START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FRANK MERRIWELL'S STRONG ARM*** E-text prepared by David Edwards, John Campbell, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net). The original book cover image was generously made available by the Google Books Library Project (https://books.google.com). Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrated book cover. See 61558-h.htm or 61558-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/61558/61558-h/61558-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/61558/61558-h.zip) Transcriberâs note: Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=). Changes to the text are noted at the end of the book. FRANK MERRIWELLâS STRONG ARM * * * * * * BOOKS FOR YOUNG MEN MERRIWELL SERIES Stories of Frank and Dick Merriwell PRICE FIFTEEN CENTS _Fascinating Stories of Athletics_ A half million enthusiastic followers of the Merriwell brothers will attest the unfailing interest and wholesomeness of these adventures of two lads of high ideals, who play fair with themselves, as well as with the rest of the world. These stories are rich in fun and thrills in all branches of sports and athletics. They are extremely high in moral tone, and cannot fail to be of immense benefit to every boy who reads them. They have the splendid quality of firing a boyâs ambition to become a good athlete, in order that he may develop into a strong, vigorous right-thinking man. _ALL TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT_ 1--Frank Merriwellâs School Days By Burt L. Standish 2--Frank Merriwellâs Chums By Burt L. Standish 3--Frank Merriwellâs Foes By Burt L. Standish 4--Frank Merriwellâs Trip West By Burt L. Standish 5--Frank Merriwell Down South By Burt L. Standish 6--Frank Merriwellâs Bravery By Burt L. Standish 7--Frank Merriwellâs Hunting Tour By Burt L. Standish 8--Frank Merriwell in Europe By Burt L. Standish 9--Frank Merriwell at Yale By Burt L. Standish 10--Frank Merriwellâs Sports Afield By Burt L. Standish 11--Frank Merriwellâs Races By Burt L. Standish 12--Frank Merriwellâs Party By Burt L. Standish 13--Frank Merriwellâs Bicycle Tour By Burt L. Standish 14--Frank Merriwellâs Courage By Burt L. Standish 15--Frank Merriwellâs Daring By Burt L. Standish 16--Frank Merriwellâs Alarm By Burt L. Standish 17--Frank Merriwellâs Athletes By Burt L. Standish 18--Frank Merriwellâs Skill By Burt L. Standish 19--Frank Merriwellâs Champions By Burt L. Standish 20--Frank Merriwellâs Return to Yale By Burt L. Standish 21--Frank Merriwellâs Secret By Burt L. Standish 22--Frank Merriwellâs Danger By Burt L. Standish 23--Frank Merriwellâs Loyalty By Burt L. Standish 24--Frank Merriwell in Camp By Burt L. Standish 25--Frank Merriwellâs Vacation By Burt L. Standish 26--Frank Merriwellâs Cruise By Burt L. Standish 27--Frank Merriwellâs Chase By Burt L. Standish 28--Frank Merriwell in Maine By Burt L. Standish 29--Frank Merriwellâs Struggle By Burt L. Standish 30--Frank Merriwellâs First Job By Burt L. Standish 31--Frank Merriwellâs Opportunity By Burt L. Standish 32--Frank Merriwellâs Hard Luck By Burt L. Standish 33--Frank Merriwellâs ProtÃ©gÃ© By Burt L. Standish 34--Frank Merriwell on the Road By Burt L. Standish 35--Frank Merriwellâs Own Company By Burt L. Standish 36--Frank Merriwellâs Fame By Burt L. Standish 37--Frank Merriwellâs College Chums By Burt L. Standish 38--Frank Merriwellâs Problem By Burt L. Standish 39--Frank Merriwellâs Fortune By Burt L. Standish 40--Frank Merriwellâs New Comedian By Burt L. Standish 41--Frank Merriwellâs Prosperity By Burt L. Standish 42--Frank Merriwellâs Stage Hit By Burt L. Standish 43--Frank Merriwellâs Great Scheme By Burt L. Standish 44--Frank Merriwell in England By Burt L. Standish 45--Frank Merriwell on the Boulevards By Burt L. Standish 46--Frank Merriwellâs Duel By Burt L. Standish 47--Frank Merriwellâs Double Shot By Burt L. Standish 48--Frank Merriwellâs Baseball Victories By Burt L. Standish 49--Frank Merriwellâs Confidence By Burt L. Standish 50--Frank Merriwellâs Auto By Burt L. Standish 51--Frank Merriwellâs Fun By Burt L. Standish 52--Frank Merriwellâs Generosity By Burt L. Standish 53--Frank Merriwellâs Tricks By Burt L. Standish 54--Frank Merriwellâs Temptation By Burt L. Standish 55--Frank Merriwell on Top By Burt L. Standish 56--Frank Merriwellâs Luck By Burt L. Standish 57--Frank Merriwellâs Mascot By Burt L. Standish 58--Frank Merriwellâs Reward By Burt L Standish 59--Frank Merriwellâs Phantom By Burt L. Standish 60--Frank Merriwellâs Faith By Burt L. Standish 61--Frank Merriwellâs Victories By Burt L. Standish 62--Frank Merriwellâs Iron Nerve By Burt L. Standish 63--Frank Merriwell in Kentucky By Burt L. Standish 64--Frank Merriwellâs Power By Burt L. Standish 65--Frank Merriwellâs Shrewdness By Burt L. Standish In order that there may be no confusion, we desire to say that the books listed below will be issued during the respective months in New York City and vicinity. They may not reach the readers at a distance promptly, on account of delays in transportation. To Be Published in July, 1923. 66--Frank Merriwellâs Set Back By Burt L. Standish 67--Frank Merriwellâs Search By Burt L. Standish * * * * * * FRANK MERRIWELLâS STRONG ARM Or, Saving an Enemy by BURT L. STANDISH Author of the famous MERRIWELL STORIES. [Illustration: (Publisher colophon)] Street & Smith Corporation Publishers 79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York Copyright, 1901 by Street & Smith Frank Merriwellâs Strong Arm (Printed in the United States of America) All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign languages, including the Scandinavian. FRANK MERRIWELLâS STRONG ARM. CHAPTER I. WHEN THE SPRING COMES AGAIN. In the sweet and balmy springtime the sedate seniorâs fancy lightly turns to thoughts of frivolity. All through the weary winter months he may have carried himself with the grave dignity that so well becomes a senior; but when the spring comes something stirs within him, and as the world turns green and the birds begin to twitter that something takes hold of him with a grip that makes him its servant. A strange sensation of restlessness pervades his entire being, running over his nerves like little electric thrills, setting his muscles itching, his heart throbbing, his whole body aching--aching to do something, anything, everything. This is a very dangerous condition for a senior to fall into, and yet nearly all of them suffer from an attack of it. It drags them to the border-line of recklessness, and while it possesses them in all its awesome force, there is no desperate thing it might not lead them into. It even has the power to make them forget for a while that the whole world has its eyes fastened upon them. There must be some vent for this spring-coltish feeling which assails the senior. Until he became a senior he could occasionally disport himself as a boy, but now for some months the burden of his exalted station in the world has roosted on his shoulders until it has become almost too heavy to bear. He longs to fling it off and be a boy again. Thatâs it--thatâs what ails the grave-faced senior when he feels that queer sensation running over the electric-wires of his body, which are known as the nerves. For the first time in life he realizes that his boyhood is slipping from him, and he makes a clutch at it to drag it back for one last look into its happy face before he is parted from it forever. How sad a thing it is to part with boyhood forever; and yet how many do so without a sigh or a regret! It is only in after years that they wake up to understand how great was their loss. Some, well aware that the hour has come for boyhood to bid them farewell, turn to look after it fondly, even when their feet are set on the new road that manhood has led them into. Good-by, happy boyhood! this is the final parting; we shall never meet again. Of course, itâs a grand thing to be a man, but itâs only after we have become men that we realize how grand it was to be a boy. The senior has been playing at being a man. He has carried a sober face, his manner has been sedate, and he has been very much impressed with his own importance. All this has begun to wear upon him, and with the awakening of spring he wakes up also to a knowledge of what is happening. By Jove! itâs a serious thing, after all, to permit boyhood to drift away without so much as a word of farewell. This hits him hard, and he suddenly stretches out his hands to that part of himself that he has so carelessly thrust aside. Behold a lot of dignified Yale seniors wooing back their boyhood on a sunny spring day. Youâd scarcely know them now. There in one group are Aldrich, who carried off the honors as a drum-major in the political rally last fall; Tomlinson, widely celebrated as a âgreasy grind;â Browning, the laziest man on earth; Hodge, famous on the gridiron or the diamond, and Merriwell, famous the country over. And what are they doing? Spinning tops! So help me, they are spinning tops! But look around and you will see scores of well-known seniors engaged in the same surprising occupation. They enter into the spirit of if with the combined hilarity of boys and dignity of men. If you look beneath the surface, it may seem rather pathetic to witness this great crowd of intellectual young men seriously engaged in a last romp with their departing boyhood. There is Porter, the famous poet of the Lit., frolicking down the walk, trundling a hoop before him with the apparent satisfaction of a lad of seven. See! his hoop collides with that of Gammel, the great Dwight Hall orator, and there is a general mixup. But theyâre not real boys. Theyâre only men playing that they are boys. If they had been boys that collision might have resulted in an exchange of blows, instead of an exchange of bows. Over yonder are more seniors spinning tops or rolling hoops. And a great throng of men from other classes stand off and watch âthe sport,â commenting upon it sagely. This top-spinning and hoop-rolling serves as a vent for the pent-up steam that has been threatening an explosion. The safety-valve is open, and the rollicking seniors proceed to let âer sizz. There are other ways of letting off steam, but surely this is far better than the sign-stealing and gate-shifting recklessness of the freshmen. This is a part of the life of Yale, a scene peculiar to the balmy days of early spring. It is one of the memories that old grads. smile over in after years. It is peculiar and characteristic of Old Eli; to eliminate it would be to take away something that seems to aid in making Yale what it is. By themselves the Chickering set had gathered to look on and make comment. Their observations were most edifying. These remarks tell how the gray matter in their little heads is working. It has to work hard for them to think, for they have dulled the gray matter with cigarettes and hot suppers and lack of proper exertion. Yet somehow these âmenâ manage to keep along in their classes, and somehow they pass examinations, and somehow they will graduate, as hundreds and thousands like them graduate from colleges all over our land. âLook at that big elephant, Bruce Browning!â lisped Lew Veazie, in derision. âThee him thpinning a top, fellowth! Ithnâth that a thight faw thore eyeth!â âAnd that cheap fellow Hodge,â said Ollie Lord, pointing with his cane. âJust look at him, gentlemen! Isnât it just perfectly comical to see him spinning a top! Oh, dear, dear, dear!â âAnd Merriwell,â said Rupert Chickering, whose trousers looked as if they had been freshly pressed that day. âIt is a sad spectacle to see a man like that lose his dignity.â âOh, come off!â croaked Tilton Hull, his collar holding his chin so high that he seemed to be addressing his remarks to a twittering sparrow on a limb over his head. âThatâs about the only kind of sport Merriwell is suited for.â âItâs no use,â said Gene Skelding gloomily, exhibiting deep depression, for all that he was wearing a dazzling new pink shirt; âwe can say whatever we like about Merriwell, but itâs plain heâs on top of the bunch to stay.â They all regarded him in amazement, for always he had been the fiercest against Frank. âThis from you!â cried Julian Ives, smiting his bang a terrible smack with his open hand and almost staggering. âWhat does it mean?â âIt means that we may as well own up to the truth. He has pulled himself up to the top, and everything we or others have done or said has been fruitless in pulling him down.â No wonder they were amazed! Skelding had been one who had often taken a hand in some daring move against Merriwell. The others to a man had lacked nerve, but Gene was reckless, and they knew it. He had never seemed to give up hope; but now, all at once, he flung up the sponge. Why shouldnât they show consternation? Behind his collar Tilton Hull gave a gurgling groan. âItâs not Merriwellâs strength that has placed him on top,â he said despairingly. âHe is not a strong man.â âNot in any sense,â said Julian Ives. âHeâs strong enough in his way. No other Yale man has ever done the things he has done and kept on top. Think of him, a senior, going into the freshman boat as coxswain in place of the coxswain the sophs had stolen! The nerve of the thing is colossal. But what would have befallen any other senior who dared do such a thing? He would have got it in the neck. How about Merriwell? Why, everybody seems to think he did a clever thing in palming himself off as Earl Knight, the freshman. A man who can do a thing like that and come off all right is too strong to be thrown down. Itâs no use, he is on top for good.â âI donât think he ith verwy thwong,â simpered Veazie. âHe ith a gweat bwute! But there are otherth jutht ath thwong ath he ith. I weally believe he thinkth himthelf a Thandow.â âI was not thinking of his physical strength,â said Skelding; âthough it seems that heâs pretty nearly as strong that way as any other. You know they say he defeated that strange athlete of the scarred face.â âThatâs a story his friends tell, donât you know, dear boy,â said Ollie Lord. âHow can anybody be sure itâs true?â âI donât suppose there is much doubt of it,â said Gene, still with great gloom. âHe is as strong one way as another, and that makes his position impregnable. Heâs king of Yale.â âIt thirtenly ith a thwange thight to thee a king thpinning a top,â giggled Veazie. âCome away!â croaked Hull, still with his eyes on the limb where the sparrow had perched. âGene is in need of something to brace him up. Letâs get out of here for a stroll.â So the Chickering set dragged themselves away, all feeling greatly depressed by the words of Skelding, for when he gave up, hope seemed crumbling ashes. They had continued to hope that something would bring about the downfall of Merriwell. In Chickeringâs perfumed rooms they had talked of the possibility. Even though every adverse circumstance seemed to turn in Merryâs favor, still they hugged the gasping form of hope and fanned breath into its pinched nostrils. Now they beheld it dead in their arms, for Skelding had grown tired and refused to fan any more. In a gloomy group they left the campus and crossed the green. Few words passed between them, but all seemed to know where they were going. Into the Tontine Hotel they made their way and disappeared, for there they knew a room where they could be served with whatever they ordered, and no one would be permitted to trouble them. It was fully an hour later when they issued from the hotel. There was a wild light in Skeldingâs eyes, and his teeth were set. Hull had a flush in his cheeks, but his weak chin would have dropped had his collar permitted. Ivesâ bang was rumpled, and he did not care. He was humming a tune. Lew and Ollie were clinging to each other, and making a pretense of being very sober, in order to attract attention to the fact that they had been drinking. Rupert had his hat canted at a rakish angle over one ear. This is the Chickering set full of fuddle. Look out for them now, for they are real reckless. How strong they are now! You can see it in their faces and in the steadiness of their walk. And they demonstrate it by their language. âIt ith no uthe!â Veazie declared; âI donât take a bit of thstock in thstorieth they tell about Fwank Merriwell being tho thwong. I think he ith weal weak.â âThatâs right, chummie!â chirped Ollie Lord, flourishing his cane in a fierce gesture. âWeâd not be afraid of him, would we?â âNo, thir!â cried Lew; ânot a bit!â âOf course not!â said Ollie. âIf we were to meet him weâd give him a shove.â âIâd like to give him a thove!â said Veazie, shaking his terrible fist in the empty air. But somehow his other hand stole round behind him and hovered over a place that had once been spanked by Merriwellâs open palm. âDonât talk about the creature!â croaked Hull loftily. âHe should be beneath our notice. Weâve settled the fact that he is not strong in any way. We did that back in the hotel after we took the second drink. Now, drop it.â âYes, drop it!â grated Skelding. âHeâs been given every kind of a chance to demonstrate his strength, but I know itâs been nothing but luck. I could have done the same thing, had I been given the same chance. But I never have a chance.â âLetâs not revile Merriwell,â murmured Chickering. âLetâs try to be charitable.â âBut I wouldnât turn out for him if I were to meet him face to face right----â Tilton Hull stopped speaking with a gulp, for he had come face to face with Merriwell. CHAPTER II. A STRONG ARM. Hull did not pause to make any kind of a bluff, but he turned out with remarkable alacrity, for Merriwellâs eyes were fastened upon him and seemed to go through him like knives. Those eyes seemed quite enough to turn any one aside. Seeing Tilton make that abrupt swerve, Veazie and Lord looked for the cause, and beheld Merry within two strides of them. They nearly fell over each other in their haste to get away, and they went clean off the sidewalk into the gutter. Chickering pretended not to see Merry, although he could not help swerving aside the least bit. Ives suddenly became busy with his bang, and Skelding was the only man of the whole lot who ventured to give Frank one savage glance. But Merry paid no heed to Skelding, who was not in his path at all, and walked on. Gene was mad. âWell, I swear, you are like a lot of frightened sheep!â he snarled, regarding the rest with scorn. âYou make me sick, the whole of you!â âWhat is the matter?â asked Rupert, with pretended surprise. âWhat made everybody dodge aside so?â Then he looked back and saw Frank. âCan it be?â he said, in great disgust. âReally, itâs too bad!â In disgust Skelding left the sidewalk and started to cross the street. The others flocked after him stragglingly. Then there was a great rumpus and uproar down the street. Men shouted and ran for the sidewalks, teams got out of the way in a hurry, and the electric car at the crossing slid over barely in time. And right down on the Chickering set bore two runaway horses attached to a bounding, rocking, reeling carriage. The driver was gone from his seat, the reins were flying loose, and the two ladies in the carriage were quite helpless. At any moment they might be thrown out and killed. At any moment the mad horses might crash into another carriage, a car, a stone post, the curbing, or something that would cap the catastrophe. Men looked on helplessly, or ran after the reeling carriage, shouting and waving their arms. Women shuddered, screamed, and turned pale. Was there no one to stop the runaway? Yes, there was the famous strong policeman of that beat! Everybody knew him. He would stop the horses. He ran out before them. Then the crowd watched the officer perform the wonderful feat. He was a giant in stature, and he had Hercules-like arms and legs. He hurled himself fearlessly at the heads of the frightened beasts, caught with one hand, clung, and was dragged. âHeâs down!â Women covered their eyes to shut out the spectacle. He had failed to obtain a good hold on the bridles of the horses, his hands slipped, he hung desperately, and then---- It seemed that those terrible hoofs beat him down and went over him, leaving him lying there. At first the Chickering set had seemed dazed by the commotion. Their brains were fuddled, and they hesitated fairly in the track of peril. âRun, you fools!â shouted somebody. âGet out of the way, or youâll be killed!â As the others take to their heels and scamper for a place of safety, it is seen that one remains behind. It is Skelding. On came the terrified horses, and Gene braced himself for the effort that was to land him in the halls of fame--or in a cemetery. The latter thought came upon him with appalling force as he saw those mad horses almost within reach. Their eyes were glaring, their teeth were set on the bits, their lips flung great flecks of foam, and the muscular play of their thrashing legs, bounding bodies, and shod hoofs, beating fire from the flinty stones, was enough to shake the nerve of a would-be hero. The power of their mad rush was something against which it seemed that no frail human arm could avail. The thought of fame had led Gene to halt there; but now the thought of something quite different got hold of him. He saw himself hurled to the stones with broken bones, maimed for life, perhaps. If he lived, he would hobble through life a miserable cripple. But he might be killed! It would be a glorious thing to die the death of a hero, but even that was not quite enough inducement. Thus it happened that, at the last minute, Skelding made a backward spring and a scramble to get out of the way, not even lifting his hand to try to stop the horses. At another time his haste might have seemed comical and caused the spectators to roar with laughter; but just now the peril of the helpless women in the carriage prevented any one from laughing. But another Yale man has rushed out into the street and prepared to make an attempt to check those horses. As they approach, he runs in the same direction they are going. They come up beside him, and he swerves in toward them at exactly the right moment, having watched their approach over his shoulder. Then he leaps at their heads, gets them firmly by the bridles, and holds fast with a grip that nothing can break. The crowd looks on in breathless anxiety and admiration. All had expected to see this beardless youth flung down and trampled as the policeman had been trampled, but nothing of the kind occurs. What wonderful strength he must have, for he has checked the mad rush of the horses at once! Though they plunge and rear, he holds them fast and sets them back with a surge of his arm, which seems to have muscles of steel. They do not carry him half a block before he had brought them to a stand and holds them there, his jaw squared, his cheeks flushed a bit, but his broad chest scarcely seeming to rise and fall with more than usual rapidity. It is the deed of a man of wonderful nerve, skill, and strength. âWho is he?â some ask. âWhy, itâs Merriwell!â others reply, as if all should know him. Yes, it was Merriwell who had stopped the horses. He gave them his entire attention till he had them quite under subjection. Then other men came to his assistance, and he could leave them for a moment. Frank stepped back to the carriage, politely lifting his hat, and saying: âI trust neither of you is harmed, ladies? Your driver----â He stopped, staring, astonished, wondering. The golden-haired girl was gazing at him in unspeakable admiration. âElsie!â he gasped. For it was Elsie Bellwood! Then he glanced at the lady at Elsieâs side. âMrs. Parker! Well, this is a surprise!â Mrs. Parker had been ready to faint, but now she recovered enough to say: âHow can we ever thank you, Mr. Merriwell? You saved our lives! There is no doubt of it!â âWhen they ran away,â said Elsie, âwhen the driver fell off, I felt that somehow, somewhere, Frank would turn up and stop them. He did it!â Her face was full of triumph. Although she still shook with the excitement of the adventure through which she had passed, there was happiness in that look she gave him. Somehow that look stabbed him to the heart. Was it a look of love? Why had she not fancied that Hodge might be the one to stop the horses? In that moment, when he might have been well satisfied with himself for what he had done, Frank Merriwell felt miserable. âElsie,â he said, âI did not know you were in the city.â âWe came to-day,â said Mrs. Parker. âI have a brother who lives in Hamden.â They had not let him know they were coming. He did not believe Hodge had known it. Mrs. Parker refused to ride farther in the carriage. She declared the horses could not be managed. And so, as the dirt-covered driver came panting up, angry, ashamed, and humble, Frank was helping them from the carriage. He had offered to take the driverâs place himself, but Mrs. Parker would not even trust one who had shown his power to check the mad runaways. âI shall return in a car,â she added. âBrother George shall not induce me to come out behind those terrible creatures again.â Elsie had given Frankâs hand a gentle pressure as he helped her to alight. âI was awfully frightened,â she whispered; âbut I knew you would stop the horses the moment I saw you.â She trusted him--she trusted him still! And she did not know the truth. He was engaged to Inza! CHAPTER III. MAKING A FRIEND. Bart Hodge had missed Merry from the throng of rollicking seniors. A little while before Frank had been in the midst of the sport; now he was gone. For a while Hodge continued to take part in the top-spinning, but his heart was not in it. He looked around and saw that he was not the only one who found it impossible to drag back his boyhood in such a manner. He saw that there were others who were taking part in the top-spinning simply because it was a privilege of seniors at this time. Some there were who laughed and joked and were merry, but, strangely enough, it seemed to Bart that these did not realize how sad a thing it was to lose their boyhood. So Hodge drifted away by himself, giving himself up to thoughts that were both pleasant and otherwise. Bartâs boyhood had not been the pleasantest imaginable. His father was a careless, self-indulgent man, and he had given little thought to the manner in which Bart was coming up. Bart had been given almost everything he desired, and, thus pampered, it was not strange that he came to be regarded as a âspoiled child.â If he fretted for anything, he was given that which he desired in order to pacify him. Finding that he could win his own way with a pout and a whine, he pouted and whined more and more. His mother saw with some alarm what was happening, but it was useless for her to try to reason with his father. âOh, give the boy what he wants, and keep him still!â was the way Bartâs father settled it. His mother, knowing the real disposition of his father, feared for the future, and her fears were justified. As Bart grew older, his demands became harder to satisfy, but he had a way of making life miserable for everybody around if he did not get his way. More and more he annoyed his father. âThe boy must go away to school,â Mr. Hodge had decided at last. His mother would have kept him home a little longer, but his father had decreed. Bart, however, had no fancy for going away to school. He swore he would not stay, and he did not. In less than two weeks he was sent home, expelled. Then Mr. Hodge was furious. âWeâll see about this, sir!â he said. âAn ordinary boarding-school is not strict enough. You shall attend a military school.â âI wonât!â said Bart. But he did--for a month. Then he came home again. The principal said he was incorrigible. âWeâll see!â said Mr. Hodge, and his face was black as a storm-cloud. âIâll give you one more chance, young man. This is the last one! If you are expelled again--well, you need not come back here! You may shift for yourself!â Bart knew he meant just that, but even then he did not care. He had such a bad disposition that he longed to be expelled in order to âspiteâ his father. âIâd like to show him that he canât force me into anything!â muttered Bart. And so, when he was packed off to Fardale, he went with bitterness in his heart. During the journey he regarded with satisfaction the possibility that he would soon be expelled from this school. He pictured himself as turned from his own home, set adrift an outcast. He pictured himself as a reckless youngster, going to sea, perhaps. He would see many strange lands, lead a wild life, be shipwrecked, make a fortune in some far country, come home and treat his bent and aged father with kindness and magnanimity, caring for him in his declining years. He would be able to say: âWell, father, you see I bear no grudge, even if you did treat me in a shabby manner when I was a boy. Iâve made myself what I am, no thanks to you. Itâs all right; but I canât quite forget.â But this fancy did not give him so much satisfaction as another that came to him. In this he saw himself wandering homeless over the world, living a wretched life, drinking, associating with bad men, sinking lower and lower. At last, having fallen to the depths, he might drag himself back home. He would be met by a stern father, who still rebuffed him. On his knees he would beg for one chance. When he was refused, heâd go out and break into a bank or something. Then, as he stood in the dock to receive sentence for his crime, he would turn to his father, point an accusing finger at the cowering man, and cry out, in a terrible voice: âYou are responsible for it all! My sins are on your head!â Having such thoughts as these, Bart was in a rebellious mood that day when he stepped off the train at Fardale station. His first act had been to kick a poodle dog that came within reach of his foot. That kick had led him into trouble with a bright-faced stripling who had also arrived on that train. Later on he had fought this stripling in an open field on a moonlight night. The fight had been interrupted, but in his heart Bart knew the stripling would have whipped him if it had continued to a finish, and he hated the stripling with a hatred he fancied undying. The stripling was Frank Merriwell, and so they were enemies when they first met at Fardale. Certain it is that Hodge in those days was ready to stoop to almost anything in order to get the best of an enemy, and many were the questionable and unfair things he did. But, no matter how unfair Hodge was, Merriwell always fought fair and aboveboard. Bart had not fancied that anybody lived who would never accept an opportunity to take an unfair advantage of an enemy, and, at first, he could not understand Merriwell. Like many others in after years, he first mistook Merryâs squareness and generosity for timidity. The time came, however, when he realized that Frank Merriwell was as courageous as a lion. The test that won Hodge to Frank came when Merry might have caused Bartâs expulsion from the academy by a word which would have made Bart seem guilty of a reprehensible thing that he had not committed. Hodge knew that Frank held him in his power; he knew that the proof of his guilt must seem convincing to Merry. For once in his life Bart was frightened, for he suddenly realized what it meant to him if he were expelled from Fardale. His motherâs letters had convinced him that there was no hope of his father relenting in such an event. âIâm done for!â said Bart, to himself. And he wondered why Merriwell did not strike. Had he possessed such a hold on Frank, he would have struck, even though he had known Merry was innocent. Then came an accident at the academy that showed another cadet with the same initials as Bart was guilty, and Hodge was saved. Still he wondered why Merriwell had held his hand. âWhy did you do it, Merriwell?â he asked, pointblank. âBecause I was not absolutely certain that you were guilty,â Frank answered. âIt looked that way, didnât it?â âYes, it looked that way.â âI should have been expelled if you had accused me.â âI think you would, Hodge.â âYou had no reason to like me, Merriwell.â âI did not like you,â Frank admitted. âThen why didnât you accuse me and get me out of the way?â âBecause to save my life I would not charge my worst enemy with a crime of which he might be innocent.â Bart remembered this conversation. He had pondered over it, and it had opened his eyes to the difference between himself and Frank Merriwell. All at once he saw that this fellow whom he hated was his superior in every way. He had suspected it before, and it had made him hate Merry more intensely; but now the full knowledge of the fact brought him a different feeling. Not all at once did Bart surrender to Frank. He tried to keep away from Merriwell, but the rules of the military school threw them together singularly, making them roommates. Never were two fellows less alike. But Bart found that, for all of his sense of justice and honor, Merriwell was no milksop. Frank could defend his rights, and he did so often enough. The end of it all was that Hodge became passionately attached to Frank, even though he tried to conceal the fact. He would have fought to the death for Merriwell at a time when he had not ceased to sneer and say bitter things about him. Others did not know how much he cared for Frank; he tried to hide it even from himself. That friendship for Frank Merriwell was the making of Hodge. Frank was a splendid model. Unconsciously Bart began to imitate him, and the work of changing his selfish, revengeful nature went on slowly but surely. In time Hodge realized that he owed the great change to Frank, but he was not aware of it so much while it was taking place. Inza had lived there in Fardale, and Bart admired her. But she was dark-haired and dark-eyed like Bart himself, and she took no great fancy to him. Merriwellâs success with Inza annoyed him at first. Then came Elsie. But it was Merriwell who had done most in saving her from her fatherâs shipwrecked vessel, which went to pieces on Tiger Tooth Ledge, off the coast at Fardale, one wild night, and it was Merriwell on whom the golden-haired girl smiled. The first sight of her had aroused a strange sensation deep down in Bartâs heart; but she would not even give him a glance. That did not make him bitter toward Frank. Instead, he became bitter toward girls in general. He told himself that he hated them all, and that he would never have anything to do with any of them. So, for a long, long time, Bart Hodge believed himself a âwoman-hater.â He had kept himself from Elsie. When he thought of her he turned his mind on other things. She troubled him a great deal for a time, but at last, after being put out of his mind so many times, she bothered him less and less. He had not fancied himself in love with her. He would have ridiculed such a thing as preposterous. But the time came when, on the burning steamer, he knew the truth in a sudden burst of light. He had loved her all the time, and, rather than be false to Frank; he had remained silent. In the face of what seemed certain death, his lips had been unsealed, and he had told her of his love. Then--strange fate!--Merriwell himself had battered down the partition and dragged them out to life. Perhaps it was the happiest moment of Bartâs life when he learned that Frank had found he loved Inza and she loved him. With Frank and Inza engaged, it seemed that there was no barrier left between him and Elsie. He had known that he was going to meet Elsie in Charlottesville during the Easter trip of the ball-team, and he had made Frank promise to let him tell her everything, for she remained unaware of the engagement between Merry and Inza. When the time came, however, Bart longed to learn from Elsie that she loved him most before telling her what had happened. He felt that not for anything would he wish to think she had accepted him because she knew Frank was lost to her. It was the great longing of his heart to be first in her heart. And so, fearing what her answer might be unless she knew all, he had begged her to wait a little before making it. And he had left Charlottesville and Virginia without telling her of the engagement of Frank and Inza. Not, however, till they were back in New Haven did he confess this to Frank. âI couldnât do it!â he cried, alone with Merry in his room. âI long to hear her tell me she loves me most without having her know that you can never be anything to her. That would settle every doubt for the present and for all time.â âI canât blame you, Bart,â said Merry. âI believe I understand how you feel. But I fear you lost your courage when the right moment came.â âGods, Merriwell! who wouldnât lose courage? Her answer was to make or mar my whole future. I longed to cry out: âFrank and Inza are engaged.â But the fear that it would be that alone which would give her to me made me keep silent. I want her to love me because not even Frank Merriwell is as much to her.â âI hope she will, Hodge,â said Merry sincerely; âand something tells me that she will. It will all come right, old man.â CHAPTER IV. THE STRONGEST MAN. Bart wandered from the campus and left the vicinity of the college. He walked by himself through the streets, thinking of these things. With his mind thus occupied, he gave little thought to the direction he was taking. In time he came round into Church Street, and he was barely in time to see Merriwell assisting a young lady onto a car. Hodge stopped. His heart had leaped into his throat, for he recognized the girl. Even then he brushed his hand over his eyes, as if in doubt. It did not seem possible that Elsie Bellwood could be there in New Haven without his knowledge. He had not seen the elderly lady Frank aided onto the car in advance of Elsie. He saw nothing but Elsie. Then he made a single step, as if to dash forward. Elsie turned and spoke something to Frank in a low tone, giving him a sweet smile, and Bart stopped as if shot. That smile seemed to strike straight through the heart of Bart Hodge. He would have given the world to have her smile on him like that. The horrible conviction that she still loved Frank seized upon him. The whole affair was very remarkable, to say the least. How had Frank known she was there in New Haven? Bart told himself that Merry must have known it, else why had he left the campus to meet her? It did not occur to Hodge that the meeting had been by accident. He knew nothing of the runaway. He believed Elsie had sent Merriwell word that she was coming to New Haven, and he had met her by appointment. A terrible feeling of jealous rage took possession of him as he hurried away. That feeling, which was like a terrible, crushing pain in his bosom, drove reason and sober thought from him. For the time he was a furious fool in the grasp of the fiercest passion that can sway a human being--a passion that has overthrown empires. Oh, the terrible things he told himself! He strode on and on, his face black as midnight, his heart in a wild tumult. How he hated Merriwell now! At last he felt that he knew Frank Merriwellâs one weak point. Merriwell was deceiving both Elsie and Inza! Even now that he had proposed to Inza and been accepted, he was not satisfied to give Elsie up. But Merry had deceived him; Bart told himself that over and over. He had slipped away from the rollicking seniors that he might keep the appointment with Elsie unknown to Hodge. Was not that a wretched trick? All the old hatred he had once entertained for Frank, renewed and redoubled by his jealousy, swayed him now. He felt that he could kill Merriwell without a feeling of remorse. Why not? Was not Frank deceiving Elsie? And a wretch who would deceive her deserved death! Bart knew that Elsie trusted Frank implicitly. She believed him the soul of honor, and the thought that he could deceive her in any way had never for a moment entered her mind. But he was deceiving her! Why was he doing it? Was it possible that he had grown sorry because of his proposal to Inza? Was it possible that he thought of giving Inza up and turning to Elsie? Hodge asked himself these questions as he swung along, coming into Whitney Avenue. Away he went to the north, covering the ground with great speed, seeking to walk off the terrible feeling that possessed him. At last he came to the outskirts of the city. To the right lay East Rock Park; ahead was Lake Whitney. Bart felt like losing himself somewhere in the country and not returning to college. He did not wish to look on Merriwellâs face again. Always he had seen honesty and frankness there; but now he felt that he would be able to detect deceit and treachery lurking somewhere about it. Deceit and treachery in Frank Merriwell! That meant that the Merriwell he had known in the past was dead! Bart tired of the highway. He longed to plunge into the woods, and he struck across some fields toward a distant grove, into which he made his way. There he felt that he would be quite alone, but he was mistaken. In the midst of the grove he found a lodgelike house, the doors of which were standing open. Near this house, in the grove, a large, broad-shouldered, muscular-looking man stood contemplating a large stone on the ground at his feet. His hat, coat, and vest were off, and his sleeves were thrust back, showing a massive forearm. Bart paused to look at the man, admiring his Herculean build. Then the man looked up, as if he had known all the time that Bart was there, and called to him. âCome here,â commanded the stranger, in a heavy voice. âI have something to show you.â With his curiosity strangely aroused, Bart advanced. âWhat is it?â he asked, as he paused near the man. âDo you see that stone?â The man pointed at the large rock at his feet. âYes.â âDo you know how much it weighs?â âNo.â âDo you think you can lift it?â âI doubt it.â âIâd like to see you try it.â Hodge wondered at the peculiar manner of the man. âWhy should I try to lift it?â he asked wonderingly. âOh, just to show how strong you are.â âI donât want to show how strong I am.â âWell, I want to show you how strong I am.â âGo ahead.â âI cannot, unless you take hold of that rock and convince yourself that it is heavy. When you have done that, I will show you how light it is.â Possessed by a sudden impulse, Bart stooped and took hold of the stone. But try as he might, he could not lift it from the ground. With a strange smile on his face, the muscular giant of the grove watched Bartâs unavailing efforts. âHa, ha!â he laughed. âIt is heavy, isnât it?â âRather,â admitted Bart, as he straightened up. âIt must weigh half a ton.â âAs much as that,â nodded the man. âYou knew I could not lift it.â âI can.â âYou?â âYes.â âI do not believe you can budge it.â âYou shall see.â Then the man bent his broad back, obtained a hold on the stone with his hands, and, to the astonishment of Hodge, lifted it fully two feet from the ground with no great apparent effort. âWhat do you think now?â he cried triumphantly, as he let it drop. âI think it is remarkable!â exclaimed Hodge, looking at the man in wondering admiration. âI knew you would,â said the stranger, with a show of satisfaction. âCan you keep a secret?â âI believe so.â âThen I will tell you something.â âGo on.â âI am the strongest man in the world!â These words were spoken with perfect seriousness, as if the one who uttered them believed them fully. âAre you?â asked Bart, beginning to feel that there was something very peculiar about this man. âYes. You are the only one besides myself who knows it. I decided to tell you as soon as I saw you.â âDo you live here?â asked Bart, looking toward the lodge and seeking to turn the subject. âOh, no; I only come here to get strong. I had this hut built here for that purpose.â âDo you live near here?â âYes; this is my property all around here. I have discovered the secret of becoming strong. Although I am now the strongest man in the world, I shall keep right on getting stronger. The time will come when Iâll be stronger than a hundred men combined.â Now, Bart understood that there must be something the matter with the manâs mind, although he had little the appearance of a lunatic. âI have let no one know why I come here to this place at a certain hour every day,â the stranger went on. âI knew they would laugh at me, and it makes me angry when any one laughs at me. Donât laugh, young man! I am very disagreeable when I am angry.â Bart had no thought of laughing. âThis is a pretty place,â he observed. âItâs quiet and secluded,â nodded the man; âyet it is so near the house that I can easily hear them when they ring the bell for me. They think I come here to study medicine. Why, I completed the study of medicine long ago. I let them think that, however, for they would not understand if they knew what I was really studying. Any man who knows the secret may become strong if he is willing to shorten his life. You look surprised. I will explain. In order to acquire my present amount of strength, I have been compelled to boil down and concentrate the strength of several years into one year, and my life has been shortened just that much. But it is a glorious thing to know that I am the strongest man in the world. I am
{'title': "Frank Merriwell's Strong Arm; Or, Saving an Enemy by Burt L. Standish", 'source': 'Project Gutenberg', 'lang': 'en'}