Frank Merriwell's Champions Part 34

"What are you doing there?"

The man straightened up, and turned his bloodshot eyes on the youth. His face was flushed, and the odor of his breath told he had been drinking heavily.

"Leggo!" he snarled; "leggo, or I'll smash ye!"

"What were you doing to that wheel?" demanded Frank.

"None o' yer business!" roared the hostler. Then he dropped the wrench, and made a swinging blow at the boy.

Frank dodged the blow and thrust out his foot in a manner that sent the awkward man sprawling.

"Land ob wartermillions!" squawked Toots, delighted.

As the hostler scrambled up, his fingers encountered the handle of the wrench and closed around it. His face was purple with anger, and there was a furious glare in his bloodshot eyes. The thick lips, purple and swollen, curled back from his tobacco-stained teeth, and with a snarl that might have issued from the throat of some wild beast, he flung the wrench at Frank's head.

"Look out dar!"

Toots uttered the cry, but Merriwell was watching the man closely, and he dodged the missile, which went whizzing past with an unpleasant sound.

A man was just stepping in at the door, and the wrench struck him on the breast, knocking him down as if he had been shot.

Then Rattleton and Hodge came running up, and bent over the fallen man, who lay groaning on the ground.

It was Stephen Fenton!

The hostler seemed suddenly sobered by his act.

"Gosh!" he muttered. "It were Steve I hit! Hope I didn't kill him!"

Frank was keeping watch of Wade, but saw the man was appalled by the result of his angry act, and so ventured to turn about and hasten to Fenton's side.

"Bring some water!" he ordered. "He may be seriously injured!"

Fenton's face was purple, and he was gasping for breath, but, as Merriwell stooped to lift his head, he feebly but savagely motioned him back.

"Hands off!" gasped the man. "Keep away from me!"

Toots came running up with some water.

"Heah, boss!" he cried; "heah's yo' watah!"

"What do I want of water! Anybody-got some-whiskey?"

"Here!" cried Wade, quickly stepping forward, and taking a bottle from a pocket inside his red flannel shirt; "here's a bit."

It was a pint bottle, nearly a third full. Fenton grasped it with a shaking hand as he sat up, lifted it to his lips, and did not take it down till he had swallowed the last drop.

With a growl, he got upon his feet, flinging the empty bottle aside. He gave Frank a fierce look, then addressed Wade:

"What's the matter with you, Bill? Did you want to kill me?"

"I didn't throw it at ye, Steve-I mean Mr. Fenton. I didn't mean ter hit ye."

Fenton rubbed his chest and coughed.

"Lucky you didn't kill me," he said, huskily.

Kenneth St. Ives appeared.

"What's the matter here?" he asked.

The hostler hastened to explain that he was simply moving the bicycles out of the way when Frank Merriwell a.s.saulted him.

"It was my wheel," said Frank, making a hasty examination, "and he has loosened things up generally around it. If I were to attempt to ride it now without putting it in shape, the chances are that I would break my neck the first hill I came to. It is plain enough that this wheel has been doctored to give me a fall."

Kenneth examined it, and saw at a glance that Frank was right. Still, the hostler protested that he had done nothing to the wheel save move it over slightly, so it would not be in the way.

"These wheels are not in your way, Wade," said Kenneth, sternly, "and you may let them alone. You have been drinking, and you know that means you stand a good chance of losing your position."

The hostler looked sullen and subdued, but said nothing. His a.s.sistants had appeared, attracted by the sound of the encounter, but they were holding aloof.

Kenneth reprimanded Wade severely, and then informed Frank that supper was ready for the party.

The boys had been given a chance to wash up, and soon they were seated about a long table in the cool dining-room of the old mansion, with Kenneth St. Ives acting as host.

CHAPTER XXII-HANS USES THE HOSE

A jolly party it was. They laughed, and joked, and told stories. They ate, and drank, and were happy. Browning fairly groaned with satisfaction, and then tried to disguise the groan by a cough. Hans gasped as he looked about at the good things with which the table was loaded, and his eyes bulged.

"Shimminy Ghristmas!" he gurgled. "I feel like all dot stuff could ead me up und not half dry. I ain'd seen nottings like dot for so long dot you don'd rememper id."

"Wal, gol darned ef this air ain't a slappin' good layout!" observed Ephraim. "I was beginnin' to wish I was to hum on the farm where I could git some baked 'taturs, but baked 'taturs won't cut no ice with me arter I git threw with this fodder."

"Hearty appet.i.tes are in vogue at Springbrook Farm," laughed Kenneth; "and I want you all to eat till you are perfectly satisfied. Athletes should eat well at times."

"Yaw," nodded Hans, "I pelief me; but dot Vrankie Merrivell peen keepin'

der barty in draining so much dot I don'd had nottings to ead vot you like two veeks a time at. Dot kindt uf pusiness makes you got fat like a ghost."

"Speaking about ghosts," said Kenneth, with a sly wink at Merriwell, "there is a story that our summerhouse is haunted. As you fellows are going to stop there to-night, I trust you will not be troubled by spirits."

Hans' jaw dropped.

"Vot?" he squawked. "I don'd toldt you dere peen a ghost dot house in?"

"Sure," nodded Kenneth. "Those who have seen it describe it as a tall, white figure, and those who have felt it say it has clammy, ice-cold hands."