Frank Merriwell at Yale | Page 6

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. "I know this was a put-up job, and Bruce Browning was in it. He got us to come here. Frank Merriwell knew something about it, or he'd never been so ready to come. And I know you, too, Tad Horner."
The little fellow fell back a step, and then, with a sudden angry impulse, he tore off his mask, showing a flushed, chubby, boyish face, from which a pair of great blue eyes flashed at Diamond.
"Well, I am Tad Horner!" he cried, "and I'm not ashamed of it! If you want to throw me down, go ahead. It will be a low, dirty trick, and will show the kind of big stuff you are!"
The masked lads were surprised, for Tad had never exhibited such spirit before. He had always seemed like a mild, shy, mother-boy sort of chap. He had been hazed and had cried; but he wouldn't beg and he never squealed. After that Browning had taken him under his wing, had fought his battles, and had stood by him through the freshman year. Anybody who was looking for trouble could find it by