THE YOUNG SOLDIER.
“Inza Burrage—is it possible?”
Inza started and looked up.
The speaker, a straight, finely formed youth, had paused by her seat on
the train. As there was no Pullman car on the train that ran to Fardale,
Mr. Burrage had been made as comfortable as possible with cushions and
was sitting opposite Inza, who was riding backward.
The one who uttered the words recorded wore a uniform of the regular
army, but he was scarcely more than a boy in years, though he had a
light-brown mustache. His face was bronzed by exposure to all sorts of
weather.
“I can’t be mistaken,” he said, looking down at her. “This must be Miss
Burrage?”
There was something faintly familiar about him, and yet she did not know
him.
“I am Miss Burrage,” she acknowledged; “but you have the advantage,
sir.”
He laughed.
“Is it possible I have changed so much?” he said, offering his hand in a
manner that betokened the utmost confidence. “Look at me closely, Miss
Burrage.”
She permitted him to take her hand, but still she failed to recognize
him. This seemed to amuse him still more. In truth, she was somewhat
agitated by the sight of the uniform he wore, for Walter was on that
train, having gone forward to the smoker, Merry accompanying him.
“You knew me in Fardale,” he asserted. “I’ve been wondering if I’d meet
any old friends there.”
Then he looked closely at the invalid, and again lifted his hat, saying:
“Mr. Burrage, I think?”
“Yes, yes,” huskily murmured the sick man, who also was alarmed by the
appearance of the uniform. “Though, like my daughter, I fail to
recognize you, sir.”
“That is not so very strange on your part,” said the young soldier, as
he coolly seated himself on the arm of Mr. Burrage’s seat; “but it is a
trifle surprising that Miss Burrage should fail to recognize me.”
“You attended the military academy at Fardale?” questioned the girl.
“I had that pleasure. Old Gunn hauled me over the coals many a time, and
Scotch used to make me toe the mark. By the way, I hear that Professor
Scotch is dead.”
“It is true.”
“Too bad! He was quite a jolly old boy, as we could raise hob with him.
Haven’t you recalled my name yet, Miss Burrage?”
“No,” she reluctantly confessed.
“Why, I was a particular chum to your brother at the academy.”
Mr. Burrage stirred nervously.
“You were Walter’s friend?” said Inza.
“Correct. We entered the army together. Too bad Walter got into that
muss. I’ve been stationed in the Philippines. Home on furlough. Suppose
I’ll have to go back. Beastly country in some respects. No pretty women
there, and women make or mar any country.”
There was something about the air of the fellow that did not please
Inza.
“Well, I see it’s no use for you to try to guess,” he rattled on. “I’m
Swift—Roy Swift. Now you remember me?”
Still she did not remember at first, but after a time she recalled
Swift, whom she had known but slightly among many other cadets at the
academy.
“It’s strange you should forget me so completely,” he said. “I could
never forget you.”
He spoke the words in a very significant manner, bending on her such a
meaning look that the blood rushed to her face.
“I remember the day I first saw you at a picnic in old Snodd’s grove,”
he went on. “I’ve always remembered you just as you looked then. I
thought you the prettiest girl I had ever seen. Since then it——”
“You must have seen thousands of pretty girls,” she broke in, trying to
turn his conversation. “Have you had many adventures in the
Philippines?”
“I have seen more than thousands,” he declared; “but never one of them
all as pretty as you were that day, Miss Burrage. This is not flattery;
it is the sincere truth. I have thought of you millions of times, and
you have ever come to me as a truly representative American girl.”
“Thank you,” she said, not exactly pleased by his bold words of praise.
“I’m sure you are altogether too complimentary.”
“Oh, not at all! I know a pretty girl when I see one! I tell you plenty
of pretty girls have flung themselves at me, but I’m still single, you
see. In every case, I could not help comparing the girl with one I had
first seen at the picnic in Snodd’s grove, and, as a result, none of
them caught me.”
He laughed and twirled his mustache, his pose being one calculated to
arouse admiration. Evidently Roy Swift had lost none of his conceit
since the old days at Fardale, when he regarded himself as “strictly the
proper thing.”
Inza was displeased. She felt like immediately showing her scorn for
this boasting fellow, but something held her in check.
Swift knew her brother. More than that, he knew all about the trouble
into which Walter had been drawn, and he might recognize the unfortunate
fellow on sight, even though Frank Merriwell had failed to do so, for he
knew Walter was not dead, while Merry had been led to so regard him.
Such being the case, it was far better to be careful not to arouse the
resentment of a fellow who might have it in his power to injure Walter.
So Inza bit her lips and remained silent.
“I’ve been trying to get off on furlough for some time,” Swift went on;
“but it has been very difficult. When I did get away, after visiting my
people, I continued to think of the friends in general whom I had known
in Fardale—and of you in particular. Then I determined to visit the old
place. That’s how I came to be on this train. I presume you have been
away from home on a visit of some sort.”
“We do not live in Fardale now.”
“Ah, indeed? Then you are going there on a visit?”
“Yes.”
“How fortunate! Truly, it seems that Providence has brought this about.
How disappointed I would have been had I gone there and not found you,
Miss Burrage!”
“My father has traveled much for his health,” said Inza.
“And, having failed to find it, I’m going back to Fardale to die,”
declared the invalid, in a weak voice.
“Oh, not so bad as that, I hope!” cried Swift. “You don’t want to give
up that way. The man who gives up and says ‘die’ usually has his way. I
knew a fellow in our company who felt that way just before a skirmish.
He got it, all right. The little yellow devils soaked him in four
different places, and he just lay down and groaned, ‘I knew it was
coming!’ Then he croaked. If he hadn’t felt certain he was booked, it’s
possible he might be living still.”
“Folly,” declared Bernard Burrage. “His time had come, and he was
forewarned. It is true with me. I have had the warning.”
“Please—please don’t talk that way, papa!” begged Inza, the color going
out of her face.
“Forgive me, child,” he murmured. “I forgot.” Then he relapsed into
silence, and sat looking out of the window at the snow-bound world.
Swift shook his head, but there was a mist in Inza’s eyes and she gazed
through a blurring veil at the father she had ever loved, despite his
faults.
For Bernard Burrage had not been perfect. Once there had been a time
that, with a persistency that seemed a craze, he had done his best to
marry his beautiful daughter off to a wealthy man. His false view of
life had led him to fancy he was best providing for her if he secured
her a rich husband.
Perhaps he was not so much to blame, for he had felt the spirit of these
days which has seized upon womanhood. He understood how the woman of
to-day loves luxury, ease, show, society, position, and all that, and
how thousands of them are ready and willing to sell body and soul for
that which they covet.
In the past it was different. Then girls married because they loved, and
they were willing to do everything in their power to aid their husbands
in the struggle to rise. Then the question was not if the man could
support them in the style to which they had become accustomed, but the
girl was ready to take him, if she loved him, “for better or worse,” to
cast her fortunes with his, to rise with him or to fall with him.
But Bernard Burrage had not looked at marriage in this way, and he did
not give his daughter credit for having more heart and soul than that of
the average modern girl spoiled by longings for wealth and social
position.
In this he had made a great mistake, for Inza Burrage would not have
tied herself to any man merely for riches or social standing. And she
had baffled his every effort to accomplish his purpose until at last he
gave up.
“Often,” said Swift, “I’ve wondered if you were married yet, Miss
Burrage.”
“Oh, dear, no!” said she, turning toward the window to brush the mist
from her eyes. “I’ve not thought of such a thing.”
“I’m glad you are not,” he declared, in his very meaning manner. “There
was a caddish young chap at the academy whom you seemed to care for, but
I fancied you would outgrow that.”
She looked at him inquiringly.
“A caddish person whom I seemed to care for?” she questioned. “You can’t
mean Bart Hodge?”
“Oh, no!”
“Then I’m sure I can’t conceive whom you do mean. Will you please name
him.”
“Why, Frank Merriwell, of course,” smiled the young soldier.
Inza’s eyes flashed.
“I’d like to know for what reason you call him caddish?” she exclaimed,
the flaming color leaping to her cheeks and her dark eyes flashing.
“Oh-ho!” murmured Swift, as he saw how he had aroused her.
“I thought you were one of his friends at the academy,” said Inza.
“Never that,” declared the youth with the bronzed face. “I was not an
open enemy, but I never liked him.”
“Why not?”
“Oh, for various reasons.”
“Name one.”
“Well, it is not my habit to chase after a fellow that everybody else is
chasing.”
“Then the boys at the academy used to chase after Frank Merriwell?”
“Oh, he had a crowd that hung round him and seemed to think he was the
proper thing.”
“And that is your only reason for disliking him?”
“Not by any means. But he was an upstart. You must remember that he was
below me at the academy, and I graduated some time in advance of him. I
never had much to do with him, for upper-classmen do not associate
freely with plebes.”
By this time Inza was thoroughly aroused.
“It might have done you unspeakable good if you had associated with him
more,” she said.
“In what way?”
“He was a perfect gentleman,” she declared; “and gentlemen always set a
good example.”
That did not seem to ruffle Swift in the least. Indeed, her stinging
words ran off him as water runs from a duck’s back.
“Ha! ha!” he laughed. “It’s plain you were fooled by the fellow, just
the same as many others who did not see much of him.”
That made her long to express herself still more plainly, but Inza was a
lady above everything else, and she could hold herself in restraint
under certain conditions, for all of her passionate nature.
“I hardly think I was fooled; but I am certain you were deceived, or
that you are inclined to maliciously misjudge him. I do hope it is not
the latter case.”
“Thanks. I wouldn’t put myself to the trouble to misjudge him, for I do
not regard the fellow as worth judging at all.”
That was hard to bear! Had Inza been a man she might have placed her
hand on Roy Swift’s collar just then.
“I am sure he made a good record at the academy!”
“But did not graduate.”
“His guardian died.”
“Still, he might have remained in the academy.”
“The provisions of his uncle’s will gave him a better opportunity to
secure an education. Professor Scotch was appointed his guardian, and it
was arranged that he should travel while being tutored by the professor.
He was fitted to enter college.”
“You seem to know all about his affairs, Miss Burrage. It is plain that
you did take a very strong interest in him.”
“Why shouldn’t I? Do you think I’d forget one who saved me from the jaws
of a mad dog? I saw him fight that dog with nothing but a pocket-knife!
From that hour I took an interest in him that has never relaxed, and I
am proud of it now.”
“Oh, well, it’s all right,” smiled Swift, in an easy way. “I did not
know I was hurting you, else you may be sure I’d not said so much. But,
of course, I must continue to think what I like about him.”
“That’s it—you think what you wish to think, not what is the truth about
him.”
“Oh, Miss Burrage!”
“I know it!” she persisted, her dark eyes flashing. “Do you imagine that
you are showing a liberal spirit, Mr. Swift? Don’t you think you are
making yourself seem rather small and mean?”
“Inza!” exclaimed her father restrainingly.
“Don’t be disturbed, papa,” she said, soothingly. “I can take care of
this case very well.”
Again Swift laughed.
“By Jove!” he cried; “you are the same spirited girl as of old! I don’t
wonder Merriwell was crazy over you!”
How offensive he was! Yet he seemed to fancy he had said something to
please her.
“I have said,” she reminded, “that he was always a gentleman. Those who
associated much with him imbibed something of his spirit. You should
have known him better, Mr. Swift.”
“Oh, well, let’s let him drop,” he urged. “He is of no particular
consequence. I’ve heard he’s working all the time to make himself
popular in college.”
“He does not have to work to become popular. He is a natural leader, and
men flock round him because they cannot help it. He was captain of the
eleven last fall, and Yale did not lose a game. It had the greatest
football-team ever put on the gridiron.”
“And, of course, he won all the critical games? Ha, ha, ha!”
“He won the most critical game, the one against Harvard. Everybody has
given him credit for that.”
“He must be a high-stepper now!”
“He is as modest as ever.”
“Then he’s not very modest, for he was forever putting himself ahead.”
“He never put himself ahead in the world, sir! Others put him there.
They recognized his abilities and made him a leader. This spring he is
captain of the Yale nine.”
“It’s a wonder that he’s not on the crew, also!”
“He has been on the crew in the past, and he keeps himself in such trim
that he can take an oar at any time. If anything happens that he is
needed, as has happened in the past, I have no doubt but he will pull
with the crew in the great race.”
“A modern marvel, to be sure! Why, he’s the athletic wonder of the age!”
“In some respects he is,” she agreed defiantly. “But he is a gentleman,
as well as an athlete. You should meet him again, Mr. Swift; it would do
you a world of good.”
By this time he was beginning to feel the sting of her repeated
insinuations, and he bit his lips, though continuing to smile.
“I haven’t the least desire to meet the fellow again, Miss Burrage. In
fact, I would not turn one step out of my course to do so, though, as a
rule, I’m fond of meeting anybody who ever attended Fardale.”
“He must have offended you greatly, sir?”
“Oh, not at all!”
“I presume you are not naturally envious?”
“There was nothing about him that I could envy, Miss Burrage. I found
him offensive, that’s all.”
“But you will confess that he was brave?”
“Why should I?”
“The mad-dog affair proved that. Would you have fought that mad beast
alone, with a coat wrapped round your arm to protect it from the
creature’s jaws, and a jack-knife for your only weapon? Frank Merriwell
did that.”
“Because he was too frightened to run away,” laughed Swift. “I heard
that at the time, and I believe it was told to me by a fellow who
afterward became very chummy with him, Bart Hodge.”
“Hodge hated him at the time, and he would have told anything to injure
him. Hodge ran, and I was left to face the dog alone. Frank saw it. He
tore off his coat, wrapped it round his left arm, and, with the knife in
his hand, fought the dog till Mr. Snodd came and shot the beast.”
“Then he fainted,” laughed the young soldier, with a sneer.
“But not till he had saved us, and his fingers were fastened on the
throat of the dog with a regular death-grip, his knife having been lost
in the struggle. Oh, I’ll never forget how white and still he was as he
lay on the ground!”
She shuddered a little, and Swift laughed again.
“And you’ve been ready to stand up for him ever since, which shows how
loyal you are. I admire you for it, Miss Burrage. He should appreciate
it, but I suppose he’s like all conceited fellows, and they seldom think
much of their best friends. For it is a fact that Merriwell always was
conceited.”
“Thank you, sir!” said a quiet voice.
Frank Merriwell was standing near.
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