Frank Merriwell's Marriage; Or, Inza's Happiest Day

“I would give ten thousand dollars to know Frank Merriwell’s secret,” declared Wallace Grafter, sitting in a comfortable “Old Hickory” chair on the veranda of the Eagle Heights clubhouse and watching the Albany boat, which was passing on it ... Read more

“I would give ten thousand dollars to know Frank Merriwell’s secret,” declared Wallace Grafter, sitting in a comfortable “Old Hickory” chair on the veranda of the Eagle Heights clubhouse and watching the Albany boat, which was passing on its way up the Hudson. “It would be worth it, my dear boy,” yawned Philip Phipps, a youth from Poughkeepsie, as he snapped a half-smoked cigarette over the rail and drew out his handsome watch, at which he casually glanced. “But do you think he has a secret?” “Of course he has!” exclaimed the first speaker decidedly. “His record proves it. What time is it?” “Ten-twenty,” answered Phipps. “He’ll be here in forty minutes,” said Grafter. “I’m curious to see him.” Farley Fisher, straight, square-shouldered, military in his bearing, not over twenty-four years of age, standing at a corner of the veranda, smiled a bit scornfully. “It is amusing to me, gentlemen,” he observed, “to think that any fellow can keep up a fake as long as Merriwell has.” “Fake?” cried Phipps, excitement bringing a touch of falsetto into his voice.  Less