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The patient's hands and wrists were likewise hidden by bandages. The door of the room opened gently, and a white-gowned, white-capped, soft-footed nurse stepped in. "A visitor to see you," she said, in a low tone. She was followed at once by Frank Merriwell, who stepped quickly to the side of the cot, a look of deep sympathy and regret in his brown eyes as he gazed down at the patient.
I fancy you thought yourself well rid of all your troubles when Del Norte met with that little misfortune, and you're now ready to go ahead with your great railroad scheme. But before you lead these gentlemen into it I have a little revelation to make that may interest them and you a bit." "Say the word, Merriwell, and I'll have the man kicked out," growled Watson Scott.
"Things are moving, Felipe. By my soul, I believe this vengeful being is really keeping his oath to make it warm for Frank Merriwell. When I was here last night I told you that old Gripper Scott had been taken ill and that Warren Hatch was in the hospital from a smash-up that had broken several of his ribs." "Si, señor." "Felipe, my eyes have been opened since last night.
"Perhaps Merriwell may stand on his dignity and refuse to go in at all at this late stage of the game." "He wouldn't be to blame if he did, for he can't win out." "Something is up. Hello! Merriwell is getting out of his sweater! I believe Putnam is going to send him out!" There was a great satisfaction in Pierson's voice. At last it seemed that he would get a chance to see Merriwell work.
This was an advantage which Merriwell followed up, and Bascomb was forced to keep falling back for some moments, shifting the battle-ground considerably from the point where the struggle began. Spat! spat! spat! sounded the blows; but it was not always an easy thing to tell who was getting the worst of it.
Something small and pink, in a soft white garment, nestled on her arm. It uttered a weak little cry the cry of a new life in the great seething world which was sweet music to the pale woman on the bed and the anxious man who bent over her. "Oh, Frank," murmured Inza, "he's calling to you! He knows his father has come." Merriwell kissed her lightly, softly, tenderly.
They couldn't wait for the third strike, but they cheered, blew horns and whistles, and waved flags and hats. Merriwell had a trick of taking up lots of time in a busy way without pitching the ball while the excitement was too high, and his appearance seemed to indicate that he was totally deaf to all the tumult. "That's right, Merry, old boy!" yelled an enthusiastic New Haven lad.
"I'm not fretting about you in the least. Far from it. I was seeking to give you a little compliment. Better tell your friends of the great Merriwell baseball team to do their level best to-morrow. Better tell them what it means to you if your team loses." "I won't tell them nuthin' of the sort!" growled Gallup.
Not more than five or ten minutes after parting from Frank and Barney, Gallup came face to face with a man who stepped squarely in front of him and held out a pudgy hand. "How do you do," said this man. "I'm glad to see you, young fellow. Saw you drive through with Merriwell. Did he bring that wonderful educated horse with him?" It was Basil Bearover, the manager of the Rovers. Gallup grinned.
Now, Frank Merriwell was no less generous than Jack Diamond, but he would not drink liquor of any kind he would not touch beer. It did not take him long to discover that this peculiarity caused many of the students to regard him with scorn. He was called the Good Templar and was often derisively addressed as Worthy Chief.
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