FAREWELL TO YALE.
Like wildfire spread the report that Frank Merriwell was going to
leave college. In an hour it seemed that all Yale knew it. There was
consternation in the dormitories and on the campus. Students gathered
in groups to talk of it. Everyone seemed to regard it as a great
calamity.
Charlie Creighton was perched on the fence, looking as if he had just
buried his last friend. Paul Pierson came along.
“Awful, isn’t it?” asked Pierson.
“Terrible!” said Creighton.
“Have you seen him?”
“No; I’m waiting till I can do so without slopping over and making a
fool of myself.”
“What will Old Eli do without him?”
“Give it up. Why, the professors have heard of it, and they positively
refuse to believe it. Look at those chaps over there in that group.
There are Benson and some of the fellows who were supposed to be
Merriwell’s enemies. Just came by them, and every man is saying it’s a
thundering shame.”
“I don’t believe Merriwell has a real enemy in the college.”
Bink Stubbs came up. Usually Bink was grinning and cracking jokes. Now
he did not say a word, but leaned against the fence with his hands in
his pockets and kicked the ground with his toe.
Lewis Little joined the group. Lewis was a mild sort of chap generally,
but when asked how he felt, he said he’d like to punch the stuffing out
of somebody.
Halliday, Griswold and Puss Parker came up in a bunch.
“I tell you it is a practical joke!” Parker was saying. “Somebody has
put up this job. I won’t believe Merriwell is going to leave college.”
“He’s forced to leave,” said Halliday. “I saw the letter from his
guardian in which Scotch confesses that he has squandered every dollar
of Merry’s fortune.”
“How did the old fool do it?”
“In some kind of a wild-cat mining scheme. That is, the most of it was
sunk in that, although old Scotch confesses that he tried to retrieve
by plunging in stocks.”
“Well, I’m sorry for Merriwell,” sighed Griswold.
“Really, my deah boys, I don’t know that I am sorry, don’t yer ’now,”
broke in a voice, and Willis Paulding, a pronounced Anglomaniac, joined
the group.
“Oh, you’re not?” snarled Lewis Little, who had the reputation of never
speaking an angry word or doing an angry act.
“No, really, I am not,” said Paulding. “Mr. Merriwell flew altogether
too high, don’t yer ’now. This will take him down considerable.”
“And this will take you down a trifle!” grated Little, as he struck
Paulding with all his strength, knocking him down instantly.
The others immediately closed about the two, and Willis was quickly
lifted to his feet, where he stood trembling and pressing a snowy
handkerchief to the bruise between his eyes.
“Sir,” he said, his voice trembling, “you are no gentleman! By Jawve! I
think I shall report that you assaulted me on the campus!”
“Report and be--hanged!” retorted Little, contemptuously. “But take my
advice and close up about Frank Merriwell, or you will get your face
broken. No man can say anything against him in my presence!”
Paulding was the only man rash enough to make a public statement of
satisfaction over the misfortune that had befallen Merriwell, and even
he did not repeat it. If there were any others who really rejoiced at
Frank’s bad luck, they kept still.
Merry decided to leave as soon as possible, and he set about packing up
his goods without delay. In this work he was assisted by such friends
as Rattleton, Diamond and Hodge. Browning started to help, but he
stumbled like one dazed, and was so much in the way that he was asked
to sit down and keep still, which he did, looking thoroughly ill for
once in his life.
The door was locked to keep out the friendly throng that kept coming
up to express regret. It was opened for one person, who knocked on the
door and called out till Frank recognized his voice. Prof. Such came
stumbling into the room and nearly fell over one of the chests.
“Er--er--Mr. Merriwell,” said the near-sighted little professor,
looking from one to the other till he found Frank, “is it--can it be
true?”
“Yes, Prof. Such,” said Frank, “I must leave at once. You see we are
packing my stuff!”
“Oh, dear!” said the little man, his voice trembling. “I am very sorry!
I shall miss you, Mr. Merriwell--we’ll all miss you. Perhaps you will
not mind if I speak frankly now. I have thought a great deal of you,
sir. I have seen in you one of the brightest young men it has ever
been my fortune to deal with here. You were very promising. Never
before have I known a young man who was able to do the many things
you accomplished and still rank so remarkably well in his classes. I
believe you are phenomenal in that line. And now you are going to leave
us! What will you do?”
“That is something I cannot tell, professor. If my guardian has told
the whole truth, I shall go to work to earn my living, and make my way
in the world.”
“And you will succeed--I am sure you will, Mr. Merriwell!” declared the
little man. “You are built of the right stuff. You have succeeded in
everything to which you have turned your hand since coming to college,
and you will succeed in the battle of life. If your fortune is really
lost, you are now at the foot of the ladder. By your own efforts you
will mount upward a step at a time till the top is reached. If you
should slip, don’t give up the struggle, but cling and fight your way
upward.”
“Prof. Such,” said Frank, “your illustration is a good one, and I shall
not forget your kindly advice. Hereafter I shall think of myself as
climbing upward on the ladder of life. I thank you, sir.”
“No thanks, young man. Your hand.”
Their hands met, and there was a strange quiver on the professor’s face
as he tried to look up at Frank.
“Excuse me,” he said; “excuse me, but my eyes--my spectacles are
blurred. I’ll have to wipe them. I can’t see you very well, and I want
to take a good look at you before you go.”
He wiped his spectacles and adjusted them, after which he stared at
Merry several seconds. Then he nodded his head, saying:
“It’s all right. You have the right kind of chin, and your face shows
determination. There is a cast of firmness about your mouth. You will
not be easily daunted. I think you will reach the top of the ladder,
Mr. Merriwell. I wish you good fortune in every undertaking. Good-by,
my boy--good-by!”
Then the little professor turned, as if fearful of remaining longer or
saying any more, and hurried from the room.
Every one of the boys were profoundly affected by this scene. Frank the
most of them all.
Later Merriwell appeared on the campus, and the students gathered about
him by hundreds at the fence, all eager to shake his hand and wish
him good luck. Never before had there been an impromptu demonstration
of this character that could compare with this. Some of the manly
young fellows actually wept, although they tried to hide it, and Frank
himself dashed moisture from his eyes more than once, while his voice
failed him many times.
Lib Benson, a big, broad-shouldered freshman, who had been the leader
of Merry’s freshmen foes, forced his way to a spot where he could grasp
Frank’s hand.
“Merriwell,” he said, huskily, “I hope you aren’t ashamed to shake
hands with me. I know I’ve been a mean cuss--I know it! I’ve tried to
hurt you when I had no reason for doing so, and you’ve always used me
white. I hope you won’t hold a grudge against me, Merriwell. I want
to say right here, before everybody, that I’ve always been in the
wrong, and you’ve always been right. You’re the whitest man I ever saw!
Good-by, Merriwell! Good luck go with----”
Then Lib Benson choked, broke down completely, and made a rush to get
away, tears dropping from his eyes as he held his head down with shame.
There were other scenes like this.
Frank bade the professors good-by.
That afternoon he was escorted to the train by five hundred students,
who marched in silence and looked as solemn as if they were going to a
funeral.
It was over at last. Dear old Yale was left behind--forever!