"Ah, there, Merriwell " Frank Merriwell was crossing the campus at good old Yale, and this cry, in a familiar voice, sounded from Durfee Hall. He turned his eyes toward the favorite dormitory, and seated at an open window on the ground floor he saw his classmate, Jones, he of the famous nickname, "Dismal." "Hello, Dismal," called Frank, "aren't you going to come out and shake hands with a fellow?" "I would if it wasn't for the shower," responded Jones, whose usually solemn face was graver than ever. "Shower?" repeated Frank, looking up in surprise at the perfectly clear sky. "I see that...

Ping pang crash Frank Merriwell, making a sharp turn in a narrow mountain path, felt his bicycle strike something which gave under his weight with a snapping, musical sound, and almost precipitated him over the handle bars of his machine. Bart Hodge, who was close behind, checked himself with difficulty, and sang out: "What's wrong, Frank?"

Once more the bicycle boys pushed on westward, and it must be said that in spite of all their perils they were in the best of spirits. The beautiful valley in Utah was left behind, and some time later found them on the edge of the great American Desert. Water was not to be had, and they began to suffer greatly from thirst. The thirst at last became so great that nearly all were ready to drop from exhaustion. Toots was much affected, and presently he let out a long wail of discouragement.

It is not a pleasant experience to wake up on a beautiful morning to the realization that one has failed. There seems a relentless irony in nature herself that the day that dawns on a night when our glittering hopes have become dead, dull ashes of despair and ruin should be bright and warm with the sun's genial rays. So Frank Merriwell felt this fine morning in Puelbo, Colorado. The night before, with high hopes, he had produced his new play, "For Old Eli." He recalled the events of that first production with almost a shudder. "For Old Eli" had been a failure, a flat, appalling, stupefying...

"Off---" "At last " "Hurrah " The tramp steamer "Eagle" swung out from the pier and was fairly started en her journey from New York to Liverpool. On the deck of the steamer stood a group of five persons, three of whom had given utterance to the exclamations recorded above. On the pier swarmed a group of Yale students, waving hands, hats, handkerchiefs, bidding farewell to their five friends and acquaintances on the steamer. Over the water came the familiar Yale cheer. From the steamer it was answered.

"Look here, you fellows," cried Ballard, "if I don't get this out of my system I'm going to explode. It will only take a minute or two, and-" "Go on and explode," cut in Clancy unfeelingly. "Can't you see that Chip and I are busy?" "But this dream was a corker, Red, and I-" "For the love of Mike, Pink, I wish you'd cork. Wait till the work out there is wound up and then you can-wow How was that for a tackle, Chip?"

The steamer had crossed the Sea of Marmora and entered the Bosporus. It was approaching Constantinople. On the right lay Asia, on the left Europe. Either shore was lined with beautiful mosques and palaces, the fairylike towers and minarets gleaming in the sunshine. The deck was crowded with people eagerly gazing on the bewitching scene. From that point of view it was a land of enchantment, strange, mysterious, fascinating. Shipping from all quarters of the globe lay in the splendid harbor.

"Here's to good old Yale-drink it down Here's to good old Yale-drink it down Here's to good old Yale, She's so hearty and so hale- Drink it down Drink it down down down " From the open window of his rooms on York Street Frank Merriwell heard the distant chorus of a rollicking band of students who had been having a merry evening in town. Frank had passed his examinations successfully and had been admitted as a student at Yale. In order to accomplish this without taking a preparatory course at Phillips Academy, he had found it necessary to vigorously "brush up" the knowledge he had...

"It is in the heart of the Sierra Madre range, one hundred and twenty-five miles west of Zacatecas," said the dying man. "Across the blue chasm you can see its towers and turrets glistening in the sunshine. It is like a beautiful dream-dazzling, astounding, grand " "He wanders in his mind," softly declared Professor Scotch. "Poor fellow His brain was turned and he was brought to his death by his fruitless search for the mythical Silver Palace."

"Well, that's a pretty nervy piece of business " It was Frank Merriwell who spoke the words, more to himself than to any one else. Frank was westbound, from Oklahoma City at the time, continuing the extensive tour mapped out after his Uncle Asher had died and left him so much money. As readers of former books in this series know, Frank was not making the tour alone. Professor Scotch, his guardian, was with him as was also Barney Mulloy, his old schoolmate from Fardale. But, as the professor and Barney had not wanted to stop at Oklahoma, they had gone on ahead, leaving Frank to catch up with...