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project management
metrics, kpis, and
dashboards
PREFACE
ix
x PREFACE
hundreds of causes as to why projects fail but neglect what is now being
recognized as perhaps the single most important cause: a failure in met-
rics management.
Metrics management should be addressed in all of the areas of
knowledge in the PMBOK® Guide,* especially communications manage-
ment. We are now struggling to find better ways of communicating on
projects. This will become increasingly important as companies compete
in a global marketplace. Our focus today is on the unique needs of the
receiver of the information. The need to make faster and better decisions
mandates better information. Human beings can absorb information in
a variety of ways. We must address all of these ways in the selection of the
metrics and the design of the dashboards that convey this information.
The three most important words in a stakeholder’s vocabulary are
“making informed decisions.” This is usually the intent of effective stake-
holder relations management. Unfortunately, this cannot be accom-
plished without an effective information system based on meaningful
and informative metrics and key performance indicators (KPIs).
All too often, we purchase project management software and reluc-
tantly rely on the report generators, charts, and graphs to provide the
necessary information, even when we realize that this information either
is not sufficient or has limited value. Even those companies that create
their own project management methodologies neglect to consider the
metrics and KPIs that are needed for effective stakeholder relations man-
agement. Informed decisions require effective information. We all seem
to understand this, yet it has only been in recent years that we have tried
to do something about it.
For decades we believed that the only information that needed to
be passed on to the client and the stakeholders was information related
to time and cost. Today we realize that the true project status cannot be
determined from time and cost alone. Each project may require its own
unique metrics and KPIs. The future of project management may very
well be metric-driven project management.
Information design has finally come of age. Effective communica-
tions is the essence of information design. Today we have many small
companies that are specialists in business information design. Larger
companies may maintain their own specialist team and call these people
graphic designers, information architects, or interaction designers. These
people maintain expertise in the visual display of both quantitative and
qualitative information necessary for informed decision making.
Traditional communications and information flow has always been
based on tables, charts, and indexes that were, it is hoped, organized
properly by the designer. Today information or data graphics combines
points, lines, charts, symbols, images, words, numbers, shades, and a
CHAPTER The way project managers managed projects in the past will not suffice
OVERVIEW for many of the projects being managed now or for the projects of the
future. The complexity of these projects will place pressure on organiza-
tions to better understand how to identify, select, measure, and report
project metrics, especially metrics showing value creation. The future of
project management may very well be metric-driven project management.
In addition, new approaches to project management, such as those with
agile and Scrum, have brought with them new sets of metrics.
1.0 INTRODUCTION
For more than 50 years, project management has been in use but perhaps
not on a worldwide basis. What differentiated companies in the early
years was whether they used project management or not, not how well
they used it. Today, almost every company uses project management, and
the differentiation is whether they are simply good at project manage-
ment or whether they truly excel at project management. The difference
between using project management and being good at it is relatively
small, and most companies can become good at project management in
a relatively short time, especially if they have executive-level support. A
well-organized project management office (PMO) can also accelerate the
Project Management Metrics, KPIs, and Dashboards: A Guide to
Measuring and Monitoring Project Performance, Third Edition 1
By Harold Kerzner
Copyright © 2017 by International Institute for Learning, Inc., New York, New York
2 THE CHANGING LANDSCAPE OF PROJECT MANAGEMENT
Project management is a career path. Project management is a strategic or core competency neces-
sary for the growth and survival of the company.
We need our people to receive Project Management We need our people to undergo multiple certifications and,
Professional certifications. at a minimum, to be certified in both project management
and corporate business processes.
Project managers will be used for project Project managers will participate in strategic planning, the
execution only. portfolio selection of projects, and capacity-planning activities.
Business strategy and project execution are Part of the project manager’s job is to bridge strategy and
separate activities. execution.
Project managers just make project-based decisions. Project managers make both project and business decisions.
1.1 EXECUTIVE VIEW OF PROJECT MANAGEMENT 3
Needless to say, we could argue about what the real issues were in
this project that created the problems. For the purpose of this book, two
issues stand out. First and foremost, project managers today are paid
to make business decisions as well as project decisions. Making merely
project-type decisions could result in the development of a product that
is either too costly to build or overpriced for the market at hand. Second,
the traditional metrics used by project managers over the past several
decades were designed for project rather than business decision mak-
ing. Project managers must recognize that, with the added responsibili-
ties of making business decisions, a new set of metrics may need to be
included as part of their responsibilities. Likewise, we could argue that
marketing was remiss in not establishing and tracking business-related
metrics throughout the project and simply waited until the project was
completed to see the results.
1.2 COMPLEX PROJECTS 5
Section 1.2 is adapted from Harold Kerzner and Carl Belack, Managing Complex Projects
(Hoboken, NJ: John Wiley & Sons, 2010), Chapter 1.
6 THE CHANGING LANDSCAPE OF PROJECT MANAGEMENT
People who are assigned to the project will most likely stay on board
the project from beginning to end. The people may be full time or part
time. This includes the project sponsor as well as the team members.
Because the project lasts 18 months or less, the statement of work is
usually reasonably well defined, and the project plan is based on reason-
ably well-understood and proven estimates. Cost overruns and schedule
slippages can occur, but not to the degree that they will happen on com-
plex projects. The objectives of the project, as well as critical milestone or
deliverable dates, are reasonably stationary and not expected to change
unless a crisis occurs.
In the past, the complexities of nontraditional projects seem to have
been driven by time and cost. Some people believe that these are the
only two metrics that need to be tracked on a continuous basis. Complex
projects may run as long as 10 years or even longer. Because of the long
duration, the assumptions made at the initiation of the project will most
likely not be valid at the end of the project. The assumptions will have to
be revalidated throughout the project. There can be numerous metrics,
and the metrics can change over the duration of the project. Likewise,
technology can be expected to change throughout the project. Changes
in technology can create significant and costly scope changes to the
point where the final deliverable does not resemble the initially planned
deliverable.
People on the governance committee and in decision-making roles
most likely are senior people and may be close to retirement. Based on the
actual length of the project, the governance structure can be expected to
change throughout the project if the project’s duration is 10 years or longer.
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1.2 COMPLEX PROJECTS 7
Given the premise that project managers are now more actively
involved in the business side of projects, the business assumptions must
be tracked the same way that budgets and schedules are tracked. If the
assumptions are wrong or no longer valid, then either the statement of
work may need to be changed or the project may need to be canceled.
The expected value at the end of the project also must be tracked because
unacceptable changes in the final value may be another reason for proj-
ect cancellation.
Examples of assumptions that are likely to change over the duration
of a project, especially on a long-term project, include these:
■ The cost of borrowing money and financing the project will remain
fixed.
■ Procurement costs will not increase.
■ Breakthroughs in technology will take place as scheduled.
■ The resources with the necessary skills will be available when needed.
■ The marketplace will readily accept the product.
■ The customer base is loyal to the company.
■ Competitors will not catch up to the company.
■ The risks are low and can be easily mitigated.
■ The political environment in the host country will not change.
The problem with having faulty assumptions is that they can lead
to bad results and unhappy customers. The best defense against poor
assumptions is good preparation at project initiation, including the
development of risk mitigation strategies and tracking metrics for critical
assumptions. However, it may not be possible to establish metrics for the
tracking of all assumptions.
8 THE CHANGING LANDSCAPE OF PROJECT MANAGEMENT
Defining Complexity
Complex projects can differ from traditional projects for a multitude of
reasons, including:
■ Size
■ Dollar value
■ Uncertain requirements
1.2 COMPLEX PROJECTS 9
■ Uncertain scope
■ Uncertain deliverables
■ Complex interactions
■ Uncertain credentials of the labor pool
■ Geographical separation across multiple time zones
■ Use of large virtual teams
■ Other differences
Trade-Offs
Project management is an attempt to improve efficiency and effectiveness
in the use of resources by getting work to flow multidirectionally through
an organization, whether traditional or complex projects. Initially, this
flow might seem easy to accomplish, but typically a number of con-
straints are imposed on projects. The most common constraints are time,
cost, and performance (also referred to as scope or quality), which are
known as the triple constraints.
Historically, from an executive-level perspective, the goal of project
management was to meet the triple constraints of time, cost, and per-
formance while maintaining good customer relations. Unfortunately,
because most projects have some unique characteristics, highly accurate
time and cost estimates were not be possible, and trade-offs between
the triple constraints may be necessary. As will be discussed later, today
we focus on competing constraints and there may be significantly more
than three constraints on a project, and metrics may have to be estab-
lished to track each constraint. There may be as many as 10 or more
competing constraints. Metrics provide the basis for informed trade-off
decision making. Executive management, functional management, and
key stakeholders must be involved in almost all trade-off discussions to
ensure that the final decision is made in the best interests of the project,
the company, and the stakeholders. If multiple stakeholders are involved,
as occurs on complex projects, then agreement
from all of the stakeholders may be necessary.
TIP Because of the complex interactions of Project managers may possess sufficient knowl-
the elements of work, a few simple metrics may edge for some technical decision making but
not provide a clear picture of project status. The may not have sufficient business or technical
combination of several metrics may be necessary knowledge to adequately determine the best
in order to make informed decisions based on evi- course of action to address the interests of the
dence and facts. parent company as well as the individual project
stakeholders.
Skill Set
All project managers have skills, but not all project managers may have
the right skills for the given job. For projects internal to a company, it
may be possible to develop a company-specific skill set or company-spe-
cific body of knowledge. Specific training courses can be established to
support company-based knowledge requirements.
For complex projects with a multitude of stakeholders, all from differ-
ent countries with different cultures, finding the perfect project manager
1.2 COMPLEX PROJECTS 11
Governance
Cradle-to-grave user involvement in complex projects is essential.
Unfortunately, user involvement can change because of politics and proj-
ect length. It is not always possible to have the same user community
attached to the project from beginning to end. Promotions, changes in
power and authority positions because of elections, and retirements can
cause shifts in user involvement.
Governance is the process of decision making. On large complex
projects, governance will be in the hands of the many rather than the
few. Each stakeholder may either expect or demand to be part of all criti-
cal decisions on the project. Governance must be supported by proper
metrics that provide meaningful information. The channels for gover-
nance must be clearly defined at the beginning of the project, possibly
before the project manager is assigned. Changes in governance, which
are increasingly expected the longer the project takes, can have a serious
impact on the way the project is managed as well as on the metrics used.
Decision Making
Complex projects have complex problems. All problems generally have
solutions, but not all solutions may be good or even practical. Good met-
rics can make decision making easier. Also, some solutions to problems
can be more costly than other solutions. Identifying a problem is usu-
ally easy. Identifying alternative solutions may require the involvement
of many stakeholders, and each stakeholder may have a different view of
the actual problem and the possible alternatives. To complicate matters,
some host countries have very long decision-making cycles for problem
*PMBOK is a registered mark of the Project Management Institute, Inc.
12 THE CHANGING LANDSCAPE OF PROJECT MANAGEMENT
identification and for the selection of the best alternative. Each stake-
holder may select an alternative that is in the best interests of that par-
ticular stakeholder rather than in the best interests of the project.
Obtaining approval also can take a long time, especially if the solu-
tion requires that additional capital be raised and if politics play an active
role. In some emerging countries, every complex project may require the
signature of a majority of the ministers and senior government leaders.
Decisions may be based on politics and religion as well.
Fluid Methodologies
With complex projects, the project manager needs a fluid or flexible
project management methodology capable of interfacing with multiple
stakeholders. The methodology may need to be aligned more with busi-
ness processes than with project management
processes, since the project manager may need
TIP Completing a project within the triple con- to make business decisions as well as project
straints is not necessarily success if perceived stake- decisions. Complex projects seem to be dictated
holder value is not there at project completion. more by business decisions than by pure project
decisions.
Complex projects are driven more by the
TIP The more complex the project, the more project’s end business value than by the triple or
time is needed to select metrics, perform measure- competing constraints. Complex projects tend
ments, and report on the proper mix of metrics. to take longer than anticipated and cost more
than originally budgeted because of the need to
guarantee that the final result will have the busi-
TIP The longer the project, the greater the flex- ness value desired by customers and stakehold-
ibility needed to allow for different metrics to be ers. Simply stated, complex projects tend to be
used over the life of the project. value-driven rather than driven by the triple or
competing constraints.
There are several reasons why good intentions often go astray. At the
executive levels, methodologies can fail if the executives have a poor under-
standing of what a methodology is and believe that a methodology is:
■ A quick fix
■ A silver bullet
■ A temporary solution
■ A cookbook approach for project success2
2 Ibid., p. 4.
3 Ibid., p. 5.
4 Ibid., p. 66.
Other documents randomly have
different content
up instantly and dashed on again.
Bump—shash—grunt!
Frank was hurled down again, but this time he had struck the trunk
of a tree, and he was stunned. It was some moments before he
could recover, but still he did not give up the hope of rendering the
captive some assistance.
When he got upon his feet he realized that the chances of
overtaking Horn and his captive in the darkness was slim.
“Must do something,” he muttered. “What?”
Then he thought of the boat.
“Cut ’em off! Perhaps I can do that. I’ll try!”
He ran for the pier, hoping to get there ahead of Capt. Horn—hoping
Capt. Horn and the captive would be the next to arrive after he
reached the spot.
Frank’s clothing was heavy with water, and thus he was hampered.
He could not see what lay before him, and he took chances of a
broken neck. Two or three times he went down, but he came up
again like a bounding rubber ball.
“This—isn’t—anything—to—bucking—Harvard’s—line—in—football—
game,” he panted.
He enjoyed it. The thought came to him that he would have a jolly
time telling the fellows of the adventure. For one moment he saw in
his fancy a crowd of friends gathered in his room eagerly listening to
the narration of that night’s adventures.
He did not wait for his friends to overtake him. He had lost them in
the darkness, and he knew it would not do to wait.
In a short time he approached the little steamboat pier, still running
like a racer, head up, and breathing through his nostrils.
“Wonder—if—I’m—ahead.”
He could not tell. When he was close to the pier, he stopped and
listened.
He heard nothing but the sweep of the wind and the boom of the
surf.
“Can it be they got here ahead? Can it be they are gone?”
He crept out on the pier and looked over. Was that a boat under the
edge of the pier?
He let himself over, hung down, felt out with his feet, found the boat
and dropped into her.
“This is the one they came ashore in,” he decided. “It’s the only one
here. I am ahead of them.”
The boat had drifted under the pier when he dropped into her. He
put his hands against the wet and slimy timbers and pushed her out.
Then he started to climb up on the pier.
Hark! Voices close at hand! The men were coming!
He took hold of the edge of the timbers above and pulled himself up,
but the moment his head rose above the edge of the pier he realized
that the men were close at hand. They were coming, and he could
not get off the pier before they reached it!
“Trapped!”
He felt out with his feet, dropped back into the boat, sat down.
Then it was that Frank Merriwell’s brain worked swiftly. What was he
to do? He thought of several things. His first thought was to cut the
boat adrift, push it under the pier, where they could not find it, and
keep still. Then he knew his friends would soon be coming down to
that pier, and, if the sailors were there, a collision must take place.
His hand touched something in the prow of the boat.
“A tarpaulin!” he whispered.
With that discovery a daring scheme entered his mind. Not one boy
in a hundred would have ventured to carry it out had he thought of
it.
The boat was fairly large, and there was little danger that one of the
four men would be placed in the bow.
“Got to hustle!” whispered Frank, as he heard the feet of the men on
the pier above his head.
He lifted the tarpaulin, crawled under it, stowed himself as closely as
possible in the forward end of the boat.
Not a moment too soon.
There was a tug at the rope, and the boat was dragged from
beneath the pier. Then several cursing, growling, shivering men
dropped into it.
Capt. Horn was there. He snarled at everybody, he swore at
everybody, he was furious.
“A lot of lubberly cowards!” he raved. “A lot of fools! You were
scared at nothing!”
“No, sir,” said a sullen voice. “I heard it, cap’n.”
“An’ I felt it’s touch, cap’n,” chattered another, who seemed almost
overcome with terror.
One of the men planted his heel fairly on Frank’s fingers, but Merry
set his teeth and made no attempt to pull his hand away, although
he felt that his fingers would be crushed. It was a great relief when
the man removed his foot.
Capt. Horn realized that his men were utterly overcome with fear,
and so he allowed them to push off from the pier and row toward
the black schooner, which was hidden in the darkness of the cove.
The waves beat against the boat with heavy thuds, but the arms of
the sailors were strengthened by fear, and they pulled lustily,
seeming in terror that the ghost of the pirate chief should follow
them even after they had left the island.
Capt. Horn continued to curse and snarl. His captive was silent.
That captive was a mystery to Frank. Surely it was not the girl they
had seen on the vessel. It was a man, but not a word had Frank
heard him speak.
The thought that he might be gagged came to Merriwell. Perhaps
that was why he remained so silent.
The schooner was reached at last. There was a hail from the boat,
answered from on deck, and then a line came down from above,
was caught, and they were alongside.
Frank remained quiet for a little time after the men had left the boat.
At last, he stirred, for he was in a most uncomfortable position,
cramped and aching in every limb.
With great caution, Merry pulled the tarpaulin off him and got a
breath of fresh air. It had ceased raining, and it did not seem as if
the wind was blowing as hard as it had been.
“Short storm,” Frank decided; “but it was long enough to raise the
Old Nick with us and send Bart Hodge to the bottom. Poor Bart! I’ll
never see him more!”
The thought made Frank sick at heart, and, for some moments, he
remained there motionless, benumbed by this fresh sense of the loss
of his friend.
Merry knew Bart had regarded him as a hero. He had reached out
his hand and steadied Hodge more than once when the dark-faced,
passionate lad was tottering on the brink of a precipice. His hand
had guided Bart’s wavering footsteps into the path of honor, and for
his sake Hodge had studied for months that he might be in condition
to pass the examination and enter Yale that spring.
And now he was gone!
No wonder Frank was sick and numb. After a time he aroused
himself and sat up.
A short line held the boat close under the stern of the black
schooner, upon which he could see no sign of life.
“I might cast off and slip ashore without a soul on this vessel being
the wiser,” he thought. “I could find the boys and bring them on
board. What could we do then? There are, at least, four sailors.
There are but four of us. It is a sure thing that the sailors are armed,
and we are not. It’s more than even chances that they’d do us up in
a square fight.”
It did not take him long to decide he would not be in a hurry about
bringing the rest of the boys on board, but he resolved to go on
board himself.
With the aid of the line, he pulled the boat close under the stern of
the vessel, and, a moment later, he slipped like a cat over the rail of
the Pirate and reached her deck.
Frank crouched low in the shadow of the wheel, listening and trying
to peer through the darkness. He saw no moving thing. The wind
was whistling through the rigging of the heaving schooner, and a
loose rope was making a slatting sound, but that was all.
Frank moved. He did not stand upright, but, on his hands and knees,
he crept along the deck toward the companionway. He had not gone
far before the sound of voices reached his ears.
“They are all below,” he decided.
The companionway was reached, and he started to slip down the
stairs. He had not gone far before he halted suddenly and turned his
head, having heard a sound behind him.
At that very moment, with a hoarse shout, a man sprang down the
stairs and landed on Frank’s shoulders.
With a crash and a bump, they went to the bottom together. Frank
received a shock that robbed him of his senses for the moment, so
that he was utterly helpless.
CHAPTER VIII.
WHAT BECAME OF BART.
When Merriwell recovered a light was glaring straight into his eyes,
causing him to blink. He saw four rough-looking men around him,
and realized that he was in the cabin of the mysterious vessel.
One of the men was Capt. Horn, and, on closer view, he looked
more the ruffian than he had seemed at a distance. His beard was
black as ink, while his huge nose was turned up and his nostrils
were wide open, like the mouths of two black funnels. He showed
his teeth as he saw the captured boy look up.
“It seems to be raining boys to-night,” he said, with a sneer. “Well, I
can take care of ’em as fast as they come.”
Frank looked at the others, and quickly decided that they were fit
followers for such a captain.
“Excuse me,” he said, with an effort. “Just dropped in. Thought I’d
come aboard and see how much you’ll ask to take me to New York.
Must have slipped on the stairs—or something. Don’t seem to know
what happened. First thing I knew I fell, and then—here I am.”
“Cute, ain’t ye!” sneered Capt. Horn. “Think you’ll make me swaller
that, I suppose! Think I’m a durned fool! Made a mistake this time—
biggest mistake of your life.”
“You may be right,” acknowledged Frank, promptly. “It’s just like me.
Seems to come natural for me to make mistakes. Made a mistake
when I joined that picnic excursion. Made another when I let the
boat go off without me. And now you say I made another when I
came aboard to see if you won’t take me back to New York. I am
getting it in the neck, sure.”
“What’s this you’re trying to tell, anyway? Spit it out. How’d you
happen to be on the island?”
“Came down on an excursion, got left, and here I am. I’ll pay well if
you’ll take me to New York.”
Capt. Horn pulled his beard and glared at Frank.
“What sort of an excursion?” he asked. “One of the regular kind from
New York?”
“Of course,” answered Frank, thoughtlessly.
“You’re a liar!” said the man with the black beard, instantly. “Knew it
all the time.”
“Thank you,” answered Frank. “You are polite.”
“I saw you on the small boat to-day,” said Capt. Horn. “You wanted
to come on board then. How you ever succeeded in doing so now is
more than I can tell, but you’ll be sorry for it. When you go back to
New York the tide will take you there.”
“What are you going to do with me?”
“Feed you to ther fish, durn ye! It’s no use to ask you questions, for
you’ll lie faster than I can ask ’em. Lies won’t do ye no good.”
“Sorry about that,” was Frank’s cool retort; “but it’ll save me a heap
of trouble to invent ’em. Shan’t have to rack my brain to get ’em up.”
Capt. Horn looked at the boy in astonishment. Frank was a cool
customer for his years.
Merry was securely bound, as he had already discovered. The men
lifted him and flung him into a berth, where he was left to his
thoughts, which might have been more pleasant.
Frank’s head had been injured in the fall, and it throbbed painfully,
but he made no murmur.
The men talked a while, and then fell to playing cards. Three of
them played, while the fourth remained on deck to watch.
Frank could see nothing of the captives.
The night wore on. Capt. Horn arose and looked into Frank’s face.
The boy’s eyes were closed, and he was breathing steadily and
regularly.
“Never saw anything like that!” exclaimed the captain. “The
youngster is asleep! He is a cool one!”
The watch on deck was changed, and the men took turns in
guarding Frank.
Toward morning, after going on deck, Capt. Horn announced that
the wind had changed, and they could get out of the cove.
Merry still seemed to be sleeping when all the sailors went on deck
to get up the anchor and make sail.
Barely were they gone when Frank was startled by a voice that
called:
“Hello, Merry!”
“Eh?” exclaimed Frank. “Who are you?”
A head rose up from the opposite berth. The light shone full on the
face of the person in that berth, and Frank Merriwell came near
shrieking:
“Bart Hodge!”
Frank was incredulous. He could not believe the evidence of his
eyes. He was almost inclined to think himself staring at a phantom.
“Hodge—impossible!”
“Not a bit of it,” assured the voice of Hodge himself. “I am here, but
I’m tied, like yourself, and it strikes me we are in a mighty bad
scrape.”
“But—but we thought you dead,” said Frank. “We felt sure you were
dead. How do you come to be here?”
“That’s an easy one. When the Jolly Sport slammed up against this
vessel I thought she was a goner, and I made a scramble to get on
board here, expecting the rest of you to follow. I was astonished
when you failed to do so, and I looked down to see nothing of the
boat. She was gone, and I did not know but what she had gone to
the bottom with the whole of you. They have kept me here ever
since, for I was knocked over and tied up with ease, like the fool
that I am! I’ve tried to get away, but it’s no use. Then I heard you
captured, and saw you dragged in here.”
This was very astonishing, but Frank Merriwell’s heart was filled with
thankfulness to know that Hodge still lived. Hastily they talked over
what had happened since the Jolly Sport was driven into the cove
before the gale.
“Merry.”
“Yes, Bart.”
“Got a surprise for you.”
“What is it?”
“Don’t want to tell you now, but I know the captives—Capt. Horn’s
captives. We must do something for them. You are full of schemes,
old man; can’t you plan something now?”
“I can plan enough, but the trouble is to put the plans into
execution. Where are the captives?”
“Beyond that door there.”
Frank saw a door at the farther end of the cabin. He had not noticed
it before.
At this moment one of the sailors came down from above. The
sound of hoisting the anchor had stopped, and it was evident that
the man popped down to take a look at the captives and make sure
they were all right, for he stopped but a moment.
Soon the boys realized that the vessel was under way. They could
tell by the motion.
Capt. Horn came down.
“Hello, cap,” called Frank. “Whither away?”
“Out to sea,” was the surly answer. “Going to drop you over where it
is deep.”
“Couldn’t persuade you to change your mind about that? I don’t
want to be dropped overboard.”
The man grunted. After a time another man came below. Capt. Horn
rolled into a bunk and slept.
Frank strained and worked at his bonds. At first it seemed that he
simply made them cut deeper and deeper into his wrists without
loosening them in the least. After a time, he began to fancy he was
making some progress.
If he could get his hands free he felt sure he would be able to
liberate Hodge. Between them they could make a fight for life and
liberty.
Hours passed. Capt. Horn got up and went on deck, accompanied by
the man who had been in the cabin with him. Then the other two
men came down and turned into the bunks. They seemed
exhausted, and quickly fell asleep.
Morning dawned.
With the coming of dawn, Frank succeeded in getting one hand free.
Then it was not long before he was entirely free, and he hastened to
release Hodge.
Bart was palpitating with excitement.
“What’ll we do, Merry?” he asked, in a whisper.
“First set the other captives at liberty,” said Frank. “We must work
lively.”
“Steady, then,” warned Hodge. “No matter whom you see, do not
utter a cry. Here, tie this handkerchief over your face to your eyes.”
“What for?”
“So the captives will not raise a cry when they see you.”
Both boys tied handkerchiefs over their faces, and then Frank
approached the door. This was bolted and hasped. There was no
lock upon it. It did not take Frank long to shoot back the bolt and
release the hasp. Then he slowly opened the door, and looked into
the small room beyond.
An old man was sitting helplessly in the corner, and a young girl,
pale and wan, with tangled curls of yellow, lay on a bunk. The old
man raised his head, and the girl looked up.
Frank recognized them both, and, despite the warning Hodge had
given him, came near uttering a shout.
Before him were Capt. Justin Bellwood and his daughter, Elsie!
Elsie Bellwood was there—Elsie, his old-time friend, who was so dear
to him! She was a captive in the power of those ruffians!
That thought was enough to make Frank furious and desperate. He
suddenly felt that he was able, single-handed, to conquer all the
ruffians on that vessel.
With his hand he motioned for Capt. Bellwood and Elsie to come
forth. They realized that Frank was not one of the ruffians, and Elsie
sprang up.
“Come out here,” whispered Frank. “We want you to help us capture
this vessel.”
New life and hope sprang up in the heart of the old sea captain. He
responded eagerly.
“Here,” whispered Merry, pointing to the sleeping sailors, “watch
those fellows, and do not hesitate to crack them over the head if
they awaken. Take this stool, Capt. Bellwood, and give it to them if
necessary. We are going on deck to tackle Capt. Horn and the other
fellow.”
The man nodded. He took the stool and stood ready. Then, to
Frank’s surprise, Elsie picked up a heavy boot as a weapon and
stood over the other man.
“Come!” whispered Frank.
With Hodge at his heels, he crept swiftly up the companionway. A
peep on deck showed him one man at the wheel, while Capt. Horn
was near. The vessel was plunging through a sea of rolling billows,
the aftermath of the storm.
Capt. Horn’s back was turned.
“Now is our time!” hissed Frank, as he tore the handkerchief from
his face and cast it aside, fearing it might hamper him in some way.
Then he leaped on deck, with Bart close behind him, and they
rushed at the two men.
The man at the wheel saw them, and uttered a cry. Capt. Horn
whirled in a moment.
With loud shouts the boys rushed forward and Bart grappled with
the sailor at the wheel.
Horn managed to avoid Frank’s rush, and Merry saw him tugging at
his hip pocket. That was enough to indicate that he was trying to
draw a weapon.
Snatching up a belayingpin, Frank did not hesitate in attacking the
ruffian with the black beard, who succeeded in pulling forth the
weapon his hand had sought.
Before Capt. Horn could use the revolver, Frank leaped forward and
struck the weapon from his hand. A second blow, delivered with all
the strength and skill the young Yale athlete could command,
stretched the ruffianly commander of the Pirate upon the deck.
A coil of rope was close at hand, and, with the aid of that, Merry
quickly bound the fallen man. Then he hastened to the assistance of
Bart, who was having a fierce battle with the other sailor.
The two boys succeeded in downing the ruffian after a time, and
then they tied him, as they had tied the captain.
Frank secured Horn’s revolver, and Bart obtained a knife from the
other sailor. The wheel was set and lashed, and then both hastened
below.
Capt. Bellwood and Elsie were still standing over the sleeping sailors,
who had not been disturbed by the encounter that was taking place
on the deck.
At sight of Frank, Elsie uttered a cry of amazement and joy, and
nearly swooned. That cry aroused the men, but when they sat up
one was astonished to find himself looking into the muzzle of a
revolver, while the keen blade of a wicked-looking knife menaced the
other.
They were so astonished that they were incapable of offering
resistance, and were easily captured.
Capt. Bellwood’s story was simple, but interesting. Being a follower
of the sea, it was not strange that he should acquire information
purporting to reveal the whereabouts of Kidd’s buried gold. His
secret was known to another sailor, and that sailor shipped with
Capt. Horn. Then Justin Bellwood and his daughter were lured to
New York, and induced to board the Pirate, where they became
Horn’s captives. Horn knew every inch of the sound, and he set
about forcing Capt. Bellwood to reveal his knowledge of the
supposed hiding place of Kidd’s treasure. Capt. Horn also made love
to Elsie, nearly driving her mad with fear, so that she attempted to
jump overboard, an act that was witnessed by the boys on board the
Jolly Sport.
Fortune had worked in a singular manner to bring about the undoing
of Capt. Horn. When the ruffian and his crew were made secure,
Capt. Bellwood took command of the Pirate, running her back into
the cove where Diamond, Browning and Rattleton were stranded.
The reappearance of the black schooner with Merriwell and Hodge
on board nearly paralyzed the three lads with amazement. It took
considerable explaining to make clear to them how such a thing had
come about.
Capt. Bellwood carried the boys over to New Haven, where he
turned Capt. Horn and his crew of ruffians over to the authorities. It
may be as well to add here that it afterward developed that Horn
was a most notorious sound smuggler. He was tried and convicted
and sent to prison. His men all received short sentences.
Justin Bellwood was not able to recover Kidd’s treasure, although he
tried to find it. Filled with superstitions, he sometimes wondered if
the treasure had not been spirited away in some uncanny manner on
the night that Horn tried to dig it up.
As for the boys who sailed out of New Haven harbor that warm April
day, they had a story to tell that was marvelous, and not even Frank
Merriwell’s reputation for veracity could make all who heard it
believe it fully.
CHAPTER IX.
THE LONE FISHERMAN.
“Look!”
“Where?”
“On the corner. It’s another one of them!”
“It’s Browning!”
“Sure!”
“What is he doing?”
“Fishing, by the Lord Harry—fishing in the street! That is the most
ludicrous spectacle yet. Ha! ha! ha!”
A burst of laughter came from the little band of students who had
been making their way along one of New Haven’s principal streets
and come upon this astonishing spectacle:
Bruce Browning sat there on the corner, perched on a high stool,
dressed like a fisherman, with a sailor’s “sou’wester” on his head,
and rubber boots on his feet, gravely pretending to fish in the street
with a pole and line.
Pedestrians paused to stare, poke each other in the ribs, laugh and
chaff the big fellow on the stool, but he did not heed them in the
least, calmly continuing to fish, as if he expected at any moment to
feel a bite.
Frank, Hodge, Pierson, Gamp, Griswold and Noon were some of the
students who had come upon this surprising spectacle while walking
along the street.
Noon was a prominent candidate for the position of catcher on the
’varsity ball team, but Hodge was coming into notice through his
work on the freshman nine, and, although he was a freshman, it was
rumored that, aided by the influence of Frank, he stood a chance of
getting on for a trial.
Joe Gamp was a big, awkward boy from New Hampshire, who, for all
of the time he had spent in college, could not drop the vernacular of
the farm. To hear him talk no one could have dreamed he was a
college student, and that he stood well in his class. And he
stammered outrageously.
“Gug-gug-gug-great gosh!” he cried, standing with his hands in his
pockets and staring at the fat youth on the stool. “Will somebody
tut-tut-tell me what in thunder it mum-mum-mum-means? First we
saw a fuf-fuf-feller walkin’ araound with his cuc-cuc-clothes turned
wrong sus-sus-sus-side out, then another was bub-bub-bub-barkin’
like a dorg, another was tryin’ to stand on his head in fuf-fuf-front of
the pup-pup-pup-post office, and here’s Browning fuf-fuf-fuf-fuf——
Here is Bur-bub-bub-bub-bub—— I sus-sus-sus-sus——”
“Whistle, Joe!” laughed Frank. “Whistle, quick. You’re going
backward, and you’ll have to say it all over if you don’t whistle.”
Gamp whistled.
“I sus-sus-sus”—whistle—“I say here’s Browning tut-tut-trying to
cuc-cuc-cuc-catch a fuf-fuf-fuf-fuf”—whistle—“a fish in the middle of
the sus-sus-street, just as if he was fishin’ in the dud-dud-dud-
dud”—whistle—“the deep blue sea. I don’t understand what all this
bub-bub-business is abub-bub-bout.”
“I didn’t know but the first fellow we saw was doing it on a wager,”
said Bart; “but now——”
“Those fellows are candidates for some society,” explained Pierson.
“They have been commanded to do those things, and they dare not
disobey if they wish to pass.”
“Is that it?” cried Gamp, who was astonishingly green for a Yale
man. “Well, dud-dud-darned if that ain’t fuf-fuf-fuf-funny! A-haw! a-
haw! a-haw!”
He had a laugh that was like the braying of a mule, and a passing
pedestrian dodged so suddenly that he jumped from under his hat,
while an old lady with an umbrella turned and cried:
“Shoo! Git away! Don’t you bite me!”
She waved her umbrella in Gamp’s direction and peered fearfully
over her spectacles, as if she fully expected to see some fierce wild
beast rushing upon her.
That caused all the other boys to laugh again, while Joe paused,
with his huge mouth wide open, and stared in surprise at the excited
and trembling old lady.
“Hey?” he cried.
“Mercy!” gasped the old lady. “I thought so. I thought it was a horse
whickerin’ for hay.”
Then she hurried on, while the boys, with the exception of Gamp,
were convulsed with merriment.
Joe stared after the old lady’s retreating form, gasping for breath.
“First tut-tut-tut-time I ever was took for a hoss!” he exclaimed.
“That’s a horse on you,” chuckled Danny Griswold.
Despite himself, Bruce Browning had not been able to keep from
turning his head a moment to see what all the excitement was
about. As he did so, a street urchin slipped out quickly and hitched a
dead cat onto the end of the line that lay in the street, losing not a
moment in scampering out of sight.
Bruce pulled up the line to cast it out again, and the cat came with
it.
Then there was another shout of merriment.
“Browning has met with a cat-astrophe,” laughed Frank.
“He’s caught a cat-fish,” cried Danny Griswold.
“Spt! spt! Me-e-e-ow! Ma-ri-ar!”
Danny Griswold gave vent to a perfect volley of cat-calls, and there
was an uproar of mirth around that corner.
Through it all Browning retained his sober dignity, removing the cat
from his hook, as if he had captured a fish, and flinging the line out
into the street again.
A policeman, who was sauntering along at a distance, heard the
sounds, and came rushing forward. He was a green man on the
force, and he had not been many moons on this side of the “pond.”
He had red hair, and a face that looked like a painful accident.
“Pwhat’s this, Oi dunno?” he exclaimed, bursting through the crowd
and halting so suddenly that he nearly fell over himself when he saw
Bruce. “An’ now will yez be afther tellin’ me pwhat ye’re doin’ there?”
Browning made no reply, but gravely pulled up his line, looked at the
hook, as if to ascertain the condition of the bait, and again made a
cast into the street.
The little Irishman grew red in the face.
“Look here, me foine b’y!” he cried, flourishing his stick; “it’s the
magisty av th’ law Oi ripresint, an’ Oi do be afther axin’ ye a
quistion. Pwhat are yez doin’ there, Oi want to know?”
Bruce remained silent.
The spectators looked on with interest, wondering what the outcome
would be.
The policeman came a bit nearer Bruce, and again shook his stick,
crying:
“Is it a lunathick ye are? It’s a foine spictacle ye do be afther makin’
av yersilf. Av ye don’t belave it, jist shtep over this way an’ take a
look at yersilf a-sittin’ on thot stool loike a frog on a log. Get down
now, ur Oi’ll plaze ye under arrist!”
Browning did not heed.
“It’s me duty Oi’ll have to do,” declared the officer, as he advanced
on the big fellow; “an’ av ye resist me, Oi’ll have to club th’ loife out
av yez. It’s a lunathick ye are, an’ Oi know it. Come along now, to th’
station house.”
But as he was on the point of pulling the big fellow from the stool,
Browning gave him a look that made him stagger. His face worked
convulsively, and he looked around for assistance.
“Pull him in, Paddy!” cried one of several town boys, who had
gathered to see the fun, and who felt delighted to see a student
placed under arrest.
“Thot Oi will!” cried the little cop, as he advanced on Bruce.
He caught the big fellow by the collar and yanked him off the stool
in a moment.
“If it’s a bit aff trouble ye’re afther givin’ me, Oi’ll crack yer shkull
wid me shillayly,” he declared. “Come on, now.”
Browning did not wish to be arrested, so he tried to argue with the
officer, but it was useless to talk.
“It’s a lunathick Oi know ye are,” said the policeman; “an’ it’s not
safe to let yez run at large.”
“Take your hand off my collar!” said Bruce, sternly. “I have done
nothing to cause you to arrest me.”
“Now none av yer thrits to me, ye spalpane!” shouted the policeman.
“Coom along!”
He gave Bruce a yank.
It was a comical spectacle to see the little red-headed cop yanking
about the giant of the college, but it did not seem very funny to
Browning.
“Say,” he growled, thrusting his fist under the officer’s nose, “if you
do that again, I’m going to thump you once, for luck.”
The policeman had a violent temper, and very little judgment.
“Attimpting to resist arrist, are yez!” he shouted, and then, without
another word, he rapped Bruce over the head, bringing the big
fellow to his knees.
Browning had not looked for such a move, and he was so stunned
that he could not rise at once, whereupon the policeman lifted his
club again, as if to hit him once more.
The blow did not fall.
Frank’s hand caught the club and held it back, Paul Pierson and Bart
Hodge yanked Browning to his feet, Danny Griswold gave the big
fellow a shove, and the voice of Ned Noon was heard shouting:
“Git!”
This turn of affairs was not at all satisfactory to the town boys, who
had been delighted when the officer started to arrest one of the
college lads.
At New Haven there is constantly more or less feeling between the
town lads and the students. Sometimes this feeling is so strong that
it is not safe for a well-known student to be caught alone in town at
a late hour of the night. He is in danger of being stoned, pounded
and forced to run for his life.
At the time of which we write the feeling between the college lads
and the “townies” was rather bitter. Thus it came about that, as soon
as Browning’s friends tried to help him, one of the watching toughs
cried:
“Come on, fellers! Dey’re helpin’ der bloke git erway. It’s our duty ter
stop dat.”
The gang didn’t care anything for duty, but they had been called
upon to do a thing by their leader, and they did not hesitate about
jumping in to the policeman’s aid.
Thus it came about that, in a very few seconds, a small riot was
taking place there on that corner, where, a short time before, all had
seemed hilarity and good nature.
The little cop clung tenaciously to Browning.
“I call on yez to hilp me arrist this spalpane!” he squealed.
“We’ll help yer!” declared the leader of the town lads.
“Yes you will!” flung back Bart Hodge, the hot color of anger rushing
to his face. “Yes you will—not!”
Then he went at the leader of the gang, and, before that fellow was
aware that he was attacked, Hodge cracked him a blow between the
eyes that sent him sprawling.
The downfall of their leader seemed to infuriate the others.
“Thump ’em! Hammer ’em! Slug ’em!”
Uttering these cries, the roughs pitched into the college boys. Fists
began to fly, and there was a hot time on that corner without delay.
The little cop rapped for assistance. While he was doing this,
Browning gave him a twist and a fling that broke his hold and sent
him flying into Bart Hodge’s arms.
Hodge was thoroughly aroused.
“You’re the cause of all this trouble, you little red-headed fool!” he
grated.
Then, with a display of strength that was astonishing, Bart lifted the
officer and hurled him violently against a stone hitching-post. With a
gasp and a groan, the policeman dropped down limply and lay on
the ground as if he had been shot.
Bart was astonished by the remarkable manner in which the little
man had been knocked out. He paused and stared at the motionless
figure, a feeling of dismay beginning to creep over him, for he
realized that his ungovernable temper had once again led him to do
an act that he would not have done in his sober moments.
“Great Scott!” shakily cried Ned Noon. “You’ve killed him, Hodge!”
Bart said nothing, but he felt a pressure about his heart—a sickening
sensation.
It seemed that Noon was the only one of the party engaged in the
struggle who witnessed Bart’s thoughtless act of anger. The others
were far too busy among themselves.
But all realized the officer had rapped for aid, and they knew other
policemen were sure to arrive on the spot very soon.
“Got to run for it, fellows!” panted Griswold, as he put in his best
licks. “Got to get away, or we’ll all be locked up.”
Hodge plunged in to aid the others. He was a perfect tiger. Not even
Frank seemed to fight with such fury and be so effective. Bart
bowled the “townies” over as if they were tenpins.
It was not long before the fight was going in favor of the college
men. Then another party of students happened along, and, at sight
of them, the town lads promptly scattered and ran.
“Now’s the time!” cried Merry. “We want to get out of this in a hurry,
fellows.”
Then he saw the officer lying stretched on the ground, and stared at
him in surprise.
“What’s the matter with him?” he asked.
“Nothing!” cried Hodge, feverishly. “He got a crack under the ear,
and it knocked him out. He’s all right. Come on.”
The college boys lost no further time in getting away. They
separated and made their way back to the college grounds with
certain haste.
As if by general consent, they proceeded to Merriwell’s room. They
found Frank there, making himself comfortable while he studied, as
if nothing serious had happened. He welcomed them all as they
appeared.
Pierson was the first, and he was followed by Griswold, who strutted
proudly as he entered, crying:
“Did you see me do ’em up, fellows? Did you see me lay ’em out?
Oh, I’m a hot biscuit right out of the bakery!”
“Quite a little racket, eh, Merriwell,” smiled Pierson.
“Sure,” nodded Frank. “We needed something to stir up our blood.
We were getting stagnant here of late.”
Joe Gamp came lumbering in.
“Dud-dud-dud-dog my cuc-cuc-cuc-cats!” he stuttered. “Ain’t seen so
much fun as that sence I was a fuf-fuf-freshman. But Browning did
look comical up on that sus-sus-stool. A-haw! ha-aw! a-haw!”
Even as Gamp roared with laughter, Bruce came slouching into the
room. He sat down and kicked off the rubber boots, which were too
large for his feet, then he flung aside the “sou’wester,” removed his
oilskin jacket, and stretched himself wearily on the couch, observing:
“Fishing is thundering tiresome work.”
“Were you doing it on a wager, old man?” asked Griswold.
“No,” yawned Bruce; “I was doing it on a stool.”
That was all they could get out of him. It was plain that he did not
want to talk about it, and did not mean to talk.
“Anyway, we did up the townies all right,” said Frank. “There was
some sport in that.”
“Too much work,” grumbled Bruce. “Everything is too much work,
and work was made for slaves.”
Ned Noon came in and looked around.
“Where is Hodge?” he asked.
Bart was not there, but they fancied he would put in an appearance
very soon, so, while they discussed the fight with the “townies,” they
kept looking for Hodge.
But Bart did not appear.
“Hope he wasn’t pinched,” said Frank. “He’s so proud that arrest
would seem a frightful disgrace to him.”
There was a queer look on the face of Ned Noon.
CHAPTER X.
HODGE IN DANGER.
Frank was crossing the campus when a voice called to him:
“Hey, Merry, hold on; want to speak with you.”
He looked around, and saw Danny Griswold hurrying toward him.
There was a strangely serious look on the face of the little fellow,
who was of a jovial nature and seldom inclined to take anything
seriously.
The moment Frank saw Danny’s face, he realized something was
wrong.
“What is it, old man?” he asked, as Griswold came up, panting.
“They’re looking for the fellow who did it.”
“Did what?”
“Broke his ribs.”
“Broke whose ribs?”
“The cop’s.”
“Why, the little fellow with the red head and liver face.”
“The one who tried to arrest Browning?”
“Same.”
Frank whistled.
“And his ribs were broken?”
“That’s it. He says it wasn’t the big fellow who did it, but some other
chap slammed him up against a stone post and smashed his ribs in.
Officers have been here trying to locate the fellow. We’re in danger
of being pulled up as witnesses—or worse.”
“Accused, you mean?”
“Any of us may be.”
“Well, who did it, anyway?”
“Hodge.”
Frank started.
“Hodge?” he cried. “Are you sure, old man?”
“No.”
“Then why did you say that?”
“Noon says Hodge slammed the cop up against the post.”
“Noon says so, eh? Did he see it?”
“Says he did.”
“And he is talking about it openly?”
“Don’t know about that. He talked to me about it.”
“Anybody else present?”
“No.”
“I must see Noon.”
Merriwell was aroused, for he realized that Bart Hodge was in
danger. Were Hodge arrested for injuring the policeman, and should
the charge be proved against him, his college career might come to
a sudden termination.
Frank had pulled his friend out of more than one bad hole, and he
believed he understood Bart’s nature pretty well. Hodge was again
on the high road to an honorable career, guided by Merriwell’s hand,
but to thwart him at the very outset of his college life would mean
almost certain ruin.
Merry’s teeth came together with a click when he realized the
danger that menaced Bart.
“I’m afraid you made a mistake in introducing that freshman to our
gang,” complained Griswold. “None of the fellows cared to know
him, but they accepted him simply because of your friendship
toward him. This is the result.”
Frank was not pleased by Danny’s words. They did not sound as if
they came from the little fellow’s mouth.
“None of my friends were forced to meet Bart Hodge,” he said,
quietly. “Hodge and I were schoolmates together, and, when he
came to Yale, I was not going to be cad enough to cut him because
he is in a lower class than myself. I am not built that way.”
“Oh, you might have treated him decent, without having him in your
room so much.”
“No, you are mistaken. At Fardale Academy we were roommates.
What sort of a fellow would I have been had I shown, when he
came to Yale, that he was not wanted in my room?”
Danny did not answer the question, but stood grinding his heel into
the ground, looking downward.
“I trust you see plainly enough that I did what any white man should
do, Gris?” said Frank, letting a hand fall on Danny’s shoulder.
“Oh, I am not going to set myself up as a judge of your actions,”
was Griswold’s impatient retort. “All I know is what it has brought us
to. If I am pulled up and forced to tell what I know about the way
the cop was hurt——”
“What will you tell? What do you know? You confessed to me that
you did not see it.”
Frank cut in rather sharply, giving Griswold a start. Danny looked
rattled and flushed.
“Oh, I didn’t see it, but Noon told me——”
“That sort of evidence will not go, old man, and you should know it.
Take my advice, and keep still. This business must be hushed up,
and it will be the fellow who talks too much that will get us into
trouble.”
“What if you are pulled up and questioned? Are you going to swear
to a lie?”
It was Frank’s turn to flush, but the flush was one of indignation.
“Did you ever know me to lie?” he asked, sharply.
“No, but this is different, and——”
“It will not be necessary for me to lie about this in order to shield
Hodge. I did not see anything. I did not see the cop injured. I can
swear to that, and it’s all they’ll ever get out of me.”
After a moment of silence, Griswold said:
“We may be able to protect Hodge by keeping silent, but I want to
give you some advice, Merry. I am serious now. Don’t grin at me.
This is one time in my life when I am not thinking of anything funny,
as the fellow said when the surgeons were getting him ready to cut
off his leg. If you are wise, you’ll let up on one thing you have been
trying to do.”
Frank could not help grinning when he thought of taking advice from
Griswold, but he tried to look serious, and said:
“Go on.”
“You have been pushing Hodge for the nine. Is that right?”
“Well,” admitted Frank, “I have been using my influence to get him
on, for I know he is a corker.”
“Drop it!” cried Danny, pulling out a package of cigarettes and
extracting one. “It won’t go, and you are going to get the other
candidates for the position of catcher down on you. Hodge is a very
fresh freshman, and he does not stand a show of getting on the nine
this year.”
“I am not so sure of that,” said Frank, quietly. “I got on in my
freshman year, if you will remember.”
“I know, but circumstances brought that about. Yale was in a hole
for pitchers. You did some clever twirling on the freshman nine, and
you were tried as a desperate expedient. That is the secret of your
getting on the ’varsity nine your first year in college.”
“Well, Hodge did some clever backstop work last Saturday, when the
scrub played the regular nine. He played on the scrub, and he made
a better record than either Noon or Stone, who took turns on the
regulars.”
“Oh, that was a chance, and it didn’t show his mettle, for there was
nothing at stake. He had better opportunities than the other fellows,
that’s all.”
“Come off!” cried Frank, dropping into slang. “He did better
throwing, and he would have caught every man who tried to steal
second if the pitcher had not been a little slow in his delivery. As it
was, he caught four men, while Noon and Stone caught only one
each. He did not have a passed ball, for all that the pitcher was wild
as a hawk, and he got three fine hits.”
“Two of which were off you, Merry. That part of it didn’t fool
anybody. Ha! ha! ha!”
Frank flushed again.
“By that I presume that you mean to insinuate that I gave him easy
ones, so he might hit it out. Look here, Gris, I have told you that I
do not lie. Now I am going to tell you that I did my level best to fool
Hodge, for he had told me that he would bat my eye out. I thought I
knew his weak points. I gave him a high inshoot, and he got a pretty
single off it; I gave him one round his ankles, and he lifted it out for
three bags. The fellow who says I favored him in the least says
something that is not true.”
“Oh, well,” said Danny, shortly, “I am not here to talk baseball.
Anyway, I don’t think Hodge stands a ghost of a show to catch on.
Noon is the man who will get there.”
“Nit!” muttered Frank, as Danny walked away, smoking.
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