“frank merriwell of yale! frank merriwell—here in this region! am i dreaming? is this an optical illusion?”
“i am frank merriwell of yale,” laughed merry himself, standing on the platform of the railroad station at mattawamkeag, in the state of maine. “you are right about that. but you—you cannot be fred forest, the harvard man!”
“i am, just as hard,” laughed the other, a stout, healthy-looking youth of nineteen, roughly dressed in woolen clothes, a red sweater, blue cap, long-legged boots, with trousers thrust into them, while he wore no coat at all. “but you, the famous fullback of yale, the great pitcher on the college ball team—you are the last person i could have dreamed of seeing here!”
“and you, the most elegantly dressed man of harvard, the favorite in the swell society of cambridge, whose apartments were said to be the most luxurious student rooms in this country, with a single possible exception—you here, in this rig! i am the one to be astonished.”
“it seems to be a case of mutual astonishment. sure you have me daffy, old man. i can’t believe my eyes even now.”
“no more can i. why, you are the man they said would not even take the trouble to strike a match to light your own cigarette if your valet were within call. as for dressing[154] yourself, it was said you had never been compelled to perform such a menial task. and now i meet you here—in such an outfit! i am the one who is dreaming! i shall awaken in a moment!”
fred forest laughed heartily in a well-bred manner, grasping frank’s hand and shaking with a truly aristocratic movement, which showed he was sure to “do the proper” wherever he might be.
“it’s no dream as far as i am concerned, my dear boy,” he assured. “i am here, in the flesh—and in this outfit.”
“are you going into the woods on a sporting trip?”
“i assure you not! quite the contrary. but how do you happen to be here?”
frank explained in a few well-chosen words, making clear without telling a long story just why he was in mattawamkeag.
“i just came down to the station to see about purchasing tickets for bangor,” he finished. “i was astounded to see you step off the train as it came in.”
“so you are on your way down the river, and i just came up. and you and your friends have planned to go down to-day?”
“yes.”
“better stop over till to-morrow. i’m here on business. we’ll have a jolly good time talking over the great games and races between our respective alma maters. you’re in no particular rush. say you’ll stop.”
frank hesitated.
“i don’t know,” he said, slowly; “i wouldn’t mind.[155] some of the others might growl. but you haven’t told me how it is you are here—in this rig.”
“it’s a pretty long story, but i’ll cut it short and make it clear in a few words. my father is dead. he was supposed to be very rich, but, when he died, his property was found to be involved. he was engaged in the lumber business, and he owned large tracts of forest up here in this state. every winter he cut a great amount of timber, which was brought down the river in the spring. he died early last spring, and, when it was found that his affairs were involved and he was not as rich as supposed, everything came to a standstill. there seemed to be no one to carry on his business, and so not half of his timber was run down the river. when i realized just where i had been left in the world, i set about trying to straighten father’s affairs out. it took some time to get, so i could see through anything, but, at last, i found out about how things stood. there was a chance of pulling things out and putting the business on its feet with good management. but where was the manager? then i decided to give up college and take up my father’s business. the creditors kindly agreed to give me time, and that’s about all there is to be told, save that i am trying to get the timber down the river, even though it is out of season. the price of lumber has advanced, and i can make a big strike toward squaring things if i can get the logs out. the river is not as low as usual at this season, and i am running the logs, although it has cost me much more to get them out than it would have cost last spring. i’ll have to give up getting a drive off the east branch, but i have[156] brought one down the main river, and there is another somewhere this side of twin lakes. it should be at melway by this time. it is the largest drive of any, and i am going down with it. that’s all. now you understand why i am here, dressed in this rig.”
frank’s eyes shone with admiration and sympathy.
“old man,” he said, seriously, “i admire your grit! it’s plain enough you are made of the right stuff. you have never been brought up to work, and yet, when the time came, you showed you were ready to do your duty.”
“well,” smiled fred, “some people who have always known me are dazed by the change. they always said i was spoiled—i would not amount to anything. when father died and it was learned that he had not left his affairs in very good shape, great sympathy was expressed for my mother. they said it was so hard to be left a widow with no fortune and a worthless son to support. they are beginning to change their minds about the worthless son, for they have discovered that he can wear common clothes and work as hard as any man. and i’ll live to pay every dollar my father owed, and i will support my mother in absolute comfort the rest of her life.”
“you’ll do it!” cried merry, enthusiastically. “i see it in your face! you are all right, forest! sometimes it takes a great calamity to bring out the manhood in a fellow. yours has been shown by the death of your father and the condition his affairs were left in. i believe you will become a smart, capable business man. this very misfortune may result for the best so far as you are concerned. fred forest, i am proud of you!”
[157]
“that is somewhat different from some of my former friends,” laughed the young lumberman.
“how do you mean?”
“after father’s death i went back to cambridge to gather up my personal property. somehow the news got ahead of me that i had not been left a fortune, but was poor. ha! ha! ha! you should have seen how some of my former friends gave me the marble heart! they cut me dead.”
“the cads!” cried frank, in disgust.
“yes,” fred went on, “some of them who had drunk my wine and borrowed my money did not know me at all. not one of them offered to pay back a dollar of what he had borrowed, or even mentioned that he would pay it some time. those things rather upset a fellow’s trust in human nature.”
“they tend to,” confessed merry; “but we mustn’t let them. i have a theory that as soon as a man loses confidence in human nature he blots out a great element of satisfaction in living. i have been deceived many times by those i firmly believed my friends, but, on the other hand, i have found occasionally that an enemy who seemed to be a thorough rascal was a decent sort of fellow at heart. these things have led me to be slow about judging my fellow men.”
“that’s all right enough, merriwell,” nodded forest; “but i can now see that a certain element of our college life tends to make cads and snobs of men.”
“that is true,” agreed frank; “but, at the same time[158] those chaps have naturally caddish inclinations. their surroundings simply bring out their true nature. at the same time, the colleges turn out manly men by the thousands, about whom there is nothing caddish.”
“oh! well, we won’t discuss that now. come on over to the hotel. i have a proposal to make to you. it may not meet your approval, but——”
“wait till i see about those tickets.”
“never mind the tickets now. you can see about them when you decide to go down the river by rail.”
“i have decided on that already.”
“perhaps you’ll change your mind.”
“why should i?”
“you are up here looking for sport.”
“sure.”
“you are roughing it?”
“yes.”
“why not stay and go down the river with me?”
“how?”
“with the drive.”
“but i don’t understand. how would we travel?”
“on the raft.”
“what raft?”
“the one that follows the drive. we would drift down the river. the raft is composed of a lot of logs bound together to carry the cook, cookee and their outfit. there are some little huts on it, and it is tied up every night. the men sleep in the huts and in shore camps.”
“what is done with the raft when a bad rapid in the river is reached?”
[159]
“it is sent through if the rapids are not too bad. if they are too bad, it is broken up and sent through, then bound together again below. you will enjoy the drift down the river, if you are not in a hurry. what do you say?”
“it’s worth considering,” said frank. “if the rest of the fellows are willing i’ll go with you. let’s go over to the hotel and see them.”
so they left the station together.
