CHAPTER XI
A REPORTER'S INFLUENCE
The wine spattered in the face of the man who was helping Mellor. The latter looked up in stupid wrath, and then it dawned on him suddenly that the interruption came from his manager.
He gasped, hiccoughed, sat back in his chair and tried to rise. Meanwhile the other two fellows with the orange rosettes had sprung to their feet, and were trying to push Frank from the room.
In this the waiter joined them, and, for a moment, therefore, Merriwell had his hands full. They were lively hands, though, and in much less time than it takes to narrate it he had struck out right and left and landed stinging blows upon the faces of two of his antagonists.
The bartender, who was a heavy fellow, who had probably had plenty of experience in dealing with tough customers, set down the bottle of wine and attacked Frank with great fury.
He made the mistake of supposing that he could hustle the intruder out by mere force, and in so doing he put up both hands to catch Frank by the shoulders.
This gave the athletic student a better opportunity than he could have asked for. In quick succession the bartender got two blows, one full upon the mouth, and the other on his neck.
He went down on the floor with a thump, and catching at the table for support, overturned it. The bottle of wine fell upon him and drenched him.
The others, who had staggered back under the force of Frank's first blows, now tried to push their way out. The room was a very small one, and there was but one door.
It was evident that they were not there for fighting, and had no wish to defend their drunken companion, no matter what Frank's object in making the attack had been.
As Frank's only anxiety was in getting Mellor away, he did not attempt to stop the others from going out.
The rumpus attracted the attention of everybody in the main room of the saloon, and by the time the bartender had been sent to the floor a dozen or so others, most of them customers of the place, came crowding up to see what was the matter.
"Letsh not fight, Mer'well," said Mellor, with a tremendous attempt at dignity. "Letsh not get mixed up in a row."
He, too, tried to walk out, but the way was now barred with other bartenders who had come to the relief of their comrade.
They might have fallen upon Frank and beaten him badly, for they far outnumbered him, if it hadn't been that at that moment a policeman took a hand in the affair.
He had been passing the side door of the saloon at the very moment when Frank struck the glass from Mellor's hand.
He had entered at the first sound of a ruction, and had been in time to get a glimpse of Frank as he struck the bartender to the floor.
There was a lot of excitement and confusion for a moment, during which Frank stood with his fists still clinched and his jaws shut hard together, waiting for the next turn.
Everybody connected with the saloon denounced him as an intruder, and the one who had made all the trouble.
Frank thought hastily of explaining the real situation, but he refrained from doing so, as that would surely make the whole thing public, and he did not want any such disgrace to be attached to Yale's part in the intercollegiate games.
So when the policeman roughly put him under arrest he submitted quietly and went to the station house. A couple of bartenders followed, dragging the almost helpless Mellor with them.
Yale's champion wrestler at that moment was too far gone to realize fully what was taking place. He staggered along between the bartenders, protesting that there had been a "mishundershtanding," that he was a gentleman, and that as soon as the matter had been explained he would return to the saloon and "set 'em up" for everybody.
Frank walked in silence, feeling extreme humiliation, not for his arrest, but for the disgrace that a Yale athlete was bringing upon his college.
When they stood before the sergeant in the station, the policeman told briefly how he had heard a row in progress in the saloon and had got there in time to see Frank doing all the fighting.
The sergeant looked at the bartenders, and one of them said:
"This man," pointing to Mellor, "was entertaining a party of friends in the back room when the other chap came in, and without saying a word tried to clean the place out. Everything was peaceable and quiet until he came in."
The sergeant took up a pen, and looking at Frank, asked:
"What is your name?"
"Frank Merriwell," was the quiet response.
"Huh!" grunted the sergeant, as he wrote the name, "I thought from your looks you would say Jones of nowhere. What is your residence?"
"New Haven."
"Have you got anything to say for yourself?"
"Not at present."
The sergeant looked surprised, and hesitated a moment before he asked a number of other questions.
They were such questions as are always put to prisoners concerning their age, their reasons for being in the city, and their own account of what had happened.
Frank gave his age, but to the other questions refused to reply. Accordingly the sergeant ordered both him and Mellor to be searched, and after a vain attempt to get any information out of Mellor, both were locked up.
A considerable crowd had collected in the main room of the station house during this, and Frank remained quietly in his cell until he felt certain that all the curiosity seekers had gone out.
Then he called to a doorman and asked if he might speak to the sergeant or the captain. It took a little persuasion to get permission to do this, but Frank got it finally, and was taken upstairs again.
The main room of the station was then deserted by all except the doorman and the sergeant. The latter looked at the young prisoner inquiringly.
"I'd like to send for somebody," he said, "and will pay liberally for a messenger. You've got my money, and therefore know that I can pay any decent charge."
"Yes," said the sergeant, "you're well heeled. Who do you want to see?"
Frank thereupon gave the name of a Supreme Court judge. The sergeant's eyes opened wide.
"What do you want of him?" he asked.
"He'll come down here in a hurry," Frank answered, "if he knows that I'm locked up."
The sergeant sat back in his chair and thought a moment. It was perfectly plain to him that Frank was not intoxicated, and his whole manner was that of a gentleman.
The sergeant was probably wondering whether the name Merriwell might not be a false one, and whether this prisoner might not be the son of the judge mentioned.
While he was wondering what he had better do about it, a young man entered the station with a businesslike air, and stepping up to the big desk, said:
"Good-evening, sergeant, anything going on?"
Then he caught sight of Merriwell, and exclaimed:
"Great Scott, Merriwell, what are you doing here?"
"I'm a prisoner, Mr. Matthews," Frank responded.
The young man stared at Frank for just an instant, and then turning to the sergeant, said:
"Anybody in the captain's room?"
"No," was the reply.
"Come in here," said Matthews, taking Frank by the arm and walking him across the room.
When they were in the captain's room, Matthews shut the door, motioned to a chair, and sat down opposite Frank.
"Now, then," he said, "what's got into Yale?"
"Mr. Matthews," Frank responded, "I hate to say that I'm sorry to see you, but a newspaper man is the last man in this whole world that I would care to tell this story to."
"Well, but see here, Merriwell," responded Matthews, earnestly, "a newspaper man isn't a born fiend, you know; I'm not likely to forget that I'm a graduate of Yale, and I certainly am not going to hurry off with an item to my paper that will bring you into any disgrace.
"Yale graduates are getting to think a good deal of you, Merriwell, and I brought you in here to see if there might not be some way to help you, not to get a sensational item."
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Matthews," said Frank, "but I had an idea that when a man became a reporter he could think of nothing but news and things to write about."
"That's business," said Matthews, "sure enough, but I'm an old Yale man, at least I'm older than you, but I graduated only a couple of years ago, you know, so sing your song and let's see if there isn't something I can do."
Thereupon Frank told the reporter all about his difficulty. He explained how Mellor was hopelessly drunk in a cell, and how he had got arrested while making an attempt to get Mellor away from his companions.
"By Jove!" said Matthews, under his breath at last, "I don't blame you for doing what you did, Merriwell, but perhaps it would have been better if you had avoided a row and simply induced Mellor to go out with you."
"I don't think I lose my head very often," Frank responded, "but I must confess I did then. It was just maddening to see him soaking there with three scoundrels who had undoubtedly set out to get him filled up. Anyhow, there's no use regretting what I did, for here I am, and next to having Yale win in the contest to-morrow night, I'd rather keep this thing from becoming public."
"I can fix that easily enough," said Matthews, confidently. "The sergeant doesn't know that you're a Yale man, and even if he should, I'll prime all the other reporters who cover this district at night, and get them to say nothing about it. You needn't worry on that score, Merriwell, the only thing to do is to get you and Mellor away from the station house."
Frank then told how he had wanted to send for the judge referred to.
"He's known me since I was born," he explained, "and was an intimate friend of my father. There's no doubt that he would believe me, and I suppose his word would go with the police."
"Yes, it would, but it's a long way to his house, and he may not be at home. The captain will be in in two or three minutes, and we'll see if I haven't got influence with him."
In less time than Matthews had supposed, the captain came in. To Frank's great astonishment, the reporter easily persuaded the captain to release the two students.
It is not very often that a police captain has an opportunity to do a favor to a newspaper man, and when a chance does occur, he's quick to take it, for the reporters of New York newspapers can make or unmake a policeman's reputation.
The only thing in the way of letting the students go was the fact that the bartenders in the saloon where the fight occurred had made a charge against Frank.
That was quickly fixed by the captain, who went himself to the saloon and suggested that the charge be withdrawn.
Of course the suggestion of the captain was enough. The bartenders were glad to withdraw the charge if he advised it.
Therefore Frank had not been a prisoner half an hour before he and Mellor, accompanied by Matthews, were rolling across the city in a closed cab on their way to the Murray Hill.
When they arrived there they used a good deal of caution about going in, for Mellor was quite as stupid as he had been at first, and both Matthews and Merriwell were anxious to prevent anybody from becoming aware of his condition.
They got him into the Turkish bath there without observation, and gave an attendant a liberal fee to look after him for the night.
CHAPTER XII
ON THEIR GUARD
The other Yale men were out for their evening run when Frank was at last ready to join them.
He did not try to follow them, for he had been so disturbed by the excitement of his adventure with the police, that he thought it best to rest; so when the students returned they found Frank in bed, and no one disturbed him.
Next morning early he got Rowland and Hill together and explained the whole affair to them. They were indignant, mad and disgusted all together.
"We'll send Mellor back to New Haven on the first train!" exclaimed Hill.
"It would serve him right," added Rowland, "if the faculty should hear of this and expel him."
"The faculty mustn't hear of it," said Frank, decisively. "The thing I've worked for most in all of this is to prevent any sort of disgrace, and if Mellor can be put into condition for making a wrestle, it'll be better for all of us that he should go into the contest."
"He'll never be able to last a single round," groaned Hill.
"If he should go down at the first catch," said Rowland, "everybody would suspect that he was out of condition, and then what would come of it?"
"Well, perhaps he isn't so badly off as you think," suggested Frank. "He may be able to put up a good front. Let's go down and see how he is."
The suggestion was adopted at once, and the three went down to the Turkish baths. The assistants who had been feed to look after Mellor said that the student was asleep on a couch.
Frank and the others went to the sleeping room and stood by the couch looking at Mellor in silence for a full minute.
As he had been very carefully rubbed and thoroughly steamed the night before, and as he had been sleeping for many hours, he looked now quite as well as usual.
The three managers looked at each other and nodded. They understood each other; it was better that Mellor should be allowed to appear in the wrestling match that night, even though he was almost surely doomed to defeat.
They were about to withdraw when the wrestler opened his eyes.
"Hello, boys," he said, suddenly, and he sat up.
"How are you feeling?" asked Merriwell.
"Bully!" replied Mellor, with emphasis. Then his face flushed and he looked down at the floor.
"I guess you remember what has happened," remarked Hill, contemptuously.
"Yes, I do," responded Mellor.
"What do you think of yourself?" asked Rowland.
"You're a fine man to carry Yale's banner to victory, aren't you!" demanded Hill, savagely.
"Hold on, fellows," interrupted Frank; "there's no use in rubbing it in. How did it happen, Mellor?"
"Oh, it's just my confounded foolishness," Mellor replied, with a groan; "I wanted to see a little bit of city life, but I had no idea of drinking. I had heard of a place where all sorts of toughs resorted, and I went in there simply to look on."
"Better have stayed in the hotel," muttered Hill.
"Go on," said Merriwell.
"Well, there was quite a crowd there, and among them were two or three Princeton students."
"How do you know?"
"Why, I saw the orange colors that they wore, and I heard them offering bets on Princeton to other men who were standing around."
"Did you speak to them?"
"Not until they spoke to me."
"How did that happen?"
"Why, one of them caught my eye, looked at me sharply, and then asked politely if my name wasn't Mellor, and if I didn't belong to Yale. I felt kind of flattered at being recognized – "
"It made you think you were a great man, didn't it?" exclaimed Hill
"Oh, keep still!" said Frank. "Let him tell his story; this is important to all of us."
Mellor ground his teeth and exclaimed:
"You can't make me feel any worse about this than I feel already."
"We don't want you to make any confession, Mellor," said Frank, gently; "that isn't what we're after, for, unfortunately, I know only too well what you'd have to confess to.
"The point we want to get at is, what these Princeton men said, for I'm inclined to think that there's something of a conspiracy on foot to down Yale and the other colleges by unfair means."
Mellor looked a little puzzled, but answered:
"After I had admitted who I was, the fellow who spoke to me asked how I felt about the wrestling match. I told him I was all ready to meet Princeton's best man, and then he asked if I was betting any money on it. I shook my head, and he said 'that's right.'"
"What followed?"
"Oh, there were a number of polite remarks, and the crowd got around; the Princeton men suggested that it would be pleasanter if we were by ourselves, and I felt that they were right.
"They were so decent about it that I had no hesitation in going into a back room with them. There they asked if I was taking anything."
"Did you say you were taking everything that came your way?" asked Hill.
"No, I didn't. I told them I was in training, and could take nothing but Bass' ale."
"Huh!" grunted Hill.
"Did they set up a bottle?" asked Rowland.
"Yes. It was about the dinner hour, at which time I was allowed to take ale, and I thought that it would do no harm; of course it was wrong – I admit it now, but at the time I thought a single glass of ale wouldn't hurt me, and it would be more polite to these chaps to go through the form of drinking with them. So they had a bottle of champagne, and I drank ale."
Mellor hesitated.
"You seem to have had your head about you," remarked Frank. "How did you happen to get to drinking champagne?"
"I don't know," he answered, gloomily; "the ale seemed to make me half drowsy, whereas usually I don't feel any effect from it at all, and I guess I thought that a drop of wine would brace me up."
"I see it all!" exclaimed Frank.
The others looked at him inquiringly.
"Knockout drops!" he said.
"By Jove! I bet you're right!" exclaimed Rowland.
"It was anything to get the Yale champion fuddled and they knew well enough that he wouldn't take more than one glass of ale, so unless I'm greatly mistaken they drugged his ale and got him completely unbalanced."
"It's a monstrous outrage!" cried Rowland.
Hill looked contemptuous and said nothing.
Merriwell turned to Mellor with the remark:
"Lie still a while longer and get breakfast when you want it. I'll see you in your room later, and if you think you're going to be fit, we'll have you in the contest to-night just the same."
"Great Scott!" cried Mellor, "you wouldn't bar me out of that, would you?"
"We were thinking of it," said Hill.
"You'll have to pull yourself together, Mellor," said Frank, seriously, "for unless you can make a good showing we don't any of us want you to appear."
Mellor bowed his head upon his hands, and the others left him. As soon as they were out of hearing Hill said:
"Perhaps it's nothing better than could be expected of a freshman, but anyhow, we've got to bring this matter to the attention of the Princeton managers at once."
The others agreed, and they went to the Fifth Avenue Hotel, where they found the Princeton managers at breakfast.
The case was not explained to the Princeton men in full, but enough was said to make them certain that Yale had reason to suspect a trick on the part of men wearing Princeton colors.
The indignation of the Princeton managers was too great for expression; one of them was so hot-headed that he wanted a row at once with Merriwell for seeming to suggest that Princeton men could be capable of such treacherous conduct.
Frank hastened to assure him that no Yale man thought such a thing possible.
"We think some rascals are playing off under Princeton's colors," he said.
The Princeton managers were sure that this must be the case, for no students had accompanied them to the city excepting those who were to take part in the contests.
They declared their intention of keeping their eyes open for men wearing the Princeton rosettes, and promised to do everything possible to have such men arre