Dick Merriwell's Glory; Or, Friends and Foes — A Reader’s Guide

he had kicked two clean goals.

Naturally, at the conclusion of the game, the delighted cadets had rushed onto the field, raised the hero of the day aloft, and carried him about on their shoulders, cheering until they were hoarse.

But there were some who took no part in these demonstrations, and they were the jealous enemies of the remarkable young plebe who had created such a sensation. Singularly enough, not a few of these enemies were in Dick’s own class, being such envious chaps as Uric Scudder, Zeb Fletcher, and Jim Watson.

However, Dick’s most dangerous enemy was Jabez Lynch, a first-class man, whose ambition had been to play half-back on the eleven—a position that had been given to Merriwell.

On account of a treacherous attempt to injure Dick, Jabez had been nearly forced to leave school. In Dick’s heart there had been no thought of mercy toward Jabez, but his brother Frank had been more forbearing, especially as Jabez might bring a serious complaint against Old Joe Crowfoot, the Indian, who had threatened him with torture and death because of his action toward Dick.

When Dick fully understood that Jabez might retaliate by having Old Joe arrested, in case he was forced out of Fardale, he agreed to keep still concerning the treachery of his enemy. But he told Frank that he could never feel anything but contempt for Lynch, and he did not believe it possible that such a fellow could reform and become decent.

In his heart Frank Merriwell doubted if Jabez could change his natural inclinations; but, at the same time, he was confident that the course chosen was the proper one, for he did not wish Old Joe to come to harm through his affection for Dick and his desire to punish the boy’s enemy.

There was something about the old redskin that Frank admired. Joe knew little of white men’s laws, and cared less. "An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth" was the law that appealed to him, and in which he firmly believed. To Joe there seemed nothing particularly wonderful in the feat of Dick. For years the old Indian had trained the lad to be fleet of foot, keen of eye, and quick of hand, and it had been his expectation and belief that Dick would excel in feats and games calling for these qualities.

Frank had quickly understood the immense good the training of Old Joe had done the boy, who might have been weak and sickly but for his free, open-air life, with the redskin as his chief tutor.

But Merry saw that there were points Old Joe had neglected, and Dick was far from perfect physically when Frank took him in hand. In a short time Frank had wrought an improvement, but he was keeping the work up at Fardale, seeking to develop his brother into a youth who should be an absolute physical model.

Frank believed he could accomplish the work, though he realized that it could not be brought to a successful conclusion at once. It would take time and patience to make Dick Merriwell as near perfect as possible; but time and patience Frank was ready to give.

At first Old Joe regarded Merry’s work with silent disdain. There was something of a look of scorn in his beady black eyes when he saw the magnificent Yale athlete instructing the boy in the use of dumb-bells and Indian clubs to strengthen and round out certain muscles; but the beady eyes were keen to detect the slightest improvement, and it finally happened that the old fellow nodded and pronounced it "heap good."

It must not be supposed that Frank’s only thought was to make his brother perfect physically. On the contrary, he had entered Dick at Fardale because he was satisfied that the course of mental instruction there would be the very best the lad could obtain.

Fortunately for Dick, he was much like his famous brother in one respect. He had a wonderfully active and retentive mind, so that he could learn almost anything quickly and well when he applied himself fixedly to the task of doing so. Thus it happened that in this respect, as well as others, he was a wonder to his classmates, many of whom, discovering somehow that he had never attended a regular school, had felt positive he would have a difficult time at Fardale, even if he was able to get along at all after being admitted.

Until her death, Dick’s mother had been his tutor, and her instructions were of the very best.

It was with untold satisfaction that Frank Merriwell had taken up the task of developing his brother into perfect manhood; and it was now his great aim in life to make a complete success in this work, into which he had entered with all his heart and soul.

At first the boy had not understood how fortunate he was in having such a brother and friend, but, little by little, his eyes had been opened, and at last he was coming to know just what it meant. Dick had been frivolous to a certain extent, and he had seemed wild and untamable; but his journey from the Rockies to the Atlantic coast had opened his eyes and filled him with respect for Frank. He had found that Frank was known everywhere, and that by the youth of the United States he was regarded as a model young American.

This knowledge had brought about something of a change in Dick, in whose heart was born a desire to emulate his brother and become like him, in some degree, at least. And the lad’s modesty—which at first he had not seemed to possess in any degree—had led him to doubt his ability to ever rise to the heights attained by Frank.

At one time Old Joe had sought to turn Dick against Frank, being consumed by the belief that Merriwell meant to carry the boy away where they would never meet again; but Merry had found a way to conquer the jealous Indian, and Crowfoot became one of his greatest admirers. Then it was that the Indian had said to Dick:

"Do what um broder, Steady Hand, say for um to do. Him know best. Him got heap big head, all right. Ugh! Him heap mighty young white chief."

And these words of the old Indian had been, to a great extent, instrumental in the change that came over the lad. Not that Dick was able to at once fling off all his wild ways; not that he became immediately sober and serious. Far from it. He was still a boy, with a boy’s love of sport and play and pranks. The advent at Fardale had cast him into a life far different from anything to which he had been accustomed, and for a time he had seemed reserved and distant, which led many to think him haughty and overbearing.

In time they were to learn that he was anything but haughty. In time, when he came to know them better and they to understand him, they were to find in Dick Merriwell a frank, honest, companionable, whole-souled, fun-loving boy, who would make friends and keep them.

Already Dick had made a few stanch friends. Hugh Douglass, one of his roommates, an uncouth, farmerish plebe, was one of these. Douglass had seen beneath the surface, and he was convinced that Dick was all right.

Brad Buckhart, "the Texan Maverick," as he delighted to call himself, was another friend Dick had found. At first Buckhart did not take to young Merriwell, but a change quickly came over him when he found Dick beset by envious and jealous enemies, and the breezy chap from the Lone Star State soon evinced a hot desire to fight for Dick on the slightest provocation.

And now, since Dick had astonished everybody by his amazing work in the game against White Academy, scores of fellows were praising him, and many who had held aloof were willing to know him and become friendly. But Dick did not like to be patronized, and he found that the men of the classes above him were inclined to praise him in a manner that was not wholly unoffensive. Some of them had a way of speaking compliments as if they were patting a precocious boy on the head and offering him a penny.

This caused Dick to shun them still more, and thus it came about that he was thought "stuck up." His enemies knew how to make capital of this, and they did not lose the opportunity to do so.

Dick kept about the even tenor of his way, however, studying, drilling, training, and practising on the football-field. He had tremendous energy, and the number of things accomplished by him continued to astound and anger his jealous foes, who soon found a new method of striking at him.

CHAPTER II. A SCHEMING TRIO.

"It’s a mean shame!" declared Zeb Fletcher, trying to look at Uric Scudder with his crooked eye, but seeming to glare at a fatigue-cap hanging on the wrong hook.

"That’s right," nodded Scudder, rubbing his weak chin with an air of indignation. "It’s favoritism, that’s what it is."

"Of the rankest sort," piped Jim Watson, in his weak, effeminate voice. "And all because the fellow is Frank Merriwell’s brother."

"What can we do about it?" questioned Uric. "We ought to do something."

"We will do something!" declared Fletcher.

"What will we do?" questioned Scudder and Watson together.

"Kick!" exclaimed Zeb.

"I’m afraid that won’t do much good," said Watson. "He has a pull, and he can do just about as he likes. The rest of us fellows have to attend drill regularly, while Merriwell is excused from taking anything but enough to make a showing. Now, I hate drilling as much as any fellow can, yet I have to take my dose right along, and it’s mighty disgusting."

"It is disgusting," agreed Fletcher. "And inspection makes a fellow sick! Why, think of those stuck-up corporals calling a fellow down for having a little dust on his old gun, or for not being just as prim and starchy as they are! It’s too much! They want a chap to be all the time brushing and cleaning and doing such foolishness."

"If I’ve got to do it, I’m going to raise a howl at the let-up on Merriwell," said Scudder.

"Of course," piped Jim, "they’ll say it was because he’s on the eleven, and he doesn’t have time enough to practise and drill, too. But we know how he got onto the eleven, and——"

"We won’t stand for it!" cried Fletcher, jumping up and striding about the room.

"Still," said Scudder, "no one has suggested what we can do."

This trio were three of young Merriwell’s most persistent and most obnoxious plebe enemies. Two days after the football-game with White Academy they had learned that Dick was excused from drill, being required to appear only at inspection, and it made them very wroth. Then they gathered in Fletcher’s room to talk it over.

Both Scudder and Watson were roommates of Merriwell, who, after the rule of the academy, had been placed in a "cock-loft" room with three companions. Of these companions, Hugh Douglass was the only one who had shown an inclination of friendliness toward Dick.

Watson was a sly fellow, and he had very little to say in the presence of Merriwell. At times he even pretended to be Dick’s friend; but Dick was able to read him like an open book, with the result that Watson’s hypocritical blandishments were taken for exactly what they were worth.

Scudder was also sneaky, and, on first entering Fardale, he had sought to gain favor with the yearlings by playing spy for them. As a result, he had been forced into an encounter with Dick, and had been soundly thrashed. This made him the persistent and scheming foe of the successful young plebe.

It made no difference to Uric that Merriwell had also thrashed Big Bob Singleton, the champion boxer of the school, and that Singleton had seemed to think all the more of Dick because of this feat. Uric desired to "get even." And now he suddenly exclaimed:

"Wait! I have an idea."

"What is it?" questioned the others.

"You all know what an old duffer Professor Gooch is."

"I hear that he is raising a rumpus because too much athletics have been introduced in the school."

"Yes; we’ve heard about that."

"He is down on football."

"Says it’s a brutal game, and should be abolished by the school."

"He’s the one for us to get at."

"How can we do it?" questioned Fletcher eagerly.

"Get up a petition, a round robin, or something of the sort, protesting against Merriwell being excused from drill in order to take part in football practise. What do you think of that?"

"All right!" piped Watson. "It’s a great idea!"

"Oh, I have a great head!" said Uric loftily.

"But can we get enough signers?" questioned Fletcher. "That is to be considered."

"We can try hard. I know some fellows who will sign. If we can work old Gooch up, he may make a big kick against this business."

"And if Merriwell is compelled to attend drill regularly, it’s certain he can’t keep up in his classes, for, with drill and football, he won’t have time for study. By Jove! Scudder, I believe it is possible that you have struck on a scheme to force Merriwell to drop out of the eleven! That will be a corker on him."

"And on his brother, too; for Frank Merriwell wants Dick to make a good showing at football this fall."

"Who’ll draw up the document?"

"Let’s all have a hand in it. Bring out ink and paper and the things needed, Fletch. Let’s get right down to work."

So, in a very few moments, these three youthful schemers were hard at work framing a protest against Dick Merriwell being excused from drill that he might practise on the football-field. They stated, as well as they could, that it was not fair to others of the class to favor a certain one in such a way, taking care, as they thought, to make their language impressive without being offensive.

"There!" cried Scudder, when it was finished; "that ought to be a regular bombshell!"

"If it doesn’t raise a rumpus, I’m no prophet," chuckled Fletcher.

"Merriwell will be angry," said Watson faintly.

"What the dickens do we care!" said Uric.

"His brother will be sore when he hears of it."

"His brother is nothing to us. Besides, it will be a good thing to show Mr. Frank Merriwell that he does not run things here at Fardale."

"Who signs first?" questioned Jim timidly.

"Scudder," said Fletcher positively.

"No," said Uric, "you are the one to sign first, as you do not room with Merriwell."

There was some argument over this matter, but Zeb seized the pen at last and wrote his name with a flourish. Scudder followed, his handwriting being rather hazy. Then Watson tried to get out of signing until more names were added to the paper, but Fletcher and Scudder would not listen, and he was compelled to be third on the list.

Then came an argument as to who should take the paper and seek more signers. At last, in exasperation, Fletcher snatched it up, exclaiming:

"I’ll do it! I know a few fellows who will back us up, anyhow. We ought to have the whole class; but some fellows will be afraid to put their names to anything like this. All the same, there are several on the football-team that played the regular eleven that first game who are sore because they were not given a trial on the eleven, and we’ll get them. Oh, there are more ways than one of making things warm for Mr. Dick Merriwell!"

The trio broke up in great satisfaction.

CHAPTER III. THE TWO PROFESSORS.

Professor Barnaby Gooch, thin, wrinkled, crabbed, and bald, rapped sharply on the door of Professor Zenas Gunn’s private study. As the knock was not answered at once, Professor Gooch rapped again, sharply, nervously, and in a manner that denoted irritation. Then he pushed the door open and walked in.

Professor Gunn, dignified, old-fashioned, yet kindly in appearance, stepped from behind a screen and came forward. Before he could speak, however, Professor Gooch rasped forth:

"I’ve nearly beaten the skin from my knuckles rapping on your door. Are you deaf, professor—are you deaf, sir?"

"I hope not, professor," was the answer.

"But you didn’t answer me—you didn’t answer. You let me pound away—you let me hammer."

"I was engaged when you first rapped, sir," said Professor Gunn somewhat stiffly. "I was about to answer your knock."

"Ah-a!" rasped Professor Gooch. "You were about to answer! But you were in no hurry."

"You seem to be in a bad humor this morning, Professor Gooch. Is there anything wrong? Will you have a chair?"

"No; I won’t have a chair. Yes, there is something wrong. I have come to speak to you about it, sir."

"It’s not very well; it’s very bad," declared Professor Gooch, rapping on the floor with his cane and glaring at the head professor. "It’s a disgrace, I say! It’s all wrong! It’s a matter to which we must give our immediate attention."

"If there is anything so very bad that requires our attention it shall have it."

"Ah-a! I hope so—I hope so! I have seen it coming on for some time. I have on several occasions expressed myself as opposed to it. Now—now, sir, something must be done!"

"As yet I am not aware of what you are speaking. Will you kindly enlighten me?"

"I’m speaking of this matter of permitting football and athletics and such frivolous things to interfere with the regular course of studies and drill at this academy—that’s what I’m speaking of. And it is high time somebody spoke up. The tendency of our day to permit such things at schools and colleges is deplorable—deplorable, sir. I mean it!"

Professor Gooch shook his cane at his companion, as if threatening him. When Professor Gunn started to speak, he went on:

"Wait sir—wait! Hear me! I say it’s deplorable. Do young men go to school and to college to be trained to break one another’s bones in a murderous game called football? Is that why parents send their sons to school? Is that what fathers desire their sons should be taught? You know it is not; you cannot say it is. In former times such games were not given prominence here. True, they were played some, but those who took part in them were not encouraged and shown special favors by the faculty and officers of this school. Such is not the case now. Baseball, football, and kindred dangerous sports and games are encouraged here. You know it is true, Professor Gunn. You will not say it isn’t true!"

"Still," said the head professor calmly, "I am at a loss to understand why you are making all this fuss."

"Fuss!" gasped Professor Gooch, throwing up both hands and waving his cane dangerously near the other’s head. "Fuss, sir! Is that what you call it? Well, it’s high time to make a fuss! It’s time to see if something cannot be done to check this tendency to go football crazy. I mean to see if something cannot be done. There is altogether too much of this business at Fardale. Next I shall hear that inducements have been offered students to come here because they can play baseball or football unusually well. That is what we’re coming to, sir."

"Do you think so?" said Professor Gunn, still with perfect calmness.

"Hey?" exclaimed Professor Gooch. "I know it! I see it approaching! Now, what do you think of that? What do you think of this craziness for athletics? Answer me, sir!"

"Excuse me," said the head professor, "if I sit down. Of course, you may stand if you prefer. You ask me what I think of athletics. I will answer you briefly. I think that athletics as practised in our schools and colleges is doing a great work for the young men of our country."

"Hey?" again squawked Professor Gooch. "Great work! What kind of work, may I ask?"