CHAPTER XXIX
AN UNWILLING PROMISE
When Frank stepped into his room he was astonished to find himself face to face with his old-time sweetheart, Inza Burrage, and her aunt, Miss Abigail Gale.
Inza hurried toward him, uttering a joyous cry, and an exclamation of surprise and delight escaped his lips.
In a moment, regardless of the presence of her aunt, the girl flung her arms about Frank's neck and kissed him.
Miss Gale's hard face did not soften, but she turned her back toward them, and pretended to be greatly interested in a strange crooked dagger, having a point smeared with some green substance, the dagger being locked in a case with a heavy glass door. Upon the glass of the case was pasted a slip of paper bearing these words:
"The Snake Knife of the Pampas."
"Inza!" exclaimed Frank, as if somewhat in doubt. "Inza – here?"
"Yes!" she cried. "Isn't it a surprise? I knew I would surprise you, Frank."
"A surprise indeed! Why, you didn't let me know you were coming."
"No."
"How does it happen?"
"Aunt Abby knows some friends in New Haven, and she wished to visit them while she was in the East, so she asked me to come with her. You may be sure I was ready enough to come, and, as father is getting along very well, we were able to leave him."
"Then your father – he is improved?"
"A great deal since getting back to America. He raced all over Europe looking for health, but continued to get worse till he returned home. Now he says he believes this the healthiest country on the face of the earth."
"And he is right. If a person is not strong enough to endure the rigors of our Northern climate, there is the perfect climate of California. But I don't suppose you came here to talk climate."
Frank said this with a laugh, and they advanced, hand-in-hand, toward Miss Gale, who had turned her attention from the queer knife to some still queerer images and ornaments that adorned the mantel.
"Aunty says you'll be a museum manager if you keep on," laughed Inza. "Says she never saw so many queer things."
"Goodness, no!" exclaimed Miss Gale, severely, turning to look at Frank over the rims of her spectacles. "I hope you ain't a crank, Mr. Merriwell."
"I trust not, Miss Gale," smiled Frank, with extended hand, which Abigail rather awkwardly accepted, but shook with a heartiness that was expressive of her esteem for Merry.
"What be some of these horrid-looking things?" asked the spinster. "What be they good for?"
"Some of them are mementoes, and some of them are simply for the purpose of decoration. Those little images, those odd vases, the pottery on that shelf – I gathered those things as ornaments."
"Do tell! I want to know if that ain't just like some folks! Them things are so hombly I'd want to hide 'em or put 'em all in the fire if I had 'em in my house. Some real pretty chromo pictures would look so much better in place of them. If you want vases, why you can get pretty glass ones almost anywhere from fifteen to thirty cents each, and land knows they'd look better than them things! Then there's that great stuffed tiger. Goodness! It scared me awful when I saw it standing there in the corner of the room. I thought it was living, and was shooing at it when Inza ran over and put her hand right on it. Whatever in the world can induce you to have such a thing in your room?"
"At first I found it difficult to induce Aunt Abby to remain in this room," laughed Inza. "She wanted to go outside and wait for you. I am afraid she has obtained an unfavorable impression of you by coming here."
"I sincerely trust not," said Frank, who had worked hard when he first met Miss Gale in Santa Barbara to win her good esteem, a task at which he had been most successful. "I should regret it very much if I thought such was the case."
Miss Abigail's hard face did not soften, but she immediately said:
"I suppose we all must have some weak point, and it seems to be Mr. Merriwell's weakness to gather such hideous truck. I'm sure he's a gentleman, and I think just as much of him as I ever did."
Frank bowed gracefully and expressed his thanks.
"Can't help looking at the stuff," said the spinster, readjusting her spectacles and turning her back squarely on Frank and Inza. "I like to see what crazy notions they do get up."
She appeared to be very busy examining the collection of bric-a-brac and curiosities.
Frank and Inza looked at each other a moment, and then their hands met. He drew her to a seat on the sofa.
For some time they chatted of various matters that interested them alone, Miss Gale being strangely taken up with the trinkets in the meantime.
"Is this the way she usually chaperones you, Inza?" asked Frank, after a while, smiling.
"Goodness, no!" replied the girl. "If you were any one but Frank Merriwell she would be sitting stiff and straight on a chair, never taking her eyes off us for a moment. But you – she thinks you are the finest young man in the world. You have completely won her withered old heart, Frank. You should hear her praise you to papa."
"I'm lucky to have such a champion. Has your father given over the hope of marrying you off to some rich man?"
"I don't know about that. He hasn't mentioned it of late. I think his ill luck has discouraged him."
"Two years after this will take me through college, and then – "
"And then – "
His hand found hers once more, and the look that he gave her she could not misunderstand. Her eyes drooped, and the warm color surged into her cheeks.
To Frank it seemed that Inza grew more handsome each time he saw her. Certainly she was destined to become a strikingly attractive woman.
After a little their conversation drifted onto the subject of college sports, and Inza suddenly said: "I am so glad you are not playing football this season, Frank."
"Glad?" questioned Frank, surprised. "Why?"
"Oh, just because – because – I am."
This was unlike Inza. She had ever taken a great interest in manly sports and games, and, in the old days at Fardale, her smiles and encouraging words had fired him with enthusiasm to do his best in many a contest.
"I don't think I understand you," he said, slowly. "You used to be glad for quite the other reason."
"But – but it's different now."
"How?"
"Oh, I can't tell; but it is."
"Well, Inza, I have not played football this season, but I am thinking of playing in the two principal games – the ones with Harvard and Princeton."
Inza appeared startled.
"Don't do it, Frank – don't play football this year!" she exclaimed. "Promise me that you will not."
"Oh, I can't do that, Inza. Yale is not as strong as she should be this fall, and, if I can do anything to help her win, I feel that I must."
Inza secured both his hands, leaned toward him, and looked straight into his eyes, as she deliberately asked:
"If I didn't want you to play, would you do so?"
Frank's position was rather unpleasant, and he showed confusion.
"If there was a reason why you did not want me to play – "
"There is."
"Tell it to me."
"Not now – sometime. But I want you to promise me that you will not go on the field this season. Will you promise?"
In her dark eyes there was a command, as well as an entreaty. He felt that he could not resist her if he looked into those eyes, and he turned his head away.
Instantly Inza sprang up.
"I think we had better go, Aunt Abby," she exclaimed.
Frank was on his feet instantly.
"Now, Inza," he exclaimed, "I know you are angry. It seems to me that you are unreasonable. If you would tell me why you don't want me to play, I – I – "
"It is very plain that I have been mistaken in you," she said, severely. "I thought of you when my father was trying to force me into marriage with an Englishman with a title – and I ran away from the Englishman. Perhaps, if I had known you would refuse me such a little thing as this – perhaps I might have married that odious old Englishman out of spite!"
Her eyes flashed, and she stamped her small foot.
She was right; he felt it. She had done much for him, and truly he might please her in this matter. Marline could play full-back all right, and it was no more than fair that Marline should have a chance. He had not intended to play football, but Halliday had tried to drag him into it.
"Don't be angry, Inza," he said. "Let's talk it over. Perhaps I will promise."
"I have talked enough," she said, without relenting. "If you care for me as I fancied you did, you will promise without another word."
One more moment of hesitation, and then Frank said:
"That settles it – I promise."
"You will not play football this season?"
"No."
"You are a dear, good boy!"
Then she suddenly kissed him again.
CHAPTER XXX
"FALSE TO HIS COLORS."
As the hour to start for the park that afternoon approached Halliday came hurrying into Merriwell's room, and found Frank digging away at his Greek again.
"Hey, there!" cried Ben. "Have you forgotten, old man?"
"Hello!" said Frank, looking up with an uncertain smile. "Forgotten what?"
"Practice."
"No."
"But you're not ready."
"No."
"Forrest wants us there on the dot. Come, Frank, get into your old suit, and we'll make a rush for the car."
Frank put down his book, saying:
"I'm not going, Ben."
"Hey?" cried Halliday, staggering. "Come again."
"I'm not going."
"Not? Come off! What are you giving us? Don't try any funny business with me, Merry!"
"There is no funny business about this. I have decided not to go."
"You can't afford to miss an afternoon if you are going to get in shape for the same with the Cambridge fellows."
"I am not going to try to get into shape."
That was another staggerer for Halliday. He gasped for breath and stared at Merriwell.
"Not going to try?" he slowly repeated. "Why – why, it can't be that – "
"Yes it can, Hally; I'm out of it. I have decided to stick to my studies and let football alone."
Ben groped for a chair, upon which he weakly dropped.
"Is this a dream?" he muttered; "or did my ears deceive me? It can't be that I heard aright!"
"There is no joking about this," said Frank, getting up and standing before his visitor. "I have decided at last, and my mind is made up."
Ben was silent, but he stared and stared and stared at Frank. He seemed trying to comprehend it.
"I wouldn't have believed it," he muttered – "I won't believe it now! It isn't Frank Merriwell! He wouldn't do a thing like that. He has a mind of his own, and he does not change his mind with every change of the wind."
Frank flushed painfully, but said:
"Only fools never change their minds, Hally. Men of reason and good sense are forced to change their minds occasionally."
As soon as he seemed able to comprehend it fully, Ben got up and approached Merriwell.
"Look here, Merry," he said, entreatingly, "don't be a fool! I'm going to talk plain with you! By Jove! Somebody should talk plain to you! I don't care if you kick me out of your room! If you whiffle around again you'll be the butt of ridicule for everybody. You'll never again have any standing in Yale. Man, you are throwing away your reputation! Can't you see it?"
Frank paled somewhat, but a firm look settled about his mouth, and he was unmoved.
"Surely, I have a mind of my own, and I have a right to do as I please in this matter," he said, his voice cold and steady. "I am my own master."
"Yes," confessed Ben, desperately, "but you must listen to reason. I haven't an idea why you have whiffled around again, but I do know it will ruin your reputation. Word has gone out that you will play full-back in the Harvard game. Forrest has the same as stated that he should put you in at the start, with Marline as substitute. Now think – think what it will mean if you again withdraw! Cæsar's ghost! Merry, you will be a dead duck in athletics and sports. You will be regarded with contempt."
"Can't help it."
Holiday's desperation increased.
"Think of Marline."
"I have."
"They'll say he cowed you – say you backed down because you feared him."
"It will not be true."
"But it will go, all the same."
"Can't help it."
"You must have a reason for this new move."
"My studies."
"That's the old reason. There must be another."
"Perhaps."
"Will you tell me what it is?"
"No."
"And do you want me to go out to the park without you?"
"You will have to go without me, for I am not going."
"And I have been bragging about getting him back on the eleven!" muttered Ben. "They'll jolly me to death, and I shall be so ashamed that I'll want to crawl into some sort of a hole."
"I am sorry about that, Hally," said Frank. "Believe me, I care more about it than about anything else."
"You do not mind the ruin of your own reputation?"
"I scarcely think my reputation will be damaged so badly."
"But it will – it will! If you were sure it would, wouldn't you go along with me?"
"No!"
That was like the blow of a hammer, and it took the last bit of hope from Halliday's heart.
"I think more of my word of honor than anything else," said Frank, grimly. "If I always stand by that, I'll risk my reputation."
"They'll say he is a traitor to Yale," muttered Ben, as if Frank could not hear. "They'll say he refused to do his duty – refused to fight for the honor of old Eli. They'll say he is false to his colors."
Frank winced somewhat. He could not help it, for he was touched on a tender spot.
"No fellow can have the interest of Old Eli more at heart than I," he declared. "But I think the importance of playing me full-back on the eleven is overestimated. There are several fellows who are able to play the position. Marline did excellent work in practice yesterday, and I believe he will show up finely in a game. I won't crowd him out – that's all. It's no use to talk to me."
He sat down and picked up his book.
Halliday stood looking at Frank, his face showing wrath and disgust, then turned and left the room. As he passed out Frank heard him mutter:
"False to his colors!"
CHAPTER XXXI
FRANK IS MISERABLE
Frank was expecting a call from Forrest. It came. The captain of the eleven brought Yates and Parker with him. He did not beat about the bush, but immediately asked Frank why he had not come out to practice.
With equal directness, Merriwell told him he had finally decided for good and all that he could not play football that season.
Parker looked dismayed; Yates looked disgusted. Forrest did not give up.
"You can't refuse," he said. "We need you, and you must play."
But Frank was determined, and persuasion proved of no avail. He firmly refused to think of playing.
"Come away!" exclaimed Yates, with a sneer. "It's no use to talk to him. I did think he was all right, but this settled his case in my mind."
Frank bit his lip, and all the color left his face, while his eyes gleamed dangerously.
"Mr. Yates," he said, "you are in my room, and I cannot lift a hand here. Any time you see fit to insult me outside I'll do my best to resent it."
"Bah!" cried Yates. "If you haven't the courage to face Marline, you'll never stand up to me. I have discovered that you are a big stiff! You're a case of bluff!"
Merriwell quivered, and his hands were clinched till his finger nails cut into the palms of his hands. It was plain that he was making a battle to restrain himself.
"Mr. Yates," he said, hoarsely, "you and I have had our troubles before, and, if I remember correctly, you did not come off with flying colors. It is plain you delight in this opportunity for retaliation, but I warn you to take care. There is a limit, and you may overstep it. If you do – "
"What then?"
"You'll find you have made a big mistake."
"Bah!"
Duncan Yates was withering in his scorn. With a contemptuous gesture he turned toward the door.
It seemed that Merriwell was on the point of leaping after him, but Frank still managed to hold himself in restraint.
Puss Parker seemed grieved.
"It's too bad!" he said, shaking his head. "I wouldn't have believed it. You are done for here, Merriwell."
"That's right," nodded Forrest. "You can never recover after this. It's the greatest mistake of your life, man."
"Come!" cried Yates from the door, which he was holding open. "You are foolish to waste further breath on him."
Then all three went out, not one of them saying good-by.
When they were gone Frank felt like tearing up and down the room and slamming things about, but he did nothing of the sort. He believed in controlling his emotions, and so he stood quite still till the first fierce anger had left him.
Then came regret and doubt. He was sorry he had shown himself on the football field, and he regretted that he had given Inza his promise not to play the game.
But it was too late for regret. He could not quell his doubts. He was not certain he had done right, and that was enough to make him wretched.
That night Frank was the most miserable fellow in Yale. It did not seem any fault of his that had brought him into such a wretched predicament, and yet he was thoroughly disgusted with himself.
He could not study, he could do nothing but think. Sometimes he was determined to go to Inza and ask her to release him from his promise, and then he would think how his enemies would say he had been driven into it.
Then came another thought. If he were to come out now and offer to fill a place on the eleven, would he be accepted? He had fallen so in the esteem of Forrest that it was quite likely the captain would refuse to take him on the team.
He tried to devise some way of setting himself aright, but could think of none.
Had any one told him two days before that he could be so utterly miserable, he would have laughed at them.
Only a short time before this turn in events he had been the best known and most popular student in the college. His fame had spread all over New Haven and gone abroad to other college places. He was regarded with awe as a great traveler and a wonderful athlete.
Now – well, it was different now!
Finding he could not rest, study or think of anything but his wretched position, Frank went out for a walk. He tried to tire himself out physically, so that weariness of body would force his mind to rest. Miles he tramped, far out into the country. He drove along like one walking on a wager, paying no attention to the frosty air which nipped his nose and ears.
It was eleven o'clock when Frank was passing Morey's on his way to South Middle. In front of the place he paused. He remembered the many jolly times he had enjoyed in there. He remembered when he was the chief one of any little circle that might gather in that famous resort. Now he felt like an outcast – an outsider.
Three students came out. They did not see him, and they were chatting and laughing merrily. He watched them as they strolled away, his heart growing heavier and heavier.
"Anderson, Cobb and Nash," he muttered. "They're always jolly – never seem to have any troubles. They drink and sport too much to stand high in their classes, but they will get through college all right, and every one will call them first-class fellows. Isn't that better than to be valedictorian and a hermit? I was getting along all right, although I was not showing up brilliantly in Greek. I'd have scrubbed through and held my position on the football team if I had tried. It's plain I made a big mistake."
It seemed plainer and plainer the more he thought about it, but he could see no way of turning back now and taking the path he had abandoned. He had burned his bridges, and he must go forward.
A great curiosity seized him. He knew well enough a party of students would be gathered in Morey's little back room, and he longed to know how he would be received among them.
"I'm going in there," he muttered. "Haven't been around for a long time. Here I go!"
In he went. He was known the moment he appeared. Straight for the famous back room he made his way, and he was immediately admitted, his face being his passport.
He was right in thinking a party was gathered there. At least a dozen fellows were sitting about drinking ale. They were not laughing or talking loudly, but as Frank entered the room, he distinctly heard his name spoken by one of them.
CHAPTER XXXII
"THE MARBLE HEART."
"Hello, fellows!" called Merriwell, attempting to Be cheerful. "Thought I'd drop in."
There was a sudden silence. All turned to look at him. Two of them sat with their half-lifted glasses suspended.
Then somebody muttered:
"Speak of the devil – "
Frank was embarrassed. There had been a time when his appearance at Morey's was greeted with a shout of welcome. The silence was freezing.
Marline was not there. Frank felt relieved when he discovered this, and still, for the first time in his life it seemed that there was a cowardly sensation in his heart.
He knew he was not a coward, but the position in which he stood at that moment made him feel like one.
The silence was maddening. His soul revolted against such a reception. For the first time in his life he fancied he understood what it was to be regarded with universal contempt.
And the injustice of it was what cut him to the heart. A little more and the limit would be reached. He would go forth ready to fight, and he knew that his first blow would be aimed at Rob Marline.
Thoughts like these flashed through his head in a moment, then he advanced into the room with old-time grace.
"A jolly party you have here," he said. "I'm glad to see you making merry. Drink up – drink up, everybody, and have a round with me."
Charlie Creighton was there, and Frank was sure he had a stanch friend in Charlie.
The fellows fell to speaking together in low tones, casting sidelong glances toward Frank. None of them seemed eager or ready to accept his invitation. They seemed to draw a barrier about him, as if they intended to shut him out.
Frank felt it – saw it plainly. He was quick to understand the situation, but he was not satisfied.
"They shall be put to the test," he mentally vowed. "I'll find out who are my friends and who are my enemies."
Then, one by one, he asked them what they would have to drink. Some had excuses, some flatly declined to take anything at all. Some showed their partly emptied glasses, and some said they had quite enough.
Frank's face grew hard and cold as he progressed and met with nothing but refusals. He was coming to Putnam, Stubbs and Creighton. Surely they would not refuse to drink with him!
Putnam saw he was to be asked in a moment. He hastily dashed off half a glass of ale and got up, remarking that he must be going.
"Hold on a moment, old man," said Frank. "I am going to have a lemon-seltzer. Have a drink with me."
"Excuse me," mumbled "Old Put." "I don't care for anything more."
"But you will have one drink with me?" urged Frank.
"No," said Putnam, shortly, "I've had enough."
Then he sauntered toward the door.
Merriwell bit his lips and turned on Stubbs.
"You'll have something, Bink?" he said, huskily.
"No, thanks," said the little fellow. "I'm going, too."
He followed Putnam.
Creighton was Merriwell's last resort. As old readers know, he had been a guest at Charlie's home in Philadelphia.
"Come, Creighton, you surely will not decline to take something with me, old fellow?"
Charlie hesitated, flushed to the roots of his hair, looked at Frank and at the others, then got up quickly, saying:
"You'll have to excuse me, too, Merriwell."
With that he bolted out of the room, and all the others followed, leaving Frank there alone.
For some moments the stunned and astonished lad stood as if turned to stone, staring with distended eyes toward the door by which they had passed out. His hands were clinched, his nostrils dilated, his head thrown back and his attitude that of a warrior wounded to the heart, but still unconquered in spirit.
He was aroused by a touch on the arm, and the smooth, almost sneering voice of a waiter asked:
"What will you drink, sir?"
Frank lifted one hand to his head and seemed to awaken from a dream. He looked at the waiter doubtfully, as if he did not understand the question that was put to him, then, after a bit, said:
"Thank you, I never drink."
The corners of the waiter's mouth curled upward in the faintest smile – a smile in which pity and scorn seemed to mingle. That aroused all the fury in Frank Merriwell's heart, and, with his eyes blazing, he half-lifted his fist as if he would strike the man in the face. Then he as quickly dropped his hand at his side, shivering as if he had been touched by a sudden chill.
The waiter had shrunk away with Merriwell's menacing movement, but when he saw there was no danger, he softly said:
"I beg your pardon – I thought you were going to drink, as you asked the others to have something with you."
How the words cut and stung! It was as if the man had struck him across the face with a whip. He fell back, half-lifting his hand, and his chin quivered.
"I did ask them!" he hoarsely whispered – "and they refused! Not one of them but would have considered it a high honor to have me ask them a month ago! And I have come to this!"
His words were incoherent, but his face told the story of his wounded pride. He remembered how many times he had been welcomed with a shout in that little room where the famous tables hung upon the wall. He remembered how his admirers had gathered about him, eager to listen to every word he might speak, and roar with laughter at his stories and jests. He remembered the songs, the speeches, all the jolly times in that room.
Little had he dreamed the time would come when the very ones he had counted as his warm friends would refuse to drink with him there and turn their backs on him in disdain.
Nothing could have hurt him more than that. His pride was cut to the core, and his spirit was shaken as it had never been before.
His first thought was that he would find a way to get even with them all. Then he realized how great a task that would be. He saw himself scorned and ostracized by the whole college, and, for a fleeting moment, he thought of leaving New Haven forever that very night.
His brain began to whirl. The waiter was standing there, looking at him in a manner that seemed rather insolent.
"What do you want?" he snapped.
"I beg your pardon," returned the waiter; "what do you want?"
"Whiskey!" cried Frank Merriwell – "bring me whiskey, waiter, and bring it quick!"