Frank Merriwell's Trust; Or, Never Say DieStandish, Burt L.
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Frank Merriwell's Trust; Or, Never Say Die
Standish, Burt L.
Adventure stories; Dime novels; Merriwell, Frank (Fictitious character) -- Juvenile fiction; Popular literature
They were on Fifth Avenue, rolling northward. The theaters were out, and
cabs and hansoms were thick on the avenue, taking home those who had
visited the different playhouses. Their gleaming yellow lamps flitted
hither and thither, blinking and vanishing and blinking into view again
like huge fireflies. Pedestrians were plentiful. The night was clear and
cool, with millions of white stars scattered over the blue vault of the
sky. Madison began to sing.
“Stop it!” commanded Herrick.
“I’m offended,” declared the yellow-haired youth. “You are very rude,
Charley. I want to warble; I long to warble; I must warble! There is a
pent-up warble within me, and I must let it forth. I long to sing some
sad, sweet thing like ‘Down Went McGinty,’ or ‘Little Annie Rooney.’”
“If you get into this condition so early, you’ll be in nice shape to
buck the tiger,” said Herrick. “My boy, I’m afraid you are loaded.”
“Base calumny! I could drink as much more and bob up serenely at ten
to-morrow. But I’m happy. Better let me be happy now. I was feeling sore
enough the last time after I visited Dick’s. Hope my luck’ll change
to-night.”
All at once it dawned on Frank of whom they were speaking of. He had
thought the name of Dick Canfield familiar, and now he remembered
hearing something of the history of the man who was known as proprietor
of the biggest gambling-house in New York.
So they were on their way to a gambling-den! Now Frank knew he had made
no mistake in thinking Jack Diamond in danger, and he was glad he had
decided to accompany the party.
Merry had sized Herrick up as a sharp, but he was not sure about
Madison. Either the latter was a clerk of some sort, or he was playing a
part, and playing it well. But, without doubt, the Virginian was the
chief game of the wolf that evening, for he had revealed that he
possessed plenty of money.
Madison chattered on as they rolled northward along New York’s most
fashionable thoroughfare. Diamond smoked steadily, but nervously, while
Herrick was calm and sedate.
They turned into a side street and then halted almost immediately.
Apparently they had stopped in front of a respectable private house in a
most respectable portion of the city.
“Here we are,” said Herrick, and he was the first to leap out to the
sidewalk, holding the door open for the others. Madison followed, then
came Frank, and Jack got out last. Herrick was preparing to pay the
driver.
“Excuse me, Charley,” put in the Virginian. “I think I informed you a
while ago that I am paying to-night. I’ll settle this, and the man who
bothers has to fight me at sunrise.”
Then he settled and they followed Herrick up the steps. The building
might have been taken for the home of a retired banker, or the abode of
a family physician in good standing.
They passed the first door, but a second, of oak and heavy enough to
withstand a battering-ram, confronted them. Herrick pushed a button and
they waited.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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