Читать книгу Frank Merriwell's First Job; Or, At the Foot of the Ladder - Burt L. Standish - Страница 4

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Like wildfire spread the report that Frank Merriwell was going to leave college. In an hour it seemed that all Yale knew it. There was consternation in the dormitories and on the campus. Students gathered in groups to talk of it. Everyone seemed to regard it as a great calamity.

Charlie Creighton was perched on the fence, looking as if he had just buried his last friend. Paul Pierson came along.

“Awful, isn’t it?” asked Pierson.

“Terrible!” said Creighton.

“Have you seen him?”

“No; I’m waiting till I can do so without slopping over and making a fool of myself.”

“What will Old Eli do without him?”

“Give it up. Why, the professors have heard of it, and they positively refuse to believe it. Look at those chaps over there in that group. There are Benson and some of the fellows who were supposed to be Merriwell’s enemies. Just came by them, and every man is saying it’s a thundering shame.”

“I don’t believe Merriwell has a real enemy in the college.”

Bink Stubbs came up. Usually Bink was grinning and cracking jokes. Now he did not say a word, but leaned against the fence with his hands in his pockets and kicked the ground with his toe.

Lewis Little joined the group. Lewis was a mild sort of chap generally, but when asked how he felt, he said he’d like to punch the stuffing out of somebody.

Halliday, Griswold and Puss Parker came up in a bunch.

“I tell you it is a practical joke!” Parker was saying. “Somebody has put up this job. I won’t believe Merriwell is going to leave college.”

“He’s forced to leave,” said Halliday. “I saw the letter from his guardian in which Scotch confesses that he has squandered every dollar of Merry’s fortune.”

“How did the old fool do it?”

“In some kind of a wild-cat mining scheme. That is, the most of it was sunk in that, although old Scotch confesses that he tried to retrieve by plunging in stocks.”

“Well, I’m sorry for Merriwell,” sighed Griswold.

“Really, my deah boys, I don’t know that I am sorry, don’t yer ’now,” broke in a voice, and Willis Paulding, a pronounced Anglomaniac, joined the group.

“Oh, you’re not?” snarled Lewis Little, who had the reputation of never speaking an angry word or doing an angry act.

“No, really, I am not,” said Paulding. “Mr. Merriwell flew altogether too high, don’t yer ’now. This will take him down considerable.”

“And this will take you down a trifle!” grated Little, as he struck Paulding with all his strength, knocking him down instantly.

The others immediately closed about the two, and Willis was quickly lifted to his feet, where he stood trembling and pressing a snowy handkerchief to the bruise between his eyes.

“Sir,” he said, his voice trembling, “you are no gentleman! By Jawve! I think I shall report that you assaulted me on the campus!”

“Report and be—hanged!” retorted Little, contemptuously. “But take my advice and close up about Frank Merriwell, or you will get your face broken. No man can say anything against him in my presence!”

Paulding was the only man rash enough to make a public statement of satisfaction over the misfortune that had befallen Merriwell, and even he did not repeat it. If there were any others who really rejoiced at Frank’s bad luck, they kept still.

Merry decided to leave as soon as possible, and he set about packing up his goods without delay. In this work he was assisted by such friends as Rattleton, Diamond and Hodge. Browning started to help, but he stumbled like one dazed, and was so much in the way that he was asked to sit down and keep still, which he did, looking thoroughly ill for once in his life.

The door was locked to keep out the friendly throng that kept coming up to express regret. It was opened for one person, who knocked on the door and called out till Frank recognized his voice. Prof. Such came stumbling into the room and nearly fell over one of the chests.

“Er—er—Mr. Merriwell,” said the near-sighted little professor, looking from one to the other till he found Frank, “is it—can it be true?”

“Yes, Prof. Such,” said Frank, “I must leave at once. You see we are packing my stuff!”

“Oh, dear!” said the little man, his voice trembling. “I am very sorry! I shall miss you, Mr. Merriwell—we’ll all miss you. Perhaps you will not mind if I speak frankly now. I have thought a great deal of you, sir. I have seen in you one of the brightest young men it has ever been my fortune to deal with here. You were very promising. Never before have I known a young man who was able to do the many things you accomplished and still rank so remarkably well in his classes. I believe you are phenomenal in that line. And now you are going to leave us! What will you do?”

“That is something I cannot tell, professor. If my guardian has told the whole truth, I shall go to work to earn my living, and make my way in the world.”

“And you will succeed—I am sure you will, Mr. Merriwell!” declared the little man. “You are built of the right stuff. You have succeeded in everything to which you have turned your hand since coming to college, and you will succeed in the battle of life. If your fortune is really lost, you are now at the foot of the ladder. By your own efforts you will mount upward a step at a time till the top is reached. If you should slip, don’t give up the struggle, but cling and fight your way upward.”

“Prof. Such,” said Frank, “your illustration is a good one, and I shall not forget your kindly advice. Hereafter I shall think of myself as climbing upward on the ladder of life. I thank you, sir.”

“No thanks, young man. Your hand.”

Their hands met, and there was a strange quiver on the professor’s face as he tried to look up at Frank.

“Excuse me,” he said; “excuse me, but my eyes—my spectacles are blurred. I’ll have to wipe them. I can’t see you very well, and I want to take a good look at you before you go.”

He wiped his spectacles and adjusted them, after which he stared at Merry several seconds. Then he nodded his head, saying:

“It’s all right. You have the right kind of chin, and your face shows determination. There is a cast of firmness about your mouth. You will not be easily daunted. I think you will reach the top of the ladder, Mr. Merriwell. I wish you good fortune in every undertaking. Good-by, my boy—good-by!”

Then the little professor turned, as if fearful of remaining longer or saying any more, and hurried from the room.

Every one of the boys were profoundly affected by this scene. Frank the most of them all.

Later Merriwell appeared on the campus, and the students gathered about him by hundreds at the fence, all eager to shake his hand and wish him good luck. Never before had there been an impromptu demonstration of this character that could compare with this. Some of the manly young fellows actually wept, although they tried to hide it, and Frank himself dashed moisture from his eyes more than once, while his voice failed him many times.

Lib Benson, a big, broad-shouldered freshman, who had been the leader of Merry’s freshmen foes, forced his way to a spot where he could grasp Frank’s hand.

“Merriwell,” he said, huskily, “I hope you aren’t ashamed to shake hands with me. I know I’ve been a mean cuss—I know it! I’ve tried to hurt you when I had no reason for doing so, and you’ve always used me white. I hope you won’t hold a grudge against me, Merriwell. I want to say right here, before everybody, that I’ve always been in the wrong, and you’ve always been right. You’re the whitest man I ever saw! Good-by, Merriwell! Good luck go with——”

Then Lib Benson choked, broke down completely, and made a rush to get away, tears dropping from his eyes as he held his head down with shame.

There were other scenes like this.

Frank bade the professors good-by.

That afternoon he was escorted to the train by five hundred students, who marched in silence and looked as solemn as if they were going to a funeral.

It was over at last. Dear old Yale was left behind—forever!