FRANK MAKES HIS TERMS.
With a gasp of dismay, Ben Snodgrass reeled back, staring at the
intruder.
Arnold had started up, his face white as parchment, while he shook in
every limb.
“Merriwell!” they both gasped.
Frank closed the door behind him.
“Sit down!” he said sternly, pointing to the chairs by the table.
Arnold dropped back with another gasp. Snodgrass seemed to hesitate, and
then he stiffened up, as if in refusal.
Frank fixed his steady eyes on those of Ben Snodgrass. The sophomore
made a mistake in glaring straight back. If he had desired to refuse to
obey Merriwell he should not have looked Merriwell in the eye. It was
not often any man looked Frank squarely in the eye and declined to obey
any command he gave.
“Sit down,” said Merry, more gently than before.
And Snodgrass suddenly wilted, sliding to the chair, upon which he sank.
But he had taken his eyes from those of Merriwell, and now he could
speak. He said:
“So you played the eavesdropper—the great and honorable Frank Merriwell
played the eavesdropper!”
“Don’t defile the word honor with your lips!” said Merry, without
lifting his voice in the least, yet with such deep scorn in his low tone
that Snodgrass shrank before it.
Still the fellow kept his eyes from meeting Frank’s, and thus he was
able to speak.
“You can’t deny it! You played the sneak and the spy!”
Arnold was wondering how his companion dared utter such words to
Merriwell. But the fact that Snodgrass did dare seemed to give Orson
back some of the courage that had been shocked out of his body by the
sudden and astonishing appearance of the man about whom they had been
talking a short time before.
Arnold knew he was well built; he knew he was rather muscular; he knew
he ought to be independent and fearless; but it took a man with nerve to
be independent and fearless in the presence of Frank Merriwell after
being caught under such circumstances.
Orson had never been thoroughly brave, and smoking cigarettes had not
added to his stock of self-reliance. Perhaps if he had never touched
them he would not have been caught there in that room with Snodgrass
giving away secrets about the freshman crew.
Alcohol and cigarettes! Twin destroyers of all that is noble in human
nature! We shudder sometimes at the ruin wrought by alcohol, and we turn
in disgust or pity from the reeling drunkard; but as true as truth
exists, cigarettes to-day are working as great havoc among the boys and
young men of our land as is alcohol!
All know that alcohol is dangerous and a thing to be shunned, and no
youth need become its victim without realizing just what is happening.
With cigarettes it is different. Surely there can be no harm in smoking
one of the tiny, clean-looking rolls? Why shouldn’t a lad smoke them?
All the fellows seem to be smoking them. Oh, yes; some of the fellows
acknowledge they cannot get along without them, but that is simply
ridiculous. Certainly there is nothing in those harmless little things
that get hold of a man and make it impossible to leave them off! It’s
easy enough to prove that by smoking a few of them and then stopping.
Just watch him, and see him prove it beyond dispute. So he begins with
his first cigarette.
And the fellow who smokes travels with the fast set. He frequents the
places they frequent. At first he slips in and out with a guilty
feeling, hoping he will not be observed; but after a time that feeling
passes off and he enters boldly, careless, or proud, or indifferent. He
is making rapid strides on the road. Clear the track for him and watch
his pace! It’s all downhill now, and he is gaining momentum right along.
The fellow who smokes must drink a little, of course. Why not? The crowd
he’s drifted into all do it. A little beer, perhaps, to start with.
Nasty stuff, but he gulps it down, keeps his face straight, and pretends
that he’s happy. The second glass goes down harder than the first. It
makes him feel queer. He laughs at silly things, and he smokes one
cigarette after another. Oh, say! but this is having a time of it!
When it’s all over he won’t feel so well. It’s likely he’ll swear over
and over again never, never to do it again. But a half-consumed package
of cigarettes is in his pocket, and when he begins to feel a little
better, so that he sits up and takes notice, he finds those cigarettes,
and habit puts one into his mouth.
When he realizes at last that he is going the pace, he finds he cannot
stop. He says he will smoke no more, but he hangs to the partly used
package till he has puffed out the last little white-robed seducer. If
he had been strong, if there had been a modicum of his strength
remaining, he would have flung them away.
Arnold had begun to smoke at preparatory school. Before that he had
taken active part in manly sports of all kinds, and thus he developed
those magnificent shoulders and splendid arms. Smoking could ruin his
moral sense and stop his advancement, but it could not undo at once all
that he had done for himself before he began to smoke.
When he started in to train for the freshman crew at Yale he tried to
put cigarettes aside. There was nothing else to be done. He seemed to
leave them off completely, but he continued to smoke secretly right
along.
Snodgrass had known how to work on Arnold’s weak points. The sophomore
was crafty. He did not smoke, and he did not drink anything
intoxicating. Snodgrass was looking out for Number One. He knew a man
who smoked and drank did not stand as good a chance of making the
varsity as one who did neither, and so he did neither. No better man
than Arnold at the outset, cigarettes gave Arnold into his power.
“Don’t talk to me about sneaks and spies!” said Merriwell, with
unspeakable scorn. “Two greater sneaks than you I have never had the
pleasure of seeing!”
“Be careful!” snarled Ben blackly. “I won’t stand for it!”
“You will sit still till I tell you just what I think of you. You are a
cur, Snodgrass, and you know it! You, Arnold, are a pitiful traitor, and
I’m rather sorry for you; but you have only yourself to blame that you
are in this rascal’s power.”
Arnold’s breast began to heave. How could he save himself? Was there a
way? Might he not break down now and throw himself on Frank’s sympathy?
He thought of that, and straightway set about compelling the tears to
come to his eyes. Perhaps the sight of tears would be enough to melt
Merriwell.
“I had to do it!” he choked. “There was no other way to save myself.”
Snodgrass uttered a curse and looked at Arnold with scorn and contempt.
“For Heaven’s sake, don’t let Merriwell see you snivel!” he hissed.
Then he smote the table with his clenched fist, saying:
“Jackson shall answer to me for this trick! He shall pay dearly for
permitting any one to play the eavesdropper on me. He did it, for no one
could reach that door without his permission.”
“I advise you to keep your mouth closed as far as Jackson is concerned,”
said Merry. “If you tackle him and raise a dust, it may get out that you
were here.”
Arnold gasped again. Then Merriwell did not mean to expose them? He was
not going to make the whole matter public? It was a great relief. Even
Snodgrass pulled in his horns somewhat.
“It was a dirty trick!” he declared. “I didn’t think Jackson would
permit it. If I were to tell the fellows about it, it would hurt his old
place.”
“But I know you’ll say nothing about it, Snodgrass.”
“Why not?”
“Because it will be a dead give-away on yourself.”
“You’ll give it away! You’ll go out and tell your story. We’ll say you
lied about it, but that Jackson let you in to that door, where you
listened without overhearing anything in particular.”
“How will you explain your presence here? Every man of your crew, and of
the freshmen, is forbidden to come here.”
“That’s right,” muttered Arnold.
“Oh, well, one slip——” began Ben weakly.
“You know my statement would be believed.”
“Not against us both.”
“I think so.”
“We would swear you lied.”
“And you know deep down in your heart that I would be believed.”
“We’d swear you were trying to get us thrown off our crews in order to
work your particular friends on.”
“Think it over a little, Snodgrass, before you try it. Of course, if
that is the course you choose, I shall permit you to have your own way
about it. Anyhow, off the crew you will come, sir.”
“I’m against it!” cried Arnold, resolved to play into Frank’s hand,
though not quite understanding the move to make. “I do not fancy having
a smell raised about it.”
Ben gave him a look of scorn.
“There is only one way for you two fellows to save yourselves,” said
Frank.
“That is—how?”
“You must both withdraw from your crews. If you do that at once, I’ll
say nothing about what has happened. If you do not withdraw at once, I
shall expose you. Those are the terms; they are unalterable. You may
choose.”