Frank Merriwell's Races Part 52

"Well, will you go anywhere?"

"Yes, I'll go somewhere that we can sit down in a quiet room, where there is no chance that fellows who know me will drop in. I feel just like having something."

"I know the very place," declared Flemming. "Come on."

Then the quartet moved away, Flemming leading.

In the meantime Merriwell and Pierson had continued on their way. As had been agreed, Pierson set the pace. At first he ran along at a gentle trot, but by the time the outskirts of New Haven were reached he had begun to increase his speed.

"Now," he thought, "I'll put Merriwell to the test, and I do not fancy he will be in condition to make a very hot run on the return."

Faster and faster went Paul, and still the lad at his side kept there with apparent ease. With their clinched hands held close to their b.r.e.a.s.t.s and their heads thrown back, they ran on and on.

There was a slice of a moon in the western sky, shedding a thin white light over the world. From far to the south came the shrill whistle of a locomotive, cutting through the air like a keen knife.

The road which Pierson had selected was one over which there was considerable travel, and it was in very fair condition.

Without appearing to do so, Paul slyly kept watch of Merriwell, wishing to see just how Frank stood the strain. He was forced to acknowledge that, for a time at least, Merriwell was standing it very well.

"Oh, he is endeavoring to show me how easy he can do it!" mentally exclaimed Paul. "Wait--wait a bit! I think I will give him a hot push for a bit."

Faster and faster ran Pierson, and soon he was rather gratified to hear Frank beginning to breathe heavily. Yes, although Paul had hoped that Merriwell would show up well, he did feel a momentary sense of satisfaction when it seemed that he was making the pace a hot one for his companion.

Then Frank began to lag. He did not fall far behind Paul, and still he seemed unable to keep his place at Pierson's side.

"I won't do a thing to him coming back!" decided Paul. "Browning was dead wrong. The fellow is capable of short dashes, but he is not the man for a long run. I am rather sorry."

At last, he decided that they had gone far enough into the country, and so he turned about, without stopping, calling to Frank:

"Now for the hustle into town, and let's see what you are made of, my boy. I am going to run away from you as if you were standing still."

"I wouldn't do that!" flung back Merriwell, as he wheeled about.

Somehow it seemed to Paul that there was a touch of sarcasm in the way Frank uttered the words. That aroused the committeeman still more, and he retorted:

"No, you wouldn't do it, because you couldn't; but I am going to."

"All right," laughed Frank. "I don't suppose there is any danger that somebody will steal me for my beauty if you leave me alone out here in the country. Go ahead and run away from me."

"Good-by."

"Good-by."

Then Pierson did run. He skimmed over the ground in a wonderful manner, but the sound of running feet clung close behind him, and, when he glanced over his shoulder, Merriwell was still there.

"Hanged if he doesn't hold on well!" mentally exclaimed Paul.

Then, as he glanced around, it began to seem that Merriwell was running with still greater ease than he had at any previous time. Somehow it appeared as if he was keeping close behind Pierson without any particular effort.

"You're doing well," Paul finally flung over his shoulder. "Can you keep it up?"

"I think so," was the half-laughing answer. "I am holding myself in so that I can make an attempt to follow you a short distance when you get ready to run away from me."

"Great smoke!" thought Paul. "Is he guying me? or does he fancy I have not been doing my best?"

After a little, he confessed:

"I am beginning to think that won't be an easy trick, Merriwell. You will not be far behind when we reach your room."

At this, Frank suddenly came up beside Paul.

"Judging by the way you talk, you are somewhat out of wind," he said.

"Not at all," declared Pierson.

"Then I presume you are in condition for a little dash?"

"Oh, of course! But you may beat yourself out if you crowd yourself too hard."

"Think so?"

"Sure. Better not."

"Oh, I think I'll chance it. Come on, old man, let's tear up some dust."

Then Frank spurted.

Pierson set his teeth and made a desperate effort to keep up, but, despite his determination not to fall behind, he found that Merriwell was steadily and surely drawing away.

"Come on," called Frank, in a rather tantalizing manner. "It can't be that you are going to let me run away from you?"

Paul did not answer.

"What's the matter?" called Frank again. "Are you ill?"

Still no answer.

"Well, you are not sociable at all," laughed the lad in advance, tauntingly. "I don't seem to like your company, and so I think I will move along. Good-by."

With that, Pierson could see that the tantalizing fellow actually made an increase of speed.

"Confound him!" grated Paul. "I believe he was fooling me all along when he seemed to be having a hard time to keep up. All that panting and heavy breathing was put on."

It was decidedly humiliating to be "jollied" in such a manner; but Paul found he could not hold his own with Frank, and he finally gave up the struggle. Still he continued to run on, thinking that the lad ahead would use up his wind by such a burst of speed, and believing there was a possibility of overtaking Merriwell before South Middle was reached.

This did not happen, however, and when Paul burst into Frank's room, he found Rattleton there, listening to a funny story that Merriwell was telling.

And Merriwell? He had his feet resting comfortably on the top of a table, while he lay back in an easy-chair, looking remarkably cool, as if he had not lately made a run of several miles.