Burt Standish - Frank Merriwell's Triumph - or, The Disappearance of Felicia

Little Abe crept close to Frank and lay there, shivering somewhat.

“You have so many enemies, Frank,” he whispered. “Who are these new enemies you have found here?”

“I don’t know at present, Abe; but I will find out in time.”

“Why must you always have enemies?”

“I think it is the fortune of every man who succeeds to make enemies. Other men become jealous. Only idiots and spineless, nerve-lacking individuals make no enemies at all.”

“But sometime your enemies will hurt you,” muttered the boy fearfully. “You can’t always escape when they are prowling about and striking at your back.”

“Of course, there is a chance that some of them may get me,” confessed Frank; “but I am not worrying over that now.”

“Worthington frightens me, too,” confessed the boy. “He is so strange! But, really and truly, he seems to know when danger is near. He seems to discover it, somehow.”

“Which is a faculty possessed by some people with disordered brains. I fancied the fellow was dreaming when he declared he saw some one hiding behind those rocks to-day; but now I know he actually saw what he claimed to see.”

“Oh, I hope they don’t get that mine away from you! You have taken so much trouble to find it!”

“Don’t worry,” half laughed Merry. “If they should locate the mine ahead of me, I can stand it. I have two mines now, which are owned jointly by myself and my brother.”

“Your brother!” exclaimed Abe, in surprise. “Why, have you a brother?”

“Yes; a half-brother.”

“Where is he?”

“He is attending school far, far away in the East. I received some letters from him while you were in Denver.”

“Is he like you?”

“Well, I don’t know. In some things he seems to be like me; in others he is different.”

“He is younger?”

“Yes, several years younger.”

“Oh, I’d like to see him!” breathed Abe. “I know I’d like him. What’s his name?”

“Dick.”

“Perhaps I’ll see him some day.”

“Yes, Abe, I think you will. By and by we will go East, and I will take you to see him at Fardale. That’s where he is attending school.”

“It must be just the finest thing to go to school. I never went to school any. What do they do there, Frank?”

“Oh, they do many things, Abe. They study books which prepare them for successful careers, and they play baseball and football and take part in other sports. They have a fine gymnasium, where they exercise to develop their bodies, which need developing, as well as their brains. In some schools, Abe, the development of the body is neglected. Scholars are compelled to study in close rooms, regardless of their health and of their individual weaknesses. And many times their constitutions are wrecked so that they are unfitted to become successful men and women through the fact that they have not the energy and stamina in the battle of life, at which successes must be won.

“I don’t know that you understand all this, Abe, but many parents make sad mistakes in seeking to force too much education into the heads of their children in a brief space of time. It is not always the boy or girl who is the smartest as a boy or girl who makes the smartest and most successful man or woman. Some of the brightest and most brilliant scholars fail after leaving school. Although at school they were wonders in their classes, in after life others who were not so brilliant and promising often rise far above them.”

“I don’t know nothing about those things, Frank,” said the boy. “You seem to know all about everything. But I want you to tell me more about the school and the games they play and the things they do there.”

“Not to-night, Abe,” said Merry. “Go to sleep now. Sometime I will tell you all about it.”

Long after Merry’s regular breathing indicated that he was slumbering, little Abe lay trying to picture to himself that wonderful school, where so many boys studied, and lived, and prepared themselves for careers. It was a strange school his fancy pictured. At last he slept also, and he dreamed that he was in the school with other boys, that he was straight, and strong, and handsome, and that Dick Merriwell was his friend and companion. He dreamed that he took part in the sports and games, and was successful and admired like other lads. It was a joyful dream, and in his sleep he smiled and laughed a little. But for the poor little cripple it was a dream that could never come true.

In the night Frank was aroused by Bart, who lay down, while Merry took his place on guard outside the tent. The night was far spent when Frank awakened Wiley to take a turn at watching over the camp.

“Port your helm!” muttered the sailor thickly, as Merry shook him. “Breakers ahead! She’s going on the rocks!”

“Turn out here,” said Frank. “It’s your watch on deck!”

“What’s that?” mumbled the sailor. “Who says so? I am cap’n of this ship. I give off orders here.”

Merry seized him by the shoulders and sat him upright.

“In this instance,” declared Frank, “you’re simply the man before the mast. I am captain this voyage.”

“I deny the allegation and defy the alligator,” spluttered Wiley, waving his arms in the dark. “I never sailed before the mast.”

Frank was finally compelled to drag him bodily out of the tent, where at length Wiley became aware of his surroundings and stood yawning and rubbing his eyes.

“This is a new turn for me, mate,” he said. “It has been my custom in the past to lay in my royal bunk and listen to the slosh of bilge water and the plunging of my good ship through the billows, while others did the real work. I always put in my hardest work at resting. I can work harder at resting than any man I know of. I have a natural-born talent for it. Nevertheless, Cap’n Merriwell, I now assume my new duties. You may go below and turn in with the perfect assurance that little Walter will guard you faithfully from all harm. Though a thousand foes should menace you, I will be on hand to repel them.”

“That’s right, Wiley; keep your eyes open. There may be no danger, but you know what happened early this night.”

“Say no more,” assured Wiley. “I am the embodied spirit of active alertness. Permit rosy slumber to softly close your dewy eyes and dream sweet dreams of bliss. Talk about real poetry; there’s a sample of it for you.”

Smiling a little at the eccentricities of the sailor, Frank slipped into the tent and again rolled himself in his blanket.

Rosy dawn was smiling over the eastern peaks when Frank opened his eyes. The others were still fast asleep, and Merry wondered if Wiley had already started a fire preparatory for breakfast. It seemed singular that the sailor had not aroused them before this. Stealing softly from the tent, Merry looked around for the captain. At first he saw nothing of him, but after some minutes he discovered Wiley seated on the ground, with his back against a bowlder and with his head bowed. Approaching nearer, Frank saw the sailor was fast asleep, with a revolver clutched in his hand.

“Sleeping at your post, are you?” muttered Frank, annoyed. “Had there been enemies near, they might have crept on us while you were sleeping and murdered the whole party. You deserve to be taught a lesson.”

Making no noise, he drew nearer, keeping somewhat to one side and behind the sailor, then bent over and uttered a piercing yell in Wiley’s ear. The result was astonishing. With an answering yell, the sailor bounded into the air like a jack-in-the-box popping up. As he made that first wild, electrifying leap he began shooting. When his feet struck the ground he started to run, but continued shooting in all directions.

“Repel boarders!” he yelled. “Give it to them!”