AN OUTCAST NO LONGER.
It is needless to say that neither Frank Merriwell nor Bart Hodge
related to their friends the adventure of that night. Of course, Merry
was overjoyed by the discovery of his watch just where he had left it,
and, of course, Bart was completely upset.
“It is quite probable now,” said Frank, “that Hooker gave his own
watch to his father, when that person demanded money and he was unable
to furnish it. You must respect Hooker for the act, Hodge.”
He pledged Bart to secrecy, and, on the following day, Merry took
pains to hunt Hooker up. Of course, Jim was confused and abashed. He
wondered how Frank had happened to be in such a quarter. Frank told
him.
“Hooker,” he said, “I am going to tell you just what I did last night,
and then, if you are too angry to forgive me, you can tell me what you
think of me. I am heartily ashamed of the whole affair, and I ask your
pardon.”
“Ask my pardon?” gasped Hooker. “What for?”
“I’ll tell you,” and then Merry related the whole story, excepting
that he took all the blame on his own shoulders, never once mentioning
that Hodge had led him into the piece of detective work.
Hooker listened to the end, his face betraying his changing emotions.
“There,” said Frank, at last, “that’s the whole of it. Now you know
why I happened to be in that dive on the water-front. You know that,
for all of my protestations of absolute friendship, I did not trust
you fully. I am ashamed of it all, and I beg your pardon.”
“I don’t wonder that you did not trust me,” said Hooker. “Nobody seems
to do that!”
The words cut Frank to the quick.
“Yet I told you that I did.”
“Well, you wanted to make sure that I was on the level. It’s all
right. Anybody in your place would have done the same. The man that I
picked up was my father,” he went on, his face flushing and then
turning deathly pale. “He was an honest man till convicted of a crime
he never committed. When he came out of prison the brand of a criminal
was on him, and he found himself regarded with distrust by everybody.
Nobody offered him a helping hand, and he could not obtain any
position of trust. Then he took to drink and went to the bad. I don’t
believe he ever did anything very bad, but he is a fallen man now. He
cares for nothing but drink, drink, drink. At times he is ashamed of
himself and tries to do better, but it is too late. At other times,
when hard up, he becomes desperate. He has found that I am here at
Yale, and he has come here that he may be near me. At times he
threatens to come here to the campus and show himself if I do not
furnish him money. When he is in his cups, I cannot reason with him. I
have to furnish him with money. Last night I had no money. I knew he
would be expecting me Saturday night, and I knew where I might find
him. I left college in my regular clothes and changed them for a
wretched suit at the Jew’s store, so that I might be disguised when I
went there. A man who is dressed in a decent manner attracts attention
there. That was my reason for changing my clothes. As I said, I had no
money, not having received any from my aunt on Saturday, as usual. He
would not listen, and, as a last resort, in order to keep him silent,
I gave him my watch to pawn. That is all.”
Frank grasped Hooker’s hand.
“My dear fellow,” he cried, “you have my sympathy and admiration! If I
can help you in any way, you may depend on me!”
“Thank you, Mr. Merriwell.”
“Don’t call me that. You are one of my friends now, if you can forget
and forgive my suspicions. Call me Merry.”
“All right,” said the outcast, with a bit of a smile on his face; “but
don’t call me Hookie! Let it be Jim, will you, Merry?”
“Sure thing, Jim!”
* * * * *
Frank Merriwell had called together his set in his room. They had
gathered at the call, wondering what it meant. They chattered, and
joked, and speculated. Browning was the last one to come loafing in.
“What’s this?” he asked; “a riot, or a peace conference?”
“Make yourself comfortable, old man,” said Merry, “and I will tell
you. All are here now.”
“Well, they’re pretty thick,” grunted Bruce. “I don’t see how a man is
going to make himself comfortable in this jam.”
“Friends,” said Merry, taking the center of the room and looking
round, “of course, you know there is some extraordinary reason why I
have brought you here to-night. I am not going to make a long talk,
but I am coming straight to the point. There is in this college a man
who has been maligned, lied about, and disgraced. His worst enemies
are Rupert Chickering’s set. Chickering and his gang have done more
than anybody else to hurt this unfortunate student. They have put the
brand of criminal upon him and made him an outcast. The man I speak
about is Jim Hooker.”
“I thought so!” muttered somebody.
Frank went on: “Hooker is believed to be crooked. I saw him and took
pity on him. I brought him here to this room, and some of my friends,
who were present, fled precipitately, refusing to be introduced to
him. It cut me pretty deep, but since then I have taken pains to
investigate Hooker and his history. I am not going to tell you how I
did it, but I am going to tell you what I found out. I found out that
Jim Hooker is thoroughly honest, that his father was imprisoned for a
crime he did not commit, and other things in the poor fellow’s favor.
I have not found one thing against him. I have learned many things
that lead me to respect him highly. Now”――Frank looked at his
watch――“I have a few more words to say. I have invited Hooker to come
here at eight o’clock this evening. He will be here in ten minutes.
There is just time for all to get out who may desire. He does not know
why I wish him to be present at eight, but it is to meet my friends
who remain to be introduced to him and to treat him like a man and a
member of our set. Those who remain here will still remain my friends;
those who go――will go!”
There was no misunderstanding Frank’s meaning. The assembled fellows
looked at each other.
Bart Hodge stepped out.
“Merriwell is right,” he said. “You know what I have thought of
Hooker. Well, I was with Merry when he made his investigations. I
think now that Jim Hooker is a square man, and the fellow who refuses
to meet him to-night will prove himself a cad. I shall meet him and
ask his pardon for any slur I may have cast upon him!”
When Bart Hodge spoke like that it meant a great deal.
“Come,” said Frank, watch in hand, “Hooker may appear any moment.
Those who wish to go had better get out right away.”
“It seems to me,” said Harry Rattleton, looking around, “that there
are not many going out. I shall stay.”
They all stayed, and when Jim Hooker appeared five minutes later he
received the surprise of his life.