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Updated: June 8, 2025
Stanton's secretary, Ditson, peering over the staircase at them. But a moment later a telegram was sent to Mr. Stanton, telling him that there was an urgent necessity for him to come home at once. Curiously enough at about the same time Mr.
Nothing was said to Ditson, who was left in suspense as to what course would be pursued. A day or two later came the very thing that had been anticipated and discussed, since the freshman game at Cambridge. Merriwell was selected as one of the pitchers on the 'Varsity nine, and the freshmen lost him from their team.
The meeting was arranged as quietly as possible, and the freshmen who were to witness it slipped out of Billy's by twos and threes and strode away. Thirty minutes later, in a small, stuffy room, two lads, with their coats and vests off and their sleeves turned back, faced each other, rapiers in hand. "Ready, gentlemen!" called Ditson. They made ready. "On guard!" The position was assumed.
I don't know what I am trying to say!" In confusion Harry got up and went to look out of the window. "Jeewhittaker! I'm glad Merry don't get this way often!" he thought. "Never knew him to do it before." After some moments Frank declared: "I am going to try to hush this Ditson matter up, Harry." "You are?" "Yes, for the sake of Ditson's mother. I want you to help me. We'll go see Putnam and Jones.
In 1878 the desire of the Ditson publishing house to make the Journal of Music more popular in its character, and more directly helpful to their business interests, led Dwight to transfer its management to the firm of Houghton, Osgood & Co. It was better printed, the list of contributors was enlarged, and in many ways the paper was improved.
"Course yer don't," laughed Ditson, who was almost as full as his companion. "This isn't the first time we have been out together, eh, old boy?" "No." "Only we had to be quiet about it when you were on the crew or when you thought you were on it." "That's right." "We have been pretty full once or twice." "I thought so when we got up the next morning."
"Is it a sure thing that our conversation cannot be overheard?" "Dead sure." Ditson hesitated. He seemed to find it difficult to express himself just as he desired. "Speak right out, chummy," said Kelley in a manner intended to be reassuring. "I rudder t'inks yer wants ter lick some cove, an' yer've come ter me ter put yer in shape ter do der job. Well, you bet yer dough I'm der man ter do dat.
He called one of the sophs over and said: "Say, what are you bringing it in here again for, my boy? It's been here too many times already." "Who Ditson?" "Sure." "We're working him." "Working him? He's working you for the drinks." "That's all right. He's telling us what he knows about Merriwell.
Of course it cut Ditson, but he would grind his teeth and mutter: "Merriwell is to blame for it all, curse him! I won't let him triumph! The time will come when I'll get square with him! I'll have to stay here in order to get square, and stay here I will, no matter how I am treated."
"More dan lick him? W'y, yer don't want him killed, does yer?" "No," answered Ditson, hoarsely; "but I want his right arm broken." "Hey?" Down came Buster Kelley's feet from the table, upon which his knuckles fell, and then he arose from the chair, standing in a crouching position, with his hands resting on the table, across which he glared at Roland Ditson. "Hey?" he squawked.
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