CHAPTER XIV.

When the Plot Went Wrong.

“DEAR me! Dear me!” said Colonel Gunn, twisting his glasses about on his nose, as he stared in astonishment at the crumpled note which had been brought to him by the servant girl.

The colonel had arrived at home late, having remained at the academy looking over some examination papers.

This is what his eyes rested on, and why he exclaimed and stared:

COLONEL GUNN: The scandalous doings of some of your students is the limit. They drink and gamble right under your nose, and you don’t know it. If you want proof, go down to the Pavilion right now. You will find Chip Merriwell there, intoxicated, so much so that he can’t get back to the barracks. There has been a drinking bout down there, which has lasted ever since Fardale let out its students for the day. When the others left the Pavilion, they had to leave Merriwell there because he couldn’t walk. You ought to know about this.

A FARDALE WELL-WISHER.

Colonel Gunn did not like anonymous communications. But here was something he could not overlook. It called for attention and action.

He rang for the servant.

“Mary,” he said, his voice hoarse and shaky, “will you—er—be kind enough to inform me where you—ahum—got this singular note which you brought me?”

“At the dure,” said Mary; “a b’y brought it. He said it was fer you, and I’m sure yere name was on it.”

“My name was on it—very true. Ahem—you did not recognize the boy?”

“I niver saw his face befure.”

“Ahum—thank you. Mary. If you will help me on with my greatcoat, I—ahum——”

Mary helped him get into his overcoat; and, with his cane in hand, Colonel Gunn sallied forth. The unpleasant note was in his pocket.

“A—er—a distressing thing,” he was thinking. “Until recently I have thought so well of young Merriwell! I fear he will never be the man his father was. Dear me, the pranks that fellow used to cut here; he, too, was quite wild! Nevertheless, there was a saving grace in him; a—er—thoughtfulness. I was younger then, too; and my dear father, Zenas Gunn, of blessed memory—yes, the older Merriwell annoyed him a great deal.”

The night was falling, and the early lights of the village were shining. There were no lights to-night on the lake, unless carried by some skater, and Gunn’s way lay in that direction, along the lake to the Pavilion.

The colonel reflected that he ought to have company, and was on the point of turning aside and telephoning for the constable; but was deterred by the thought that he ought not to expose a student in that way, even though the student deserved exposure.

“By going alone I may be able to prevent a scandal. Yet—er—of course, Mr. Merriwell will have to leave the academy; I—ahum—see no other way. I shall write to his father a full explanation; tell him that recently there has—er—been a great change in his son; I shall have to speak of this violent animosity against the youth, Kadir Dhin, who came here as a foreigner and stranger, under—er—my protection. Such base calumnies as Kadir Dhin assures me young Merriwell has heaped on him—there is even an element of insanity in it! Is the whole world going mad?”

The worthy head of Fardale grew warm with indignation as he stumped along, prodding the snow angrily with his walking stick.

“As for Gunga Singh, Kadir Dhin thinks that the money I have been furnishing him for the purpose of hiring men to hunt down that Hindu murderer will soon bring results. I—ahum—I hope so; I hope so! It is growing very expensive. If results are not attained soon I shall—ahum—be compelled to desist in making further advances. A terrible state of affairs! And the—er—constable makes no progress.”

His mind turned back to Chip Merriwell.

“A drinking bout of Fardale students down at the Pavilion, and Mr. Merriwell left there in so beastly a state of intoxication that he cannot even walk. Dreadful!”

A merry jingling of sleigh bells reached him, as he approached the lake, in the road which turned there and passed along the lakeside toward the Pavilion; the sleigh was coming up behind him, and it seemed that Gunn would be run down by the horses.

He gave a skipping jump which must have surprised him and landed in the snow at the side of the road.

“Ahum! Dear me! How very reckless! A lot of hoodlums from the village, no doubt; and very probably intoxicated. What is the—er—world coming to?”

Then the colonel discovered that the sleigh was filled with young fellows who were, nearly all of them, in the Fardale uniform. They had been laughing; but they drew up beside him and fell silent with respect.

This show of deference pleased him; he was especially gratified when he saw their hands go up in the military salute.

“Are you going far, Colonel Gunn?” he was asked, with politeness.

“Ahum! Er—that is to say——”

They were leaping out of the sleigh, surrounding him.

“We are out for a drive down the road here; beautiful night, isn’t it? If you’re going far, we offer you a seat in with us. The sleighing is delightful. It will honor us.”

Colonel Gunn was flattered and flustered.

“I was—er——”

“Then, right in! Here is a good seat. We’re going to drive down by the Pavilion, and beyond; and then back to Fardale by the other road. It will be a lovely ride.”

They had him by the arms, still trying to be courteous, though in reality they had literally taken possession of him; and before the colonel could say whether he wished to go in the sleigh or did not wish to, he was in it, sinking back in the seat.

“Er—er——Ahaw—ahum! This is aw——I have lost my stick in the snow there, I believe.”

It was rescued and passed up to him.

The young fellows were climbing in beside and behind him; and to keep him from wanting to get out, the driver quietly touched up the horses and sent them dancing along, jingling their bells.

“Ahaw—ahum! I—er——”

Gunn looked around him.

In the faint light, he recognized his companions; he saw Bronson Avery clearly, for Bronson sat beside him, and had been one of the politest. Behind him he heard familiar voices. He was displeased on discovering one of the voices to be Bully Carson’s; he detested and suspected Carson.

“I shall have to speak to these boys about Carson,” he thought, as he tried to get a grip on his scattered faculties.

“Ahum!” he coughed, and touched the driver on the arm. “I shall—er—be obliged if you will put me off in the road near the—er—the Pavilion. From there I shall—er—walk back. This is—er—very pleasant, but on a night like this—so glorious—I prefer to walk; so if you, er——”

“Oh, we’ll put you off at the Pavilion,” was the significant statement with which he was reassured.

But when the road by the ice was reached, the fellows in the sleigh with Gunn were given a surprise that was as great as Gunn’s.

Chip Merriwell, skating on the ice there with Clan and Kess and some others, had stopped at the edge of the ice, curious to see the sleigh go by; not dreaming who its occupants were.

Chip was recognized by the fellows in the sleigh, and by the driver, who gave a little ejaculation of amazement and drew hard on the reins, bringing the horses to a stop.

“Merriwell!” he said, gasping the name.

Gunn, electrified, craned his neck; and Chip, thinking himself addressed, stepped into the road, walking on his skates toward the sleigh.

“It is—er—it is Mr. Merriwell!” Gunn exploded. “This—er—this is you, Mr. Merriwell?”

Chip saluted; and Clan and the others, coming up behind him, repeated the action.

“Yes, sir,” said Chip.

“But you—er—were—that is to say can it——”

“Yes, sir?”

Colonel Gunn tumbled out of the sleigh—almost fell out—in his amazement. He hooked his glasses on his nose and stared at Chip. He saw that Chip was steady-limbed, clear-eyed, and sober.

“Hello!” one of the fellows exclaimed suddenly, with a startled emphasis that drew attention. “What’s that mean? The Pavilion’s on fire!”

A flame had flashed from a window in the lakeside building some distance down the road, and by the light of it two men were seen running away over the snow.