“No use—I can’t sleep a morning like this!” Chip Merriwell jumped out of bed and went to the window. It was early Sunday morning, and from the room at the hotel which he and Clancy occupied he had a clear view of the village green, the streets leading on down toward the river, and the green opposite slope of the valley beyond.
The air was heavy with apple blossoms, warm with spring richness, and Frank drank it in eagerly. From somewhere about the place he heard the pur of a motor car, but could see nothing of the machine.
“I don’t believe I can stay indoors,” he sighed softly, and turned to where his clothes lay on a chair.
Indeed, the morning was a perfect one. The little town lay still, deserted, apparently empty of all life. Yet its streets were clothed with freshness, and its feathery-leaved trees were green with new spring life. From the fruit orchards that hedged Carsonville there drifted renewed sweetness on every breeze.
Chip glanced at his chum, but Clancy was sleeping the sleep of the just. The red-haired[163] chap put in his daytime most energetically, and when he slept he did it with just as much vigor.
“I’ll let him pound his ear,” smiled Chip, as he flung on his clothes, impatient to be outdoors. “Anyway, I’d just as soon have a walk all by myself for a change. I’ve a good notion to go down and take a dip in the mill pond, by gracious!”
At thought of the cool, inviting waters of the river, which he had explored with the aid of Billy Mac, he finished his dressing hurriedly. The hotel was still dead to the world, and Frank quietly let himself out into the silent corridor.
Downstairs, however, he found the clerk sweeping out the office. The clerk looked up with a cheery greeting and a wide grin, for Chip was already a popular hero in Carsonville, after the game of the day before.
“Up early, ain’t you?”
“Too fine a morning to sleep,” said Chip. “What’s that machine I heard buzzing around?”
“The garage is down the street a ways,” explained the clerk, leaning on his broom. “They’ve got one machine there for hire. Want to get it?”
“No, thanks,” and Frank laughed. “I was only mildly curious. Clancy’s car is all right?”
“Sure, I seen it out in the back yard only just now.”
Merry nodded and passed on to the veranda. At sight of the upturned chairs he was attacked[164] by sudden laziness, and with a yawn turned over one of the chairs and seated himself, drinking in the clear air greedily.
“Mornings like this make life worth living,” he reflected contentedly. “I’ll wager that if folks knew how good these early spring mornings were, they’d go to bed earlier and get up earlier. It’s worth all the rest of the day!”
He sprawled out comfortably. He was still weary with his stiff game of the previous afternoon, and his long evening following, and soon realized that if he sat here very long he would be fast asleep once more. So, after five minutes, he forced himself to rise.
“I never thought I’d be getting lazy!” he murmured. “Well, down to the river and have a quick dip, then a rest on the long grass, and back to rout Clan out in time for breakfast.”
He paused as he reached the steps, for he caught sight of a solitary figure that seemed to be approaching the Morton House.
The figure was that of a farmer, but this signified nothing in Carsonville, where every one owned farms or orchards, or else worked in them. The man was tall, round-shouldered, and his face was decorated with a yellowish wisp of beard. He seemed to be a powerful fellow, Chip thought.
As he approached the hotel, Merry caught sight of the man’s face. It was not exactly a pleasant one, for the eyes were very close set, and[165] there was a general look of shrewd cunning about the man which was not reassuring.
Frank would not have noticed him, had the man not been inspecting him rather closely as he drew near. It occurred to Merry that the fellow might be looking for him.
“Good morning!” he exclaimed. “This is certainly great spring weather, eh?”
“Purty good,” and the man looked him over curiously. “Say, mister, mebbe you kin tell me if there’s a feller at the hotel by the name o’ Merriwell? Frank Merriwell, I guess the front part of it is.”
Merry wondered. Without any undue self-glorification, he thought it odd that the man did not know him, for every soul in town had witnessed the game of the previous day. He himself had come in for a good deal of attention.
“I believe he’s stopping here,” he said. “In fact, you happen to be talking to him at this moment. Why?”
“Well, now!” The man stared up. “Are you him?”
“I’m it,” laughed Frank. “Anything I can do for you?”
“Why, I was down to the railroad dee-po jest now, when a tellygram come in fer a feller o’ that name. The agent, he couldn’t come up very well, so I said I’d fetch it along and see if you was here.”
[166]
While he spoke, the man began fishing in the pocket of ............