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Frank Merriwell's Chums, a novel by Burt L. Standish |
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Chapter 16. Paul Rains |
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_ CHAPTER XVI. PAUL RAINS The short, dark days of winter had brought about changes in Fardale Academy. Drills had been discontinued, and, except for weekly inspections and occasional guard duty, there were no formations under arms. The hours for study were longer, as also were the lessons. Some of the plebes were negligent and regardless of the fact that the January examinations were close at hand, while others were "boning" steadily, doing their level best to stand well in their classes. For all of his mischievous disposition, Frank was studying enough to hold his own in his class, and he was looked on favorably by his instructors. He was magnetic, and had a winning way, so that he made many friends, always among the better class at the school. No one, either man or boy, is ever popular without having enemies, and this was true of Frank; but his enemies were those who were jealous of him, or those with whom he did not care to associate, for the best of reasons. Hodge was not a fellow to make friends, being haughty and proud, and Merriwell obtained many enemies because he roomed with Bart, and seemed to stand up for the fellow. The friendship of the two lads was rather remarkable, considering how they had once been enemies, and how Hodge had worked hard to injure Frank. Among the plebes there were a few who stood head and shoulders above their companions in athletics. Hodge went in for fencing, and Professor Rhynas declared he would make a master of the foil. Hugh Bascomb, with a pugilist's thick neck and round head, was spending all his spare time boxing, and it was said that he could strike a blow that would stagger an ox. His admirers declared it was a beautiful sight to see him hammer the punching-bag, and they assured him over and over that he was certain to make another Sullivan. Naturally, this gave Bascomb the "swelled head," and he got an idea into his brain that he was really cut out for a fighter, and that nobody in Fardale could stand up before him for four rounds. Day after day Barney Mulloy took a long pull at the rowing machine. Ned Gray spent his spare time on the horizontal bars or the trapeze, and Hans Dunnerwust tried his hand at everything, making sport for the spectators. Among the plebes there were two lads who seemed all-round athletes. They were Paul Rains and Frank Merriwell. Paul did not like Frank. In fact, he was envious of Merriwell's popularity, although he did his best to keep the fact concealed. Being a sly, secretive person, it was but natural that Rains should come to be considered as modest and unassuming. In truth, he was not modest at all, for, in his secret heart, there was nothing that any one else could do that he did not believe he could do. And so, while appearing to be very modest, he was really intensely egotistical. Rains had not been given much attention for a time after he entered the academy, but his athletic abilities, for he was really a capable fellow, although his capabilities were limited, were bringing him into notice. Jolly, open as the day, Frank did not know what it was to be crafty or secretive. He had a way of saying things he thought, and he did not understand people who kept their fancies and ambitious desires bottled up. Hodge had not been the first to give Frank a hint that he had a rival in Rains, but he was the first to tell him that Rains had declared he would not play on the ball team if Merriwell was captain. Frank remembered that, and he wondered what Rains could have against him. Frank was never able to understand one fellow despising another because the other was popular, for it was natural for him to wish everybody good luck and success, and he always rejoiced in the success of any fellow he knew, providing, of course, that the success was of the right sort. Lieutenant Gordan made a rigid investigation of the racket caused by the "centipedes," but he failed to fasten the blame firmly on any one. Not one of the boys who knew the facts would expose Merriwell, and both Barney and Hans, discovering their wounds were not fatal, grinned and declared they were not sure there had been anything in their beds, but they thought they had felt something. Professor Gunn was very indignant to think the culprits could not be discovered. "It is a disgrace to the school!" he told Lieutenant Gordan. "Just look at my face, sir! I am a picture!" The lieutenant did not crack a smile. "You have no one but yourself to blame for your condition, sir," he said. "Eh? eh? How's that? how's that?" sputtered Professor Gunn. "I don't think I understand you, sir." "Then I will make it clear. If you had remained in your room, as you should when the disturbance occurred, you would not have received those injuries." "But, sir--but I am the principal of this school. It is my place----" "It is your place to keep in your room, sir, when there is an outbreak like the one under discussion, and allow me to straighten matters out. If you had done so, I might be able to get at the bottom of this affair and discover the guilty jokers; as it is, you and your associates complicated matters so that I do not seem able to do much of anything." Having spoken thus plainly, Lieutenant Gordan turned on his heel, and left the professor in anything but a pleasant frame of mind. It was a day or two after the occurrence of the "great centipede joke," as the crawfish affair came to be termed, that Paul Rains and Hugh Bascomb were having a bout with the gloves in the gymnasium. Quite a number of spectators had gathered, and Frank Merriwell sauntered up and joined the group. Professor Rhynas was giving his attention to another department of the gymnasium, and he had left Bascomb to meet all comers and "give them points." Bascomb was not finding it a very easy thing to give Rains many points, although he believed he could knock the fellow down any time he wished to do so by simply letting drive one of his sledgehammer blows. But Bascomb had not thought of striking Rains with all his strength. He had discovered that Rains disliked Merriwell, and that was enough to establish a bond of friendship between the big plebe and the lad with whom he was boxing. Bascomb hated Frank, but he feared him at the same time. "Nobody seems able to get the best of that fellow," he had thought a hundred times. "It seems to be bad luck to go against him, and so I am going to keep away from him in the future. Poor Gage! Merriwell was bad medicine for him." Bascomb was a coward, but he could hate intensely in his two-faced, treacherous way. The moment Merriwell joined the group, Bascomb noted it. "He's watching Rains," mentally decided the big plebe. "He wants to see what the fellow is made of." Rains seemed aware that Merriwell was a spectator, for he braced up and gave Bascomb a merry go for a few minutes, forcing the big fellow back, and seeming to tap him with ease and skill whenever and wherever he chose. When this little flurry was over, Rains threw off his gloves, and declared he had had enough. "So have I," said Bascomb, with a grin. "You're the best man I've put the mittens on with yet. I believe there is a fellow not more than a hundred miles from here that thinks he is some one with gloves, but you can do him dead easy. More than that, I think he knows it, and I don't believe he has the nerve to stand up and face you for a whirl." "Oh, I don't want to box with any one," said Rains. "Keep still, Bascomb." "You may not want to box, but you can down Frank Merriwell just the same," declared the big plebe. _ |
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