Frank Merriwell's Champions: or, All in the Game

Kenneth examined it, and saw at a glance that Frank was right. Still, the hostler protested that he had done nothing to the wheel save move it over slightly, so it would not be in the way.

“These wheels are not in your way, Wade,” said Kenneth, sternly, “and you may let them alone. You have been drinking, and you know that means you stand a good chance of losing your position.”

The hostler looked sullen and subdued, but said nothing. His assistants had appeared, attracted by the sound of the encounter, but they were holding aloof.

Kenneth reprimanded Wade severely, and then informed Frank that supper was ready for the party.

The boys had been given a chance to wash up, and soon they were seated about a long table in the cool dining-room of the old mansion, with Kenneth St. Ives acting as host.

CHAPTER XXII – HANS USES THE HOSE

A jolly party it was. They laughed, and joked, and told stories. They ate, and drank, and were happy. Browning fairly groaned with satisfaction, and then tried to disguise the groan by a cough. Hans gasped as he looked about at the good things with which the table was loaded, and his eyes bulged.

“Shimminy Ghristmas!” he gurgled. “I feel like all dot stuff could ead me up und not half dry. I ain’d seen nottings like dot for so long dot you don’d rememper id.”

“Wal, gol darned ef this air ain’t a slappin’ good layout!” observed Ephraim. “I was beginnin’ to wish I was to hum on the farm where I could git some baked ’taturs, but baked ’taturs won’t cut no ice with me arter I git threw with this fodder.”

“Hearty appetites are in vogue at Springbrook Farm,” laughed Kenneth; “and I want you all to eat till you are perfectly satisfied. Athletes should eat well at times.”

“Yaw,” nodded Hans, “I pelief me; but dot Vrankie Merrivell peen keepin’ der barty in draining so much dot I don’d had nottings to ead vot you like two veeks a time at. Dot kindt uf pusiness makes you got fat like a ghost.”

“Speaking about ghosts,” said Kenneth, with a sly wink at Merriwell, “there is a story that our summerhouse is haunted. As you fellows are going to stop there to-night, I trust you will not be troubled by spirits.”

Hans’ jaw dropped.

“Vot?” he squawked. “I don’d toldt you dere peen a ghost dot house in?”

“Sure,” nodded Kenneth. “Those who have seen it describe it as a tall, white figure, and those who have felt it say it has clammy, ice-cold hands.”

“Woo!” cried Hans, shivering. “I don’d pelief I vant to slept dot summerhouses in!”

“Oh, the ghost only appears occasionally, and it is not at all likely it will visit the summerhouse to-night.”

“Vale, you don’d know apout dot. Uf dot ghost heard I vos here, he peen sure to come. Uf you gif me a bistol und dot ghost came, mape he peen aple to shot me.”

“You mean that you will be able to shoot the ghost.”

“Yaw, I meant dot I peen aple to peen shot der ghost py.”

“That wouldn’t hurt him any. Spooks don’t mind being shot.”

“I don’d toldt you dot? Oxcuse me! I vill slept py der open air. I don’d care apout sleepin’ in dot summerhouses.”

“Oh, say!” exclaimed Ephraim; “gol darn it! can’t you see you’re bein’ guyed. There ain’t no ghost there at all.”

“How you known dot, Efy?”

“Why, see um larf at ye! Can’t you tell by the way they act?”

But the Dutch boy was not satisfied, and it worried him greatly to think he might be visited by a ghost that night. He insisted that he would not sleep in the Summerhouse unless provided with a gun.

After supper however, Kenneth took Hans aside and explained that a bullet from a gun or a charge of grapeshot and canister out of a cannon would not have the least effect on a ghost, but that ghosts could not stand water.

“In the room where you are to sleep to-night,” said Kenneth, “there is a hose pipe with a stopcock nozzle. All you need to do is take the nozzle end of the pipe to bed with you. If the spook appears, point the nozzle at him, turn the stopcock, and let him have it. He will be knocked out in the first round.”

“Vos dot der lefel on?” asked Hans, suspiciously.

“That is strictly on the level,” assured Kenneth,

“Vale, den I done dot. Let dot ghost come, und I vill gif him der greadest path vot I efer got.”

In the meantime, Frank Merriwell had taken Ephraim aside, and was saying:

“Gallup, you must scare the wits out of that Dutchman to-night. You are the tallest one in the party, and so you must wrap yourself in a sheet and play ghost on him. St. Ives is going to fix it so we can all hide behind a curtain in one corner of the room and see the fan. Will you do the trick?”

“Course I will,” nodded Ephraim. “I’ll skeer the Dutchman aout of his senses, b’gosh! Won’t it be heaps of fun!”

“Sure it will,” nodded Frank. “You must strip yourself of all your clothes, so you will look as gaunt as possible, then wrap the sheet around you and stalk in on Hans. He’ll have a fit.”

“Haw! haw! haw!” laughed the Vermonter. “I know I’ll die of larfin’ to see him! Haw! haw! haw!”

So it was arranged, and Frank hastened to tell the other boys.

“This is where Ephraim gets taken in,” smiled Merry. “Kenneth St. Ives has arranged for him to turn the hose on the spook, if one appears. If Hans is not too frightened to do anything, he’ll give Ephraim the surprise of his life. With nothing but a sheet over him, the water from the hose will go through to Gallup’s skin the first squirt, and we’ll be where we can see the fun.”

With no small difficulty Hans was induced to sleep alone in a room of the summerhouse. At one end of the room was an alcove that served as a wardrobe. In front of this alcove was a curtain.

Kenneth arranged it so that the hose attached to the private waterworks of Springbrook Farm was run in at the window of the Dutch boy’s room, and a full head of pressure kept on. He showed Hans how to turn the stopcock and let the water fly at the spook.

Just before the party was ready to retire Frank came upon Gallup and Dunnerwust, who were talking together and laughing in an odd manner.

“Here!” exclaimed Merry, “what are you fellows chuckling over?”

He was afraid the Dutch boy had told Ephraim about the manner in which he expected to vanquish the ghost.

“Haw! haw! haw!” laughed Ephraim. “I was jest tellin’ him I’d eat the gol darn ghost if he’d ketch it.”

“Yaw!” chuckled Hans; “und I toldt him I peen retty to pet zwi tollars der ghost vould ketch it. He don’d know vot I mean py dot, un don’d you toldt him nottings.”

Frank hastened to get the two boys apart, and remained with Hans till the latter was ready to go to bed.

“You don’d pelief dere peen any ghost, did you, Vrankie?” asked the Dutch lad, sleepily.

“Of course not,” assured Frank. “That’s a guy yarn St. Ives gave you. There’s nothing in it.”

“Vale, I peen so sleeby I can’d kept meinseluf avake no longer. Good-nighd, poys. I vas goin’ to ped.”

Then Hans waddled off to his room.

It was not far from midnight when the boys arose and prepared for the fun. Kenneth St. Ives was on hand. He had provided some ice for Ephraim.

“When we all get behind the curtain that hangs before the alcove,” said Kenneth, “you come into the room, Gallup, stalk up to the bed and run this piece of ice around over the Dutchman’s face. If that don’t frighten him out of his wits, I’ve made a big mistake.”

“It’s a yell thot’ll wake ivrybody fer a moile he’ll be afther givin’ whin he fales th’ oice an’ sees Ephraim in the whoite shate,” chuckled Barney.

In pajamas and nightclothes, the boys tiptoed up to the door of Hans’ room, opened it softly, and listened.

Hans was snoring.

One by one, the young jokers slipped into the room and concealed themselves behind the curtain. The moon was up, and a broad strip of light came in by the window and made the room light enough for them to watch what was to take place.

With a sharp knife, which went the rounds, each boy cut a slit in the curtain so he could peer out.

When everything was ready for the appearance of the “ghost,” they were startled to hear Hans muttering:

“I know how to feex you. Vater – goot coldt vater; Oh, uf I don’d gif you a path, you vos a liar!”

“He is sleeping in his talk – I mean, talking in his sleep,” whispered Rattleton. “He is thinking of the way he will fix the ghost. Oh, my! what a joke!”

Then he clasped a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing aloud to think what fun they would have.

“Ven you peen all retty you said so,” muttered Hans, apparently continuing to talk in his sleep.

“Wal,” said the “ghost,” speaking aloud, to the astonishment of the boys behind the curtain, “I ruther guess ev’rything’s all ready. Let her rip!”

Then the curtain behind which the jokers crouched was suddenly snatched away.

At the same instant, Hans sat up in bed, and turned the stopcock of the hose.

Swish – spat!

A powerful stream of chilling water shot through the air directly toward that alcove. If struck the astounded boys, drenching them in a moment and knocking some of them over. The others piled upon the fallen ones, and all shouted with astonishment and disgust.

Then Hans, grasping the hose, bounced to his feet, standing upright in the middle of the bed, and poured the stream of cold water down upon that struggling, squirming mass in the corner.

“Oh, say, vot a shoke dot vos!” cried the Dutch boy, swaying the nozzle of the hose to evenly distribute the water over all the boys. “Ain’d you hafin’ fun mit us! I don’d belief you nefer seen der peat uf dese shoke before all your life in! You don’d vorget der fun vat you had mit us to-nighd a long dime in.”

“Haw! haw! haw!” roared Ephraim. “Soak it to um, Hans! Ain’t they havin’ a regular picnic with us! Ho! ho! ho! This is more fun than hoein’ ’taters!”

“Stop it!” cried Rattleton, gasping for breath. “You blundering Dutchman turn that hose – Woogh-uh-oogh-uh – oogh!”

The stream from the hose had struck Harry full and fair in the mouth, and he was nearly drowned.

“Oi’ll murther thot Dutch chaze!” shouted Mulloy. “Oi won’t lave a whole bone in his body! Oi’ll – Wa-ow! Murther! Boo! Thot’s cold! It’s dead Oi am intoirely!”

“Hello, Parney!” called Hans, mockingly; “how you don’d like dot ghost pusiness, hey? Don’d id peen vunny!”

“Thunder and guns!” roared Browning. “This will give me another Arkansaw chill! Somebody will get hurt when I find out who put up this job on me!”

Hodge and Diamond made a desperate attempt to get away, but Hans saw them, and gave them a straight shot that knocked them down again in the midst of the struggling, squirming, kicking and shouting lads.

“Great Cæsar!” cried Kenneth St. Ives, as he untangled himself from the drenched and kicking mass. “The joke is on us!”

“It looks that way from the road,” admitted Frank, who was laughing heartily as he crowded his body back into a corner to get away from the water. “That confounded Yankee was too sharp to be taken in, and he put up this job with Hans. Goodness! hear him laugh!”

Ephraim was haw-hawing in a manner that told how delighted he was, and the roly-poly Dutch boy was dancing up and down on the bed, as he continued to drench the shivering, scrambling, shouting lads in the alcove.

“Oh, don’d you think dese pen der most fun I efer had!” gurgled Hans. “Dese peen der vay to got a shoke a ghost on. Yaw! Vot do I think uf dese ghost pusiness now, hey?”

“Haw! haw! haw!” roared Ephraim, holding onto his sides, and doubling up with laughter. “Gol darned ef this wouldn’t make a kaow larf! Give it to um, Hans!”

“Oh, yaw, I peen goin’ to cool them down. After ’dese don’d you pelief me ven dey toldt you I vos scared mit a ghost. Hello, Raddleton! Oxcuse me uf you got der vay in. I didn’d seen you pime-py. You oxbect I vos havin’ a goot time, hey?”

Harry had been untangling himself from the others, and now he tried to get up, but the stream of water struck him behind the ear, and keeled him over once more, plumping his head with great force fairly into Browning’s stomach.

“Thunder and lightning!” roared the big fellow. “I’d rather be in a football rush! I’ll give ten dollars to anybody who will pull me out of this and get me out of the room. My eyes are full of water, and I can’t see.”

“You don’d haf to took a shower path der morning in, Prowning,” laughed Hans.

Then St. Ives and Merriwell got hold of each other, and made a break for the door, doing it so suddenly that they escaped before the Dutch boy could turn the hose on them. They remained outside, laughing and calling to the others, who came stumbling blindly out, one by one, dripping wet and hopping mad.

“The joke is on us, boys,” laughed Frank, “and we may as well make the best of it. It’s no use to kick.”

CHAPTER XXIII – CHOICE OF PONIES

Fearing the boys would attempt to retaliate, Hans and Ephraim closed and barricaded the door, and the Dutch boy shouted that he would “soak” anybody who tried to force an entrance.

Thoroughly disgusted with the turn affairs had taken, Merriwell and his friends sought towels and dry clothing, and decided to let Hans and Ephraim alone for the rest of the night.

In the morning every one about Springbrook Farm knew of the “ghost joke,” and the boys were “jollied” unmercifully, Kenneth St. Ives being forced to endure it with the others.

The general uproar in the summerhouse had been heard by those in the mansion, and it had set the hounds to barking in the stable, but the shouts of laughter coming from the house told that it was some sort of frolic, so no one sought to investigate.

Ephraim and Hans came forth in the morning, arm in arm, although they made a most grotesque couple, the Dutch boy being short, round and fat, while the Yankee lad was tall, lank and angular.

The faces of this odd pair were grave and solemn, and their air of innocence was refreshing to behold.

“Good-mornin’, fellers,” nodded Ephraim. “I hope yeou all slept fust rate late night?”

“How you peen dese mornin’, boys?” inquired Hans, with apparent concern. “I hope you didn’t disturb me der night in. I peen aple to slept shust like a top all der night ofer mitout vakin’ ub ad all.”

“I am glad you slept so well,” smiled Frank. “There was some noise about the house in the night, and I thought it might have aroused you.”

“I nefer heard something ad all,” declared Hans. “I pelief me I hat a tream someding apout a ghost, but dot peen all.”

“Oh, say,” grunted Browning, clinching his huge fist and shaking it close down by his side. “You wait! There are other days coming!”

“Vell, I hope so,” said the Dutch boy, blankly. “I don’t vant dese von to peen der last von.”

After breakfast a jolly party came over from the Meadowfair clubhouse, five miles away. There were nearly a dozen young ladies, and half as many gentlemen. It was plain they were in the habit of visiting Springbrook Farm often, for they were warmly welcomed, and made themselves quite at home.

“This is jolly!” cried Kenneth St. Ives, as he introduced Frank to Paul Stone, the leader of the party. “I knew something in the way of sport would turn up to-day. Do you play polo, Mr. Merriwell?”

“Yes,” nodded Frank, with unusual eagerness; “I have played the game, but it has been some time since I have touched a mallet.”

“Mr. Stone is a member of the American Polo Association, as also is Steve Fenton, my cousin. Harden and I have applied, and we expect to get in. Father has caused a beautiful green to be laid over yonder. He has worked upon it till it is as solid as the finest green in the country, and we are looking to enjoy several meets here before we return to the city. We have been having a few games, and I think it is royal sport.”

“It is the greatest sport in the world!” exclaimed Paul Stone, enthusiastically.

Frank smiled.

“It can’t be that you have played much football or baseball, Mr. Stone,” he said.

“Baseball hasn’t the dash and go of polo,” declared Stone; “and too many accidents happen at football. It is a dangerous game.”

“There is some danger in polo,” said Merry.

“Just enough to make it spicy,” declared Stone. “There is not as much danger of getting broken noses and broken necks as in football.”

Frank’s blood was beginning to bound in his veins, for the thought of a hot, exciting polo game, with its sharp races and its fierce charges, was quite enough to arouse the sporting instinct within him. He was like a war horse that sniffs the smoke of battle from afar.

“Well,” he cried, “if there is to be a polo match, I’d like to get into it.”

“You can,” laughed Kenneth. “You shall have Liner, the finest pony in our bunch. That animal knows as much as a human being. Why, he can almost play polo alone!”

A short distance away Stephen Fenton was talking with another of the Meadowfair party. He was trying to be sociable in his sullen way, but his ears were open to all that was passing near at hand, and he plainly heard the conversation concerning polo.

Kimball, the man Fenton was talking with, also heard something of it, and he exclaimed:

“Polo is the very thing! I had thought of a coaching party, but it is too late for that this morning. You’ll play polo, won’t you, Fenton?”

“Yes,” nodded Fenton, “I’ll play with your side.”

“I think that will be agreeable to Stone,” said Kimball; “but I don’t believe Springbrook will want to give you up.”

“Well, I’ll not play with those stiffs,” muttered the sullen-faced fellow. “I want a good opportunity to play against them.”

In a short time it was arranged. For Springbrook, St. Ives, Harden, Merriwell and Diamond were the players; for Meadowfair, Stone, Kimball, Fenton and a jolly young man by the name of Lock were to handle the mallets.

“Come, Mr. Diamond and Mr. Merriwell,” called Kenneth; “I will provide you with suits.”

They followed him into the summerhouse, where such paraphernalia was kept, and in a short time all three were rigged out in white breeches, striped blouses and high boots.

“You will find Liner a dandy polo pony, Mr. Merriwell,” declared Kenneth. “Father paid nine hundred dollars for him.”

“It’s jolly good of you to let me have him, St. Ives,” said Frank. “Why don’t you ride him yourself? I don’t feel like taking him away from you.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” laughed Kenneth. “You are my guest. I’ll ride Coffin Head.”

“Coffin Head! What a name for a horse!”

“He’s an old-timer – a gone-by; but he knows the game, and that is something in his favor. Of course, I do not expect to cut much ice with him, but I want Diamond to have a good mount. Coffin Head has seen his day, but he has been a dandy.”

Frank mentally decided that St. Ives was a fine fellow, and all right in every way.

They went out to the stable, hearing the ringing sound of a coach horn, and seeing a coaching party approaching along the road.

“There’ll be a jolly crowd here!” cried Kenneth. “There’s a party from Cloverdale. We’ll have no end of sport, fellows!”

There was a flush in Diamond’s cheeks, and it was plain he was eager for the fray, although he said very little.

Just as they were on the point of entering the stable, Stephen Fenton rode out on a handsome pony with four white feet and a general smart look.

St. Ives halted in astonishment.

“Hello, there!” he cried. “What are you doing with that horse, Steve?”

“I’m going to ride him in the match,” answered Fenton, grimly.

“I guess not!” exclaimed Kenneth. “I have promised Liner to Mr. Merriwell.”

“Can’t help that,” retorted Fenton, with a sneer. “I rode him in the last match.”

“And so you should be willing to let somebody else have him to-day. Don’t be piggish, Steve.”

The man scowled.

“I didn’t suppose anybody would object to letting me have him to-day, and that is why I took him. I see you are afraid of being beaten. What pony did you propose to let me have?”

“Any one but that one. I did think of riding Coffin Head, but you may have him.”

“Coffin Head! You must think I’m a fool! Why, that old cob is played out, and I’d be a perfect guy on him. You can’t work that on me, Ken.”

St. Ives was angry. He showed it in his face and voice.

“I don’t care what you ride! You can have anything but Liner.”

“And I’ll have Liner!” flung back Fenton, defiantly. “I’ve got him, and I’m going to keep him. What can you do about it? We’ll show you chaps up in great shape.”

Then he started the pony up, and rode away toward the green.

St. Ives seemed about to follow him.

“I’ll make him give that pony up!” he grated. “He has no right to take Liner! If he doesn’t want to play, let him get out.”

“I wouldn’t have any trouble with him about it,” said Frank. “If you do, he’ll make a big fuss about our being scared. Let’s look at the other ponies first, anyway.”

After a few moments of hesitation, St. Ives led the way into the stable, and the boys looked the other ponies over.

One of them was a homely old crock, with knees and hocks bunched up out of all semblance to those built on strictly anatomical principles. This pony attracted Merriwell’s attention.

“That is Coffin Head,” said St. Ives.

Instantly an inspiration seized Frank.

“If you don’t mind,” he said, “I’ll ride Coffin Head.”

Kenneth gasped.

“You can’t mean it!” he exclaimed.

“I do,” nodded Merry. “Somehow I’ve taken a fancy to the old fellow. You say he has been a good one?”

“One of the best.”

“Then he hasn’t forgotten the tricks of the business. I’m going to try him.”

“The boys will have sport with you, Merry,” said Diamond.

“Let ’em,” smiled Frank. “I may get as much sport out of it as they do. May I have Coffin Head, St. Ives!”

“Of course you may if you want him,” said Kenneth, “but I’m sorry that – ”

“Never mind it!” came gayly from Merriwell. “Saddle up old Coffin Head for me, boy,” he cried, to one of the assistant hostlers. “I’ll manage to take some part in the game. Hurrah for Coffin Head, the old-timer! He may prove a surprise party for somebody.”

CHAPTER XXIV – THE FIRST GO

Tang! tang!

It was the timekeeper’s gong, and the game of polo was begun with a charge.

Each team had lined up within twenty feet of their respective goals, and, as the ball was dropped in center field, the little ponies tore forward like blooded racers.

It was a spectacle to send the blood leaping in an instant.

For all that the game had been hastily gotten up, the boundary line was crowded with the élite of the countryside. It seemed as if people had risen from the ground.

Merriwell’s friends were all together, and, with the possible exception of Browning, they were keenly interested. Bruce was stretched out in a lazy position on the ground, seemingly as apathetic as usual.

Bart Hodge’s dark eyes were gleaming and his cheeks glowing.

“Oh, if I could have taken part in that!” he muttered. “I don’t believe Diamond can play the game a bit better than I can.”

Bart was disappointed, and a feeling of jealousy toward Diamond had been aroused in his heart. It began to seem that Frank cared too much for Jack.

“It’s queer, too,” thought Hodge. “Diamond was growling all the time while we were in the West, and he made the rest of the crowd tired. Merry is the only one who has had any patience with him; but that’s just like Frank. He’s mighty queer, and I don’t understand him now, for all that I have known him so long.”

Kenneth St. Ives was captain of the Springbrook side, while Paul Stone commanded the other side.

“Soy,” cried Mulloy, “will yez take a look at thot ould bob Frankie is shtraddle av! Did yez ivver see th’ loikes av thot?”

“Gol darned ef that don’t look jest like dad’s old plaow hoss!” laughed Ephraim Gallup. “Ther sight of that critter makes me wish I was to hum on the farm. I’m humsick, b’gosh!”

Bruce Browning grunted and looked disgusted.

“Merry must be a fool to take such a pony!” he growled. “They’re making a guy of him.”

“G’way dar, boy!” muttered Toots, shaking his head. “Don’t yeh beliebe yehself! Dey don’ mek no guy ob dat boy ver’ much.”

“Say, Browning,” cried Rattleton, excitedly, “you ought to know better than to think anybody can fake a mool – I mean make a fool of Frank.”

“Yaw!” nodded Hans; “I oughter known petter dan dot, hand’t you? Vot do I take you for, Prowning! Vere you peen all my life, ain’d id? You don’d fool Vrankie Merrivell haluf so much as I think you can, you pet my axidental bolicy.”