Home > Authors Index > Burt L. Standish > Frank Merriwell's Chums > This page
Frank Merriwell's Chums, a novel by Burt L. Standish |
||
Chapter 9. In The Meshes |
||
| < Previous |
Table of content |
Next > |
|
________________________________________________
_ CHAPTER IX. IN THE MESHES Frank Merriwell fancied he had hit upon a scheme to stop the card games from which he could not remain away. Being a skilled ventriloquist, he was the author of the dismal groans and the mysterious voice that had so alarmed the boys. Bart was not in the secret, and so he wondered, when he heard Frank chuckling to himself, after they had safely reached their room and were getting into bed. For several days the "gang" was disconsolate, having no place in which they could play a game of cards without fear of detection at any instant. Frank Merriwell seemed restored to his usual jolly self. He laughed and joked, and did not seem worried over anything. But the "gang" would not remain long without a place in which to play cards. One day Frank received an invitation to "sit into a little game" that evening. Snell tendered the invitation. Merriwell's face clouded instantly. "Why, there is no place to play, is there?" "Sure!" was the reply. "You didn't suppose we'd be knocked out so easy, did you? "Where do you play?" "Come along with Hodge to-night, and he will show you. You have been there before." But Frank did not come along. Three nights he knew of Bart rising and stealing out of the room. Then there was an interval of two nights, during which Bart, plainly too much used up to stand the strain, or else out of money, remained in his bed. When Hodge arose again, and prepared to go out, he heard a stir in Merriwell's alcove. "Are you awake, Frank?" he asked, softly. "Yes," was the reply, "and I am going with you." Bart hesitated. He was tempted to undress and return to bed, but he had received his money from home that day and, having lost heavily the last time he played, he was anxious for "satisfaction." "I'm not Merriwell's guardian," he thought. "I guess the fellow is able to take care of himself." So he told Frank to dress fully for going out, and to take his shoes in his hand. Together they crept from the room, slid along the corridor, watched a favorable moment to get past the sentinel, and finally found their way into a room where the "gang" was waiting. There was much whispered satisfaction when Merriwell was known to be with Hodge. Then the window was softly opened, and one by one the boys descended the fire-escape, which ran past that window. The last one out closed the window, having arranged it so it could be readily opened from the outside. Behind the messhall they sat down on the ground and pulled on their shoes. It was a cool, starry night, "I rather fancy I know where we are bound," said Frank. "Where?" asked Bart. "To the old boathouse, down the cove." "Sure. You are a good guesser, old man." Then the thought came to Frank that it would be a good thing for Fardale Academy if that boathouse should burn to the ground. It was there plebes generally received their first hazing, and there most of the fights between the cadets took place. To the boathouse they went, and this night luck ran against Frank, for he lost heavily. "There," he said, as he and Bart were returning together, "I can stay away from the game now, and no one will have a right to accuse me of meanness, for I have dropped more than I made at both of the other games I have been in." "That's right," assured Bart, "you may do as you like now, and I'll fight the fellow that dares open his trap about it." But Frank had taken the false step that leads to others, and he was to find it no easy thing to keep away from the game that fascinated him so. For a little time he succeeded, but he was uneasy and in a bad way so long as he knew a game was going on. Night after night he heard Bart dress and slip out, and the longing to accompany him grew and grew till it was unbearable. "What's the matter with Merriwell?" one of his classmates asked of another. "He was making right along at one time, and we all thought he would head the class, but now he is making an average of less than 2.5." "Oh, he is flighty," replied the other. "Do you notice that he doesn't seem to be as jolly and full of fun as he was once." "I believe he is in some kind of trouble," declared the first. "He doesn't ever get a max lately." By way of explanation, let us state, a "max" was the highest mark obtainable, or 3; 2.9 or 2.8 was considered first class, 2.5 was really good, 2 was fair, and below that it fell off rapidly too, which meant utter failure. Frank was, indeed, in trouble. He found it impossible to keep away from the poker parties, and so, one night after Bart had departed, being unable to sleep, he got up and followed his roommate again. Gage and Snell were rejoiced, for they saw they had Merriwell fairly within the meshes. All that was needed now was to close the net carefully and draw it tighter and tighter about him, till there was no possible escape. This trick was accomplished with consummate skill. Frank's luck seemed to have deserted him, but at first his losings were just heavy enough to provoke without alarming him. Sometimes he would win a little, and then he would fancy his luck had turned, but the tide soon set the other way. Made angry by his petty losses, he followed the game with dogged persistency. And those petty losses soon began to grow larger and larger. His money melted away rapidly, and still fortune frowned on him. In vain Hodge counseled his friend to drop the game and stay away. Such advice was now wasted on Frank, and it made him angry. "It's too late!" he hotly declared. "I am going to see the thing through!" And so the meshes of the snare closed around him. _ |
||