CHAPTER XXXVI.

BUSTER BILL SURPRISED.

Frank was methodical in everything he did, and that was how he accomplished so much without being swamped. He gave just so much time to everything. When the work of the day was all done, he ventured to spend a little time in idleness, but not till then.

No man ever accomplishes great things and performs great labors unless he is methodical. The person who goes at any task by fits and starts does not make rapid progress. It is persistent hammering away at anything that counts in the end. In the fable the tortoise beat the hare; so the slow, plodding, determined man often beats the brilliant, flighty, erratic man of genius in the race of life.

Steady hammering at one kind of work becomes monotonous after a time, it is true, and a man may wear himself out before his time in such a manner. But give him variety, let him change at certain hours of the day from one thing to another, and the amount he can accomplish will amaze those who look on and never put their powers to the full test.

Frank Merriwell’s life was one of constant change and variety. The classroom, the gymnasium, the ball-field, the rowing-tank, or the shell led him from one thing to another at certain hours, and so he performed an amount of labor that astounded lazy students.

Each afternoon he reached the field at a certain hour. He entered into the work there with vim and vigor. When it was over, he had a way of starting off by himself to walk back to Vanderbilt. He preferred to make this little walk quite alone. His friends had found this out, and they permitted him to do so.

There may have been a secret reason why Frank chose to walk back unaccompanied from the field. Perhaps it would seem impolite to pry into some of his secrets. All day long he was thinking of studies, lectures, gymnastics, baseball, and rowing—all day except during this walk by himself in the dusk of early evening.

Of what was he thinking then? Why was it that he often smiled fondly to himself, as if looking into the face of some one very dear? Why was it that he seemed utterly oblivious to his surroundings as he swung along with that beautiful, easy stride? Why was it that sometimes his lips moved, and—listen! did he murmur a name? Was it—Inza?

But we’ll not pry into his secrets, although we understand now how it was that, with his mind far away, he walked straight into the trap that had been prepared for him. At another time he might not have been taken so by surprise, for, as a rule, he seemed constantly on the alert. Now, before he realized anything was wrong, a man had jumped out at him from the corner and struck him a terrible blow on the side of the head.

That blow knocked Frank down!

Buster Bill had started in to earn his money, and it must be confessed that he had made a good beginning.

He had intended to jump on Merriwell instantly, but now he paused, astonished that even a college athlete could be popped over so easily. That pause was fatal to the ruffian’s plans.

Although the shock had been terrible, although his head was ringing and he was somewhat dazed, Merriwell quickly recovered and started to rise.

Then, with a snarl, the thug made another spring and a kick. He meant to earn his money by fracturing a rib with his heavy boot.

In a crouching position Frank Merriwell sprang aside with a froglike hop. Then he straightened up. The violence of that kick, which had reached nothing but empty air, had thrown Buster Bill down.

When Bill, astonished beyond measure, scrambled to his feet, he found Frank Merriwell, the Yale athlete, waiting for him.

Not a word passed Merry’s lips, but he sailed into that fellow in a manner that meant business. He swung at Bill’s head, and Bill did not entirely avoid the blow. He was hit pretty hard, but not hard enough to knock him off his pins.

Then a hot time followed. If Buster Bill had underrated his antagonist at the start, he soon experienced a change of opinion. The Yale man, for all of the blow he had received, became the aggressor in less than thirty seconds.

Bill, you are in trouble for fair. There you have it, fair and square on the nose, and it was a solid jolt, too. It started your nose to bleeding, but you don’t mind that, of course! only boys mind when they get a crack on the nose that starts the claret. But there is another in the eye. That will be likely to give you a very pretty eye to show your friends to-morrow. You’ll be proud of it, Bill, and you will enjoy exhibiting it to the gang.

Brace up, Buster Bill; it won’t do to let this smooth-faced, clear-eyed, handsome fellow get in many more like that one on the cheek. If he does, you’ll have a mug that will arouse doubts in regard to your veracity when you explain to-morrow that you fell down on the hard ground just by accident. People may listen to you, Bill; but inwardly they will be asking if you fell or were pushed.

What ails the fellow, anyhow? Why won’t he keep still and let you hit him back a few times, gentle William? It doesn’t seem hardly fair for him to do all the hitting, with the exception of that first blow; now, does it? If you had dreamed he was going to act this way, you would have hit him with a brick, wouldn’t you, Bill?

Great Scott! but that was an awful jab in the wind, Bill! It doubled you up beautifully. And then he was rude enough to give you another one on the ear. What are you doing down there, William? You’ll get your clothes dirty rolling round on the ground.

That’s right, sir; get right up, like a little man. He’ll accommodate you by knocking you down again. How long can you keep it up, Bill? Your head is pretty hard, but even a wooden head must get tired of being biffed round in such a manner.

Don’t froth, man! It’ll not do you a bit of good. Don’t gnash your teeth, for you’ll not frighten him that way. He doesn’t seem a bit afraid of you, and he keeps coming right after you all the time. At least, he might have the decency to give you a rest.

What’s that, you mighty thug, you slayer of men? Can it be that you realize you have met your master in this college chap at whom you sneered? Who are you shouting to? On my life, I believe you are calling to your friends for help!

Yes, it is true! And here they come through the dusk on the run, four of them in all! Well, well! you’ve surely got the college chap in a bad place now; but if you down him at last, Bill, you can’t brag that you did it alone, and I do not fancy that you’ll feel very proud of the job.