But now those dreams were to be his no more! Inza had decided that Merry was not for her, and she had turned to the handsome, fair-haired freshman giant, Dick Starbright. Elsie, fully believing that Frank cared more for Inza than for her, had found in Bart Hodge a passionate admirer. But not even Bart’s words of love had drawn a confession from her lips, and she would only say that she had resolved never to marry. But Frank remained true to his friendship for these girls. Inza, proud, beautiful, brave, was still very dear to him, and he was ready to do anything in his power for her. Elsie—she still held a corner in his heart, and her blue eyes haunted his dreams. Elsie was far away in Florida, but Inza, with her father, was now in Brooklyn. “I must see her once more before I return to college,” decided Merry. And thus it happened that, late that afternoon, he took a Broadway car, getting off at City Hall Park, and crossed to the entrance to the Bridge. Merry paused at the loop where the cars from Brooklyn swing in fast and thick during the rush-hours. He was looking for a certain car as he stood there near the many tracks. Gongs were clanging, newsboys shouting, people rushing hither and thither, and there was more or less confusion all about. Above, the bridge-cars rumbled and the Third Avenue elevated added to the uproar. Of a sudden, as Frank stood there, somebody gave him a savage thrust. Clang! clang! clang! sounded the gong of a car that was swinging round the loop. There was a shriek from a woman who saw Frank hurled fairly in front of the car. The motorman tried to stop the car as quickly as possible, but he would have been too late had Merry fallen helpless in front of the trucks. Frank had been flung forward headlong, with his right side toward the track. His hands went down, but they flung him back to his feet as if he had been made of wire springs. The car was right upon him, but like a flash he made a long leap that took him fairly beyond the track and out of the way. “Somebody tried to do me!” he thought, as he darted round the rear end of the car, to discover who had pushed him. “Where is the man?” he cried, as he dashed back to the spot where he had stood. “There!” cried the woman who had uttered the shriek, pointing. “There he goes!” A man was sprinting across the tracks, darting between the moving cars, flinging people aside when they blocked his path. Merry sprang after the fellow, who vanished behind a car. A policeman clutched and held Frank, demanding: “Pwhat are yez doin’, man? Be ye crazy? Shtand still, or, begorra, Oi’ll fan yez wid me shtick!” It was useless to try to explain. By the time Merry had made the officer understand, the murderous wretch was safely out of the way. Only a glimpse had Frank obtained of the fleeing figure of his would-be murderer, but he was satisfied that it must be the man who had assaulted him on Broadway.