Frank Merriwell’s Athletes - Burt L. Standish - ebook

Frank Merriwell’s Athletes ebook

burt l standish

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Opis

The main character shows that in athletics, strength and skill win, regardless of money or family; it so happened that the poorest person at the university became a demonstration of becoming an idol for all young people. This story proves that in spite of its origin or on the income of its family. You can still achieve everything in this life. The main thing to believe in it.

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Liczba stron: 317

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Contents

CHAPTER I. FRANK AND HIS FRIENDS

CHAPTER II. BARNEY’S STORY

CHAPTER III. IN A QUANDARY

CHAPTER IV. INZA’S LETTER

CHAPTER V. TO THE RESCUE

CHAPTER VI. FRANK BUYS A YACHT

CHAPTER VII. THE STORM

CHAPTER VIII. A CHANGE OF SCENE

CHAPTER IX. A DISCUSSION ABOUT GIRLS

CHAPTER X. THE YALE COMBINE

CHAPTER XI. THE STRUGGLE FOR LIFE

CHAPTER XII. FRANK IS TROUBLED

CHAPTER XIII. A GAME FOR TWO

CHAPTER XIV. A GOOD START

CHAPTER XV. A HOT DASH

CHAPTER XVI. THE ARRIVAL AT EMBUDO

CHAPTER XVII. OFF FOR PUEBLO

CHAPTER XVIII. CARVER’S OPINION

CHAPTER XIX. ON DANGEROUS GROUND

CHAPTER XX. THE SUN DANCE

CHAPTER XXI. THE RELIGIOUS RACE

CHAPTER XXII. THE BALL GAME

CHAPTER XXIII. THE WRESTLING MATCH

CHAPTER XXIV. THE FOOT RACE

CHAPTER XXV. JOHN SWIFTWING’S FAREWELL

CHAPTER XXVI. MORNING AT RODNEY’S RANCH

CHAPTER XXVII. COWBOY PECULIARITIES

CHAPTER XXVIII. INDIAN CHARLIE IS SURPRISED

CHAPTER XXIX. HANS AND THE BRONCHO

CHAPTER XXX. INDIAN CHARLIE’S GAME

CHAPTER XXXI. FRANK MERRIWELL’S RIDE

CHAPTER XXXII. INSOLENCE OF BILLY CORNMEAL

CHAPTER XXXIII. SHOOTING

CHAPTER XXXIV. FRANK SHOWS HIS SKILL

CHAPTER XXXV. WHO FIRED THE SHOT

CHAPTER XXXVI. A CAST FOR LIF. CONCLUSION

CHAPTER I. FRANK AND HIS FRIENDS

“Say, boys, just listen to that racket!”

It was Jack Diamond who spoke, and he addressed Frank Merriwell and several others of his friends.

“It is certainly awful,” came from Harry Rattleton, one of the boys.

“I can’t stand much of this,” put in Bruce Browning. “It is enough to drive one crazy.”

The boys had just entered the outer portals of a Chinese theatre, located in Chinatown, the Celestial portion of San Francisco. There was a great crowd, and it was only with difficulty that they made their way along the narrow and gloomy passages leading to the theatre proper.

Frank Merriwell and his chums from Yale College had filled in their summer vacation by a trip on bicycles from New York to San Francisco. They had had numerous adventures, but had come out “right side up with care,” as Frank put it.

The party was composed of Frank Merriwell, Harry Rattleton, a former roommate at Yale; Jack Diamond, from Virginia; Bruce Browning, fat, lazy and good-natured; and Toots, a colored boy from the Merriwell homestead.

On reaching California, Frank had fallen in with Bart Hodge, a schoolmate of years gone by, when Frank had attended Fardale Military Academy. Bart had been in serious trouble, and it was Frank who helped him out of it. For some time Hodge had found it best to “keep shady,” and his troubles were not yet a thing of the past.

As the boys walked farther into the entrance of the Chinese theatre, a clanging medley of the most horrible sounds came up from the passage that lay at the foot of a steep flight of stairs.

Frank Merriwell laughed.

“That is music, old fellow!” he said.

Then came another burst of sounds, more horrible than the first, if possible. There was a banging of brass, a clanging of gongs, a roaring of drums, and a wild shrieking and wailing as of ten thousand fiddles cut of tune.

Jack jabbed his fingers into his ears and actually turned pale.

“Music!” he gasped–“that music? That is enough to drive any man crazy! It is the most frightful thing I ever heard. Music! You are joking, Merriwell!”

“Not a bit of it,” declared Frank. “Aren’t we on our way to witness a play in a Chinese theatre?”

“Well, I supposed so, but it strikes me now that this is one of your jokes. You have put up a job on me. You are trying to horse me.”

“Nothing of the sort, my dear boy.”

Jack still continued suspicious.

“Who ever heard of such a way of getting into a theatre?” he exclaimed. “We entered a narrow door in an old building, came through a long, dark passage, climbed stairs, descended stairs, turned, twisted, climbed more stairs, turned again, and now here we are with another flight of stairs before us. A fine way of getting into a theatre!”

“That is the way the Chinese do the trick. Eh, John?”

The Chinaman who had been acting as their guide, and who stood on the first stair, waiting for them to follow him downward, nodded his head, saying:

“Allee samee legler way.”

“It may be the regular way,” admitted Jack; “but I doubt if I could find my way out of here alone. This would be a fine place to run an enemy into if one wished to murder him secretly. There would be little danger that the police would ever find out anything about it.”

Frank made a signal to the guide, and then the trio slowly descended the stairs, which were dimly lighted by paper-shaded lamps.

At the foot of the stairs the boys passed a door that stood open, enabling them to look into a room that was filled with bunks, upon many of which lay Chinamen who were sleeping or smoking opium. The powerful odor of “dope” that came from that room was sickening.

Then they came to an ordinary step-ladder that led downward again.

Jack halted in dismay.

“Why,” he said, “we must be underground now! Where are we going?”

“To the theatre, dear boy. Hear the music.”

“Why will you persist in calling it that? It seems that those sounds come from the infernal regions, and this passage must lead down to the old fellow’s reception-room.”

“Glit to theatal plitty soon,” assured the guide.

Down the ladder they went, and then, at an open door, paid an admission fee, after which they entered a room that was packed with human beings and was not at all well ventilated.

The room had a low ceiling, from which Chinese lanterns were suspended, shedding a soft light over the scene, which was so strange that it actually seemed weird to the American visitors.

At either side of the theatre was a space railed off and raised somewhat above the level of the general floor. This was reserved for women, and was well filled. In the pit sat a closely packed throng of men, all with hats upon their heads.

There were a great number of Caucasian visitors, drawn to the place by curiosity.

The stage was on a level with the raised portion reserved for women, and it was filled with actors, many of whom were richly dressed in oriental robes.

Instead of sitting in front of the stage, like an American orchestra, the musicians were on the stage.

As for scenery, there was none to speak of, save a few movable screens. It was not thought necessary to attempt to please the eye further than in the matter of costumes.

As no female actors are ever permitted on the stage of a Chinese theatre, the female rôles were played by youths, who were carefully made up for their parts.

The Chinese guide found seats for Frank and Jack, but retired himself to the back of the room, where he stood and waited till they should see enough of the show and wish to go.

The audience never applauded, although there was a quick rippling response to what seemed to be an occasional witty passage or clever situation.

But the musicians–the musicians wearied and tortured Jack Diamond’s soul. They were there to accentuate the emotional parts of the play, and they seemed bent upon doing their duty and doing it fully. At times they poured forth a maddening volume of sounds, and then they seemed to get weary and rest, with the exception of two or three stringed instruments, which sawed, and squeaked, and squawled, and growled, and muttered till the Virginian’s blood was cold and his hair standing like porcupine quills.

“Frightful! frightful!” he gasped.

Frank chuckled with satisfaction. It was a new experience for Diamond, and Merriwell was enjoying it as one always enjoys introducing his friends to something new and novel.

“My dear fellow,” whispered Frank, “I fear your ear is not educated to appreciate the beauties of Chinese music.”

“Music! music! Why, a boiler factory in full blast makes better music than this!”

“You are prejudiced. It is a fact that their music is based on ah established scale and a scientific theory.”

“Oh, come! that’s too much! Why, see, those players have no leader, and every man is going it alone for himself. It is exactly the same as if every person in one of our orchestras should play a different tune than anybody else and all play at the same time–only I don’t believe these heathens are playing tunes at all. They are just hammering, and tooting, and sawing away, and letting it go at that.”

“It does seem so,” confessed Frank, “although at certain points they all come together with a grand burst, like sprinters making a dash.”

Jack’s hand dropped on Frank’s wrist.

“Look!” he excitedly whispered, pointing to a Chinaman who had risen amid the spectators at a short distance. “What is that fellow going to do? I saw him conceal a knife in his sleeve.”

“And he acts as if he meant to use it on some one,” said Frank, made suspicious by the fellow’s manner. “That’s exactly what he is up to!”

But the Chinaman did not succeed in his purpose, for a stout youth suddenly arose from a seat and gave the heathen a terrific crack on the jaw, knocking him down in a twinkling.

“Take thot, ye thafe av th’ worruld!” cried the one who had delivered the blow. “It’s Barney Mulloy thot wur watchin’ yez all th’ toime, ye haythen spalpane!”

“Barney Mulloy!”

Frank uttered the name in a joyous cry of recognition; but his voice was drowned by the sudden uproar in the theatre. Men sprang to their feet, and women screamed.

Frank caught Jack by the arm, shouting in his ear: “Come, we must stand by that fellow! He is an old friend of mine!”

“I am with you,” assured Diamond, who had good fighting blood, which was easily aroused.

They forced their way through the throng which surrounded the boy who had struck the Chinaman.

“Barney!” cried Frank.

“Mother av Mowses!” shouted the Irish lad in amazement. “Is it mesilf thot’s gone crazy, or am Oi dramin’?”

“Not a dream,” assured Merry, as he grasped Barney’s hand.

“Is it yesilf, Frankie?”

“It is!”

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