Chapter 1. Trouble Brewing

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_ CHAPTER I. TROUBLE BREWING

"Here's to good old Yale--drink it down!
Here's to good old Yale--drink it down!
Here's to good old Yale,
She's so hearty and so hale--
Drink it down! Drink it down! down! down!"

From the open window of his rooms on York Street Frank Merriwell heard the distant chorus of a rollicking band of students who had been having a merry evening in town.

Frank had passed his examinations successfully and had been admitted as a student at Yale. In order to accomplish this without taking a preparatory course at Phillips Academy, he had found it necessary to vigorously "brush up" the knowledge he had acquired at the Fardale Military Academy which was a college preparatory school.

Professor Scotch, Frank's guardian, had been of great assistance to him, for the professor knew just about what would be required at the entrance examination, and he had kept the boy digging away away at the propositions in the First Book of Euclid, had drilled him in Caesar, caused him to spend weary hours over Virgil and the Iliad, and made him not a little weary of his Xenophon.

As he passed without a condition, although he had been told again and again that a course at Phillips Academy was almost an absolute necessity, Frank was decidedly grateful to the professor.

Professor Scotch's anxiety had brought him to New Haven, where he remained "till the agony was over," as Frank expressed it. The little man bubbled over with delight when he found his _protege_ had gone through without a struggle.

Having secured the rooms on York Street, the professor saw Frank comfortably settled, and then, before taking his departure, he attempted to give the boy some wholesome advice.

"Don't try to put on many frills here the first year," he said. "You will find that freshmen do not cut much of a figure here. It doesn't make any difference what you have done or what you have been elsewhere, you will have to establish a record by what you do and what you become here. You'll find these fellows here won't care a rap if you have discovered the North Pole or circumnavigated the globe in--er--ah--ten days. It will be all the better for you if you do not let them know you are rich in your own name and have traveled in South America, Africa, Europe, and other countries. They'd think you were bragging or lying if you mentioned it, and--"

"You know well enough that I am not given to boasting about myself, professor, and so you are wasting your breath," said Frank, rather resentfully.

"Hum! ha! Don't fly off the handle--keep cool. I know you have sand, and you're made of the right kind of stuff; but you are the greatest hand to get into scrapes I ever saw, and a little advice won't do you any harm. You will find that in many things you cannot do just as you would like, so you must--"

"I'll get into the game all right, so don't worry. You will remember that I did fairly well at Fardale, and you should not worry about me while I am here."

"I will not. You did well at Fardale--that's right. You were the most popular boy in the academy; but you will find Yale is far different from Fardale."

So the professor took his departure, and Frank was left to begin life at college.

His roommate was a rollicking, headstrong, thoughtless young fellow from Ohio. Harry Rattleton was his name, and it seemed to fit him perfectly. He had a way of speaking rapidly and heedlessly and turning his expressions end for end.

Frank had been able to assist Harry at examination. Harry and Frank were seated close to each other, and when it was all over and the two boys knew they had passed all right, Harry came to Frank, held out his hand, and said:

"I believe your name is Merriwell. Mine is Rattleton and I am from Ohio. Merriwell, you are a brick, and I am much obliged to you. Let's room together. What do you say?"

"I am agreeable," smiled Frank.

That was the way Frank found his roommate.

Harry was interested in sports and athletics, and he confided to Frank that he was bound to make a try for both the baseball and football teams. He had brought a set of boxing gloves, foils, and a number of sporting pictures. The foils were crossed above the mantel and the pictures were hung about the walls, but he insisted on putting on the gloves with Frank before hanging them up where they would be ornamental.

"I've taken twenty lessons, old man," he said, "and I want to point you a few shows--I mean show you a few points. We'll practice every day, and I'll bet in less than ten weeks I'll have you so you'll be able to hold your own with any fellow of your age and weight. Ever had the gloves on?"

"A few times," answered Frank, with a quiet smile.

"That's all the better. I won't have to show you how to start in. Here, here--that hand goes on the other glove--I mean that glove goes on the other hand. That's the way. Now we're off. Left forward foot--er, left foot forward. Hold your guard this way. Now hit me if you can."

Almost like a flash of lightning Frank's glove shot out, and he caused the glove to snap on Harry's nose.

"Whee jiz--I mean jee whiz!" gasped the astonished boy from Ohio. "You're quick! But it was an accident; you can't do it again."

He had scarcely uttered the words before Frank feinted and then shot in a sharp one under Harry's uplifted guard.

"Great Scott! You do know some tricks! I'll bet you think you can box! Well, I'll have to drive that head out of your notion--I mean that notion out of your head. Look out for me now! I'm coming!"

Then Harry Rattleton sailed into Frank and met with the greatest surprise of his life, for he found he could not touch Merriwell, and he was beaten and hammered and battered about the room till he finally felt himself slugged under the ear and sent flying over a chair, to land in a heap in one corner of the room. He sat up and held his gloved hand to his ear, which was ringing with a hundred clanging bells, while he stared astounded at his roommate.

"Wow!" he gurgled. "What have I been up against? Are you a prize fighter in disguise?"

That experience was enough to satisfy him that Frank Merriwell knew a great deal more than he did about boxing.

As Frank sat by his window listening to the singing, on the evening that this story opens, he was wondering where Harry could be, for his roommate had been away since shortly after supper.

Frank knew the merry singers were sophomores, the malicious and unrelenting foes of all freshmen. He would have given not a little had he been able to join them in their songs, but he knew that was not to be thought of for a moment.

As he continued to listen, a clear tenor voice struck into that most beautiful of college songs when heard from a distance:

"When the matin bell is ringing,
U-ra-li-o, U-ra-li-o,
From my rushy pallet springing,
U-ra-li-o, U-ra-li-o,
Fresh as the morning light forth I sally,
With my sickle bright thro' the valley,
To my dear one gayly singing,
U-ra-li-o, U-ra-li-o."

Then seven or eight strong musical young voices came in on the warbling chorus, and the boy at the window listened enchanted and enraptured, feeling the subtle charm of it all and blessing fortune that he was a youth and a student at Yale.

The charm of the new life he had entered upon was strong, and it was weaving its spell about him--the spell which makes old Yale so dear to all who are fortunate enough to claim her as their _alma mater_. He continued to listen, eagerly drinking in the rest of the song as it came through the clear evening air:

"When the day is closing o'er us,
U-ra-li-o, U-ra-li-o,
And the landscape fades before us,
U-ra-li-o, U-ra-li-o,
When our merry men quit their mowing,
And along the glen horns are blowing,
Sweetly then we'll raise the chorus,
U-ra-li-o, U-ra-li-o."

The warbling song died out in the distance, there was a rush of feet outside the door, and Harry, breathless and excited, came bursting into the room.

"I say, old man," he cried, "what do I think?"

"Really, I don't know," laughed Frank. "What do you think?"

"I--I mean wh-what do you think?" spluttered Harry.

"Why, I think a great many things. What's up, anyway?"

"You know Diamond?"

"The fellow they call Jack?"

"Yes."

"I should say so! It was his bull pup that chewed a piece out of the leg of my trousers. I kicked the dog downstairs, and Diamond came near having a fit over it. He's got a peppery temper, and he was ready to murder me. I reckon he thought I should have taken off my trousers and given them to the dog to chew."

"He's a Southerner--from Virginia. He's a dangerous chap, Frank--just as lief eat as fight--I mean fight as eat. He's been in town to-night, drinking beer with the boys, and he's in a mighty ugly mood. He says you insulted him."

"Is that so?"

"It's just so, and he's going to dallenge you to a chewel--I mean challenge you to a duel."

Frank whistled softly, elevating his brows a bit.

"What sort of a duel?" he asked.

"Why, a regular duel with deadly weapons. He's awfully in earnest, Frank, and he means to kill you if you don't apologize. All the fellows are backing him; they think you will not fight."

"Is that so? Looking for me to show the white feather, are they? Well, I like that!"

"But you can't fight him! I tell you he's a fire eater! I've heard that his father killed a man in a duel."

"And that makes the son dangerous! No, Harry, I can't afford to--What's all that racket?"

The sound of voices and of many feet ascending the stairs could be heard. Harry turned pale.

"They're coming, Frank!" he exclaimed. "It's the whole gang, and Diamond is with them. He means to force you to fight or squeal!" _

Read next: Chapter 2. Challenged And Hazed


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