Читать книгу Frank Merriwell's First Job; Or, At the Foot of the Ladder - Burt L. Standish - Страница 9

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Frank rose immediately, a feeling of sickening dread stabbing him to the heart.

When he entered the professor’s chamber, the sick man lay with his face turned toward the door. Near the bed a lamp burned faintly, although the pale light of morning sifted in at the windows.

“Professor, you are better!”

Frank uttered the exclamation gently, hurrying to the bedside and clasping the thin hands that lay on the white spread.

“Do you think so?” asked the man, with a voice that seemed to come from a great distance.

“Yes, yes! You will soon be well now!”

“But you—you cannot wish to see me get well? You would not wish, even though I have been false to my trust and ruined you, that I should recover and spend the rest of my days in prison? I am an old, old man. At best there could not be many years left for me. They would be made shorter within prison walls.”

“Don’t, professor—don’t talk about prisons!”

“Ah! but I am a criminal! Were I to get well, it would be your duty to send me to prison.”

“Then, for once in my life, at least, I would shirk my duty!” cried Frank.

The thin, cold fingers tightened over the warm ones of the youth, and a light of happiness and admiration showed in the failing eyes.

“You are noble-hearted!” murmured the sick man. “Oh, heavens! how much would I give could I undo the wrong I have done you!”

“There, there, professor! Think no more of that. Perhaps you have done me the greatest good that could happen to me, for I shall be compelled to make my own way in the world, and I might have been a sluggard.”

“No, not that! I am sure there is nothing of the sluggard in your nature. A young man like you, with a small fortune to start on, has great opportunities in life. I robbed you of those opportunities when I lost your fortune.”

“I will make other opportunities, professor.”

“I believe it, my boy; but still I am guilty. I do not care to get well. I am glad the end is near.”

Again that feeling of sickening dread stabbed Frank to the heart.

“You must not talk like that, professor. You are far better than you were.”

“I think I must have been deranged. It seems like a bad dream to me. But that is past. Put out that light, please. It seems to stifle me.”

The light was extinguished and the nurse carried it from the room, leaving the man and youth alone together.

“It is morning,” whispered the sick man; “but how thin and pale the light is! I wonder if I shall see the sunlight shining in at that window again?”

“Of course you will! You must stop thinking and talking like that. I can’t bear it, professor.”

“Oh, you have a kind and noble heart! I have known it always. Frank, I could not have loved you more had you been my own son. I was an old fool and easily duped. I thought I would make a large fortune for you. It was for you alone that I was thinking; not for myself. It seemed a safe investment. Ah, but that man could make things look promising! And then, when I had lost more than half of your fortune, I had not the courage to confess. I was desperate. It seemed that my last hope was to plunge again. I went into cotton, and was led on till I reached the last ditch. The crash came at last, and everything was swept away.

“My boy, this goes to show how one false step leads to another, and to final ruin. Beware of the first step. There is seldom any turning back for a person who once goes wrong. Honor is lost with the first false move, and then the fine sensibilities become dulled so that the descent, slow at first, becomes swift and sure after a time. The black secret cannot be kept long. When it becomes known that the first downward step has been taken, confidence in you is lost, and those who know of your mistake are always expecting you to repeat it. You discover this, and their lack of confidence in you causes you to doubt yourself. As soon as you doubt yourself, the battle has turned against you, and your defeat must follow.”

The professor paused, quite out of breath. After some seconds, he hastened to say:

“I know you do not need this sermon, my boy, but something drew it from me. You have learned the lesson well, and I am sure there is no cause to fear for you. Your mother taught you all these things. I had hoped to live to see you prosperous and successful, an honored man among men. All those hopes are ended. I am weary now, and I shall soon be at rest.”

The final words came like a sigh, and, looking into the face of the sick man, Frank saw the seal of the Destroyer there. Then Merry knew that the time had come for a mortal being to face the Great Creator. Like the lamplight that faded in the day dawn the human flame was growing dimmer in the dawn of Eternity.

A breeze came up and moved the trees outside. Upon a window pane some twigs were tapping like the ghostly fingers of death seeking admittance to that chamber. The swaying of the branches made shifting blots and blurs on the ceiling. They were shadowy hands that beckoned, beckoned, beckoned.

“I was lonely in the world,” said the sinking man, after a time; “I was lonely till you came into my life. Others did not understand me. They said I was erratic and cranky. You seemed to understand me, and there was a bond of sympathy between us. Now, at the last, you are the only one to be with me. It is well; I ask no more.”

The dim eyes rested lovingly on Frank’s face, and the thin hands still clung to those of the youth. Frank tried to speak, but he choked, and then, despite his efforts, burst into tears, dropping his face upon the bed.

“Don’t!” entreated the professor, placing one hand on Frank’s head. “It is not right that you should weep for me, the cause of your misfortune.”

“Please don’t speak of that again!” sobbed Frank. “Do not make it any harder for us both! You have been like a father to me, and it does not seem that the time has come when we must part!”

“It is better. As I said, I am an old man. I have squandered your fortune, and I would be adrift in the world, a wrecked vessel—a derelict on the ocean of life.”

“Not that, professor, for I would stand by you.”

“You? Why, you have your own way to make in the world. You must set a course for yourself and keep to it. Many a good vessel has been sunk by a worthless derelict. It is better that I should go down than, worthless and helpless, I should remain afloat.”

Again his voice failed him. Wiping away his tears, Frank saw the shadow had deepened on the pale face, and the eyes were dimmer than before.

Tap! tap! tap! It seemed that the knocking at the window was louder and more insistent. The dying man heard it.

“What is that?” he whispered, in a tone that filled Frank with awe. “Do you hear that rapping?”

“Yes.”

“Let them enter.”

“It is nothing—nothing but the branches that reach the window.”

“No, no! They have come for me, the boatmen who are to take me over the dark river. Let them enter!”

The weary eyes closed, and Frank leaned forward, thinking the end had come. After some minutes, however, there was a slight heaving of the breast, and the eyes opened again, as if by some mighty effort the dying man had dragged his soul back from the borders of the unknown.

“Frank,” came the whisper like the wind amid the leaves, “are you there?”

“Yes, professor.”

“I had forgotten something. I could not go till you forgave me for the injury I have done you.”

“I freely forgive everything.”

A faint smile came to the life-weary face.

“Now I can go.”

Again the wind swept through the trees.

“Do you hear them? They are rapping again! You have not opened the window!”

“No.”

“Do so at once! Admit them!”

An arm was lifted and a hand pointed toward the window. Frank crossed the room and threw the casement wide. At that moment the morning sunlight shone through the trees and reached the window. When Frank turned about one bright ray was resting on the peaceful face of the dead.