THE PROMISE.
A little farther on Ready came upon another man, who seemed to be
watching Defarge. It was Hock Mason.
“Hello, Mason!” exclaimed Ready. “Why art thou not wrapped in the
arms of old Morpheus? At this witching hour you should be snoring
sweetly.”
“I’ve been watching him,” said Mason, motioning toward Defarge.
“All night?”
“A large part of it.”
“Why should you take all that trouble?”
“Because I feared he might commit suicide before morning.”
“Suicide?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He was pretty wild last night. I saw him trying to drink absinth.”
“Trying?”
“I said that.”
“Well, didn’t he succeed?”
“No, sah.”
“Why not?”
“That’s the strange part of it. I can’t tell why. He was crazy for
a drink of the stuff, but the odor of it seemed to make him weak
and helpless. Then, when he tried to lift the glass quickly and
drink it off without stopping, the glass fell from his fingers just
before it reached his lips. Three times he tried it, and three
times he dropped the glass, which was shattered on the floor.”
“He must have found that drink expensive when he did get it.”
“But he did not get it.”
“No? Did he call the game off?”
“He gave up in despair. He paid for all the stuff, declaring that
Merriwell’s eyes had kept him from drinking. Then, in a sort of
frenzy, he rushed out of the place. I thought he might do himself
harm, and I followed him up. From place to place he went, trying
everywhere to get the stuff. When he did get it and tried to drink
it, the same thing happened to him again and again. I tell you he
became desperate. Then he got out into the night and tore away. I
followed him up, meaning to try to prevent in case he attempted to
drown himself. I think he did have some such thoughts.”
“Mason,” said Ready, putting a hand on the shoulder of the man
from the South, “I have always regarded you as a fellow with horse
sense.”
“Thank you, sah,” said Hock.
“But I find,” Jack gravely added, “that I have made a mistake. You
are a chump.”
“What--what, sah?” gasped Mason.
“Any man who will contemplate getting wet to prevent Bertrand
Defarge from committing suicide is a chump,” Ready gravely declared.
Mason was angry, but he saw something in the face of the queer
sophomore that prevented him from losing control of his temper.
“But, sah,” said the youth from South Carolina, “you do not know
how much he counted on an election which did not come to him. I
know all about it, for I was with him tap day. The hand that fell
on my back was the hand he thought must tap him.”
“Which shows that he got just what was due him, my dear Mason. It’s
not your place to worry over him in the least, and I think you have
been wasting your valuable time chasing him about. Time, you know,
is a precious jewel, and the man who wastes it when he can sleep
or loaf makes an awful mistake. Come, Hocksie, let’s perambulate
toward our boudoirs and prepare for chapel. Forget it, my boy. Let
Defarge take care of himself.”
So Jack dragged Mason away, and they left Defarge standing there
alone in the gray light of morning.
It had, in truth, been a wild night for Bertrand, but now the
intense longing for absinth had passed from him, a grateful
quietness had come upon him, and something seemed to tell him
that never again would he be tempted to drink the stuff that was
dragging him to destruction.
He went back to his room, but not to sleep, for Skelding soon
followed him. Several times that night Gene had visited the room
of Defarge, only to find the fellow out, and it was his fear that
the influence of Merriwell had failed, in which case Bertrand might
return a raving maniac. He was relieved when he found Defarge
sitting there by the window in the morning light, quiet and calm,
and unexcited.
Of course, Defarge was astonished when Gene appeared at that hour.
Skelding told him how it happened that he was there.
“Well, I have had a bad night of it,” confessed Bertrand. “I was
seized by a mad desire for that stuff last night, but the strange
thing was that I could not drink it, no matter how hard I tried.”
Gene nodded, smiling.
“At first,” Bertrand went on, “the smell of it made me so sick and
faint that I could not get the glass to my lips.”
Again Gene nodded.
“But I felt that I must have it. So, holding it off at arm’s
length at first, I lifted it quickly, meaning to dash it down at a
swallow.”
“Then what happened?” asked Skelding eagerly.
“The glass fell from my fingers every time before I could touch it
to my lips. I can’t understand why it happened, but it fell and was
broken on the floor.”
“Then you were saved?”
“Yes, though I was forced at last to roam about through the city
for hours. Toward morning a strange calmness came over me, and I
knew all desire for that stuff had passed away. I believe it has
left me forever.”
“In which case, you have Frank Merriwell to thank that you are not
now a murderer and a maniac.”
Defarge stared and lifted his hand.
“Not Merriwell, but you,” he said. “You told me that you exchanged
those cartridges.”
“That time, yes; but had you continued to drink that stuff you
would have made the attempt again at another time, and I might not
have been around.”
“Well, why didn’t I continue to drink?”
“Because Merriwell would not let you.”
Then Skelding told Defarge how Frank had willed that his enemy
should not be able to drink absinth in any form, and how just what
Merriwell had ordered had come true.
“You can see what you owe to him,” said Skelding. “You hate him;
you regard him as your enemy; yet he has saved you from a madhouse.”
Bertrand sat there, gazing out of the window in silence. It was
hard for him to think that he owed so much to the fellow whom he
had hated so intensely and tried to injure so repeatedly.
“I have been Merriwell’s enemy myself,” Skelding went on. “It was a
long time before I saw the folly of my ways, but the truth came to
me at last. I am not his friend now, for I would not ask him to be
a friend to me; but I have buried the past, and I shall never lift
a hand against him again. Why don’t you do the same, Defarge? You
can see how hopeless it is for you to try to injure him. He has the
power to control you when you are away from him. It is your duty to
go to him and confess that you have done wrong, and thank him for
saving you by the spell he cast on you.”
Defarge shook his head.
“I can’t do that!” he exclaimed.
“Why not?”
“I can never humble myself to him.”
“It is not humbling yourself when you thank a man, be he friend
or foe, for such a favor. Look here, Defarge, you have not many
friends in college, have you?”
“No.”
“Neither have I.”
“Well?”
“We might become friends. We both desire some one whom we can
regard as such. But, as I have forever renounced all intention of
harming or trying to harm Merriwell, I cannot be the friend of any
one who is plotting him injury. You have your choice now. Be a man
and do the right thing with Merriwell and I will stick by you. If
you do not--well, we can’t have much of anything to do with each
other. That’s all.”
“I’ll have to think it over,” said Bertrand. “I’m tired now.”
“All right,” said Gene, preparing to go. “I hope you’ll come to
your senses.”
He went out, leaving Defarge staring through the window at the pink
of the morning sky.
It was a beautiful morning, and somehow the passionate French youth
felt that a brighter and better morning was breaking within his
soul.
* * * * *
Frank was surprised when Defarge came to him and said:
“Merriwell, I have no hope that you will believe me, but I have
come to say that in the future I hope God will punish me if I lift
my hand against you, or plot with others to do you harm!”
Frank turned those wonderful eyes on Defarge, and saw that the
young Frenchman was never more in earnest.
“I should not have come here to say this,” Bertrand confessed, “if
it had not been for Skelding. He tells me you have kept me from
drinking absinth. I believe the craving for the stuff has gone from
me forever.”
“You can’t be sure of that,” said Merry.
“I know it, and for that reason I wish now to ask you to hold me
fast yet a while longer under the spell. Keep me from drinking the
stuff. Can you?”
“I can.”
“Will you do that? You know I was crazed by it when I tried to
shoot you! You know I am pretty humble now, else I’d not be here
asking a favor! I am sorry for the past--I swear I am! Do you
believe me, Merriwell?”
“Yes, I believe you.”
“And you will still help me? You will keep me from drinking absinth
if I am tempted?”
“I will,” promised Frank.