Frank Merriwell at Yale | Page 6

unfortunate freshman was used worse than ever. He was
tossed in a blanket, given a powerful shock of electricity, deafened by
the horns, pounded with the stuffed clubs, and hustled till there was
scarcely any breath left in his body.
Then the bandage was torn from Diamond's eyes and he was
confronted by the guillotine, over which fresh red ink had been
liberally spattered. The blade of the huge knife was dripping in a gory
manner, and it really looked as if it had just completed a deadly piece
of work.
Despite himself, the young Virginian shivered when his eyes rested on
the apparently blood-stained blade.
"Be careful!" some one distinctly whispered. "We do not want to kill
more than one freshman in a night."
Some one else spoke of the frightful manner in which the knife had cut
Merriwell, and then, despite his feeble struggles, Diamond was placed
upon the instrument of torture.
"The other fresh died game," muttered the executioner. "Of course we
didn't mean to kill him, but the knife is out of order and it slipped by
accident. We haven't time to fix it properly, but there are only about
nine chances out of ten that it will fall again."
"Oh, you fellows shall pay for this!" feebly gasped Diamond.
Despite himself, although he knew how unlikely such a thing was, he
could not help wondering if a terrible accident had really happened. If
not, where was Merriwell. He looked around, but saw nothing of Frank,
who was keeping in the background.
And then, when his nerves had been quite unstrung, the knife fell, the
ice and warm water were applied, and Diamond could not choke back
the cry of horror that forced itself from his lips.
A roar of laughter broke from the masked students.

When Diamond was lifted to his feet he was almost too weak to stand.
He clinched his teeth, vowing over and over to himself that he would
find a way to square accounts.
"If it takes me a year, I'll find out who the leaders in this affair are, and
they shall suffer for it!" he thought.
"Give him a chance to see the others put through the mill," said
Mephisto, and Diamond's hands were released.
The Virginian looked around, seeming irresolute for a moment. Not far
away he saw a masked lad whose clothes were wet and bedaubed with
dirt and sawdust.
In an instant Diamond sprang toward this person and snatched the mask
from his face.
"It's Merriwell!" he triumphantly shouted, "and he has helped to haze
me! His career at Yale will be suddenly cut short!"
CHAPTER III.
THE BLOW.
There was a sudden hush. The students saw that Diamond was really
revengeful, and his words seemed to indicate that he intended to report
any one whose identity he discovered.
The Virginian was pale and he trembled with anger.
"You don't mean to say that you will blow, do you?" asked one.
"That's exactly what I do mean, sir!" came resolutely from the lips of
the infuriated freshman. "I am a gentleman and the son of a gentleman,
and I'll never stand it to be treated like a cur. Hazing is said to be no
longer tolerated here, and an investigation is certain to follow my report
of this affair."

A little fellow stepped out.
"You claim to be a gentleman," he said, distinctly, "but you will prove
yourself a cad if you peach."
"I had rather be a cad than a ruffian, sir!"
"If you were a gentleman you would take your medicine like a
gentleman. You'd never squeal."
"You fellows are the ones who are squealing now, for you see you have
been imposing on the wrong man."
"Man!" shot back the little fellow, contemptuously. "There's not much
man about a chap that blows when he is hazed a little."
"A little! a little! Is this what you call a little?"
"Oh, this is nothing. Think of what the poor freshies used to go through
in the old days of Delta Kappa and Signa Epsilon. Why, sometimes a
fellow would be roasted so his skin would smell like burned steak for a
week."
"That was when he was burned at the stake," said a chap in the
background, and there was a universal dismal groan.
"This is some of the Delta Kappa machinery here," the little fellow
explained. "Sometimes some of the fellows come here to have a cold
bot and hot lob. You freshies walked right in on us to-night, and we
gave you a pleasant reception. Now, if you blow I'll guarantee you'll
never become a soph. The fellows will do you, and do you dirty, before
your first year is up."
"Such threats do not frighten me," haughtily flung back the lad from
Virginia.