesitated a moment, and then curiosity to know what the stranger had to say overcame him, and he followed the man to a corner of the room.

The stranger was very mysterious in his manner.

"You are a likely sort of youngster," he said, in a rather noncommittal way.

"Is that what you wish to tell me?" asked Frank, sharply.

"Steady, young colt! Don't be in too much of a hurry. It doesn't pay to be in a hurry--none whatever."

Frank's impatience increased. He did not like the stranger's manner, for there was something crafty and insinuating about it.

"If any one were watching us, he'd be sure to think we were putting up some sort of a crooked game," thought Merriwell.

"My time is valuable," he said aloud.

"Then you can't make more out of it than you can by spending it gabbling with the crowd."

The man's manner was offensive, but Frank's curiosity caused him to hold himself in check and listen to what the stranger should say.

"You are interested in other sports besides rowing, I reckon?" said the unknown, inquiringly.

"Yes."

"Baseball?"

"Yes."

"I have heard that you pitch on the 'varsity nine."

"That is right."

The man a.s.sumed a more cautious air than ever, and lowered his voice still more.

"I allow that the man who pitches can throw a game, if he wants to?"

Frank's dislike for the stranger increased rapidly.

"He can throw a game if he is crooked and dirty enough to do such a mean thing!" came with spirit from the lad.

"That is putting it a heap rough," deprecatingly declared the man.

"Every galoot is out for the dust. It is the way of the old world, as you will find before you have hoofed it much farther along the trail of life."