CHAPTER I Never Say Die "HOLD 'em! Hold 'em! Buck up, fellows. Don't give an inch!" A storm of cheers swept over the field, as it was seen that the scrubs were holding the 'Varsity on their ten-yard line. Three times in succession the 'Varsity players plunged like enraged bulls against the defenders of the goal, only to be thrown back without a gain. One more fierce attempt, and the ball went to the scrubs on downs. It was unprecedented. It... more...

HORSE TALK. "He's a beauty!" Jack Diamond uttered the exclamation. He was admiring a horse Frank Merriwell had lately purchased. "He is," agreed Danny Griswold, with his hands thrust deep into his trousers pockets and his short legs set far apart. "But think of paying a thousand dollars!" "He looks like a racer," declared Bruce Browning, who showed unusual interest and animation for a fellow who was known as the laziest man at Yale. "He's... more...

CHAPTER I. THREE YEARS AFTER. "This is the spot, Bessie," said Levi Fairfield, as he paused on the bank of the brook which flows into the bay near Mike's Point. "But what was the thing you made?" asked Bessie Watson, as she looked with interest at the place indicated, though she could not see anything very remarkable, or even strange. "It was a young saw-mill," laughed Levi. "It rested on those flat stones you see there; but the dam is... more...

Mr Sudberry in his Counting-House. Mr John Sudberry was a successful London merchant. He was also a fat little man. Moreover, he was a sturdy little man, wore spectacles, and had a smooth bald head, over which, at the time we introduce him to the reader, fifty summers had passed, with their corresponding autumns, winters, and springs. The passage of so many seasons over him appeared to have exercised a polishing influence on the merchant, for Mr... more...

CHAPTER I IN THE SNOW "Now then, let's see who can put a shot through that round hole in the tree-trunk up there. Take a try, Sid." "Must be twenty yards away from here, if a foot, eh, Bristles?" "More like twenty-five to me, Colon; and looks farther than from first base to third, on the diamond." "Line up, everybody, and we'll soon find out who takes the cake at making a center shot. But hadn't we better bar out Fred Fenton?" "What for,... more...

CHAPTER I. RICHARD GRANT AND FRIEND GET INTO AN AWFUL SCRAPE. "Now, steady as she is," said Sandy Brimblecom, who lay upon the half-deck of the Greyhound, endeavoring to peer through the darkness of a cloudy night, which had settled deep and dense upon the Hudson, and obscured every object on the shore. "Steady as she is, Dick, and we shall go in all right." "Ay, ay; steady it is," replied Richard Grant, who was at the helm. "Port a little!... more...

CHAPTER I FATHERS AND SONS "Dad, what does 'Mens sana in corpore sano' mean?" Mr. Edwards slightly lowered his Sunday paper and over the top of it frowned abstractedly at the boy on the window-seat. "Eh?" he asked. "What was that?" "'Mens sana in corpore sano,' sir." "Oh!" Mr. Edwards blinked through his reading glasses and rustled the paper. Finally, "For a boy who has studied as much Latin as you have," he said disapprovingly, "the... more...

CHAPTER I THE BOY FROM KANSAS "Hold up!" Coach Robey, coatless, vestless, hatless, his old flannel trousers held up as by a miracle with the aid of a leather strap scarcely deserving the name of belt, pushed his way through the first squad players. The Brimfield Head Coach was a wiry, medium-sized man of about thirty, with a deeply-tanned face from which sharp blue eyes looked out under whitish lashes that were a shade lighter than his... more...

CHAPTER I A NEW BOY AND AN OLD ONE A boy in a blue serge suit sat on the second tier of seats of an otherwise empty grand-stand and, with his straw hat pulled well over his eyes, watched the progress of a horse-drawn mower about a field. The horse was a big, well-fed chestnut, and as he walked slowly along he bobbed his head rhythmically. In the seat of the mower perched a thin little man in a pair of blue overalls and a shirt which had also... more...

CHAPTER I DOWN PENDRAGON HILL Ta-ra! ta-ra! ta-ra-ra-ra! ta-rat! Professor Krenner took the silver bugle from his lips while the strain echoed flatly from the opposite, wooded hill. That hill was the Isle of Hope, a small island of a single eminence lying half a mile off the mainland, and not far north of Freeling. The shore of Lake Huron was sheathed in ice. It was almost Christmas time. Winter had for some weeks held this part of Michigan... more...