Randall slowly returned home to the barracks. His heart was hot against Chip Merriwell, and hotter yet against the crowd who had acclaimed his rival. “Confounded Yankees!” he muttered. “Whatever did I come to this part of the country for, anyway! Just because I had an uncle livin’ at Carsonville, I reckon. I wish I had stayed down home an’ taken a chance on the Annapolis examinations!”
The cool night air calmed down his heated anger a little, and by the time he reached the barracks it had changed into a dull despair. It seemed to him that no one had a chance to rival one of the Merriwells at Fardale.
Yet Bob was not a bad sort of fellow at heart. His impulsiveness sometimes led him into hot-headed errors, which he bitterly repented later. He had tried to conquer himself, and to some extent had succeeded. None the less, in this case he had given way to his bitterness without restraint.
As he reached the door of the barracks he detected a figure lurking in the shadow to one side. A keen glance showed him that the figure was not in uniform, and was one of the village youths.
[133]
“Here!” cried Randall sharply. “What are you doing around here?”
“I’m lookin’ for Bob Randall,” came the surprising answer.
Randall started.
“You’re not looking for him, but at him,” he answered. “What’s your business?”
The village youth held out a paper.
“Here’s a message I was to bring you. And the feller said that you was to keep it under your hat.”
Randall took it in some wonder, and the youth darted off. When he reached his room, where his roommate, Harlow Clarke, was busy over his books, Bob opened the paper, and read the message it bore:
Come over to Dobb’s Hotel. Must see you and talk with you at once. Don’t let any one know you’re meeting me.
Your Uncle.
Randall whistled. His uncle! He had had the pleasure of meeting that gentleman on his arrival in the North, and he had not been greatly impressed by Colonel Carson’s rather uncouth accents and hard features. Still, Colonel Carson was his uncle, and had come up from Carsonville to see him, it appeared.
He turned quickly to his roommate.
“I’ve got to go over to town, Clarke,” he said. “Will you fix the rope in the window so I can get in without running the guard?”
[134]
“Surest thing you know, old man,” said Clarke. “Will you get in before taps?”
“I can’t tell yet, but probably not.”
“Well, get along, then. I’ll fix up a dummy that’ll fool the inspector when he comes to look at the beds. You’ll find the rope out of the window as usual.”
Quickly but quietly, Bob left the barracks and the academy grounds. It was not the first time that he and his roommate had wanted to come in after regulation hours, and by the aid of the rope and dummy this was invariably effected without much danger of detection and punishment.
Randall found his uncle waiting for him at the hotel, and was quickly taken to a private room.
“Glad to see ye, Bob, glad to see ye!” he cried effusively, as he pressed Bob into a chair. “Shall I send for a drink, eh?”
“I don’t drink, thanks,” said Randall. “You must have been in something of a rush to see me, uncle!”
“Well, might’s well admit that I was,” and Colonel Carson fingered his goatee thoughtfully and eyed his nephew. “I hear there’s to be a game here on Monday?”
“Yes,” and Randall’s face fell a trifle. “Franklin Academy is coming over. It ought to be a pretty good game. Will you stay over?”
“Mebbe. Hard to say, though, Bob. I know about them Franklin fellers. I been keepin’ tabs[135] on their pitcher, thinkin’ to pick him up for the Clippers next year. I wanted to see ye about that game, Bob.”
“I’m glad some one wants to see me about it,” returned Randall bitterly. “I thought that I was going to pitch for Fardale. If I pitched and won, I’d probably get elected captain afterward—our captain leaves Monday night, you know.”
For some reason Colonel Carson looked perturbed.
“Yes?” he prompted.
“But it seems they’ve slated Merriwell to pitch. That means he’ll do me out of the captaincy. Everybody seems to knuckle down to these Merriwells over here. I can’t understand it!”
Colonel Carson looked relieved. He eyed his nephew keenly.
“I s’pose that if Merriwell pitched, it’d be a cinch for Fardale, Bob?&rd............