A merry Christmas it was there at Starbright’s. The sleighing-party was enjoyed by all who took part, and never had Inza seemed merrier and brighter than on that occasion. She laughed, and sang, and joked; but Frank observed that she was not in the least sentimental, and she took pains to turn the conversation into another channel when it approached a dangerous point. She seemed to enjoy talking of Dick, his home, and his beautiful mother. Somehow these thoughts did not please Merry, but he betrayed nothing of the sort, and he spoke words of highest enthusiasm about Starbright.

The dinner-party that night was one never to be forgotten. The table was decorated with flowers and evergreens, the lights were softened and shaded, and Jack Ready declared the turkey was a “feast for the woozy old gods.”

Ready came out with a new batch of jokes, some of them fresh and some “wearing whiskers.” Merriwell made a happy speech, and Browning ate till his ravenous hunger was completely satisfied.

Then there was singing and music and a good time generally. There was no Christmas tree, but the surprise came in the form of a table-load of presents found in a room to which all were finally invited by Mrs. Starbright. Everybody had been remembered, and all declared they received just what they wanted more than anything else in the world, which probably was an exaggeration in many instances.

On entering the room, Frank had observed a bit of mistletoe suspended from the chandelier. At last, Inza innocently paused directly beneath it, and, in a moment, Merry had her in his arms, claiming the privilege of a kiss.

But Dick had been equally observant, and he was on hand at the same instant. Quick as a flash, she held them both off, laughing merrily.

The others shouted and told her she could not escape paying the forfeit.

“But what am I to do?” she asked, blushing crimson. “Both these rude chaps seized me at the same moment, and both claim they were first.”

“Oh, but I’m slow!” exclaimed Ready. “Why didn’t I have my eyes open and get into that? It was ever thus! I’m getting to be a retired number.”

“I don’t see but you’ll have to surrender to both, Inza,” laughed Winnie.

“Oh, I can’t do that,” she protested. “They must settle it between them somehow. Till they do, let both keep their distance.”

Then she skipped away from them, leaving them standing there, face to face. Dick looked straight into Frank’s eyes, smiling a bit, but there was a challenge in his aspect and look. More than ever Merry realized that this big, fair-haired youth was a rival at whom it were folly to scoff.

“How shall we settle it?” asked Merriwell pleasantly. “I’ll let you name the manner, Dick.”

“Another game of billiards,” suggested Ready. “That’s the trick! Ah! it takes me to solve these little difficulties. I’m a handy chap to have round.”

“No,” said Starbright. “I have another way.”

“Name it,” urged Merry.

“We’ll bowl a string of candlepins. The one who makes the highest score wins the privilege given by the mistletoe.”

“Done!”

Winnie clapped her hands and Inza laughed.

“To the bowling-alley!” cried Ready, with a flourish. “I’ll be pin-boy, and every little candle shall be on its post to a fraction of an inch. Forward the Light Brigade! Charge for the pins!”

So down to the alley in the basement of the house they went. The lights were turned on by Phil, and soon everything was ready for this second match between Frank and Dick.

The entire house was heated by steam, and the spectators could look on in comfort. The alley was regulation length, well built, well kept, and handsomely polished.

It fell to Frank to lead off. He examined the balls, finding them all of a size and in fine condition.

“I am going to beat you at this, Merry,” asserted Dick. “I know you are too much for me at billiards, but I’m better at this business.”

“That being the case,” smiled Merry, “I must take care to begin strong and hold out. Here goes.”

He sent the first ball skimming down the alley, and it cracked into the pins, striking them fairly in the center and splitting them, taking out three, which left four standing on one side and three on the other.

“Oh, Laura!” exclaimed Ready, from his position beside the pins. “This doesn’t look much like a strong start. Seven soldiers will be good work for that break.”

“Look out for that hole, Frank,” warned Browning. “Keep away from it.”

Merry obeyed the injunction to the letter, and he swept off the group of four pins with his second ball, leaving three standing.

“That’s clever,” nodded Dick. “Let’s see if you can clean them up.”

With moderate speed, Frank sent down a curve for the little line of pins, but he barely missed the head one, clipping off the last two.

“Nine for Merriwell in his first box,” announced Dashleigh, who had been selected to keep the score.

Ready set the pins up with care, while Starbright prepared for his first effort. He stood on the left side of the runway, took a slow start, and sent a swift ball into the bunch of pins, striking them on the quarter and tearing them up as if they had been hit by a cyclone. Only the head pin was left standing.

“Refuse me!” gasped Ready. “It’s dangerous down here. Oh, but that was a soaker! Methinks I smell a spare.”

He was right, for Dick drove the second ball straight and true at the single pin, which went flying against the padded end of the alley with a sodden thump.

“Spare in the first box for Starbright!” cried Dashleigh, in great delight. “It’s your turn now, Dick! He did you at billiards, but this is different.”

“This is only the beginning,” smiled Dick. “I’m not liable to keep that work up right along.”

“I should hope not!” exclaimed Frank.

Frank came up for the second box, trying a wide curve, which missed the head pin and swept down one side of the bunch. His second ball was sent straight down the middle of the alley, but it took a slight shoot just before hitting the pins and left two standing, one on the center and one on the corner.

“Spares are scarce on this side,” he smiled, apparently not a bit disturbed.

“Hard luck!” growled Browning.

“No,” said Merry, “poor bowling.”

Instead of trying to get just one of the two pins left, he used a curve to the right for a billiard-shot, hoping to make them both, but the head pin was missed by a fraction of an inch, and neither fell.

“Eight pins,” cried Dashleigh. “Seventeen in all.”

“Starbright is bound to have a big start,” said Badger. “In this kind of a game, every pin counts.”

“Don’t forget this first ball counts on your spare, Dick,” warned Dashleigh.

Dick did not forget. He whistled the ball down the alley, struck the pins prettily, and tore down six of them.

“That gives him sixteen in his first box,” said Bert. “And he has a splendid chance for another spare.”

Dick took the chance, too, for he got into the pins finely, cleaning the alley, which caused the spectators to utter cries of applause.

“This is hot!” muttered Frank. “You seem to be keeping it up, old man.”

“He’s making me lots of work,” observed Ready, as he deftly stood the fallen pins on the spot.

Frank changed his position on the alley, but again he split the pins, leaving two standing, one on each corner.

“No spare there!” cried Dashleigh.

“No poor bowling in that,” growled Bruce. “It should have been a strike.”

Frank clipped off the two remaining pins with two straight balls, which gave him ten in his third box, making twenty-seven in all.

Starbright got into the bunch again, but secured only five on his spare, which left the pins in a difficult position. He did well in raking down nine with three balls; but his lead on Frank was great, the second spare having given him thirty-one in the second box, and on even rolls with Merry he had forty.

“Up against the real thing now,” chirped Ready. “This Starbright has played the game before, my friends. You’re buncoed, Merriwell.”

On his next roll Frank was able to make but nine pins, obtaining a total of thirty-six, while Starbright cleaned the alley, which gave him a lead of fourteen pins.

Merry had been trying different kinds of balls and different positions on the alley, seeking to discover just where he could do his best work. Now he opened with a cross-ball, which struck the bunch on the quarter and swept them down clatteringly. A shout went up, for it was seen that but one pin remained standing, and that one was tottering and swaying.

“Go down, you scoundrel!” roared Browning.

But it refused to obey the command, settling into position.

“Robbery!” declared Starbright. “You should have had it, Frank. All the same”—with a quick glance at Inza—“I’m very glad you didn’t get it.”

Merry made no complaint, but sent the next ball true as a bullet from a gun, clipping down the pin and making a spare.

“Here’s where you gain,” said Browning.

But Starbright seemed on his mettle, and he proceeded to duplicate Merry’s performance, making a particularly difficult spare.

“He refuses to let me overtake him!” exclaimed Frank.

“Gentlemen,” cried Ready, “have you no pity for a poor working boy? Please leave a few standing once in a while!”

Frank had decided that the cross-ball was the one to use, and now he made ready to get all he could on his spare. There was a hush as he picked up the first ball and sent it spinning anglewise down the alley.

Crash—clatter!

“Seven pins!” shouted Ready.

“Good work!” muttered Browning.

But the remaining pins were left in such a way that it seemed impossible to get them all with a single ball. Frank studied them a moment and did his best, but his best left one standing. This one he removed with the third ball.

“Fifty-three on your half,” said Dashleigh. “Sixty-three in your sixth box.”

Starbright struck the head pin too full, which cut out four, leaving standing two wings of three pins each.

“Four pins with his spare ball,” said Bert. “Sixty-four on his half. That’s all right.”

“But Frank gained three pins there,” murmured Inza.

“Frank will win,” asserted Badger, speaking so low that Dick could not hear. “I tell you he can’t be beaten! That’s whatever!”

“But he has a hard task before him,” whispered Winnie. “Mr. Starbright is a wonderful bowler.”

Dick took pains and smashed down one of the standing wings with his second ball. His third, however, left a pin standing, and Frank had gained another.

In the sixth box Starbright had seventy-three, with Merriwell just ten pins behind him.

By this time Frank had the range of the alley, and now he sent a strike-ball tearing into the pins, mowing them all down in a twinkling.

“I knew it!” said Browning, with intense satisfaction.

“Oh, mercy!” whooped Ready. “Did you ever in your life! Wasn’t that a bird!”

“Here is where he gets right into it,” said Buck to Winnie. “I knew he would.”

But Starbright was not shaken in the least, and he came near duplicating Merry’s feat, for, with his first ball, he smashed down every pin but one.

“Now, that was genuine hard luck!” exclaimed Frank sincerely. “That ball was just as good as mine, but the pins did not happen to fall just right.”

Dick looked grim and determined, and he went for the single pin, getting it easily, which gave him a spare.

“You may get as many with your spare as he does with his strike,” said Dashleigh, encouragingly.

“But I’d rather have the strike,” confessed Dick.

Frank cut only two pins out of the bunch with his first ball, and it began to look bad for him; but he placed the second ball perfectly, sweeping off all the remaining pins but one, which gave him a score of nineteen in his seventh box, the total being eighty-two. He knocked down the last pin with his third ball, which added ten more for his eighth box.

Strangely enough, Starbright did precisely the same thing with all three balls, getting only two on his spare, which left Merriwell but three points behind in the seventh and eighth boxes.

“This is too close for comfort, Dick,” palpitated Dashleigh. “You have let him come right up on you. You must hold your lead in the last two boxes.”

Frank was in fine fettle. He had a “good eye,” and his hand was steady, while his aim was perfect. Again he put a ball into the heart of the bunch, striking the head pin on the quarter, and again he cleaned the alley.

“Wow!” whooped Ready, dancing about. “Wouldn’t I cut a cake of ice in this game! My! My! I don’t know a thing about bowling!”

“It’s the first time in all your life that you ever told the truth,” flung back Browning.

“Frank will win!” murmured Inza, and somehow Winnie fancied that she seemed disappointed.

Starbright did not smile now. His strong, handsome face looked grim and resolute. He sent a straight, true ball shooting down the alley, and, like a flash, every pin was swept off clean. Then what a shout went up! Both had made a strike in the ninth!

Dashleigh leaped to his feet and danced with joy, while Phil wished to hug his big brother.

“He’ll keep his lead now!” declared Bert to Phil. “Don’t you fear about that!”

Merry was not smiling. He knew that overconfidence might prove a great mistake, and yet he was determined to win if possible. However, his first ball slipped from his fingers and barely knocked down a single pin on the corner.

Dashleigh wanted to whoop again, while Browning felt like thumping somebody. Only Buck Badger remained perfectly unshaken in his belief that Merriwell could not fail to win.

Frank was deliberate in his movements, and he placed the next ball to a fraction of an inch. The result was the complete collapse of the pins and a spare for him in his last box!

Dashleigh’s heart went into his boots, while Phil Starbright simply sat down on a bench, gasping.

“Twenty in the ninth; one hundred and twelve total,” said Bert huskily. “I’m afraid that does the trick!”

The pins were up, and Starbright prepared for the last effort. His first ball brought everybody to his or her toes, for it went straight and true into the proper place, and down crashed nine pins.

“Hooray!” yelled Phil, leaping up. “He’s going to do the same thing! He’ll get a spare, too!”

But now Starbright found himself shaking a bit. In this respect he lacked Merriwell’s nerve, for Frank was always the coolest and steadiest when the critical moment came.

“I must do it!” thought Dick, but in his heart there was a faint fear that he might fail. He sent the ball straight toward the pin, and several cried:

“He’s got it!”

But the ball curved the least bit, brushed the pin, caused it to move off the spot at least half an inch, but left it standing.

Dashleigh collapsed and seemed disheartened until he made a sudden discovery.

“Hold on!” he shouted. “Merriwell has but one ball left! He should have rolled that one off before Dick. There is a bare chance left if Dick gets that last pin.”

“I fail to see it,” grunted Browning.

“Why, it’s plain enough,” declared Bert. “Frank has one hundred and twelve in his ninth box, hasn’t he?”

“Sure.”

“And he’s made ten with two balls.”

“Right.”

“That ten goes into the last box, together with what he gets on the next ball.”

“Correct.”

“What if he gets only one? He’ll have one hundred and twenty-three. Dick has that already. If Dick gets that pin, Merriwell must have two to tie and three to win. It often happens that a man doesn’t get but one or two on one ball. Get that pin, Dick!”

Dick got it, making his total score one hundred and twenty-four.

“That’s enough to win any bowling-match,” muttered Phil.

“Any but this one,” said Badger. “You’ll see that Merriwell is a hard man to beat. I found it out some months ago.”

Frank now took up his last ball and sent it at the pins which Ready had placed on the spots. It struck them, sent them whirling and crashing, and left but a single pin standing.

“That does it,” admitted Dashleigh, at last. “He makes one hundred and thirty-one.”

This is the score kept by Bert:

Frank had won the privilege he sought to claim beneath the mistletoe.