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Frank Merriwell's Chums, a novel by Burt L. Standish |
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Chapter 2. A Ghastly Subject |
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_ CHAPTER II. A GHASTLY SUBJECT "But you know the consequences if you are caught," said Frank, warningly. "Of course I do," nodded Bart, "but you must acknowledge there is not much danger that I shall be caught, as long as I make up a good dummy to leave in my place on the bed." "Still, you may be." "That's right, and there's where part of the sport comes in, as you ought to know, for you are quite a fellow to take chances yourself, Merriwell." "That's right," admitted Frank. "It's in my blood, and I can't help it. Anything with a spice of risk or danger attracts and fascinates me." "You are not in the habit of hesitating or being easily scared when there is some sport in the wind." Frank smiled. "I never have been," he admitted. "I have taken altogether too many risks in the past. A fellow has to sober down and straighten up if he means to do anything or be anything." Bart made an impatient gesture. "Any one would think you were a reformed toper, to hear you talk," he said, with a trace of a sneer. "Not if they knew me," said Frank, quietly. "Whatever my faults may be, I never had any inclination to drink. I have had fellows tell me they did so for fun, but I have never been able to see the fun in it, and it surely is injurious and dangerous. I don't believe many young fellows like the taste of liquor. I don't. They drink it 'for fun,' and they keep on drinking it 'for fun' till a habit is formed, and they become drunkards. Now, I can find plenty of fun of a sort that will not harm me, or bring----" "I thought you weren't going to preach," interrupted the dark-haired boy, impatiently. "Let me give you a text: 'Thou shalt not put an enemy into thy mouth to steal away thy brain,' or something of the sort. Now, go ahead and spout, old man." Frank's face grew red, and he bit his lip. He saw that Hodge was in a most unpleasant humor, and so he forced a laugh. "What's the matter with you to-day, Bart?" he asked. "I haven't seen you this way for a long time." "Oh, there's nothing the matter." "It must be staying up nights. Where do you go?" "If you want to come along, and have some fun, I will show you to-night." Frank hesitated. It was a great temptation, and he felt a longing to go. "Well," he said, finally, "I have not broken any in quite a while, and I believe I'll take a whirl with you to-night." "All right," nodded Bart. "I'll show you some fellows with sporting blood in their veins." "But I want you to understand I do not propose to follow it up night after night," Frank hastened to say. "A fellow can't do it and stand the work that's cut out for him here." "Bother the work!" "I'll have to work to keep up with the procession. If you can get along without work, you are dead lucky." "Oh, I'll scrub along some way, don't you worry; and I will come out as well as you do in the end." That night, some time after taps, two boys arose and proceeded to carefully prepare dummies in their beds, arranging the figures so they looked very much like sleeping cadets, if they were not examined too closely. Bart was rather skillful at this, and he assisted Frank in perfecting the figure in Merriwell's bed. "There," he finally whispered, with satisfaction, "that would fool Lieutenant Gordan himself." They donned trousers and coats, and prepared to leave the room in their stocking feet. Bart opened the door and peered cautiously out into the hall. "Coast is clear," he whispered over his shoulder. In another moment they were outside the room. Along the corridor they skurried like cats, their feet making no noise on the floor. Frank was still entirely unaware of their destination, but, as they had not taken their shoes, he knew they were not to leave the building. Frank cared little where they went, but he realized Hodge was leading the way to a remote part of the building, where the rooms were not entirely taken, as the academy was not full of students. All at once, Bart sent a peculiar hiss down the corridor, and it was answered by a similar sound. A moment later they scudded past a fellow who was hugging in a shadow where the lights did not reach. "Who's that?" whispered Frank. "That's the sentinel," replied Bart. Then they came to the door of a certain room, on which Hodge knocked in a peculiar manner. A faint sound of unbarring came from behind the door, which quickly opened, and they dodged into the room. As yet there was no light in the room, and, still filled with wonder, Frank asked: "Was that the regular sentinel out there, Bart?" "That was our sentinel," was the reply. "But where are the regular sentinels? I did not see one of them." Faint chuckles came from several parts of the room, and Hodge replied: "At a certain hour each night the duties of the regular sentinels take them away long enough for me to get out of my room and in here. See?" "They must be in the trick?" "The most of them are. When it happens that one is not, we have to look out for him, and dodge him. To-night those on duty on this floor were all fixed." Then somebody cautiously struck a match, by the flare of which Frank saw several fellows were gathered in the room. A lamp was lighted, and Merriwell looked around. Besides Bart, he saw Harvey Dare, George Harris, Wat Snell and Sam Winslow. "Hello, Merriwell, old man," some greeted, cordially, but cautiously. "Glad to see Hodge has brought you along." Frank was instantly seized by an unpleasant sensation--a foreboding, or a warning. Harris and Snell were not friends of his; in fact, in the past, they had been distinctly unfriendly. Dare he knew little about, as they had never had much to do with each other. Sam Winslow was a plebe, having entered the academy at the same time with Merriwell, but Frank had never been able to determine whether he was "no good" or a pretty decent sort of fellow. Had Frank been governed by his first impression, he would have found an excuse to bid that company good-night immediately, but he did not like to do anything like that, for he knew it would cause them to designate him as a cad, and he would be despised for doing so. He had gone too far to back out immediately, so he resolved to stay a while, and then get out as best he could. At the window of the room blankets had been suspended, so no ray of light could shine out into the night to betray the little party. At a glance, Frank saw the room was not occupied by students, for it contained nothing but the bare furniture, besides a box on the table, and the assembled lads. Bart saw Frank looking around, and divined his thoughts. "I suppose you are wondering where you are? Well, this is the room in which Cadet Bolt committed suicide. It has been closed ever since, as no fellow will occupy it. It is said to be haunted." This appealed to Frank's love of the sensational. Besides that, he fancied he saw an opportunity for some sport that was not down in the programme, and he smiled a bit. "Of course it isn't haunted," he said. "I don't believe there is a fellow here who believes in ghosts?" "I don't." "Nor I." "Nor I." "Such stuff is rot!" "I don't believe in anything I can't see." Thus the assembled lads expressed themselves, and Frank smiled again. "While I do not believe this room is haunted," he said, "I once had a rather blood-curdling experience with something like a disembodied spirit--an adventure that came near turning my hair snowy white from fright and horror. I will tell you about it. The original of my ghost happened to be a fellow who committed suicide, and he----" "Say, hold on!" gurgled Wat Snell, who had declared that believing in ghosts was "all rot." "What are we here for--to listen to ghost stories or to have a little picnic?" "Oh, drop your ghost yam," said George Harris, who had asserted that he did not believe in anything he could not see. "You may tell it to us some other time." "But this is a really interesting story," insisted Frank. "You see, the fellow shot himself three times, and when he did not die quickly enough to be suited, he cut his throat from ear to ear, and his specter was a most ghastly-appearing object, bleeding from the bullet wounds and having a gash across its throat from----" "Say, will you let up!" gasped Harris. "If you don't, I'll get out!" "Oh, I don't want to break up this jolly gathering," said Frank, his eyes twinkling, "but I was just going to tell how the ghost----" "Cheese it!" interrupted Sam Winslow. "Talk about something besides ghosts, will you? You are not given to dwelling on such unpleasant subjects, Merriwell." "But I thought you fellows didn't take any stock in ghosts?" "We don't," grinned Harvey Dare; "and that's just why we don't want to hear about 'em." "We've got something else to do besides listen to yarns," said Harris. "Let's proceed to gorge." And he began opening the box that sat on the table. _ |
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