A CHANGE OF NAME.

At the open upper window of the ranch the sad-faced, pretty girl watched and waited till Frank Merriwell came riding back over the prairie.

"Here he comes!" she whispered. "He is handsome--so handsome! He is the first man I have seen who could be compared with Lawton."

Kent Carson had heard of Frank's departure on Wildfire, the bucking broncho. He found it difficult to believe that his guest had really ridden away on the animal, and he was on hand, together with Bart and Ephraim, when Merry came riding back.

Near one of the corrals a group of cowboys had gathered to watch the remarkable tenderfoot, and make sarcastic remarks to Hough, who was with them, looking sulky and disgusted.

Mr. Carson hurried to greet Frank.

"Look here, young man," he cried, "I'd like to know where you ever learned to ride bucking bronchos?"

"This is not the first time I have been on a cattle ranch, Mr. Carson,"

smiled Frank, springing down from Wildfire.

One of the cowboys came shuffling forward. It was Hough.

"Say, tenderfoot," he said, keeping his eyes on the ground, "I allows that I made some onnecessary remarks ter you a while ago. I kinder hinted as how you might ride a kaow bettern a hawse. I'll take it all back. You may be a tenderfoot, but you knows how ter ride as well as any of us. I said some things what I hadn't oughter said, an' I swallers it all."

"That's all right," laughed Frank, good-naturedly. "You may have had good reasons for regarding tenderfeet with contempt, but now you will know all tenderfeet are not alike. I don't hold feelings."

"Thankee," said Hough, as he led Wildfire away.

Frank glanced up toward the open window above and again he caught a glimpse of that sad, sweet face.

Mr. Carson shook hands with Frank.

"Now I know you are the kind of chap to succeed in life," he declared.

"I can see that you do whatever you undertake to do. I am beginning to understand better and better how it happened that my boy thought so much of you."

He took Frank by the arm, and together they walked toward the house.

Again Merry glanced upward, but, somewhat to his disappointment, that face had vanished.

It was after supper that Merry and Hodge were sitting alone on the veranda in front of the house, when Bart suddenly said, in a low tone:

"Merriwell, I have a fancy that there is something mysterious about this place."

"Is that so?" said Frank. "What is it?"

"I think there is some one in one of those upper rooms who is never seen by the rest of the people about the place."

"What makes you think so?"

"There is a room up there that I've never seen anyone enter or leave.

The door is always closed. Twice while pa.s.sing the door I have heard strange sounds coming from that room."

"This grows interesting," admitted Frank. "Go on."

"The first time," said Bart, "I heard some one in there weeping and sobbing as if her heart would break."

"Her heart?" came quickly from Merry's lips.

"Yes."

"Then it is a female?"

"Beyond a doubt. The second time I heard sounds in that room to-day after you rode away on the broncho. I heard some one singing in there."

"Singing?"

"Yes. It was a love song. The voice was very sad and sweet, and still there seemed something of happiness in it."

Hodge was silent.

"Well, you have stumbled on a mystery," nodded Frank, slowly. "What do you make of it?"

"I don't know what to make of it, unless some friend or relative of Carson's is confined in that room."

"Why confined there?"

"You know as well as I do."

Frank opened his lips to say something about the face he had seen at the window, but at that moment Carson himself came out onto the veranda, smoking his pipe. The rancher took a chair near, and they chatted away as twilight and darkness came on.

"How are you getting along on your play, Mr. Merriwell?" asked the man.

"Very well." answered Frank. "You know it is a drama of college life--life at Yale?"

"No, I didn't know about that."

"It is. just now I am puzzled most to find a name for it."

"What was the name before?"

"'For Old Eli.'"

"U-hum. Who was Old Eli?"

"There!" cried Merry. "That shows me there is a fault with the name.

Even though your boy is in Yale, you do not know that Yale College is affectionately spoken of by Yale men as 'Old Eli.'"

"No, never knew it before; though, come to think about it, Berlin did write something in some of his letters about Old Eli. I didn't understand it, though."

"And the public in general do not understand the t.i.tle of my play. They suppose Old Eli must be a character in the piece, and I do not fancy there is anything catching and drawing about the t.i.tle. I must have a new t.i.tle, and I'm stuck to find one that will exactly fit."

"I suppose you must have one that has some reference to college?"