FRANK MERRIWELL’S HEART.
Frank’s quest for Elsie was vain, but he found she had been stopping at
one of the hotels. Her name was on the register. When he asked for her,
however, he was informed that she had left that day. The clerk could not
tell him whither she had gone, save that her trunk had been taken to the
railway-station. But this was enough to make him feel certain she had
left New Haven.
There was a pain in Frank’s heart when he turned toward his rooms in
Vanderbilt. Quite alone, he paused by the fence. There were lights all
about him in the windows of the college buildings. A few were dark and
unlighted, but it was the gleam of the lighted ones that gave him a
feeling of sadness and desolation. He knew many of the students had
started for their homes that night, while to-morrow there would be a
grand exodus. Going home! The thought thrilled the vibrating chords of
his heart. He had no home to which he could go.
The sky was thickly studded with stars, gazing down upon him like a
million gleaming eyes. He leaned on the fence and gazed up at them, and
he fancied they gave him their sympathy.
“Elsie!” he murmured; “where are you? Why did you leave me without a
word?”
Many, many times, he had lingered there at the fence, with stanch, true
friends about him. It was there he had discussed football, baseball,
sports of all kinds, and talked over the gossip of the college. Now he
was alone!
Finally he turned toward Vanderbilt and climbed the stairs to his room.
This was his only home, but now it seemed lonely and deserted.
He lighted the gas in his study and stood there looking around. It was a
pleasant room, yet the time was approaching when it would know him no
more. The walls were adorned with pictures, flags, photographs, and the
many curios he had gathered in his wanderings about the world. His desk
was standing open, the pigeonholes stuffed with the various things which
were of value to him alone. There were papers and letters upon it.
Before it stood the office chair, with an easy rocker close at hand.
In a window alcove was a long, easy seat, piled with cushions. Over the
window in big white letters was the word, “Yale.” Magic word, dear to
the heart of every loyal lover of Old Eli! Near the window was the
well-filled bookcase, containing many well-thumbed volumes. Through the
portières he could look into the adjoining room and see the square table
on which lay the photographs he had inspected in company with Inza.
Frank sat down in the rocker and fell to thinking of many things, but
his mind would always revert to Elsie and her strange and hurried flight
from New Haven.
“The time has come!” he finally exclaimed. “This is my last year at
college, and soon I must go out into the world for myself. I must choose
between Elsie and Inza. Perhaps I have done wrong not to choose before,
but the friendship of both girls has been very dear to me.”
He paced the room, his mind filled with thoughts of both the charming
girls. He saw before him Elsie’s sweet, smiling face, crowned with
golden curls, he felt the touch of her soft, sympathetic hand, heard the
music of her voice, and his heart yearned for her. Then came
Inza—dark-eyed, dark-haired, dashing, handsome, self-possessed, and
magnetic. He felt the spell of her powerful influence, and it seemed
that she was trying to crowd gentle, modest Elsie out of his heart.
Then he remembered her as he had last seen her, smiling up into the face
of Dick Starbright. He shrugged his broad shoulders and continued to
pace the room. There was a knock on the door, and a messenger-boy stood
outside.
“Been here twice before, sir,” said the boy. “Lady said I must give the
letter to yer to-night, sure.”
Frank took it and gave the boy a quarter. Then, having closed the door,
as the messenger had said there would be no reply, he hastened to tear
open the envelope. His fingers trembled a little and his heart pounded
violently in his throat. He saw his name written on the envelope.
“From Elsie!” he murmured hoarsely. The message was brief, and this is
what he read:
“DEAR FRANK: I know you will think it strange that I changed my
mind so suddenly about seeing you, and have left New Haven. I
meant to come to you and tell you that in the future we were to
be nothing but friends, but my heart failed me at the last
moment. Not because I changed my mind on that point, but because
I knew it would be very unpleasant for us both. I have been
contemplating this for some time, as I have a very good reason
for it. I know you do not care to claim me as anything more than
a friend, if such a tie would be obnoxious to me. Good-by,
Frank! I wish you all the happiness you deserve, and that is all
the world can give you. I shall write to Inza.
ELSIE.”
He stood and stared at the writing for a long time, now and then lifting
a hand to brush back his hair. Fie read it over and over, seeking to
discover a hidden meaning in the words. Finally he crushed the sheet of
paper in one hand and flung it from him.
“It is her choice!” he exclaimed. “I would not force her to care for me
against her will—I could not if I would! I believe I understand what is
back of this. She has met some one else for whom she cares more than for
me. She speaks of a closer tie than mere friendship between us being
obnoxious to her, and there is no other explanation. All right, Elsie! I
suppose it is as it should be. You wish me happiness! I’ll have it—with
Inza!”
His mind was made up in that moment. Elsie was thrust from his mental
vision, and Inza, radiant and beautiful, rose like a queen before him.
“Inza!” he murmured. “Perhaps it is best. You—you were the sweetheart of
my boyhood days. Fate must have intended you for me.”
Up and down the room he strode, his breast heaving, his cheeks flushed.
“Starbright,” he laughed, “you’ll have to stand aside, old fellow! I
can’t have you take her from me! You know, and I hardly think you’ll
object. I’ll find her at your home, and, during these merry holidays,
I’ll win her promise to be mine forever.”
He fancied the struggle was over, and he flung open his window to admit
the cold night air. It fanned his hot forehead, and he drank it in with
long, deep breaths. Leaning on the window-sill, he looked out upon the
campus, where a solitary student walked hastily along, the frosty ground
seeming to creak and complain beneath his feet.
Then he turned back into the room, closing the window. A moment he stood
looking down at Elsie’s crumpled note. Suddenly a quiver ran over him,
and he stooped, picked up the paper, smoothed it out, and thrust it into
a pocket near his heart.
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