WAS HE SINCERE?
The following day being Sunday, the boys were given a chance to rest. It
was a gloomy, sullen set that appeared at training table, and all
efforts to arouse them seemed wasted. One fellow was missing. Kates was
reported ill.
Dick found an opportunity to hunt Sam up and talk to him. Kates would
have avoided Merriwell, but he could not do so, and he faced Dick with a
crestfallen air of shame.
“Are you really ill, Sam?” Dick questioned.
“You bet I am,” was the answer. “I’m downright sick. I haven’t been
right for a day or two, you know.”
“No, I didn’t know it.”
The fact was Dick had fancied Kates in the very best of health and in
fine spirits the day before the game with Highland.
“Well, it’s true,” persisted Sam; “there’s something the matter with me.
I can’t stand for training-table feed. It makes me sick. All I can think
of is rare roast beef and stuff like that. I’d like to sit down and make
a square meal off cake and pie and ice cream and strawberries and
chocolates and bon-bons. I think it’s all rot this tying a fellow down
on a certain line of diet. One man’s food is another’s poison, you know.
How’s any one going to tell me what I need to eat unless he’s an expert
physician, and I’m ill with dyspepsia, or something of that sort? No
wonder I couldn’t pitch yesterday. Jones is too blamed rigid with the
team. It needs some one more liberal. Then there’s Robinson—he keeps
watch of us as if we were criminals or a jury sitting on a murder case.
Some day—some day I’m going to punch that man Robinson. I tell you I’m
in revolt, Merriwell.”
“Let me tell you something, Sam,” said Dick quietly: “You’re trying to
make unnecessary excuses for yourself. You’re disgusted because you were
batted hard Saturday, and so you think you’ve got to lay the blame to
something. Shoulder it, shoulder it—that’s the only way. Evidently you
were not wholly to blame. According to what I’ve learned, there were
some rotten errors made.”
“But they did hit me hard,” groaned Kates, shaking his head. “Merriwell,
I believe there were some ringers in that bunch. I don’t believe they
were all high-school boys. I never saw a high-school team hit the way
they did. The more I’ve thought about it, the sicker I’ve grown. It took
the heart out of me.”
“Well, I’m sorry to know that you’ll let a thing like that take the
heart out of you, Kates. You’ve got to have more backbone.”
“I suppose Buckhart told you all about our trouble?”
“I don’t know as he mentioned any particular trouble with you, Kates. It
seems that the whole team was fussing and quarreling.”
“But Buckhart called me a few names that I couldn’t swallow. I told him
I’d never pitch to him again until he apologized, and I meant it. He’s
got to apologize, Merriwell, or I’m done.”
“A better way would be to drop it—to forget all about it,” said Dick.
“This demanding an apology for every hasty and unintentional word is a
poor business. The rest of the fellows have practically dropped it, and
you should do the same, Kates.”
“Suppose you say that because Buckhart is your particular friend. I
suppose you think I ought to apologize to him, don’t you?”
“I don’t think either of you should demand an apology from the other.
Nor should you hold a grudge. You’re not playing for Buckhart; you’re
playing for the team. Think it over, Kates. I’ll expect to see you out
with the others to-morrow afternoon. We’ve got to get together and play
ball if we hope to defeat Manhattan.”
“We’ll have to play different ball than we did Saturday,” said Sam, as
Dick departed.
On Monday morning Dick received a letter that surprised him unspeakably.
It was the confession of Mike Lynch.
“Well, that beats!” he cried when he had finished reading it.
“What is it?” questioned Jones.
“I’d like to show this to you,” said Dick. “I’d like to have you read
it.”
But when Jones reached for the letter, Merriwell drew it away, shaking
his head.
“No, I can’t, old man,” he said. “It’s confidential. The fellow who
wrote this has trusted me. He has placed himself in my hands. With this
document I could have him expelled from college. He has thrown himself
on my mercy. The fellow must be sincere. He certainly protests that he
is, and he urges me to keep this letter, to be used against him in case
I ever find he is not in earnest. I think I’ll take him at his word.”
Returning the confession to the envelope, Merriwell placed it in a
drawer which he always kept locked, and the key of which he carried
constantly. From this drawer he took the queer old horse pistol and the
two silver bullets.
“What the dickens have you there?” asked Jones.
“It looks like a young cannon, doesn’t it?” smiled Dick, as he procured
a sheet of wrapping paper and carefully wrapped the pistol.
“What are you going to do with it?”
“I’m going to return it to its owner. Remember he that is devoured by
much inquisitiveness causeth disturbance.”
Carrying the carefully wrapped pistol under his arm, Dick knocked at the
door of Mike Lynch’s room. Mike was on the point of going out. He
flushed as Merriwell entered.
“Here’s that pistol you asked for,” said Dick, handing the weapon over.
“Here are also the silver bullets. What do you propose to do with these
things?”
“So you got my letter, did you?”
“Yes, I received it.”
“And read it?”
“Every word.”
“I’m going to hang this pistol on the wall yonder. I’m going to keep it
there as a reminder of my pledge to you. It will be a warning of what my
folly led me into. It will also remind me of your generosity toward me.
That letter ought to convince you that I mean business when I say I’ve
turned over a new leaf.”
“It begins to look as if you do, Lynch,” said Dick.
“Were you surprised by the contents of the letter?”
“I was surprised, perhaps; but you told me nothing I did not already
know.”
“Perhaps I told you nothing you did not suspect. But you had absolutely
no proof that I was really the one who betrayed the team some weeks ago.
That was a dirty piece of business, Merriwell, and I’m heartily ashamed
of it. I did it out of spite toward you. You see, I am in your power
now. If I do another dirty trick, you can publish that confession, and
that will be my finish. Not many fellows in my place would dare trust
any one as I’ve trusted you, for not many fellows in your place would
treat their enemies with the generosity you show them. I wish you would
promise me one thing, Merriwell.”
“What is it?”
“Unless something happens to convince you that I’m insincere in my
resolve to behave in future, I hope you’ll never read the contents of
that letter again. You’ve perused it once, and you know what there is in
it. This may sound like a queer request, and I don’t know as I can make
you understand my reason for it. You think badly enough of me now. If I
behave, and you begin to believe there is a decent streak in me, you may
get the belief knocked out of you if you reread that confession. That’s
why I hope you’ll never look at it after this day. When you’re
satisfied—thoroughly satisfied—that I mean to do right, I wish you would
return that confession to me, that I may destroy it. While it remains in
existence there’ll always be the danger that it may fall into the hands
of some one who’ll use it against me. Oh, I realized this when I wrote
it. I’m taking all the chances. I’ve asked you to keep it where it will
be safe.”
“It’s under lock and key at this moment.”
“But that’s not always safe. Don’t think I’m sorry I wrote it. Don’t
think I want to squeal. I could see no other way to convince you that I
meant to do the right thing. I wanted a chance to prove myself.”
“You shall have it, Lynch,” said Dick earnestly. “But don’t forget your
promise to consult a physician.”
“I’ve done so already. I was thoroughly examined yesterday. The doctor
says he sees no reason why I should leave college at the present time.
He thinks I’ll go through the term all right. I’m certain there’s
nothing the matter with me now, Merriwell. That bump on the head
straightened me out.”
“I have just one question to ask,” said Dick. “Wolfe’s name was hitched
to that confession as a witness. Did he read it?”
“Oh, no; he simply saw me sign my name. I didn’t permit him to read it.”
“I thought not,” nodded Dick.