Frank Merriwell at Yale Part 10

"If you wait for a good chance you'll never get a scalp. You must s.n.a.t.c.h 'em whenever you can."

"By Jove!" laughed Frank, "this talk about scalps has given me an idea."

"Let's have it!" exclaimed several of the boys in unison.

"Not now," he said. "Wait till I have perfected it."

Roll Ditson strolled in, smoking a cigarette, and said:

"h.e.l.lo, Merry! h.e.l.lo, fellows! What's up? Council of war?"

"Just that," said Dan Dorman. "Merry is perfecting a scheme to put a horse on Browning."

"Eh? Browning? Great Scott! Is that so? He's a bad man to monkey with.

Better let him alone, Merry."

Ditson had a patronizing way that was offensive to Frank, who had given him numberless digs; but he was too thick to tumble or he deliberately refused to take Merriwell's words as they were intended.

"You'll have to kick him before he knows he's not wanted," Rattleton had said.

"Thank you for your advice," said Frank, with mild sarcasm--"thank you exceedingly! Perhaps you are right."

"Oh, I know I am. I don't want to get the king after me, and I don't believe you care to have him on your trail. He is the most influential soph in college. Why, his name is on a table down at Morey's."

Ditson looked around as if his last statement had settled the question of Browning's vast superiority over all soph.o.m.ores.

Morey's was the favorite resort of the students, and no freshman could enter there. It was an old frame house, with low-posted rooms, and there one could drink everything except beer. No beer could be had at Morey's.

Morey's was headquarters for the Society of the Cup. This cup had six handles and was kept in a locked closet. On the cup was engraved in large letters the word "Velvet," which is a well-known Yale drink, composed of champagne and Dublin stout, a drink that is mild and soft, but has a terrific "kick."

Besides the word "Velvet," a number of students' names were engraved on the cup, and no one whose name was not there could ask the proprietor to show the cup.

The marked tables were two round tables on which names of the frequenters of the place had been cut in the hard wood. One table had been filled with six hundred and seventy-five names and was suspended against the wall, where it would revolve, and the other tables were fast filling up.

Merriwell laughed at Ditson's statement.

"I don't see as it is such a wonderful thing for a soph to get his name on one of those tables," he said. "If you had said that Browning's name was on the cup, it would have seemed a matter of some consequence."

"It may be, for all I know. Sophs are not in the habit of telling us everything. Steer clear of Browning, Merry, old man."

"Thanks again! You have made me so nervous that I think I will take your advice."

"That's right, my boy--that's right," nodded Ditson, swelling with importance. "Always listen to your uncle, my lad, and you will never go wrong."

The other lads seemed rather disappointed, but Merriwell said nothing more of his scheme to get a "horse" on Browning--that is, he said nothing more that night.

CHAPTER VII.

A SURPRISE.

It was singular how quickly Browning learned that Merriwell had contemplated working a job on him. It seemed an absolute certainty that some one of the party in Merriwell's room had gone forth and "blowed."

Who had done so was a question.

As was the most natural thing, considering his dislike for the fellow, Frank felt that Roll Ditson was the telltale. Of this he had no proof, however, and he was too just to openly condemn a man without proof.

It was certain that Browning had learned all about it, for he sent word to Merriwell to go slow. At the same time, in all public places he avowed the utmost contempt and disregard for the freshman who had done up Diamond.

"The boy is altogether too new," Browning sneered. "What he needs is polis.h.i.+ng off, and he is bound to get it."

Now, Frank had won admiration from the soph.o.m.ores, and there were one or two who did not like Browning and would have given not a little to have seen him beaten at anything.

This being the case, it is not surprising that Merriwell received an anonymous note warning him to keep in his room on a certain evening and look out for squalls.

Frank knew Browning would not come alone, and he determined to be prepared. With this object in view, he gathered ten stout freshmen and had them come to his room early on the evening mentioned.

The curtains were drawn closely, and the arrivals were astonished to see a lot of Indian toggery piled up on tables and chairs, imitation buckskin suits, feathered headdresses, bows, arrows, tomahawks, and so forth. On Merriwell's table was a full supply of Indian red grease paint.

"Oh, say," gasped Ned Stover, his eyes bulging, "what's this--a powwow outfit?"

"This is the result of the idea you fellows gave me when you spoke of capturing scalps the other evening," laughed Frank. "Select your suits, gentlemen, and proceed to make up."

"Make up? What for?"

"Just you make up, and I will tell you what for afterward."

Merriwell's influence was sufficient to induce them to obey, and he aided them in the work.

"Blate grazes--I mean great blazes!" chuckled Rattleton, as he rubbed the war paint on his face. "Won't we make a bloodthirsty gang of roble ned men--er, n.o.ble red men!"

The boys aided each other, and Frank a.s.sisted them all.

"Aren't you going to make up, Merry?" asked Bandy Robinson.

"Not now. I am to be the decoy."

"The decoy? What's in the wind, anyway?"

"Well, I have it pretty straight that some sophs, led by Browning, are coming to take me out for an airing to-night."

"Eh? Take you out?"

"Yes."

"And he means to take them in," laughed Rattleton, arranging a war bonnet on his head.