LITMIR.BIZ

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right, an' now I want ter git square wid him fer steerin' me up agin' anyt'ing of der sort. Wot yer goin' ter do wid him—break his neck?"

      "I have not decided what I shall do, but I shall not lay a hand on him."

      "Yer won't?"

      "No."

      "Well, I would if I was in your place. I'd t'ump der everlastin' stuffin' outer der bloke—dat's wot!"

      "If it is the man whose name is on the card that was given you I shall be sorry for him, for I have always believed him to be a white man."

      "An' yer'll be sorry?"

      "I will."

      "Well, ye're der funniest cove wot I ever saw. Arter ye hed knocked der wind outer me, ye stayed eround ter see dat I wasn't hurt too bad, w'en anybody else would 'a' kicked me inter der gutter an' left me. An' now youse say dat you'll be sorry fer der feller wot hired me ter do yer! I'd like ter know jes' how ye're put up."

      "I can't help being sorry to know that a fellow I have considered white and a friend is crooked and an enemy, if it is to prove that way."

      "Say, young feller, I likes you, durn me ef I don't! If you ever has anyt'ing ye wants done, jes' come ter me, an' I'll do it if I kin, an' I won't charge yer nottin'."

      "Thank you," smiled Frank; "but I do not fancy I shall have anything in your line. While we are talking, though, let me give you some advice. Turn over a new leaf and try to be on the level. You will find it the best policy in the long run."

      "I t'ink ye're right, an' I'm goin' ter try ter do it. I allus did hate ter work, but if I kin git any kind of a job I'm goin' ter try it once more. I don't know w'y it is, but jes' bein' wid youse makes me want ter do der square t'ing."

      Frank might well have felt pleased that he exercised such an influence over a man like Plug Kirby.

      The door opened and Rattleton came into the saloon, followed by Old Put and Dismal Jones.

      "Come on, Kirby," said Frank, quietly. "Here is the man we are waiting for."

      Putnam had halted near the bar, a puzzled look on his face, and Frank heard him say to Harry:

      "What in the world did you drag me in here for, old man? You know I am not drinking anything now, and—"

      "As I told you," interrupted Harry, grimly, "I brought you in to see a man. Here he is."

      Frank and the rough had come up behind Putnam, who now turned, and, with still greater astonishment, cried:

      "What—Merriwell? What in the world are you doing in this place?"

      "Permit me to introduce you to Mr. Plug Kirby—Mr. Burnham Putnam. Have you ever met the man before."

      Old Put drew back, staring at the ruffian in astonishment.

      "What in blazes is this?" he gasped. "Is it a joke?"

      "No joke," returned Frank, sternly. "It is a matter of business. Mr. Kirby, have you ever met Mr. Putnam before?"

      "Naw!" cried the man. "Dis ain't der cove wot come ter me ter do der job. Dis is anodder feller."

      "You are sure?" demanded Frank, with an expression of positive relief. "His name was on the card you gave me."

      "I don't care if it was, dis ain't der feller wot give der card ter me, not by a great big lot."

      "Well, I am glad of that!" cried Frank, and he grasped Putnam's hand. "It is a great relief."

      "Didn't I tell you!" almost shouted Harry.

      "Well, now, I want to know what all this is about," said Old Put, who was greatly puzzled. "I am all at sea."

      Without hesitation Frank explained how a person had hired Plug Kirby to break his arm and what the result had been; how the person who made the bargain had given a card on which Putnam's name was engraved. Frank took the card from his pocket and Putnam said it was one of his regular visiting cards.

      "Some fellow has been working on my name in order to hide his own identity!" cried Put, who was greatly angered. "Oh, I'd like to get hold of the skunk!"

      At this moment the door which led to the back room opened, and Roland Ditson, who had again visited Buster Kelley, came into the saloon. He started back when he saw the little group of students, but Plug Kirby saw his face and hoarsely exclaimed:

      "Dere's der mug now! Dat's der feller wot hired me an' give me der card! I'll swear ter dat!"

      Seeing there was no way out of it, Roll came forward. He was rather pale, but he succeeded in putting on a front.

      "Hello, fellows!" he cried. "What are you doing in here?"

      Merriwell had him by the collar in a twinkling.

      "Looking for you," he said, "and we have found you! So you are the chap who hired this man to break my arm in order to fix me so I couldn't pitch any more! Well, I declare I didn't think anything quite as low as that even of you!"

      Ditson protested his innocence. He even called Kirby a liar, and Frank was forced to keep the ruffian from hammering him. He swore it was some kind of a plot to injure him, and he called on the boys to know if they would take the word of a wretch like Kirby in preference to his.

      "Oh, get out!" exclaimed Putnam in disgust. "Take my advice and leave Yale at once. If you do not, I'll publish the whole story, and you will find yourself run out. Go!"

      Ditson sneaked away.

      CHAPTER XXXIII.

       "PLAY BALL!'"

       Table of Contents

      Before night Merriwell received an appealing letter from Ditson, in which the young scapegrace protested his sorrow and entreated Frank to do what he could to keep the matter quiet, so he would not be forced to leave Yale.

      Ditson declared it would break his mother's heart if he failed to complete his course at Yale. Over and over he entreated forgiveness, telling how sorry he was that he had ever tried to injure Merriwell in any way, and declaring that, if Frank would forgive and forget, he would never cause him any further trouble.

      Frank pondered over the letter so long, and with sach a serious look on his face, that Harry asked him what he had struck. Then Merriwell read it to his roommate.

      "Oh, what a snizerable meak—I mean miserable sneak, that fellow is!" exclaimed Harry. "He goes into a dirty piece of business like this, and then he gets down and crawls—actually crawls!"

      "I have no doubt but his mother is proud of him," said Frank. "He says he is an only son. It is his mother, not Ditson, I am thinking about. I do not wish to cause her so much pain."

      "Oh, come off! If a fellow is such a snake as Ditson, he must get it from his parents on one side or the other. Perhaps his mother is not so good."

      "I do not wish to think that of any fellow's mother. I much prefer to think that he takes all his bad qualities from the other side of the house. I remember my own mother—the dearest, gentlest, sweetest woman in all the world! How she loved me! How proud she was of me! All the better part of my nature I owe to her, God bless her!"

      Frank spoke with deep feeling, and Rattleton was touched and silenced. Merriwell arose and walked the floor, and there was an expression of the utmost tenderness and adoration on his face—a look that brought something like a mist to Harry's eyes. Frank seemed to have forgotten his companion, and he gently murmured:

      "My angel mother!"

      That was too much for Harry, and he coughed huskily, in an attempt to break the spell without being rude. Frank immediately turned, and said:

      "I beg your pardon, old man. I forgot myself, for a moment."

      "Oh, don't pard my begoner—that is, begon my pard—no,

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