"So it's that sneak who has been telling yarns!" grated Bart Hodge. "I hope Merriwell will smash him!"

"If he doesn't, I will!" muttered Jack Diamond. "I thought we had seen the last of him when we left Fardale."

"I hoped so," confessed Hodge.

"But I can't have a fight here," said the landlord, firmly. "It won't do."

He seemed on the point of interfering between Frank and Wat, but Hodge said:

"A word to Merriwell is enough, Mr. Drayben. He will be careful not to cause you any trouble."

Mr. Drayben saw that Merriwell was holding himself in reserve, and he felt a sudden curiosity to know what would pass between the enemies who had met there in his hotel, so he did not speak to Frank at once.

"Where is your fine friend, Mr. Parker Flynn, who you aided in your piratical attempt to seize my yacht?" asked Frank.

Snell swallowed down a lump in his throat and made an effort to recover his composure.

"The yacht belongs to Mr. Flynn," he said, huskily, his voice betraying his craven spirit.

"You know better than that! If so, why didn't Flynn remain in Rockland and push the case against me? Why did he suddenly take to his heels when he learned that Benjamin, from whom I bought the White Wings, was in Rockland?"

"Business called him back to Boston," faltered Snell.

"And business called you out of Rockland in a hurry, too. But you stopped too soon. It would have been better for you if you had kept on going."

Snell understood Merriwell's meaning and he quailed before the flashing eyes of the boy he had slandered.

"Oh, you can't scare me with your threats!" he declared, in a weak manner. "I'm not afraid of you, Mr. Frank Merriwell."

"If you had kept still about me," said Frank, "I should not have known you were in this town, but you tried to hurt me in a mean, contemptible manner, and I found you out."

"Never tried to hurt you in any manner."

"How about the lies you have been circulating concerning me?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Yes, you do."

"I swear I do not."

"You have been telling that I have signed a contract with Rockland."

"Well, haven't you?"

"You know I have not! You know I would not do such a thing for any money, as it would disqualify me for the Yale team. But I fancy I see through your crooked game. You thought I might pitch for Rockland because you knew they would offer me more money than Camden possibly could. You judged me by yourself, and you knew you would sell yourself to do anything for money. You sought to turn the college men here against me, so they would carry back the report to their colleges that I had played for money under a signed contract. Then I would be debarred from the Yale team, and your revenge would be complete. Oh, I can read you, Snell—I know the workings of your evil mind! You are wholly crooked and wholly contemptible. What you deserve is a good coat of tar and feathers!"

Frank's plain words had drawn a crowd about them, and Drayben saw it would not do not to interfere, as the talk could be heard in the parlors.

"This will have to stop," he said, firmly. "I can't have any more of it in my hotel."

"He is to blame for it all," whined Snell.

The landlord gave him a look of contempt.

"I do not blame him for anything," he declared. "I know you have told the stories he claims. My only wonder is that he did not knock you down on sight."

"I might have done so," said Frank, "but was ashamed to soil my hands on the fellow."

At this, thinking he was not in danger of immediate personal violence, Snell became suddenly bold.

"That is well enough to tell," he said; "but no one will believe it. You will find that you can't crowd me, Mr. Merriwell."

"I don't want to crowd you, but I want you to keep your mouth closed as far as I am concerned. If you try to circulate any more lies about me, I shall forget that you are a whining cur, without a spark of courage in your whole body, and I shall give you the drubbing you deserve."

"Bah!" cried Snell.

"As I have discovered the sort of a person you are," said Mr. Drayben, quietly but sternly, "I do not care to keep you in my hotel another hour."

"What?" gasped Snell. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that you are to pack up and get out at once."

"But you can't turn me out in that manner. This is a public house, and you have no right to turn me out like that!"

"I have the right to refuse to keep rascals and crooks in my house, sir. It is my duty to protect my guests by turning out such persons when their true character is discovered. You will get out as soon as you can."

"Do—do—do you dare call me a rascal and a crook?" gurgled Snell. "Take care, sir!" shaking his finger at the landlord. "My father is a rich man. He is at the head of the Yokohama and Manhattan Tea Company, Mr. Drayben, and he will make you regret it if you turn me out of your old hotel!"

"I don't care if your father is the Mikado of Japan or the Mayor of New York!" came from the landlord, who flushed with anger when Snell shook a finger at him; "you will get out of this house in a hurry, just the same."

"You can't turn me out till after dinner!"

"Can't I? We'll see about that!"

"But it's almost dinner time now."

"That makes no difference. You can't eat another meal here. Settle and git!"

It was a terrible humiliation for Snell, but he found there was no appeal, and he was forced to settle his bill, pack his traveling bag, and leave the hotel without his dinner.

"I have not liked the appearance of the fellow from the start," said Mr. Drayben. "He talked too much. If he stayed in the house another week, he would have driven away some of my best guests. You have done me a favor, Mr. Merriwell, by giving me an excuse for getting rid of him."

"He's a revengeful sneak," said Frank. "He'll try to get even with me some way."

Jack and Bart decided it was time for them to return to the yacht, and so they left Merriwell at the hotel, surrounded by several members of the Camden ball team, who had come in to see him.

Moslof introduced Frank to the members of the team as they appeared, and Merry shook hands with Slatridge and Putbury, the principal battery of the nine, two men who were red-headed, freckled, slow of movement, slow of speech, and who looked so much alike that in their uniforms one was often mistaken for the other. Cogern, the center fielder of the team, was another big fellow, who was said to be a terrific batter, being valuable for that very reason. Williamson proved to be tall and thin, but "Pop" had a reputation as a pitcher and a hitter. On account of his illness he had not been able to pitch since joining the Camdens, and so he was covering first base. Mower was a professional, and a good man when he attended to business. He played short. Bascomb, a little fellow, with a swagger and a grin that showed some very poor teeth, was change pitcher with Slatridge.

Frank looked the men over. They were a clean-looking set of ball players, and he was favorably impressed with them.

"Why, you seem to have a strong team here," he said to Moslof. "I fancied by what I heard down in Rockland that you had a lot of farmers."

"They know better than that!" exclaimed the manager of the Camdens, flushing. "We gave them a shock by winning from them in our opening game. They thought they had a snap. They have been hustling since then, but we held the lead for a long time. Now we are tied with them for first place, and this game to-day decides who holds the position. If Woods and Makune arrive on the twelve o'clock car, we'll try to give Rockland a surprise this afternoon."

"Woods is a pitcher, isn't he?"

"He is, and he's a good man, too, but his arm is not in the best condition. He hurt it a few weeks ago, and it hasn't got back yet. All the same, he says he will pitch for us this afternoon—telephoned me to that effect. He's on the level, and he wouldn't want to pitch if he didn't think he could win."

"Then I don't see why you want anything of me," smiled Frank.

"Woods can play any position," said Moslof, quickly. "With you in the box, we'd have the strongest nine ever seen in this State."

"You have started my baseball blood to boiling," laughed Merry; "but I think I'll keep my head cool and not play."

At this moment some one announced that the twelve o'clock car was coming, and all hurried out to see if Woods and Makune were on it.

They were. They were met by Moslof, who shook hands with them and then introduced them to Merriwell.

"What?" exclaimed Makune. "Frank Merriwell, the Yale man?"

"The same," confessed Frank.

"Why, Portland tried to get you two weeks ago, but couldn't get track of you. Moslof, you did a good trick when you nailed Merriwell."

"But I haven't nailed him," said the manager of the Camdens. "I've tried every way possible to get him. He is stopping here on his own yacht."

Woods did not seem to be much of a talker, but when he shook hands with Merry, many in the crowd noticed a strong resemblance between them. Merriwell was the taller and darker. Woods was very quiet in his manner, and he impressed the observer favorably at a glance. He had the air of a gentleman, even though he was a professional ball player.

That day Woods, Makune, Moslof and Merriwell dined together at the Bay View, and Frank told himself that never had he met a pleasanter set of fellows. There was something about Woods that drew Merry to him in a most remarkable manner. Frank had not known him an hour before he felt as if they were old friends.

"Do you think you can win from Rockland this afternoon, Walter?" asked Moslof.

"I can try," said Woods, quietly.

"Win!" exclaimed Makune. "Why, he is sure to win! If you have the team you say you have, we'll eat Rockland."

"How's your arm, Walter?" asked Moslof.

"I think it's all right," assured Woods.

"All right!" cried Makune. "Of course it's all right! Never was better. You didn't hurt it much, anyway, Walt."

"Yes, I did," declared Woods, truthfully. "I thought I had killed it, and I reckoned that my ball playing days were over. I didn't care much, either. If it hadn't been for you, Makune, I'd quit, anyway."

"Oh, you're too sensitive!" chuckled Makune. "You see, gentlemen, Walter doesn't drink a drop, doesn't smoke, chew or swear, won't play cards for money—in fact, hasn't a single vice. The fellows jolly him about it, and it makes him sore."

Frank's sympathy was with Woods at once.

After dinner Woods and Makune went to their rooms to change their clothes, and Merry went out to stroll through the town.

Frank found himself stared at in a manner that was rather embarrassing. In the candy store opposite the Bay View were a number of girls who seemed to be watching for him to appear. They did not try to flirt with him, but it was obvious that everyone of them was "just dying" for a fair look at him.

Frank walked down through town and strolled up onto High Street as far as the handsome stone mansion known as "Villa Norembega." Here he was at the very base of the mountains, and he could look out over the harbor and the bay. The view was the most beautiful his eyes had ever rested upon, and he stood there gazing upon it for a long time. Down in the harbor, amid the other yachts, the White Wings lay at anchor, and his keen eyes could detect figures moving about on her deck.

"Jingoes!" thought Merry. "This is a lovely spot. I wonder more people do not come here during summer. There can't be anything more beautiful at Bar Harbor."

He walked back into town, and, on the corner near Wiley's market, he met McDornick and Cogern, who were in their ball suits. He paused to chat with them a moment.

"We'll have a mob up from Rockland this afternoon," said Cogern. "They know we've got Woods and Makune."

"Perhaps they won't come for that very reason," said McDornick. "They may not want to see their team beaten. We'll give them fits to-day."

"Baseball is something you can't depend on," said Frank, warningly. "Don't be too sure of winning. I have seen a strong team lose just because it was too confident."

"If we had you this afternoon we couldn't lose," declared Cogern.

"That is not certain," smiled Merry; "but I guess you are all right, anyway."

"Here comes the two o'clock car from Rockland," said McDornick. "Wonder if it brought up any rooters?"

The car was coming down around the curve, the motorman letting it run without power, as the grade was rather steep there.

Of a sudden, Cogern uttered a cry, and Frank heard a sound that caused him to whirl about instantly.

On the track directly in front of the oncoming car, a young girl had fallen from her bicycle. She seemed to be stunned, and the car was rushing upon her swiftly, although the frantic motorman was banging the gong and twisting away at the brake with all his strength.

Cries of horror went up from twenty persons who witnessed the downfall of the girl, for it looked as if the car must pass directly over her.

Quick as thought Frank Merriwell sprang to save the imperiled girl. Two panther-like bounds took him to the car track, and he stooped to lift her.

Again there were cries of horror, for it seemed that the car must knock him down, and that two lives instead of one would be crushed out beneath the wheels. Women on the street turned their heads away that they might not witness the awful tragedy.

It did not seem that Frank paused in his rush, although he stooped, caught hold of the girl, lifted her and bore her on. He snatched her up in a manner that utterly bewildered every person who witnessed the act, and then, as the car seemed sure to strike him, with one of those wonderful leaps, he cleared the track, holding the girl in his arms.

He felt the car brush his elbow, but that was all. He was not harmed, and the girl was safe in his arms, although her wheel was crushed beneath the wheels of the car.

People came rushing toward them from all directions, but Frank did not mind them at that moment. He looked down at the pale face of the panting girl.

"Miss Macey!" he exclaimed.

It was the pretty, roguish-eyed girl to whom he had been introduced by Landlord Drayben.

"You are not hurt, are you?" he asked.

"No," she faintly whispered, a bit of color coming back to her face; "but you saved me from being killed, Mr. Merriwell."

"Well," Frank was forced to confess, "I think I did get you away just in time."

"My bicycle——"

"Smashed."

"Oh, I'm so sorry! But I'd rather it would be that than myself. Thank you, Mr. Merriwell."

"I am happy to do so much for you. My only regret is that I was not able to save your wheel, too."

"You did all you could," she said, a bit of the roguish light coming back to her eyes. "I didn't suppose you would do so much for me, a stranger."

"I'm always ready to do anything in my power for a pretty girl," said Merry, softly, with laughing seriousness.

"Then pitch for the Camdens this afternoon," murmured Phebe. "Will you?"

Frank was thrown into consternation, for he saw he was trapped.

"It's too late now," he said. "Moslof has decided to pitch Woods. If asked again to pitch, I'll do it."

By this time they were surrounded by the crowd. A dozen men were asking Phebe if she were hurt, or were loudly praising Merriwell for his prompt action in going to her rescue.

"Let me escort you to the hotel," said Frank. "I will return and see about your broken wheel."

"If you will be so kind," she murmured.

Then, with her clinging to his arm, they walked toward the hotel. It seemed that two hundred persons knew what had happened. A score of girls saw Phebe Macey clinging to Frank's arm, and even though she had lost her bicycle beneath the wheels of the car, she was envied by them all.