Dick Merriwell's Trap: or, The Chap Who Bungled

“I am sure it will!” he laughed. “As long as it contains that picture it will remain a charm for me.”

“You know I accept you as a friend, Mr. Merriwell; but my brother is angry with me, my mother will be more so, and my father will side with my mother. I tell you this as an explanation of my conduct in the future, should anything happen to make it seem that I am unfriendly.”

“I think I’ll understand you.”

“Then you will do better than most fellows,” smiled June; “for they do not understand girls at all. Hal Darrell – ”

Then she paused suddenly, for Hal himself had ascended the stairs and stopped, staring at them. His face was rather pale, and there was a glitter in his dark eyes.

“Oh, Mr. Darrell!” exclaimed June. “I have been looking for you.”

“Have you?” said Hal, his eyes on Dick.

“Yes. Brother wants to see you. He’s in room 37. Please go right up.”

Hal stood still and stared at Dick a moment longer, after which he mounted the stairs to the second story and disappeared.

CHAPTER VI – A DOUBTFUL MATTER

Chester and June Arlington remained in Hudsonville that night and the next day. On Monday they came back to Fardale, but Chester did not return to the academy. He declined to go to the house where June had been stopping, but ordered the best suite of rooms in the Fardale Hotel, and there he went comfortably to bed.

Perhaps it was a mistake to say he went comfortably to bed, for he was far from comfortable, as his back had been hurt badly, although the Hudsonville doctors consoled him with the assurance that, with rest and proper treatment, he would recover without any permanent injury.

June remained at the hotel to care for him as best she could, and Mrs. Arlington was notified of his misfortune, with the result that she lost no time in hastening to the side of her idolized son.

Dick had called at the hotel to see June a moment, and she showed him the telegram that told her that her mother was coming with all speed.

“I don’t know what will happen when mother gets here,” confessed June, “but there may be trouble. To tell the truth, I am afraid there will be, for Chester is determined to tell her I gave you that locket, unless I get it back.”

Dick’s heart sank a little, but he soon said:

“Then I suppose I shall have to give it up, for I do not wish you to get into trouble on my account.”

But she declined to take it.

“No,” she said firmly. “I gave it to you, and you are to keep it. I want you to promise to keep it, even though my mother demands it of you.”

His heart rose at once.

“You may be sure I will do so,” he said.

He was in very good spirits as he went whistling back to the academy. It was just past midday, but the autumn sun was well over into the southwest. The wind sent a flock of yellow leaves scudding along the roadside like a lot of startled birds. The woods were bare, and there was a haze on the distant hills. In spite of the bright sunshine, in spite of the satisfaction in his heart, he felt vaguely the sadness of autumn, as if the world itself were fading and growing old and feeble, like a man that has passed the prime of life and is hurrying down the hill that leads to decrepit old age and death. Always the autumn impressed Dick thus. True he saw in it much of beauty, but it was a sad beauty that made him long to fly to another clime where fallen leaves and bare woods would not remind him of winter.

Not that Dick disliked the winter, for in it he found those pleasures enjoyed by every healthful lad with a healthy mind; but it was the change from early autumn to winter days that stirred his emotions so keenly and filled him with that unspeakable longing for something that was not his.

A stream ran through the little valley, the sunshine reflected on its surface. Beyond the valley was a little grove, where a red squirrel was barking, the clear air and favorable wind bringing the chatter of the little creature to the lad’s ears. Some one had started a fire on the distant hillside, and the smoke rose till it was hurled away by the sweeping wind.

Dick’s eyes noted much of beauty in the landscape, for he was sensitive to color, and the woods were gray and brown and green, the fields were mottled with brown and green, for there remained a few places where the grass was not quite dead, late though it was; the hills were misty blue in the far distance, and the sky overhead was cloudless.

From a high point of the road he could look out on the open sea, and he heard the breakers roaring on Tiger Tooth Ledge.

The squirrel in the grove seemed calling to him, the woods seemed to beckon, and even the dull, distant roar of the sea struck a responsive chord in his heart. A sudden desire came upon him to stray deep into the woods and hills and seek to renew the old-time friendship and confidence with nature and the wild things he had once been able to call around him. Then he thought of Fardale, of the football-field, of his friends at school, and, lastly, of – June.

“No,” he muttered, “I would not give up my new friends for those I used to know. The birds and squirrels know me no longer, but I have found human friends who are dearer.”

He resumed his whistling and trudged onward with a light heart.

That afternoon Dick worked earnestly with the scrub on the field, for the weakness of the academy’s line in the recent game with Hudsonville had shown him that injury to one or two players simultaneously might cause Fardale’s defeat unless some remarkably good substitutes were ready at hand to go in. And he had come to realize that first-class substitutes were lacking.

The injured ones were improving as swiftly as could be expected, but it was certain they would not get into practice until near the end of the week, and Shannock might not be able to go on to the field for another week to come.

At the opening of the season Fardale had resolved not to play with Franklin Academy for reasons well known on both sides. A year before Franklin had permitted a Fardale man and a traitor to play with its eleven, and the traitor had dashed red pepper into Dick Merriwell’s eyes at a time when it seemed certain that the game would be won by the cadets through young Merriwell’s efforts.

Brad Buckhart “mingled in” and promptly knocked the pepper-thrower stiff, after which the fellow had been exposed.

But Franklin’s action in permitting the traitor to play on her team had angered the Fardale athletic committee so that a vote was taken not to meet her on the gridiron again. But the faculty at Franklin took a hand, offered apologies, regrets, and made promises to look after the team in the future. They felt a keen disgrace to have Fardale refuse to meet the Franklin eleven. The result was that the Fardale athletic committee finally withdrew the ban, and a date was arranged with Franklin.

This was the team Fardale had to meet on the following Saturday after the game with Hudsonville, and to Dick’s ears came a rumor that Franklin had a remarkable eleven that had been winning games in a most alarming manner.

To add to Dick’s uneasiness came a report that Franklin had hired a professional coach and that there were at least four “ringers” on the team. Dick was not inclined to believe this at first, for it did not seem possible such fellows would be permitted on the eleven after the entreaty and assurance of the Franklin faculty.

Brad Buckhart resolved to investigate. Without saying a word to Dick, who, he fancied, might object to “spying,” the Texan paid a man to find out the truth. The result was that, one day, he informed Dick there was not the least doubt but the “ringers” were to be with the Franklin team.

“I can hardly believe it now!” exclaimed Dick, when Buck had explained how he came by his knowledge. “How can they afford to do such a thing?”

“Well, pard,” said the Westerner, “I hear that they’re hot set to wipe out the disgrace of last year’s defeat, and then they won’t care a rap whether we play with them any more or not. That’s what’s doing over yon at Franklin. I opine we’d better decline to play.”

“No,” said Dick. “We have no absolute proof that there are ‘ringers’ on their team, although it is likely your man made no mistake. I shall notify their manager at once that I have heard such a report, ask concerning its correctness, and protest against the questionable men being in the game.”

“And then if they are in it just the same?”

“We’ll play them,” said Dick grimly, “and beat them. After that we can decline to have any further athletic dealings with them.”

“Partner, you’re right!” exclaimed the Texan. “The only thing I fear is that our team may not be up to its usual form. If it is, we can down ’em, ‘ringers’ or no ‘ringers.’”

No reply came to Dick’s note of protest until Friday, before the game was to come off. Then the manager answered briefly that all the men on his team were amateurs and were taking regular courses at Franklin Academy.

“That settles it,” said Dick. “I’d play him now if I had proof that he had ‘ringers’ on his team. Then I’d relieve my mind after the game.”

CHAPTER VII – SOMETHING WRONG

Dick knew Mrs. Arlington had arrived in Fardale, and after her arrival he waited in daily expectancy of hearing something from June. He learned that the injury to Chester Arlington was so serious that he might be confined to his bed for two or three weeks. And he also found out that Hal Darrell visited the hotel daily.

Ostensibly Hal went to see Chester, but Dick felt that the real reason of his going was to see June. And Dick was startled to feel a sensation of keen jealousy in his heart. He tried bravely to put it aside, telling himself that June was his friend and nothing more; but it was obstinate and declined to be crushed in such a manner, not a little to his annoyance.

On Saturday morning Dick received a brief note from June, and it fairly staggered him. This was what she said:

“Mr. Richard Merriwell: Kindly return my locket at once by the messenger who brings you this. I insist on it, and you will do so if you are a gentleman. —

June Arlington.”

A second time had this happened. Once before June had sent for her locket and Dick had returned it as requested. Then, when he sought to call for an explanation, he was snubbed at the door. He puzzled over this second note, being astonished by it. For had not June urged him to promise not to give up the locket on any condition?

“Is she so changeable?” he muttered, in great disappointment. “I could not have thought it of her! She doesn’t seem that way.”

He could not express his feeling of disappointment at June. She had seemed like an unusually sensible girl, who would not whiffle round with every shifting wind.

He understood that, without doubt, strong pressure had been brought to bear on June by her mother and brother. She had been commanded to send again for her locket. Chester Arlington was determined that Dick should not keep it, and he would rejoice if it were sent back to his sister.

But had June been influenced so that she really wished the locket returned? Rather had she not been compelled to write the request while she did not wish Dick to comply with it?

He started at this thought, and, of a sudden, he found a way to excuse June. She could not refuse to obey the command of her mother, and she had written for the locket because Mrs. Arlington commanded it. That was the explanation. The messenger was waiting outside the door. Dick turned, walked to the door, and said:

“There is no answer.”

“But the lady what give me the note said there would be one,” declared the boy. “She said I was to bring back somethin’ you’d give me.”

“Did she?”

“Yep. An’ said I was to be careful not to lose it.”

“What sort of a lady gave you this note?”

“Oh, she was pritty swell, you bet! She wore good togs, but she had gray hair, and she looked me over through a glass with a handle what she held up to her eye, and she says, says she, ‘Boy, are you honest?’ and I says, ‘I am, though I know I’ll never grow up to be a great politician or a millionaire if I stay so.’ She didn’t seem to like that much, but she finally give me the paper what I brought to you, sayin’ as how I was to bring back the thing what you would give me.”

“Well, there is nothing for you to take back,” said Dick. “But here is a quarter for you. Just say to the lady that the article is so precious that I will bring it in person, as I dare not trust it out of my hands.”

“All right. Thankee,” said the boy, and he hurried away.

A feeling of satisfaction had come to Dick.

“I was right,” he exclaimed, with a short laugh. “It is the work of June’s mother. But how can I get out of giving up the locket and the picture? June told me to keep it, but if her mother demands it of me I’ll be placed in an awkward position.”

He was soon given other things to think of, however. The Franklin team arrived in town before noon, and Buckhart, who was at the station to see them, came hustling back to the academy and sought Dick, whom he found in the gym.

“There’s no mistake about it,” said the Westerner excitedly. “One of their players is Plover, the chap who was barred from the Exeter team because he was a professional. Why, he’s nineteen years old, and he’s played the game for three or four years. He got into some kind of a mess at Exeter and left school to avoid a disgrace. He’s one of the ‘ringers.’”

“How do you know this?” asked Dick. “You do not know Plover personally, do you?”

“No, but there was a chap at the station who knew him and spoke to him.”

“Well?”

“Plover didn’t seem to like it much. He pretended not to know the fellow who spoke to him.”

“Who was the fellow?”

“Clerk in Peabody’s store, a fellow who hasn’t been here very long.”

“I’ll have to see him at once,” said Dick.

“I had a talk with him, you bet your boots!”

“Did you?”

“Sure thing, pardner. Said he knew Plover all right, and that the fellow couldn’t fool him. Said Plover was a chap who played baseball summers for money, raced for money, had been pulled up for some sort of crookedness in a running-race, had coached football-teams for money; in short, he made his living by just such things.”

“Well, he is a fine fellow for Franklin to run up against us!” exclaimed Dick. “Come, Brad, we’ll look up the manager of that team without delay.”

But the manager of the visiting team had not come to Fardale with his players, as they learned on hurrying to the hotel and making inquiries.

“He didn’t dare come!” muttered Buckhart in Dick’s ears. “He was afraid you’d get after him before the game. That’s why the onery galoot stayed away.”

Dick’s face wore a grim expression as he called for Captain Hickman. Hickman and two other Franklin fellows were found in a room. The captain of the team rose and held out his hand to Dick, crying:

“How are you, Merriwell, old man! Glad to see you again! Of course, we’ll have to trounce you this afternoon, but that is no reason why we shouldn’t be friends before the game – and afterward.”

“No, that is no reason,” admitted Dick. “As for trouncing us, that remains to be seen; but I am sure you ought to do it with the kind of team you have brought!”

“Oh, yes! we’ve got a corker this year,” laughed Hickman.

“But aren’t you out of your class a bit?” asked Dick, while Brad stood by the door, grimly waiting the clash of words he expected would come and eying the two chaps with Hickman, to have their measure in case there was an encounter.

“Do you fancy your team so very weak?” asked Hickman jokingly. “Why, you seem to be doing very well.”

“We are strong enough for a school team made up of amateurs, but we may not be able to cope with professionals.”

“And ‘ringers,’” put in Brad.

Hickman pretended to be surprised and astonished.

“Professionals?” he exclaimed. “Ringers? Why, what do you mean? It can’t be that you accuse us of having such men on our team?”

“I have information that leads me to believe you have,” said Dick grimly.

“It’s not true!” retorted the captain of the Franklin team hotly.

“It’s a lie!” said a yellow-haired chap, rising behind Hickman, and stepping forward.

“That’s exactly what it is!” agreed the third fellow, as he also rose and joined the others.

“Here’s where we get into a scrimmage!” thought Buckhart, with a glow of genuine satisfaction. “Here is where we wipe the floor with three young gents from Franklin!”

But Dick was not there to get into a row.

“Such information reached me a few days ago,” said Dick, “and I wrote at once to Mr. Rankin, your manager.”

“Well, you heard from him, didn’t you?”

“Yes; he answered that the report was untrue.”

“Well, that should have satisfied you,” said Hickman. “What more do you want?”

“To-day,” said Dick calmly, “I have been told that on your team there is a regular professional by the name of Plover.”

“Plover?”

“Yes.”

“There is no man by that name on the team,” said Hickman. “So you see that you have been led astray in this matter.”

“Of course it is possible,” admitted Dick, “But we have not forgotten last year, Mr. Hickman.”

“Last year?” said Hickman uneasily. “What do you mean by that?”

“You should remember very well.”

“Why not – ”

“Yes, your little trick you played on us. I believe a fellow by the name of Jabez Lynch played with you, and he was a Fardale man at the time. He wore a nose-guard and head-harness that so disguised him he was not recognized; but he did a piece of dirty work that exposed him before the game was over. You remember, Captain Hickman.”

Hickman forced a short laugh.

“That was a joke, Merriwell.”

“A joke!” exclaimed Dick, his eyes flashing. “Is that what you call it? It was no joke, Mr. Hickman, and you know very well that it came very near ending all athletic relations between our teams and our schools.”

“If that is what he considers as a joke,” put in Brad; “mebbe he allows it’s a joke to spring a lot of ‘ringers’ on us!”

“Who are you?” savagely asked the captain of the visiting team, glaring at Brad. “What right have you to dip into this matter?”

“Who am I? Well, I’m Brad Buckhart, the unbranded maverick of the Rio Pecos! I’m playing with Fardale, and I allow that I can dip in some. If any of you gents think not, I’m willing to argue it with you any old way you say. You hear me chirp!”

“Have you come to raise a fuss, Mr. Merriwell?” cried Hickman.

“I have come to warn you,” said Dick, with unabated grimness.

“Warn us – of what?”

“That you are making a grave mistake.”

“Are you going to squeal? Are you going to back out?”

“We shall play you this afternoon if your team is made up entirely of professionals.”

“Then what – ”

“I wish to notify you, Mr. Hickman, that a thorough investigation will be made. If we learn that you have professionals on your team, Fardale will sever relations with you. There will be no further contests between us.”

Hickman snapped his fingers.

“Do as you like,” he said. “We’ll have the pleasure of wiping you up in the last encounter, anyway.”

“Will you?” cried Dick. “Not much! Fardale will defeat you to-day, for all of tricks and crookedness!”

“Whoop-ee!” exploded Buckhart. “You bet your boots she will!”

Then both boys turned on their heels and left the room.

Dick and Brad were descending the stairs to leave the hotel when something struck Dick’s shoulder with a little tinkle and fell on the steps before him.

Dick picked it up, and glanced upward. He fancied he saw a face disappear above, and there was a rustling sound that died away almost immediately. In his hand Dick held a bit of paper that was twisted about an old-fashioned copper coin. He untwisted the paper and saw there was some writing upon it.

“I shall try to be at the game. See me a moment if possible. Have something to say to you. —

June.”

“What is it, pard?” asked Brad.

“Nothing much,” smiled Dick, folding the paper and carefully putting it in his pocket, along with the coin.

The smile left his face, as at the very door, when he was passing out, he encountered Mrs. Arlington, who had just alighted from a carriage and was coming in. She saw him, and a haughty look of anger and accusation settled on her cold face.

“So you decided to come!” she said freezingly. “It is well that you did. I have consulted a lawyer, and I have about concluded to have you arrested.”

“To have me arrested?” said Dick, in surprise.

“Exactly.”

“What for?”

“Theft!”

Dick’s face flamed crimson, while a gurgle of incredulity and astonishment came from Brad’s throat.

“Theft, madam?” said Dick warmly. “Such a thing is ridiculous!”

“Outrageous!” came from Brad.

“I sent for a piece of property belonging to my daughter and you declined to return it,” said the woman, with a crushing air of superiority.

“So it was you who sent for it?” came quickly from Dick. “I am glad to know that.”

“My daughter wrote the note, which I sent by a messenger. Your refusal to return the locket makes you a thief. But I presume you have come to your senses and decided to give it up, in which case I shall not proceed against you.”

Dick was boiling with anger, and he longed to tell the woman just what he thought; but he could not forget that she was June’s mother, which held him in check.

“I did not call to return the locket, madam,” he said. “I had another matter that brought me here.”

“Indeed?” said the woman, annoyed and surprised. “You will find it best to attend to this matter without delay if you wish to escape the unpleasantness of being arrested. To a boy of your callous nature I do not suppose arrest would seem like a disgrace, but you may fear imprisonment.”

Dick could not find words to retort to this insult, but he knew he could not restrain his outraged feelings much longer, for which reason he sought to pass the woman at once and get away from her. But Mrs. Arlington had not played all her cards. She was holding one in reserve.

“I think you were somehow concerned in stopping a horse that had become frightened in a neighboring town, and I also think my daughter was in the carriage,” she said, in the same haughty, freezing manner. “Much to my regret, I have learned that my son failed to pay you for your act, as he promised to do; but you know he was injured by falling from the carriage, which explains his failure. I have been told that he said he would give you a hundred dollars to stop the horse. I always take pains to have my son keep his word, and I shall do so in this case. When you call with the locket you shall have the hundred dollars, just as he promised.”

Dick knew she felt sure the promise of that money would cause him to hasten to bring the locket, and it but added to his outraged sense of fairness. Surely she was the most overbearing, haughty, cold-blooded woman he had ever met! But she was June’s mother!

“Madam,” he said, “if you imagine for a moment that I stopped that horse because a hundred dollars was offered to any one who would do so, you have made a great mistake. I did so because your daughter was in peril. Nothing could induce me to accept money from your son, from you, or from any one on earth for such an act!”

He managed to pass her, but Buckhart paused to say:

“Well, I should opine not! Why, confound it! I told you once that this yere pard of mine has money enough to buy up your old husband’s railroads and run ’em! Money! Why, when he comes of age he’ll have it to burn in an open grate instead of coal! Money! Don’t insult him by – ”

“Brad!” said Dick sharply; “that will do! Come!”

“All right,” said Buckhart, regretfully following young Merriwell. “But I wasn’t half done with her. I was just getting round to say over my opinion of her, and I reckon I’d sure rumpled her fur some.”

“Never mind,” said Dick. “We’ve got other things to think of besides that woman.”

“Don’t you worry none whatever about arrest,” said the Texan. “She’ll not be that big a fool.”

“I hope not,” said Dick.

As Dick said, he had other things to occupy his mind. He was bound to win the game that afternoon and teach Franklin a lesson.

Midday had passed and Dick was entering the gymnasium to prepare for the game when a boy on a bicycle hailed him. He stopped, frowning a little as the boy came up swiftly, for he half-fancied it was some one sent by Mrs. Arlington. As the lad drew near, however, Dick suddenly recognized him. It was Sammy – Sammy of Hudsonville, on a brand-new wheel! Sammy was laughing as he jumped off.