Frank Merriwell's Return to Yale Part 68

"This is----"

Not another word was heard. Again they cheered, drowning his voice. He waited for them to stop. They stopped.

"This is----"

"'Rah! 'rah! 'rah! Whooper up! whooper up! 'Rah! 'rah! 'rah!"

Danny waited again. Now he felt that he wanted to make a speech. He was determined to make a speech.

"This is----"

He couldn't get beyond "is," and he was growing disgusted. He longed for a fireman's hose and good head of water.

As they began to cheer all at once, they stopped all together.

Once more Danny tried it:

"This is----"

It was no use. The mere sound of his voice seemed to arouse them to the wildest enthusiasm. He shook his fist at them.

"Go to thunder!" he screamed, getting black in the face.

But they laughed and cheered so he could not hear the sound of his own voice.

Some fellows found Frank and carried him around and around the fire.

They tried to induce him to get on the box in Danny's place, and say something, but he was too shrewd to try that, even if he had wished to do so.

Sport Harris, holding aloof, his heart sour with disappointment and disgust, saw a fellow swinging himself along on crutches, but refraining from taking any part in the celebration.

"It's Marline," thought Sport. "He must be somewhat sore himself."

Then he approached and spoke to the unlucky student, who had lost the opportunity to play full-back when he sprained his ankle.

"h.e.l.lo, Marline!" called Harris. "Why aren't you whooping her up with the others?"

Marline looked at him in doubt, and then remembered that Harris and Merriwell had never been good friends.

"Why should I celebrate?" he asked, sourly.

"Yale won."

"Yes, and I sat where I could see the fellow who filled my place secure the opportunities to win, which must have been mine had I played."

"It was hard luck for you to be knocked out in such a manner."

"Hard luck! It was beastly! But it was worse luck to have that fellow, Merriwell, run into the game and get all the opportunities to cover himself with glory."

"Well, he got 'em, and he improved 'em."

"Any fellow fit for the position could have done the same thing."

"Think so?"

"I know it."

"How about carrying three men on his back the way Merriwell did?"

"That was nothing."

"Everybody seems to think it was a great trick."

"It was nothing, I tell you. Those Harvard chumps tackled him in the most foolish manner possible. Not one of them tried to get low down on him, but all piled upon his back."

"Still, it seems that three of them ought to have crushed him into the ground."

"Not if he had any back at all. You could have stood up under it."

"Thanks!" said Harris, dryly. "I don't care to try."

"I know I could."

"But Merriwell carried them right along on his back."

"What of it?"

"Wasn't that something? He scarcely seemed to slacken his speed in the least, for all of their weight."

"Rot! They came upon him from behind, and when they leaped on him they hurled him forward still faster than he was going, if anything."

"It's a wonder they didn't hurl him forward on his face."

"Wonder--nothing! Are you stuck on that fellow?"

"Well, I should say not! I have no reason to admire him."

"Nor I! I despise him, and I am willing he should know it. Wait till my ankle gets well."

"What will you do then?"

"I am making no talk about what I'll do," said Marline, lowering his voice and hissing forth the words; "but Frank Merriwell had better steer clear of me."

"He is a bad man to have for an enemy," said Harris, "I know, for he is my enemy."

"How does he happen to be your enemy?" asked Marline. "You are not in athletics. What made him your enemy?"

Harris hesitated, and then said: