FRANK WAVERS.
Merry felt his heart leap into his throat. Was it possible at last
that there was proof of Hooker’s crookedness?
Frank almost staggered, as if he had been struck a heavy blow. The
outcast’s companion, a man of at least fifty years, eagerly grasped
the watch and chain. Then, without hesitation, Frank Merriwell started
forward and strode into that room. He was quickly at the side of the
table, and, in a hoarse voice, he demanded:
“Let me see that watch!”
Hooker uttered a cry of astonishment.
“Merriwell!” he gasped, seeming to turn ashen pale.
The other man thrust the watch and chain into his pocket. Quick as a
flash, Merry clutched him by the collar, again demanding:
“Let me see that watch!”
At that instant, somebody struck Merry from behind, dropping him to
the floor in a dazed condition. He saw that two of the men who had
been sitting at another table were on their feet, and one of them had
struck him down.
“Give it ter der dude!” snarled one.
“I’ll kick der packin’ outer him!” snarled the other, lifting his
heavy foot.
With a cry, Jim Hooker flung himself at the man.
“Stop!” he shouted. “You shall not harm him!”
In a moment a free fight was taking place in that room. Merry managed
to get upon his feet, but he was attacked by Hooker’s companion and
several others. A shrill, sharp, peculiar whistle came from his lips.
It brought Bart Hodge dashing into that room.
“Nail them, Merriwell!” shouted Hodge, his eyes flashing as he struck
right and left.
There were eight or ten ruffians present, but they found those two
college lads lively fighters. Merriwell had been dazed by the blow he
received, but the manner in which Hodge walked into those toughs was
an inspiration, and Frank quickly woke up to the work before him. The
fight was short and sharp, and Merry and Bart made a dash to get out
of the room. The barkeepers and some of those in the other room met
them at the door. They attempted to stop them.
“Hold on!” cried one of the barkeepers, clutching Hodge.
“Hands off!” snarled Bart, hitting the fellow a terrible jolt on the
jaw.
“We can’t stop now,” Merriwell almost laughed, as he upset the other
barkeeper.
They broke through and rushed out of the place.
“We had better get away in a hurry,” said Hodge. “This may bring the
police.”
“If there are any police in the neighborhood,” muttered Frank. “I’d
like to see that watch!”
“What did you say?” asked Bart.
“Nothing.”
“Yes, you did. You said you’d like to see something. What was it?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
“All right. Come on.”
They hastily left the vicinity, getting away in safety.
“Well, it happened just as I thought it would,” said Bart, as they
walked along.
Frank did not speak. Hodge looked at him, and saw that Merry was
walking with downcast eyes, an expression of deep depression on his
usually cheerful face.
“I’m sorry, Frank,” said Hodge seriously, “but you insisted on going
in there.”
Still Frank said nothing, and Hodge kept on:
“I told you how it would be. I suppose Hooker was furious when he
found you had followed him, and he set the gang on you?”
“You’re wrong about that.”
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
“Then how did it happen? Hooker was mixed in that fight. I’m sure he
was trying to do you up.”
“He wasn’t.”
“Get out! What was he in the fight for?”
“He was helping me.”
“Oh, come off!”
“It’s true.”
“You’re dreaming!”
“No. He kept one of those ruffians from kicking me when I was down. He
attacked the man just as he was going to kick me.”
“But how did you happen to get into the fight?”
“I’ll tell you when we get to my room.”
“Why not now?” persisted Bart, whose curiosity was thoroughly
awakened. “You wouldn’t let me go along with you, and so――――What was
Hooker doing in there?”
“He was trying to straighten the other man up.”
“How?”
“By pouring some kind of a decoction into him.”
“Then Hooker was drinking?”
“No.”
“Why――――”
“The other man was drinking. Hooker was not touching anything.”
“Go on. I don’t know that his not drinking makes him any better. What
happened? Go on.”
“Hooker seemed to be talking to the other man seriously. I had a good
chance to see him. He was a man about fifty years old, and I have an
idea.”
“About him?”
“Yes.”
“You think――――”
“It is possible that this unfortunate wretch is Hooker’s father.”
“I thought of that myself,” nodded Bart. “I wondered if it wouldn’t
occur to you. A fine father he has! He must be proud of him! A
criminal and a drunkard!”
“Without doubt, Hooker is not proud of his father,” said Frank. “I
believe he is anything but proud of him. Have you ever heard how he
happened to get to college?”
“There’s a story that some old aunt of his who has money is putting
him through, and that he is helping work his way. Work his way! You
can understand what that means. He is working his way with those light
fingers of his.”
To Bart’s surprise, Merry did not protest his disbelief of this now.
He was silent and sad.
“I believe you discovered more than you have told me while in that
saloon!” exclaimed Hodge eagerly. “I believe you are convinced of
Hooker’s guilt!”
“Not thoroughly convinced.”
But, by these words, Frank had as much as admitted that he was partly
convinced, and that was enough to satisfy Hodge.
“You are weakening!” he cried; “and you would never do that if you did
not feel that the fellow was guilty. Now, Merry, I believe you can
understand how we felt when you attempted to bring this crooked chap
into our set.”
“What bothers me,” said Frank, “is that Hooker could be known so
certainly to be crooked and still continue as a student at Yale. It is
remarkable.”
“Without doubt, there are other fellows in college who are no better
than he, but they have not been spotted.”
“I don’t like to think so! I don’t like to think that any man who is
living among us here, with all the refining and ennobling influences
of the old college to work for his upbuilding, can be no better than a
common sneak-thief.”
“You must have seen Hooker rob somebody in the saloon, or you would
not admit that he is a common sneak-thief.”
“I did not see that.”
“Well, you saw something that came pretty near settling the matter
with you. But there are other fellows just as bad as Hooker.”
“Name them.”
“I do not think Rupert Chickering is much better. He makes a bluff at
being somebody, but he’s a hypocrite and a sneak.”
“But not a thief.”
“He doesn’t have to be.”
“That’s true. There is no telling what he might become if placed in
Hooker’s position.”
“Still, that does not excuse Hooker,” said Bart quickly, as if fearing
that Frank was looking for something that might be called “extenuating
circumstances.”
“No, that does not, and still, no matter what Hooker may be, I shall
feel a pang of pity for him.”
“That’s like you!”
“If he is a crook, it’s because it’s in his blood.”
“That’s it! I tell you I believe with Jack Diamond that ‘blood will
tell.’ It is his pet theory. Give a man a father with criminal
instincts, and he is bound to have crooked tendencies.”
“But I feel that some fellows fight against such tendencies with all
their souls――and conquer! I believe some lads who are tempted to do
wrong things set their faces resolutely toward the right and never
turn back. At first the battle may be hard for them, but they grow
stronger to resist evil as they win victory after victory, till at
last the tempter has no strength to drag them from the straight and
narrow path that leads to the goal of respect, honor, and happiness.”
“Now you’re talking like a preacher, Merriwell! I don’t like it when
you talk that way! One would think you were never tempted to do
wrong.”
“But I have been, my friend――I have been! And let me tell you that I
escaped by a narrow margin. That is why I can understand and
sympathize with others who are tempted.”
“Too much generosity never does them any good. I’ve known criminals to
be sympathized with till they actually came to think themselves the
ones wronged.”
Frank nodded.
“I haven’t a doubt of that. Nothing disgusts me so much as the people
who carry flowers to murderers. By their folly, such persons are
encouraging crime. Some other weak-minded wretch with a murderous
tendency sees foolish women and idiotic men making a fuss over a
murderer, and he longs to be fawned over and gazed upon with awe and
admiration, and straightway at the first opportunity he kills
somebody. I have sympathy with those who may be struggling to turn
back from the pathway of crime.”
“But do you think Jim Hooker is making any such struggle?”
“I don’t know. He may be.”
“Well, tell me what you saw in that place, and how you came to get
into the fight.”
Bart argued till Frank told him everything. When Merry had finished,
Hodge said:
“That must settle it in your mind, Merriwell. The fellow was in your
room this afternoon before you came. You left the door open, and you
found him there when you returned. Your watch was gone after he
departed. You saw him turning it over to his wretched old father
to-night, and――――”
“I am not certain yet that it was my watch. I shall make a thorough
search for my watch, and, if I cannot find it――――”
“What then?” asked Bart eagerly.
“I am done with Jim Hooker,” said Merry grimly.
Together they returned to Merriwell’s room. On the campus they met
some of Frank’s friends, but he passed on with a word of greeting to
each. When they were in the room, he said:
“Now, Hodge, for a search. You shall help me. We will look everywhere
for that watch.”
“And have all our trouble for nothing,” declared Bart. “You’ll never
see your watch again.”
Frank began the search. He went through his clothes in the wardrobe.
It was not there. Then he went to his dressing-case in the
sleeping-room. Bart made a pretense of hunting, but, being satisfied
in his mind that Frank had not a chance to success, it was no more
than a pretense. The watch was not in any of the drawers of the
dressing-case. High and low they searched, but without avail.
“Now, I hope you are satisfied!” exclaimed Bart.
Frank sat down.
“I am,” he said.
“You are ready to give Hooker up?”
“Yes.”
Hodge made a struggle to repress his triumph. All he had worked for
was accomplished. Frank Merriwell sat there, staring down at the
floor, dark, depressed, dejected.
“Come, come!” cried Bart. “You look as if you had lost your best
friend!”
“I feel as if to-night has seen the death of another of my youthful
confidences in human nature,” said Merry, in a dull voice. “If this
keeps up, I fear for the future.”
“Oh, come off! Fear for the future! What are you giving us!”
“The truth. I have seen old men who were crafty, suspicious, doubtful
of all mankind, and I have pitied them, for it has seemed to me that
they were the most miserable of human beings. If I thought I might
become like one of those I should be wretched now!”
“Bosh! They are the limit. It’s well enough to be on one’s guard
against deception and crookedness, but you must know there is such a
thing as honesty in the world. You must know there is such a thing as
true friendship. There are your own friends――――”
“And they fled before me when I――――”
Frank stopped, and Hodge quickly picked him up.
“When you attempted to introduce a crook to them. Do you wonder? You
cannot blame them.”
Merry rose and walked slowly to the mantel, against which he leaned.
“I suppose not,” he finally said. “They were right and I was wrong. I
shall confess my mistake to them. A little while ago I felt that the
time would come when I should be able to make them all acknowledge
that they were wrong.”
“Is that what’s hit you so hard? Come out of it! You need not say a
word about it to any of them, and you may be sure not one of your real
friends will ever mention it to you.”
“That is not my way. If I make a mistake, I am ready to acknowledge it
no matter how hard it may be for me. The fellow who cannot bring
himself to acknowledge a mistake makes himself miserable and gets the
reputation of being bull-headed. It is not because I must confess I
was wrong that I am feeling bad. It is because an ideal is shattered.”
“You are sorry for Hooker, Merriwell, that’s why you feel so bad.”
Frank was silent.
“Think it over a little,” advised Hodge quickly. “Should you be sorry
for a fellow who could do what he has done? You picked him up an
outcast, and you attempted to bring him into your set, the best set in
college. When your friends turned their backs on him, you stood by
him. How did he reward you? He stole your watch!”
Frank nodded slowly.
“He did, poor devil!”
“Poor devil! Poor nothing! He’s a cheap sneak!”
“It is plain that he was compelled to take something to his father,
for that man surely was his father. He did not have money, and so he
felt that he was compelled to get something.”
“Oh, for Heaven’s sake, don’t try to excuse him that way! Other things
have been stolen. It is certain now that he is the college
sneak-thief. It is evident that he takes his booty to his miserable
old father, or to this pal of his, and the one to whom he takes it
disposes of the stuff and raises the money on it. It is a combination
for crime. I do not believe he is deserving of your sympathy in the
least, and you make me sick by wasting any sympathy on him!”
Frank was forced to confess that Bart might be right. Hodge talked to
him some time.
“I’m tired,” said Merry, at last. “I must go to bed.”
“Then I’ll be going.”
“Wait a little. Wait till I undress. Let’s talk of old times, Bart――of
old times at Fardale! Let’s try to forget this! Talk to me of
something else, my friend, while I prepare for bed.”
So Bart remained yet a little longer and talked to Frank, who slowly
began to undress. The light in the little sleeping-room was turned on,
and Bart sat by the door. Frank moved about slowly, as if weary in
every limb. It was plain to Hodge that he must pass a wretched night.
After a time, Merry opened the bed, turning down the clothes. As he
did so, he paused and uttered a cry. Then he clutched something and
held it up, shouting:
“Look here, Hodge!”
“What is it?” cried Bart, starting up.
“My watch!” exclaimed Merry joyfully.
“Good heavens!” gasped Bart, and he sat down again in a helpless,
flabbergasted way.
“It was there,” cried Frank, “under the pillow. I remember now that
when I changed my clothes I flung it on the bed. It must have slid
under the pillow! That’s why I could not find it.”
Hodge was speechless.