THE END COMES.
The day of graduation came. The sun shone bright and clear on this
great day in the life of Frank Merriwell, but still that feeling of
sadness was lingering in his heart, for he felt that he was bidding
farewell to his dear home.
Frank had competed to be a Townsend teacher, and he had been chosen one
of the fortunate six who were to speak for the DeForest gold medal.
Thus it happened that he was given little time for thought and little
in which to see his friends, all of whom were eager to be in his
company.
Had he known that the oilskin envelope in his possession contained
nothing but blank paper it is not probable he could have spoken as
brilliantly as he did.
When the speaking was over it was generally conceded that the handsome
medal must go to Merriwell.
The faculty adjourned to the Treasury building, and there Frank was
awarded the splendid prize. Each member of the faculty shook his hand
in turn and spoke some word of praise to him. They looked on him
lovingly, for they knew that he had done more to raise the standard of
college life than any other student in the country.
Frank was on his way to his room when he almost collided with Roland
Packard.
Packard had been drinking heavily, and he stopped, his lip curling in a
scornful sneer.
“You think you’re it, Merriwell,” he said, in a tone of great contempt;
“but, if you only knew it, you are the biggest fool alive.”
Frank had no desire to exchange words with the fellow.
“You’re drunk, Packard,” he said quietly.
“You’re a liar, Merriwell!” snarled Packard, who seemed not to have a
single remnant of reason left.
Frank was not in the habit of taking the lie from anybody, but now,
seeing Packard’s arm in a sling, he did not heed the fellow’s insult.
“Your friends think you’re a great gun,” Roland went on; “but you
really are mighty small potatoes. Won the DeForest prize, did you?
Well, you may have to pawn it soon to get bread to keep you from
starving!”
This did not have the effect Roland had fancied it might, which angered
him to a still further expression of rage.
“Oh, you’re mighty cool; but you won’t be so cool when you find you’re
a beggar! And you are! I know what I’m talking about. You will find
it out in time, and I want to tell you now that it is I--I, Roland
Packard, whom you despise, who has made you a beggar! Don’t forget it!”
He wheeled and walked swiftly away.
Frank stood still and looked after the fellow.
“I wonder what he meant,” Merry muttered, a feeling of uneasiness in
his breast. “Is he plumb daffy? I know he’s pretty drunk, but still it
seems that he must have some reason left.”
Frank was troubled despite himself, and he hurried to his room, where
he made sure the oilskin envelope was still safe in his possession.
Packard had hurried away to drink still more. Already he was
half-crazed by liquor, but he felt consumed by a burning fire that
called for more, more, more.
The afternoon of graduation-day came and saw all graduating students in
caps and gowns, headed by the faculty, likewise garbed, march to the
music of a band out of the campus and down Elm Street to the green,
which they crossed, turning up Chapel Street to Vanderbilt. The gates
of Vanderbilt are opened but once a year, always on this occasion, and
through the gates they marched, under the arch and across the campus.
The chapel was entered, and then came the last solemn ceremony of
conferring the degrees.
Frank thrilled when he stood up to receive his sheepskin. There was a
choking in his throat, his sensation was a mingled feeling of joy and
sorrow that was like exquisite pain. His face was pale as marble. When
the certificate was placed in his hand he felt that it was the document
that divorced him from dear old Yale, and he sat down with his teeth
clenched to hold back the moan that sought vent.
It was over!
That afternoon a man was seen reeling over the Barnesville bridge. He
was intoxicated, and he seemed to fancy he was pursued by an enemy
or enemies who sought his life. Filled with mad terror, he climbed
upon the railing not far from the eastern end of the bridge and flung
himself headlong into the river.
Several persons had seen this crazy act, and they rushed to rescue him,
if possible. Two men pulled out in a boat toward the spot where he
had last been seen. As they pulled he rose to the surface, made a few
feeble splashes, and sank.
One of the men stripped off his coat and plunged in. He brought the
drowning fellow up, helped the other man get him into the boat, crawled
in himself, and they pulled ashore.
On the shore men worked nearly an hour over the poor wretch, but all
their efforts were unavailing. He was dead. In his pocket they found
some letters, which told them he was a student and that his name was
Roland Packard.
And thus it came about that in the pocket of his dead brother Oliver
Packard found another envelope that looked exactly like the one Roland
had snatched from Merriwell. He was astonished and puzzled, but he took
it to Merriwell.
“One of them must contain the message, Merriwell,” said Oliver, whose
face was marked with deep sorrow.
“To-morrow will tell,” said Frank, “for then I will open them both.” He
took Oliver’s hand. “I am very sorry, Packard,” he said.
“It is for the best,” declared Oliver; but his chin quivered as he
turned away.