CHAPTER XXVI.

FRANK TURNS THE TABLES.

Frank Merriwell’s “athletic spread” at the New Haven House was a great success. Probably never before had there been given such a supper in the “College City,” for meat or fish in any form was not served. The hearty food consisted of eggs and nuts prepared in the most tempting manner, so that it was sometimes impossible to tell what a dish consisted of before tasting it.

Fruits of all sorts abounded, there being great heaps of bananas, grapes, oranges, and things tempting to the eye as well as the palate. There were no pies, cakes, nor pastry of any sort on the table. Fresh strawberries in abundance were supplied. Whole wheat bread, corn bread, and rye bread might be had to any amount. The liquid refreshments consisted of pure water, milk, or “coffee” made from browned barley. In fact, it was a “vegetarian” banquet, but never had any one present relished a feast more than they did that one.

“So help me,” said Jack Ready blandly, “I never supposed vegetarian cranks had so many good, hearty things to live on. I always imagined them as blue-nosed, pinched, and nearly starved to death. A man couldn’t starve on this variety of stuff if he tried. Anyhow, if he could, I’d be willing to starve on it a while.”

“Mum-mum-me, too, b’gosh,” agreed Joe Gamp. “I ain’t never had such a sus-sus-slappin’ good time eatin’ sence I came down here to cuc-cuc-college.”

“Out on a ranch,” said Berlin Carson, “we can’t get all these things to eat, and we have to live on beef.”

“I believe,” put in Greg Carker solemnly, “that along with the coming social revolution will come a revolution in eating.”

“Oh, don’t you hear the earthquakes?” shouted a dozen fellows, in chorus, and Carker’s jaws came together with a snap.

“That’s too bad!” said Jim Hooker sympathetically. “A fellow ought to have a right to air his views occasionally.”

“But not to air his earthquake at a social function like this,” said Ready. “I have no use for earthquakes at a dinner. Give me grub, instead!”

“Good Lord!” muttered Browning to his nearest neighbor on the right, who happened to be Hock Mason. “If I eat any more, I shall explode, and still this stuff don’t seem to give me that stuffed feeling I get when I fill up on roast beef, or meat of any kind.”

“That’s right, sah,” nodded the youth from South Carolina. “This supper has been a revelation to me, for I never knew before how many good things there were outside meat diet.”

“If a fellow could lose flesh on such feed, it might be a good thing for me,” put in Ralph Bingham.

“Where are the smokes to follow it?” inquired Bert Dashleigh, looking round. “A banquet is never complete without cigars and cigarettes to follow, while the speeches are being made.”

“Gentlemen,” said Frank, “I think we will dispense with tobacco to-night, just as we have dispensed with its twin poison, alcohol. If we do so, I think none of us will feel the worse, and to-morrow we’ll all feel better.”

“But I need a smoke to help me digest my food,” murmured Dashleigh.

“That is where you make a great error,” declared Frank smilingly. “Smoking does not help you digest your food. The soothing influence of the narcotic on your nerves gives you the impression that it has helped you, but it is a false impression, and it has done harm instead of good. You all know I am not a crank, for I do not go round prating about my beliefs to everybody I meet and annoying them. I know better, for I realize that such a course will work more harm than good. Still, when the right opportunity comes, I am never afraid to speak out and defend my convictions.”

“Do you believe a strict vegetarian diet is more beneficial than a meat diet?” asked Mat Mullen.

“I believe we are prone to eat too much meat in these days,” Frank unhesitatingly replied. “Vegetarians put up a strong argument, and they often show that abstainers from meat have greater endurance than meat-eaters. Still, I am not prepared to say that man should abstain entirely from meat-eating. He has eaten meat since the days when primeval man hunted the reindeer with his stone spear and flint-headed arrows. Such being the case, even though nature may not have intended that he should eat meat, man has become so accustomed to a meat diet that an abrupt change to vegetarianism might not prove entirely beneficial.”

“Those are words of wisdom,” said the youth with a hideously scarred face, who, with Roland Packard at his side, sat at a distance from Frank.

This was the first time the stranger had seemed to address Merry directly. Bart Hodge looked at Frank, and he saw a singular smile play about the corners of Merry’s mouth.

“Friends,” said Merry, rising, “my original plan was to follow this feast with music and song, but certain things caused me to change my plans. We have with us to-night a wonderful athlete, who has come here for the sole purpose of pitting himself against me and bringing about my downfall.”

Roland Packard gave a gasp of astonishment, while the scar-faced stranger straightened up rigidly, his eyes fastened on the cool, handsome youth who was speaking.

“The plan was,” Merry went on, “to take me by surprise, to challenge me across this table, to force me into tests of strength and skill, and to show before this assembled party of my select friends that I am in many ways an impostor—that I am not the athlete I pretend to be. Now, gentlemen, I have never made any false pretensions. I do not go about displaying my ability for the sake of winning applause. I never lift heavy weights in the presence of great crowds. In fact, as far as possible, I shun all dime-museum tricks. But I have been examined to-day by an expert, who has pronounced me in perfect form, and, therefore, I shall meet this wonderful athlete in the presence of you all, if he wishes to force the test. I have made full preparations for such a meeting, and I, like the athlete to whom I refer, have not eaten heartily at this meal. Gentlemen, I think you will not need to leave your seats to witness this little affair.”

Merry touched a bell, and at the signal a pair of folding doors at one side of the room rolled back, showing another room, which had been cleared of furniture. On the floor of that room a huge mat was spread. Against the farther wall hung a pair of foils, masks, and a set of boxing-gloves.

There was a buzz of excitement around the table. Truly, this was a sensation.

“Who the dickens is the great athlete?” gasped Dick Starbright, staring round.

“Is it a joke?” questioned Bert Dashleigh.

“Bet he has a lot of chorus-girls trip into that room and dance for us!” grunted Browning.

“Behold!” said Jack Ready. “No man knoweth the things Frank Merriwell may do! And I’ll guarantee he’ll do any old athlete that bucks up against him. He’s the real stuff. Trot out your blooming athlete!”

Frank now stepped from the table.

“In a room just off the one adjoining,” he said, “are suits for wrestling, fencing, or boxing. It will not take us long to dress to carry out the remainder of this program. Mr. Hawkins, are you ready, sir?”

His eyes were fastened on the scar-faced youth.

Roland Packard, who was strangely pale, whispered in Hawkins’ ear:

“Remember that you are to injure him some way, so that he will be unable to pitch any more. He has taken you by surprise, so that you cannot run him through the shoulder with your own trick rapier, but you ought to be able to twist that arm or shoulder somehow in wrestling. Don’t underrate him.”

“You, Roland Packard,” said Frank, “may act as the second of your friend.”

“Roland Packard?” exclaimed several, in surprise. “Why I thought he was Oliver!”

Brian Hawkins rose to his feet, his scarred face contorted by a strange smile, while his bright eyes glittered.

“To a certain extent, Mr. Merriwell,” he said, “you have turned the tables on me; but the final result will be unaltered. How you tumbled to the game is something I cannot understand. As you have tumbled to it, I confess that I am here to defeat you. I did mean to challenge you across this table, but you got ahead of me. Do you remember me?”

“No.”

“I am Brian Hawkins, and I was at Fardale with you.”

“Hawkins—good Lord!”

Bart Hodge was on his feet, staring at the youth with the scarred face.

“Yes, Hawkins,” nodded the strange athlete. “You remember me, Hodge. We had some trouble at Fardale, and I believe you came out the victor; but to-night I will show you that you are no longer in my class by defeating your friend and superior. I have worked steadily to put myself in condition to accomplish this design, and the time has come.”

“Oh, say!” cried Jack Ready, “just wait till the little affair is over! I’ll bet my enormous fortune that you sneak away, with your tail between your legs, like a whipped dog! Yea, verily! So mote it be, for it’s bound to ’mote’ so.”