Dick Merriwell's Trap: or, The Chap Who Bungled. Standish Burt L.

mother demands it of me I’ll be placed in an awkward position.”

      He was soon given other things to think of, however. The Franklin team arrived in town before noon, and Buckhart, who was at the station to see them, came hustling back to the academy and sought Dick, whom he found in the gym.

      “There’s no mistake about it,” said the Westerner excitedly. “One of their players is Plover, the chap who was barred from the Exeter team because he was a professional. Why, he’s nineteen years old, and he’s played the game for three or four years. He got into some kind of a mess at Exeter and left school to avoid a disgrace. He’s one of the ‘ringers.’”

      “How do you know this?” asked Dick. “You do not know Plover personally, do you?”

      “No, but there was a chap at the station who knew him and spoke to him.”

      “Well?”

      “Plover didn’t seem to like it much. He pretended not to know the fellow who spoke to him.”

      “Who was the fellow?”

      “Clerk in Peabody’s store, a fellow who hasn’t been here very long.”

      “I’ll have to see him at once,” said Dick.

      “I had a talk with him, you bet your boots!”

      “Did you?”

      “Sure thing, pardner. Said he knew Plover all right, and that the fellow couldn’t fool him. Said Plover was a chap who played baseball summers for money, raced for money, had been pulled up for some sort of crookedness in a running-race, had coached football-teams for money; in short, he made his living by just such things.”

      “Well, he is a fine fellow for Franklin to run up against us!” exclaimed Dick. “Come, Brad, we’ll look up the manager of that team without delay.”

      But the manager of the visiting team had not come to Fardale with his players, as they learned on hurrying to the hotel and making inquiries.

      “He didn’t dare come!” muttered Buckhart in Dick’s ears. “He was afraid you’d get after him before the game. That’s why the onery galoot stayed away.”

      Dick’s face wore a grim expression as he called for Captain Hickman. Hickman and two other Franklin fellows were found in a room. The captain of the team rose and held out his hand to Dick, crying:

      “How are you, Merriwell, old man! Glad to see you again! Of course, we’ll have to trounce you this afternoon, but that is no reason why we shouldn’t be friends before the game – and afterward.”

      “No, that is no reason,” admitted Dick. “As for trouncing us, that remains to be seen; but I am sure you ought to do it with the kind of team you have brought!”

      “Oh, yes! we’ve got a corker this year,” laughed Hickman.

      “But aren’t you out of your class a bit?” asked Dick, while Brad stood by the door, grimly waiting the clash of words he expected would come and eying the two chaps with Hickman, to have their measure in case there was an encounter.

      “Do you fancy your team so very weak?” asked Hickman jokingly. “Why, you seem to be doing very well.”

      “We are strong enough for a school team made up of amateurs, but we may not be able to cope with professionals.”

      “And ‘ringers,’” put in Brad.

      Hickman pretended to be surprised and astonished.

      “Professionals?” he exclaimed. “Ringers? Why, what do you mean? It can’t be that you accuse us of having such men on our team?”

      “I have information that leads me to believe you have,” said Dick grimly.

      “It’s not true!” retorted the captain of the Franklin team hotly.

      “It’s a lie!” said a yellow-haired chap, rising behind Hickman, and stepping forward.

      “That’s exactly what it is!” agreed the third fellow, as he also rose and joined the others.

      “Here’s where we get into a scrimmage!” thought Buckhart, with a glow of genuine satisfaction. “Here is where we wipe the floor with three young gents from Franklin!”

      But Dick was not there to get into a row.

      “Such information reached me a few days ago,” said Dick, “and I wrote at once to Mr. Rankin, your manager.”

      “Well, you heard from him, didn’t you?”

      “Yes; he answered that the report was untrue.”

      “Well, that should have satisfied you,” said Hickman. “What more do you want?”

      “To-day,” said Dick calmly, “I have been told that on your team there is a regular professional by the name of Plover.”

      “Plover?”

      “Yes.”

      “There is no man by that name on the team,” said Hickman. “So you see that you have been led astray in this matter.”

      “Of course it is possible,” admitted Dick, “But we have not forgotten last year, Mr. Hickman.”

      “Last year?” said Hickman uneasily. “What do you mean by that?”

      “You should remember very well.”

      “Why not – ”

      “Yes, your little trick you played on us. I believe a fellow by the name of Jabez Lynch played with you, and he was a Fardale man at the time. He wore a nose-guard and head-harness that so disguised him he was not recognized; but he did a piece of dirty work that exposed him before the game was over. You remember, Captain Hickman.”

      Hickman forced a short laugh.

      “That was a joke, Merriwell.”

      “A joke!” exclaimed Dick, his eyes flashing. “Is that what you call it? It was no joke, Mr. Hickman, and you know very well that it came very near ending all athletic relations between our teams and our schools.”

      “If that is what he considers as a joke,” put in Brad; “mebbe he allows it’s a joke to spring a lot of ‘ringers’ on us!”

      “Who are you?” savagely asked the captain of the visiting team, glaring at Brad. “What right have you to dip into this matter?”

      “Who am I? Well, I’m Brad Buckhart, the unbranded maverick of the Rio Pecos! I’m playing with Fardale, and I allow that I can dip in some. If any of you gents think not, I’m willing to argue it with you any old way you say. You hear me chirp!”

      “Have you come to raise a fuss, Mr. Merriwell?” cried Hickman.

      “I have come to warn you,” said Dick, with unabated grimness.

      “Warn us – of what?”

      “That you are making a grave mistake.”

      “Are you going to squeal? Are you going to back out?”

      “We shall play you this afternoon if your team is made up entirely of professionals.”

      “Then what – ”

      “I wish to notify you, Mr. Hickman, that a thorough investigation will be made. If we learn that you have professionals on your team, Fardale will sever relations with you. There will be no further contests between us.”

      Hickman snapped his fingers.

      “Do as you like,” he said. “We’ll have the pleasure of wiping you up in the last encounter, anyway.”

      “Will you?” cried Dick. “Not much! Fardale will defeat you to-day, for all of tricks and crookedness!”

      “Whoop-ee!” exploded Buckhart. “You bet your boots she will!”

      Then both boys turned on their heels and left the room.

      Dick and Brad were descending the stairs to leave the hotel when something