It happened that Bart and Costigan were the first to get out of the dressing room, and Frank was left putting on his shoes. He finished his task, and rose to his feet. As he did so, the door opened and a rough-looking chap dodged in. “Hello!” exclaimed Frank, in surprise. “Who are you, and what are you doing here?” The fellow caught up a bat and swung it aloft. “Shut up!” he hissed. “If you holler, I’ll split your head open!” Then he gave a sharp whistle. Frank knew that whistle was a signal, and he instantly realized crooked work was a-foot. With his eyes he measured the distance to the intruder. An instant later, he made a catlike spring, caught hold of the bat, twisted it from the fellow’s hand, and had him by the collar. “You infernal sneak!” he cried. “What is your game? I am onto you!” The door came open with a bang. “Come on, fellers!” cried the first fellow to enter. “We’s got him all alone! We kin fix him!” Five or six young ruffians started to swarm in at the door. They had heavy sticks, and it was plain they meant to do Merriwell harm. The one Frank had by the collar tried to give him a swinging blow, but, quick as a flash, Merriwell caught him up and flung him straight at the gang in the doorway! The human catapult struck the foremost of the ruffians and nearly swept them off their feet. Before they could recover, Merry caught up the bat and charged them. Mercilessly he belabored them over the shoulders. Once or twice he cracked one on the head. They howled with terror and disgust, and Frank soon drove them from the dressing room. He slammed the door, barred it, and held them out successfully till some of the other players arrived on the field and came to his rescue. The gang, seeing they had been baffled in their attempt, lost little time in getting away. “I’d give something to know who put them up to the job,” said Frank. “I am sure they were hired to do me up. If I had not tumbled and acted in a hurry, they would have done it all right.” Hodge was indignant. “I’ll wager something I can tell just who put them up to the game,” he said. “Name him.” “Pink Pooler.” “What makes you think so?” “Pooler hates you. He bet me fifty dollars Yale would lose the game with Princeton. I beat him at that, and I know that was not all the money he had on the game. He has put up everything he could rake that Yale will not win the pennant. If Yale wins, Pooler is ruined. If he didn’t hire that gang to do you up, I don’t know.” “I hate to think it of him, but I remember now that he did stand in with some of my enemies who have been driven to leave college. I’ll keep my eyes open for him in the future.” “You won’t make a mistake if you do.” The story of the attempt to knock out Merriwell caused no small excitement, for Frank had hundreds of friends, and all Yale seemed to look to him as the Moses who might lead them out of the wilderness.