Summary

Burt L. Standish Frank Merriwell, Jr., in Arizona…

Truth to tell, the helpless writhing of Jode Lenning was more than Brad could endure. Lenning himself suddenly turned and moved away in the direction from which he had come, his head bowed dejectedly.
Blunt,” said Merriwell scathingly, “you and Handy ought to be ashamed of yourselves. Is it your style to jump on a fellow when he’s down? If I put into this plain English you’re harping about all I think of you two, it would be different from what you’ve said about Lenning, but it would sound a whole lot worse. You might have had the common decency to keep still while Lenning was around.”
Source: Gutenberg

Burt L. Standish Frank Merriwell, Jr., in Arizona…

Frank shook his head. “Lenning has had a hard lesson,” said he, “and maybe he’ll show you Gold Hill fellows, some day, that he has profited by it.”
Bleeker laughed incredulously.
“Chip,” he declared, “your heart’s running away with your head. Lenning’s lawlessness was born in him.”
“Oh, splash!” grunted Merry. “That sort of talk makes me tired. A man’s born with the same chance every one else has to make something out of himself. If he goes wrong, he can’t sneak behind his pedigree and whine about it; and if he does anything worth while, why, he’s entitled to the credit.”
Source: Gutenberg

Burt L. Standish Frank Merriwell, Jr., in Arizona…

Bleeker was fighting gamely. He was not the lad to quit because the tide of battle was running against him. By an effort as remarkable as it was unexpected, he dug down into an underlying stratum of power and hurled his canoe onward until it was again nose to nose with Merriwell’s.
Frank’s admiration for his plucky rival was great. To win over such a true sportsman would be a victory to be highly prized.
And Frank was doing his best. If Bleeker’s sudden access of strength held out, Frank might be only second at the swimming float where the race was to end.
Source: Gutenberg

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