Frank Merriwell\'s Nobility - Burt L. Standish (AKA Gilbert Patten)
TIP TOP WEEKLY
"An ideal publication for the American Youth"
FRANK MERRIWELL'S NOBILITY
OR
THE TRAGEDY OF THE OCEAN TRAMP
By BURT L. STANDISH.
NEW YORK, April 22, 1899.
CHAPTER I.
OFF FOR EUROPE.
"Off------"
"At last!"
"Hurrah!"
The tramp steamer "Eagle" swung out from the pier and was fairly started
en her journey from New York to Liverpool.
On the deck of the steamer stood a group of five persons, three of whom
had given utterance to the exclamations recorded above.
On the pier swarmed a group of Yale students, waving hands, hats,
handkerchiefs, bidding farewell to their five friends and acquaintances
on the steamer. Over the water came the familiar Yale cheer. From the
steamer it was answered.
In the midst of the group on deck was Frank Merriwell. Those around him
were Bruce Browning, Jack Diamond, Harry Rattleton and Tutor Wellington
Maybe.
It was Frank's scheme to spend the summer months abroad, while studying
in the attempt to catch up with his class and pass examinations on
re-entering college in the fall. And he had brought along his three
friends, Browning, Diamond and Rattleton. They were on their way to
England.
Frank was happy. Fortune had dealt him a heavy blow when he was
compelled by poverty to leave dear old Yale, but he had faced the world
bravely, and he had struggled like a man. Hard work, long hours and poor
pay had not daunted him.
At the very start he had shown that he possessed something more than
ordinary ability, and while working on the railroad he had forced his
way upward step by step till it seemed that he was in a fair way to
reach the top of the ladder.
Then came disaster again. He had lost his position on the railroad, and
once more he was forced to face the world and begin over.
Some lads would have been discouraged. Frank Merriwell was not. He set
his teeth firmly and struck out once more. He kept his mouth shut and
his eyes open. The first honorable thing that came to his hand to do he
did. Thus it happened that he found himself on the stage.
Frank's success as an actor had been phenomenal. Of course, to begin
with, he had natural ability, but that was not the only thing that won
success for him. He had courage, push, determination,
stick-to-it-iveness. When he started to do a thing he kept
at it till he did it.
Frank united observation and study. He learned everything he could about
the stage and about acting by talking with the members of the company
and by watching to see how things were done.
He had a good head and plenty of sense. He knew better than to copy
after the ordinary actors in the road company to which he belonged. He
had seen good acting enough to be able to distinguish between the good
and bad. Thus it came about that the bad models about him did not exert
a pernicious influence upon him.
Frank believed there were books that would aid him. He found them. He
found one on "Acting and Actors," and from it he learned that no actor
ever becomes really and truly great that does not have a clear and
distinct enunciation and a correct pronunciation. That is the beginning.
Then comes the study of the meaning of the words to be spoken and the
effect produced by the manner in which they are spoken.
He studied all this, and he went further. He read up on "Traditions of
the Stage," and he came to know all about its limitations and its
opportunities.
From this it was a natural step to the study of the construction of
plays. He found books of criticism on plays and playwriting, and he
mastered them. He found books that told how to construct plays, and he
mastered them.
Frank Merriwell was a person with a vivid imagination and great
mechanical and constructive ability. Had this not been so, he might have
studied forever and still never been able to write a successful play. In
him there was something study could not give, but study and effort
brought it out. He wrote a play.
"John Smith of Montana" was a success. Frank played the leading part,
and he made a hit.
Then fate rose up and again dealt him a body blow. A scene in the play
was almost exactly like a scene in another play, written previously. The
author and owner of the other play called on the law to "protect" him.
An injunction was served on Merry to restrain him from playing "John
Smith." He stood face to face with a lawsuit.
Frank investigated, and his investigation convinced him that it was
almost certain he would be defeated if the case was carried into the
courts.
He withdrew "John Smith."
Frank had confidence in himself. He had written a play that was
successful, and he believed he could write another. Already he had one
skeletonized. The frame work was constructed, the plot was elaborated,
the characters were ready for his use.
He wrote a play of something with which he was thoroughly
familiar---college life. The author or play-maker of ability who writes
of that with which he is familiar stands a good chance of making a
success. Young and inexperienced writers love to write of those things
with which they are unfamiliar, and they wonder why it is that they
fail.
They go too far away from home for their subject.
At first Frank's play was not a success. The moment he discovered this
he set himself down to find out why it was not a success. He did not
look at it as the author, but as a critical manager to whom it had been
offered might have done.
He found the weak spots. One was its name. People in general did not
understand the title, "For Old Eli." There was nothing "catchy" or
drawing about it.
He gave it another name. He called it, "True Blue: A Drama of College
Life."
The name proved effective.
He rewrote much of the play. He strengthened the climax of the third
act, and introduced a mechanical effect that was very ingenious. And
when the piece next went on the road it met with wonderful success
everywhere.
Thus Frank snatched success from defeat.
It is a strange thing that when a person fights against fate and
conquers, when fortune begins to smile, when the tide fairly turns his
way, then everything seems to come to him. The things which seemed so
far away and so impossible of attainment suddenly appear within easy
reach or come tumbling into his lap of their own accord.
It was much this way with Frank. He had dreamed of going back to college
some time, but that time had seemed far, far away. Success brought it
nearer.
But then it came tumbling into his lap. No one had been found to claim
the fortune he discovered in the Utah Desert. Investigation had shown
that there were no living relatives of the man who had guarded the
treasure till his death. That treasure had been turned over to Frank.
Frank had brought his play to New Haven, and his old college friends had
given him a rousing welcome. And now he had made plans to return to
college in the fall, while his play was to be carried on the road by a
well-known and experienced theatrical manager.
The friends who had been with Frank when he discovered the treasure,
with the exception of Toots, the colored boy, had refused to accept
shares of the fortune. Then Merry had insisted on taking them abroad
with him, and here they were on the steamer "Eagle," bound for
Liverpool.
Toots, dressed like a "swell," was on the pier. He shouted with the
others, waving his silk hat.
The crowd was cheering now:
"Beka Co ax Co ax Co ax!
Breka Co ax Co ax Co ax!
O-----up! O-----up!
Parabolou!
Yale! Yale! Yale!
'Rah! 'rah! 'rah!
Yale!"
CHAPTER II.
SURPRISING THE FRENCHMAN.
"Bah! Ze American boy, he make me--what you call eet?--vera tired!"
Frank turned quickly and saw the speaker standing near the rail not far
away. He was a man between thirty-five and forty years of age, dressed
in a traveling suit, and having a pointed black beard. He was smoking.
An instant feeling of aversion swept over Merry. He saw the person was a
supercilious Frenchman, critical, sneering, insolent, a man intolerant
with everything not of France and the French.
This man was speaking to another person, who seemed to be a servant or
valet, and who was very polite and fawning in all his retorts.
"Ah! look at ze collectshung on ze pier," continued the sneering
speaker. "Someone say zey belong to ze great American college. Zey act
like zey belong to ze--ze--what you call eet?--ze menageray. Zey yell,
shout, jump--act like ze lunatic."
"It is possible, monsieur," said Frank, with a grim smile, "that they
are copying their manners after Frenchmen at a Dreyfus demonstration."
The foreigner turned haughtily and stared at Frank. Then he shrugged his
shoulders, turned away and observed to his companion:
"Jes' like all ze Americans--ah!--what eez ze word?--fresh."
The other man bowed and rubbed his hands together.
"Haw!" grunted Browning, lazily. "How do you like that, Frank?"
"Oh, I don't mind it," murmured Merry. "I consider the source from which
it came, and regard it as of no consequence."
Diamond was glaring at the Frenchman, for it made his hot Southern blood
boil to hear a foreigner criticize anything American. Like all youthful
Americans, his great admiration and love for his own country made him
intolerant of criticism.
Frank had a cooler head, and he was not so easily ruffled.
Rattleton was unable to express his feelings.
Tutor Maybe looked somewhat perturbed, for he was an exceedingly mild
and peaceable man, and the slightest suggestion of trouble was enough to
agitate him.
But the Frenchman did not deign to look toward Frank again, and it
seemed that all danger of trouble was past.
The "Eagle" sailed slowly down the harbor, signaling now and then to
other boats.
Frank, Jack, Bruce and Harry formed a fine quartette, and they sang:
"Soon we'll be in London town;
Sing, my lads, yo! heave, my lads, ho!
And see the queen, with her golden crown;
Heave, my lads, yo-ho!"
The Frenchman made an impatient gesture, and showed annoyance, which
caused Frank to laugh.
Behind them Brooklyn Bridge spanned the river, looking slender and
graceful, like a thing hung in the air by delicate threads.
Close at hand were Governor's Island and the Statue of Liberty. The
Frenchman was pointing it out.
"Ze greatest work of art in all America,"' he declared,
enthusiastically; "an' France give zat to America. Ze Americans nevare
think to put eet zere themselves. France do more for America zan any
ozare nation, but ze Americans forget. Zey forget Lafayette. Zey forget
France make it possibul for zem to conquaire Engalande an' get ze
freedom zey ware aftaire. An' now zey--zey--what you call eet?--toady to
Engalande. Zey pretende to love ze Engaleesh. Bah! Uncale Sam an' John
Bull both need to have some of ze conaceit taken out away from zem."
"It would take more than France, Spain, Italy and all the rest of the
dago nations to do the job!" spluttered Harry Rattleton, who could not
keep still longer.
"Maurel," said the Frenchman, speaking to his companion, "t'row ze
insolent dog ovareboard!"
"Oui, monsieur!"
Quick as thought the man sprang toward Harry, as if determined to
execute the command of his master.
He did not put his hands on Rattleton, for Frank was equally swift in
his movements, and blocked the fellows' way, coolly saying:
"I wouldn't try it if I were you."
"Out of ze way!" snarled the man, who was an athlete in build. "If you
don't, I put you ovare, too!"
"I don't think you will."
"Put him ovare, Maurel," ordered the Frenchman, with deadly coolness.
The athletic servant clutched Frank, but, with a twist and a turn, Merry
broke the hold instantly, kicked the fellow's feet from beneath him, and
dropped him heavily to the deck.
Bruce Browning stooped and picked the man up as if he were an infant.
Every year seemed to add something to the big collegian's wonderful
strength, and now the astounded Frenchman found himself unable to
wiggle.
Browning held the man over the rail turning to Frank to ask:
"Shall I give him a bath, Merriwell?"
"I think you hadn't better," laughed Frank. "Perhaps he can't swim,
and--"
"He can swim or sink," drawled Bruce. "It won't make any difference if
he sinks. Only another insolent Frenchman out of the way."
The master was astounded. Up to that moment he had regarded the young
Americans as scarcely more than boys and he had fancied his athletic
servant could easily frighten them. Instead of that, something quite
unexpected by him had happened.
The astounded servant showed signs of terror, but in vain he struggled.
He was helpless in the clutch of the giant collegian.
The master seemed about to interfere, but Frank Merriwell confronted him
in a manner that spoke as plainly as words.
"Out of ze way!" snarled the man.
"Speaking to me?" inquired Merry, lifting his eyebrows.
"Oui! oui!"
"I am sorry, but I can't accommodate you till my friend gets through
with your servant, who was extremely fresh, like most Frenchmen."
"Zis to me!"
"Yes."
"Sare, I am M. Rouen Montfort, an' I--"
"It makes no difference to me if you are the high mogul of France. You
are on the deck of an English vessel, and you are dealing with
Americans."
The Frenchman flung his cigar aside and seemed to feel for a weapon.
Frank stood there quietly, his eyes watching every movement.
"If you have what you are seeking about your person," he said, with
perfect calmness, "I advise you not to draw it. If you do, as sure as
you are sailing down New York harbor, I'll fling you over the rail,
weapon and all!"
That was business, and it was not boasting. Frank actually meant to
throw the man into the water if he drew a weapon.
M. Rouen Montfort paused and stared at Frank Merriwell, beginning to
understand that he was not dealing with an ordinary youth.
"Fool!" he panted. "You geeve me ze eensult I will haf your life!"
"You have already insulted me, my friends and everything American. It's
your turn to take a little of the medicine."
"Eef we were een France--"
"Which we are not. We are still in America, the land of the free. But I
don't care to have a quarrel with you. Bruce put the fellow down. If he
minds his business in the future, don't throw him overboard."
"All right," grunted the big fellow; "but I was just going to drop him
in the wet."
He put the man down, and the fellow seemed undecided what to do.
Harry Rattleton laughed.
"Now wake a talk--no, I mean take a walk," he cried. "It will be a good
thing for your health."
"Come, Maurel," said the master, with an attempt at dignity; "come away
from ze fellows!"
Maurel was glad enough to do so. He had thought to frighten the youths
without the least trouble, but had been handled with such ease that even
after it was all over he wondered how it could have happened.
M. Montfort walked away with great dignity, and Maurel followed, talking
savagely and swiftly in French.
"Well, it wasn't very hard to settle them," grinned Browning.
"But we have not settled them," declared Frank. "There will be further
trouble with M. Rouen Montfort and his man Maurel."
CHAPTER III.
A FRESH YOUNG MAN.
Frank and his three friends bad a stateroom together. The tutor was
given a room with other parties.
The weather for the first two days was fine, and the young collegians
enjoyed every minute, not one of them having a touch of sea-sickness
till the third day.
Then Rattleton was seized, and he lay in his bunk, groaning and dismal,
even though he tried to be cheerful at times.
Browning enjoyed everything, even Rattleton's misery, for he could be
lazy to his heart's content.
They had enlivened the times by singing songs, those of a nautical
flavor, such as "Larboard Watch" and "A Life on the Ocean Wave," having
the preference.
Now it happened that the Frenchman occupied a room adjoining, and he was
very much annoyed by their singing. He pounded on the partition, and
expressed his feelings in very lurid language, but that amused them, and
they sang the louder.
"M. Montfort seems to get very agitated," said Frank, laughing.
"But I hardly think there is any danger that he will do more than hammer
on the partition," grunted Bruce. "He's kept away from us since he found
he could not frighten anybody."
"He's a bluffer," was Diamond's opinion.
"He's a great fellow to play cards," said Merry. "But he seems to ply
for something more than amusement."
"How's that?" asked Jack, interested.
"I've noticed that he never cares for whist or any game where there are
no stakes. He gets into a game only when there's something to be won."
"Well, it seems to me that he's struck a poor crowd on this boat if he's
looking for suckers. He should have shipped on an ocean liner. What does
he play?"
"He seems to have taken a great fancy to draw poker. 'Pocaire' is what
he calls it. He pretended at first that he didn't know much of anything
about the game, but, if I am not mistaken, he's an old stager at it. I
watched the party playing in the smoking-room last night."
"Who played?" asked Bruce.
"The Frenchman, a rather sporty young fellow named Bloodgood, a small,
bespectacled man, well fitted with the name of Slush, and an Englishman
by the name of Hazleton."
"That's the crowd that played in the Frenchman's stateroom to-day,"
groaned Rattleton from his berth.
"Played in the stateroom?" exclaimed Frank. "I wonder why they didn't
play in the smoking-room?"
"Don't know," said Harry; "but I fancy there was a rather big game on,
and you know the Frenchman has the biggest stateroom on the boat, so
there was plenty of room for them. They could play there without
interruption."
"There seems to be something mysterious about that Frenchman," said
Frank.
"I think there's something mysterious about several passengers on this
boat," grunted Browning. "I haven't seen much of this young fellow
Bloodgood, but he strikes me as a mystery."
"Why?"
"Well he seems to have money to burn, and I don't understand why such a
fellow did not take passage on a regular liner."
"As far as that goes," smiled Merry, "I presume some people might think
it rather singular that we did not cross the pond in a regular liner;
but then they might suppose it was a case of economy with us."
While they were talking there came a rap on their door which Frank threw
open.
Just outside stood a young man with a flushed face and distressed
appearance. He was dressed in a plaid suit, and wore a red four-in-hand
necktie, in which blazed a huge diamond. There were two large solitaire
rings on his left hand, and he wore a heavy gold chain strung across his
vest.
"Beg your pardon, dear boys," he drawled. "Hope I'm not intruding."
Then he walked in and closed the door.
"My name's Bloodgood," he said--"Raymond Bloodgood. I've seen you
fellows together, and you seem like a jolly lot. Heard you singing, you
know. Great voices--good singing."
Then he stopped speaking, and they stared at him, wondering what he was
driving at. For a moment there was an awkward pause, and then Bloodgood
went on:
"I was up pretty late last night, you know. Had a little game in the
smoking-room. Plenty of booze, and all that, and I'm awfully rocky
to-day. Got a splitting headache. Didn't know but some of you had a
bromo seltzer, or something of the sort. You look like a crowd that
finds such things handy occasionally."
At this Frank laughed quietly, but Diamond looked angry and indignant.
"What do you take us for?" exclaimed the Virginian, warmly. "Do you
think we are a lot of boozers?"
Bloodgood turned on Jack, lifting his eyebrows.
"My dear fellow--" he began.
But Frank put in:
"We have no use for bromo seltzer, as none of us are drinkers."
"Oh, of course not," said the intruder, with something like a sneer.
"None of us are drinkers, but then we're all liable to get a little too
much sometimes, especially when we sit up late and play poker."
Frank saw that Diamond had taken an instant dislike to the youth with
the diamonds and the red necktie, and he felt like averting a storm,
even though he did not fancy the manner of the intruder.
"We do not sit up late and play poker," he said.
"Eh? Oh, come off! You're a jolly lot of fellows, and you must have a
fling sometimes."
"We can be jolly without drinking or gambling."
"Why, I'm hanged if you don't talk as if you considered it a crime to
take a drink or have a little social game!"
Frank felt his blood warm up a bit, but he held himself in hand, as he
quietly retorted:
"Intemperance is a crime. I presume there are men who take a drink, as
you call it, without being intemperate; but I prefer to let the stuff
alone entirely, and then there is no danger of going over the limit."
"And I took you for a sport! That shows how a fellow can be fooled. But
you do play poker occasionally. I know that."
"How do you know it, Mr. Bloodgood?"
"By your language. You just spoke of going over the limit. That is a
poker term."
"And one used by many people who never played a game of cards in their
lives."
"But you have played cards? You have played poker? Can you deny it?"
"If I could, I wouldn't take the trouble, Mr. Bloodgood. I think you
have made a mistake in sizing up this crowd."
"Guess I have," sneered the fellow. "You must be members of the
Y.M.C.A."
"Say, Frank!" panted Jack; "open the door and let me----"
But Frank checked the hot-headed youth again.
"Steady, Jack! It is not necessary. He will go directly. Mr. Bloodgood,
you speak as if it were a disgrace to belong to the Y.M.C.A. That shows
your ignorance and narrowness. The Y.M.C.A. is a splendid organization,
and it has proved the anchor that has kept many a young man from dashing
onto the rocks of destruction. Those who sneer at it should be ashamed
of themselves, but, as a rule, they are too bigoted, prejudiced, or
narrow-minded to recognize the fact that some of the most manly young
men to be found belong to the Y.M.C.A."
Bloodgood laughed.
"And I took you for a sport!" he cried. "By Jove! Never made such a
blunder before in all my life! Studying for the ministry, I'll wager!
Ha! ha! ha!"
Frank saw that Diamond could not be held in check much longer.
"One last word to you, Mr. Bloodgood," he spoke. "I am not studying for
the ministry, and I do not even belong to the Y.M.C.A. If I were doing
the one or belonged to the other, I should not be ashamed of it. I don't
like you. I can stand a little freshness; in fact, it rather pleases me;
but you are altogether too fresh. You are offensive."
Merry flung open the door.
"Good-day, sir."
Bloodgood stepped out, turned round, laughed, and then walked away.
"Hang it, Merriwell!" grated Diamond, as Frank closed the door; "why
didn't you let me kick him out onto his neck!"
CHAPTER IV.
WHO IS BLOODGOOD?
Diamond was thoroughly angry. So was Rattleton. In his excitement, Harry
said something that caused Frank to turn quickly, and observe:
"Don't use that kind of language, old man, no matter what the
provocation. Vulgarity is even lower than profanity."
Harry's face flushed, and he looked intensely ashamed of himself.
"I peg your bardon--I mean I beg your pardon!" he spluttered. "It
slipped out. You know I don't say anything like that often."
"I know it," nodded Frank, "and that's why it sounded all the worse. I
don't know that I ever heard you use such a word before."
Harry did not resent Frank's reproof, for he knew Frank was right, and
he was ashamed.
Every young man who stoops to vulgarity should be ashamed. Profanity is
coarse and degrading; vulgarity is positively low and filthy. The youth
who is careful to keep his clothes and his body clean should be careful
to keep his mouth clean. Let nothing go into it or come out of it that
is in any way lowering.
Did you ever hear a loafer on a corner using profane and obscene
language? I'll warrant most of you have, and I'll warrant that you were
thoroughly disgusted. You looked on the fellow as low, coarse, cheap,
unfit to associate with respectable persons. The next time you use a
word that you should be ashamed to have your mother or sister hear just
think that you are following the example of that loafer. You are
lowering yourself in the eyes of somebody, even though you may not think
so at the time. Perhaps one of your companions may be a person who uses
such language freely, and yet he has never before heard it from you. He
laughs, he calls you a jolly good fellow to your face; but he thinks to
himself that you are no better than anybody else, and behind your back
he tells somebody what he thinks. He is glad of the opportunity to show
that you are no better than he is. Never tell a vulgar story. Better
never listen to one, unless your position is such that you cannot escape
without making yourself appear a positive cad. If you have to listen to
such a story, forget it as soon as possible. Above all things, do not
try to remember it.
Some young men boast of the stories they know. And all their stories are
of the "shady" sort. It is better to know no stories than to know that
kind. It is better not to be called a good fellow than to win a
reputation by always having a new story of the low sort ready on your
tongue.