MORGAN’S WARNING.
Frank Merriwell was busy writing in his room. It was the night following
the incidents just related, and the hour was late. So intent was he upon
his work that he did not hear the first knock on his door. After a time
the knock was repeated.
Merry gathered up the scattered pages of manuscript before crossing the
room and opening the door.
Dade Morgan stood outside.
“Hello, Morgan!” exclaimed Frank, when he saw who was there. “Will you
come in?”
“Yes,” said Morgan, “if you do not object. I wish to have a little talk
with you. Did I disturb you at your studies?”
“No; I have completed studying for to-night.”
“Writing letters?”
“No. I was writing a——” Frank checked himself. “I was writing for my own
present amusement,” he declared.
“Queer occupation,” commented Morgan, with a deep look at Merry. “Fellow
seldom writes for amusement. But you are different from most fellows.”
“Thank you,” said Merry. “I think I may return the compliment. Take a
chair.”
He closed the door, and Morgan accepted the invitation.
“I believe this is the first time I have ever visited you in your room,
Mr. Merriwell,” said Dade.
“I believe so.”
Morgan was pale. His training had seemed to rob him of color, if
anything. He glanced at Frank, and then veiled his eyes with those dark,
silky lashes. Only for a moment, however, for he looked up again with an
expression of open honesty.
“Merriwell,” he said, “I know you have good reason to hate me. My
greatest wonder is that you permitted me to remain in college.”
Frank wondered what Morgan was driving at.
“Do you wish to talk about that?” he asked quietly. “I fancied it might
be unpleasant to you.”
“It is; but of late I have been seized by a growing desire to set myself
right in your eyes. I doubt if we can ever become friends, but I do not
want you to continue to think me a dirty dog. Oh, I know you must have
thought that about me in the past!”
“I have,” admitted Merry, with perfect candor. “I had a right to think
so.”
“Admitted; but not of late—not since——”
“You refer to Santenel?”
“Yes; not since his death. I gave you a promise then, and I have kept
it.”
“I believe you have.”
“I have wondered if you quite believed me when I told you of the power
Santenel held over me. He was my guardian, and he brought me up to hate
you, Frank Merriwell. He led me to believe that your father did him the
greatest wrong one man could do another, and that you were the worthy
son of such a father. Before I ever saw you I was led to hate you with
all my heart, and a Morgan hates intensely when he hates at all.”
“I believe you.”
“He trained me, as far as he could, to meet you in any manner, and it
was his fondest hope that I might accomplish your overthrow by fair
means or foul. He taught me that, in this case, foul means would be
quite as honorable as fair. I came to believe it, for I looked on you as
one who would hesitate at nothing to gain your ends. It took a long time
for me to realize that I had been falsely instructed. When I had learned
that, I had begun to hate you because I could not get the best of you.
Nothing galls a Morgan worse than defeat, and you had left the bitter
taste of defeat in my mouth many times.”
Frank was wondering what the fellow could be leading toward.
“The death of my uncle left me utterly in your power,” Morgan continued,
looking at Merry from beneath those dark lashes, something like a faint,
sad smile coming to his face. “I have the tattered remnants of his
fortune left me, which will be enough to carry me through college. I was
forced to beg for mercy, and you agreed to withhold your hand for a
time. Since then there has been a truce between us. I hope that truce
may never be broken. But I know you have a particular friend who hates
me like poison, and who has tried to hurt me in your eyes. I mean Hodge.
He has told you that I am still at work against you. I do not think you
have accepted his statements, for I was permitted to remain on the
ball-team.”
“Which was in need of just such a man as you are,” said Frank.
“Thank you. It is kind of you to say that. I don’t know how you induced
Hodge to catch my pitching, but you did that. And now I am anxious to
show that I appreciate what you have done. I think I have detected a
plot against you, and I have come to put you on the scent.”
“More plots?” exclaimed Merry, with an air of weariness. “Morgan, I had
hoped plotting against me was at an end while I remained at Yale.”
“I fear you hoped in vain. You are going to give a supper to your
friends to-morrow night?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I have discovered enough to know that the plot is going to be put
into operation at that time.”
“What’s the game?”
“Just what it is I cannot tell. I am not given to listening at keyholes,
Merriwell; but having scented this thing last night, I did a little
listening. I could not get at the bottom of the whole matter, but what I
heard told me there was something wrong.”
“Who owned the door, Morgan?”
“Defarge.”
“No!”
Frank looked surprised.
“It’s true.”
“But he—why, he can’t do anything!”
“He may not try, but the plot was laid in his room. I watched afterward,
and saw two men leave that room.”
“Who were they?”
“One was one of the Packards.”
“Roland?”
“I presume so; but I can’t tell them apart.”
“It must have been Roland; Oliver would not be up to such work. Roland
is an old enemy of mine.”
“Then I suppose it was Roland.”
“And the other—who was he?”
“I do not know.”
“Didn’t you see his face?”
“Yes; I got a fair look at it under a street-lamp. It startled me, for
it was the most hideous face I have ever seen. It looks as if all the
flesh had been burned off it at some time.”
“Then he was not a Yale man?”
“No.”
“Well, I’d like to know what sort of nasty work Defarge and Packard are
planning. Defarge! Why, the fellow is sitting over a slumbering volcano!
I have told him what would happen. But he cannot take an active part
against me if he wishes.”
“I don’t know what he is doing,” said Dade; “but I’m certain that a plot
to injure you was concocted in that room last night. More than that, I
am certain the blow will be struck at your banquet to-morrow evening. I
came here to warn you, so that you may be ready.”
“Thank you, Morgan,” said Frank; “I appreciate it.”
Dade rose to go, but seemed to hesitate.
"If I ever am able to do anything more"—he spoke a trifle huskily—“you
may be sure I shall do it. I’m going to try to even up for the past.”
Then he stopped, turned away, turned back, faltered, held out his hand.
“Will you take it, Merriwell?” he asked, flushing painfully.
Frank grasped it instantly.
“I’m willing to let the past die with Santenel,” he earnestly declared.
“So am I!” said Dade sincerely. “I shall never try to resurrect it, you
may be sure. Good night, Mr. Merriwell.”
“Good night, Morgan.”
Frank opened the door, and Morgan passed out. He came near running into
Hodge, who was coming in. Bart stood still and looked at Dade, who
stepped aside and passed on, without a word.
There was a strange look on the face of Bart Hodge when he entered
Merriwell’s room.
Frank closed the door, and Bart walked over and stood with his back to
the open fireplace.
Merry had one of the handsomest rooms in Vanderbilt, but the beauty of
the place was nothing to Bart then. He stood with his hands thrust deep
into his pockets, a scowl on his dark face, staring down at the Persian
rug beneath his feet.
Merry knew something was the matter with Hodge, and he divined what that
something must be.
“You’re up late to-night, old man,” said Frank. “And you look tired. You
should be in bed. You know how we have had the law laid down to us. Yale
must win in all directions this spring. It is our last with her, and we
must wind up and sever our connections in a blaze of glory. Sit down,
Bart; you look tired.”
“I’m not,” Hodge growled.
“Something is the matter?”
“Perhaps so.”
“What?”
“You ought to know.”
Frank did know, but he pretended that he did not understand.
“Is it anything about the nine?”
“Look here, Merriwell,” said Hodge sharply, lifting his eyes and looking
straight at Frank, “has it come to taking Morgan into the circle? You
know what that man is. I do not deny that he is a rather clever athlete,
or that he can play ball; but you cannot tame a snake enough to make it
anything but a snake.”
“Even a snake may have its fangs drawn.”
“But the disposition to coil and strike remains in the snake. Morgan has
the eyes of a snake. Haven’t you ever seen them glitter? He knows when
that snaky look gets into his eyes, and he hides it with his drooping
eyelashes. He can smile, but a man may smile and smile, and be a villain
still. I told myself some time ago that I’d never mention Morgan’s name
to you like this again; but, by the eternal skies! when I find him
coming from your room at an hour close on to midnight, it is too much
for me! I have to open my mouth.”
Bart was almost shaking with the intensity of his feelings. Without
permitting Frank to speak, he went on:
“I have tried to conquer my hatred for that fellow for your sake, Frank;
I have even brought myself to catch his pitching, which I once swore I’d
never do. When I hate a man I hate him for all time. Don’t speak of
Badger! I know I disliked him, but, somehow, I never hated him in the
way I hate Morgan. My hatred for Morgan is all through me—it is in every
part of me. I can never make myself feel any other way toward him. I did
bring myself to use Badger decently, though I must confess that I know I
can never really like him. But he is as much different from Morgan as
day is from night. Badger is something like me. Perhaps that was why I
disliked him so. I haven’t any use for a fellow like me. I’ve wondered
many times why you should have any use for such a chap.”
“Hodge!”
“Oh, I know—I know, Frank! I appreciate it! I was a rascal when we first
met, but I was not a natural-born snake like Morgan! I had become
degraded through self-indulgence and associating with bad companions. My
mother——”
“Is one of the sweetest women in the world, God bless her!” broke in
Frank.
Bart was touched, but he went on:
“She tried to bring me up right, Merriwell. It was not her fault that I
came so near going to the dogs. She loves you, Merry, because you have
been my true friend. I have stuck by you through thick and thin, and——”
“Bart, you have been my truest friend!” exclaimed Frank sincerely,
advancing and placing his hands on the shoulders of the frowning,
excited youth. “I have understood you when others have not, and I knew
the full depths of your friendship.”
Hodge choked a little, but went on with forced calmness:
“If that is true, are you ready to sacrifice me now, Merriwell? I
solemnly swear to you that I must step out of the circle of your friends
when Morgan steps in. And I have heard it rumored that the fellow will
be taken into your flock directly.”
“You believed the rumor?”
“Well, I did not until—until just now. What am I to think when I find
him coming from your room at this hour, Merriwell? What can I think?”
“So that was all the trouble. Bart, Morgan told me here to my face that
he doubted if we could ever become friends. He has no desire to be taken
into the flock.”
“Trickery! Deception! He is full of it! He knows that is the best way to
get in! If he showed eagerness to be admitted, he knows you might turn
him down.”
“I do not think so. At any rate, Bart, I have no thought of taking him
into the circle.”
“Frank!”
“That is true, Bart.”
“And he will not be invited to your supper?”
“No.”
“I feared he might be there. I could not sit at the same board with him.
But didn’t he come here to say something about that?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“He claimed that he came to warn me.”
“Of what?”
“A fresh plot against me.”
“Morgan warning you of a plot! The heavens will fall next!”
“He thinks he has scented a plot to do something at the dinner, but he
does not know what that something is.”
“Little good the warning will do you!”
“But I believe I’ll be able to find out all about it, and I’m glad you
have dropped in just now. I want you to go with me to the room of
Defarge.”
“Another snake!”
“I believe you have made no mistake as far as Defarge is concerned.”
“Is he in the plot?”
“According to Morgan, the plot was concocted in the room of Defarge, who
knows all about it.”
“But I thought you had that fellow in such shape that he could not make
a move against you?”
“He can make no direct move himself, but he may take part in a plot
against me.”
“Who else is in it?”
“Packard.”
“Roland?”
“Of course. Oliver is all right.”
“Who else?”
“A man with a scarred face. Morgan did not know him, but he said he
obtained a fair look at his face, and it was horribly disfigured.”
“I have seen that man!” exclaimed Hodge. “He has visited Defarge more
than once. But what can any one of those three do? Not one of them will
be present at the supper.”
“That question is one I wish to answer to my own satisfaction. You
remember that I caused Defarge to give me a key to his door. It is
here.”
Frank displayed the key, and Bart nodded.
“Defarge does not know he gave me this key,” said Merry. “It will admit
us to his room to-night. If he is asleep, I shall place him under the
spell and question him without waking him at all. He will never know we
have been there, and we’ll learn the full extent of the plot. Then we’ll
be prepared to meet it, and somebody will receive a surprise.”
The face of Bart Hodge was flushed with excitement.
“Merriwell,” he cried, “you are a wonder! If you can make one of the
plotters tell you all about the plot, without knowing he has told it, it
will be something marvelous! I do not believe such a thing can be done.”
Frank smiled.
“Are you ready to accompany me to the room of Defarge?” he asked.
“Sure thing!”
“Then I will convince you. Come on.”
They went out, and Merry closed and locked the door of his room.