Читать книгу Frank Merriwell's Trust; Or, Never Say Die - Burt L. Standish - Страница 4

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“Now,” said Madison, “let’s away to the lair of the tiger.”

To the surprise of all, Herrick showed reluctance. He held back and made a show of embarrassment.

“What is the matter, Charley?” asked Diamond, in surprise. “I thought you were in a hurry.”

“But we’ve added another to our party,” said the man with the dark mustache, in a guarded tone, looking slantwise at Merry.

“Well, he’s all right,” declared Jack indignantly, his face flushed and his breath heavy with the fumes of liquor.

“You know Dick is mighty particular.”

“What is it, gentlemen?” demanded Frank, stepping forward. “If I am in anybody’s way——”

“Not at all,” Herrick hastened to say; “but we were going to a certain place where the proprietor is very particular about his guests. Every man who enters there must be vouched for.”

“Well, I can vouch for Merriwell,” asserted the Virginian.

“Yes, but you are not very well known there. You’ve visited the place only once, you know.”

Jack was indignant.

“I’m a Diamond, of Virginia,” he said. “My word will go anywhere. When I say Frank Merriwell is all right, that goes.”

Herrick smiled.

“I have no doubt but you are right in most cases, but this is different. You see, you have had little to do with men like Canfield. You have no standing in his class.”

“Well, perhaps I ought to thank God for that,” muttered the Southerner. “But I’ve introduced you to my friend, and I give you my word he’s all right. You have the run of that place, and you can make it right there.”

“Yes; but you know I am held responsible if anything unpleasant happens.”

Frank had leaned against the rail of the bar. Herrick drew Diamond aside, and at this moment one of the barkeepers touched Merry on the elbow, saying in a low tone:

“Are you Frank Merriwell, of Yale, the athlete I’ve read so much about in the papers?”

“I presume I am the same,” answered Merry.

“Then I want to give you a tip, but don’t ever let out that I did so. Look out for yourself to-night if you chase that gang and keep your money in your pocket. That’s all.”

“Thank you,” nodded Merry quietly. “I’ll take your advice.”

“Don’t drink too much.”

“No danger. You threw out the gin I called for both times; I drank the water.”

The barkeeper looked surprised.

“Well,” he gasped, “I didn’t tumble to that. I guess you’re all right.”

“Oh, all right, all right,” Herrick was saying. “That’s all I ask. I don’t want to put myself in a hole with Dick, you know. He’s a white man.”

Then they came over to Merry and he was urged to come along. Frank pretended to hang back a little.

“I’m not in the habit of forcing my company onto anybody,” he said. “If I’m in the way, all you have to do is——”

“That’s all right,” quickly asserted the man with the black mustache. “I have to be careful, and so I wanted a square assurance from Jack. He says you are on the dead level, and I’m to stand for you at Can’s.”

Herrick passed his arm through that of Merriwell and the four proceeded out to the street, where the patient cabman still waited. Frank felt like shaking the black-mustached fellow off, but refrained from doing so.

Madison plunged into the cab with a whooping laugh, dragging Diamond after him, robbing Jack for the time of some of his dignity. Herrick politely held the door while Frank got in, coming last himself. The door slammed, and away went the cab.

Herrick offered cigars. Madison took one and Diamond followed suit. Merry was on the verge of refusing, but changed his mind and accepted one. Then Herrick struck a match and held it solicitously for Merry to start his cigar.

“I think I’ll take a dry smoke,” said Frank. “Anyhow, I’ll not light up now.”

“Hold steady!” cried Madison, plunging the end of his weed into the flame and beginning to puff at it.

Diamond also lighted his cigar, and Herrick joined them, observing:

“You’ll find the smoke rather thick, Mr. Merriwell, if you don’t fire up.”

They were on Fifth Avenue, rolling northward. The theaters were out, and cabs and hansoms were thick on the avenue, taking home those who had visited the different playhouses. Their gleaming yellow lamps flitted hither and thither, blinking and vanishing and blinking into view again like huge fireflies. Pedestrians were plentiful. The night was clear and cool, with millions of white stars scattered over the blue vault of the sky. Madison began to sing.

“Stop it!” commanded Herrick.

“I’m offended,” declared the yellow-haired youth. “You are very rude, Charley. I want to warble; I long to warble; I must warble! There is a pent-up warble within me, and I must let it forth. I long to sing some sad, sweet thing like ‘Down Went McGinty,’ or ‘Little Annie Rooney.’”

“If you get into this condition so early, you’ll be in nice shape to buck the tiger,” said Herrick. “My boy, I’m afraid you are loaded.”

“Base calumny! I could drink as much more and bob up serenely at ten to-morrow. But I’m happy. Better let me be happy now. I was feeling sore enough the last time after I visited Dick’s. Hope my luck’ll change to-night.”

All at once it dawned on Frank of whom they were speaking of. He had thought the name of Dick Canfield familiar, and now he remembered hearing something of the history of the man who was known as proprietor of the biggest gambling-house in New York.

So they were on their way to a gambling-den! Now Frank knew he had made no mistake in thinking Jack Diamond in danger, and he was glad he had decided to accompany the party.

Merry had sized Herrick up as a sharp, but he was not sure about Madison. Either the latter was a clerk of some sort, or he was playing a part, and playing it well. But, without doubt, the Virginian was the chief game of the wolf that evening, for he had revealed that he possessed plenty of money.

Madison chattered on as they rolled northward along New York’s most fashionable thoroughfare. Diamond smoked steadily, but nervously, while Herrick was calm and sedate.

They turned into a side street and then halted almost immediately. Apparently they had stopped in front of a respectable private house in a most respectable portion of the city.

“Here we are,” said Herrick, and he was the first to leap out to the sidewalk, holding the door open for the others. Madison followed, then came Frank, and Jack got out last. Herrick was preparing to pay the driver.

“Excuse me, Charley,” put in the Virginian. “I think I informed you a while ago that I am paying to-night. I’ll settle this, and the man who bothers has to fight me at sunrise.”

Then he settled and they followed Herrick up the steps. The building might have been taken for the home of a retired banker, or the abode of a family physician in good standing.

They passed the first door, but a second, of oak and heavy enough to withstand a battering-ram, confronted them. Herrick pushed a button and they waited.

Across the heavy oaken door there was an opening, barred by a grill of ironwork that covered the entire paneling.

When Herrick pushed the button, a buzzer sounded somewhere inside the house. There was a moment more of waiting. Then the panel opened noiselessly, and a heavy-faced man, with a dark, drooping mustache, looked at them.

The light in the vestibule fell full on Herrick’s face, the man having thrust back his silk hat.

Clink!—the panel closed. Snap!—the door opened.

Herrick walked in at their head, and they followed. The heavy-faced man who had opened the door said:

“Hello, Charley,” and Herrick returned, “Good evening, Mike.”

The door closed behind them, and they had crossed the portal of one of the most palatial gambling-houses in New York.

At the pressure of the button the buzzer within had sounded its warning, as the deadly diamond-back rattler of the Bad Lands sounds a warning before striking its victim.

Frank had heard that Dick Canfield’s place was in every way different from others of its sort; he had heard that there was nothing about it suggestive of commonness and vulgarity. That buzzer was a disappointment to him. In his rovings round the world, fate had led him once or twice to the doors of gambling-dens, and in every instance the pressure of a button had been followed by the sound of the buzzer within. This was true at the door of Dick Canfield’s, in the aristocratic neighborhood close to Fifth Avenue, and it was also true at the doors of cheap dens which flourished on Sixth Avenue.

Herrick led the way to a reception-room at the right of the entrance. The door of this room was flanked by heavy porphyry columns, and the room was a marvel of decorative art. A fireplace of exquisite design faced the door. It was a fine, big, open fireplace, handsomely carved and supported by onyx columns.

This room had the appearance of an upholstered and decorated cell. The windows were masked and the doors sunk into the walls. Overhead were handsome bronze chandeliers, fitted with incandescent lights, each gleaming coil hidden and softened by ground-glass bulbs. Under foot was a carpet of texture so deep and velvety that one’s footfalls were perfectly noiseless. Here their top-coats and hats were taken.

As Herrick led them into this reception-room and paused for Frank to admire its impressive beauty, three men came down the stairs from the gaming-rooms above. All were dressed in evening clothes. Two of them had faces that told of dissipated lives. The third was a youth with clear, clean-cut features, but now pale as death, while in his eyes gleamed a wild light of despair.

The three men paused a moment before going out. One of them was coolly drawing on his gloves, but he kept his eyes on the lad with the marble face and glaring eyes. The other man also watched the youth, whose lips were beginning to tremble, and he suddenly said:

“Don’t welch, Harry! Keep a stiff backbone! Be a man!”

The youth turned on him fiercely, his somewhat weak chin quivering.

“That’s all right for you to say!” he spoke, in a shaking voice—a voice that struck straight to Frank Merriwell’s heart. “What do you care for me now! You brought me here, and——”

“You wanted to come. Don’t squeal like a sick baby!”

“You brought me here,” repeated the youth, “and I’ve lost a fortune in this accursed place! I’m ruined! It’s worse than that! I’m a criminal, for I’ve gambled away thousands that did not belong to me! It will kill my poor mother!”

It was the remorseful cry of a weak, heart-sick youth who realized when too late the folly of his acts.

Frank quietly took a step nearer the three.

“I never thought you a welcher!” exclaimed the man, giving the pale-faced lad a look of reproach. “I did think you had nerve.”

“Nerve! Bah! It’s the fool who has nerve to sit at a gambling-table and play away money he does not own! Nerve! That is a false appearance, assumed to make other men regard you with admiration. But what does it amount to when a man has made a criminal of himself? What does it amount to when he knows the hand of the law will be outstretched to grasp him and drag him to a prison cell? What does it amount to when he knows that the result of his madness and folly will be the shameful death of his poor old mother, who has been so proud of him—who believed him good, and true, and honest? Don’t talk to me about welching! What is the difference now if I do squeal? I’m done for!”

Frank saw a shaking hand fumble at a pocket, and he stood ready to make a spring.

“This cursed place has ruined me, just as it has ruined hundreds before!” the youth went on. “It is run under police and political protection! Some of my money, some that I took without permit and lost here to-night, will be paid into the hands of men elected to offices of trust by the people. But for the silence of those men, this place could not run.”

“You’re ratty, Harry; come out of it. Let’s get out into the air. You need it to brace you up.”

“Hold on!” cried the lad, drawing back and flinging off their hands. “Don’t touch me! I’m not going yet! What is my life to me now! I may be able to call attention to this place and force public opinion to close it. Perhaps in that way I’ll save some other poor fool who might be lured here to his destruction. The disgrace will force Canfield to close! The notoriety will shut his doors. When I leave this place I’ll be carried out—feet first!”

His hand came from his pocket with a jerk, and he placed a shining revolver at his head, leaping backward to escape their hands. In another moment he would have fallen dead or dying, but Frank had suspected his design, and was on the watch for that move. The youth sprang back into Merry’s arms, and the hand of the young Yale athlete closed on the revolver.

The nerve-broken young gambler was like a helpless child in the hands of Merriwell. With ease Frank took away the deadly revolver.

When the two men would have clutched the would-be suicide, Frank waved them back with the gleaming weapon, supporting the panting lad on his shoulder.

“Hands off!” he cried, his voice clear and steady, yet not loud. “Aren’t you satisfied with what you have brought the poor devil to? You shall not touch him!”

“Give me that revolver!” pleaded the shaking youth, reaching out for it.

“Wait a minute,” said Merry. “I want to talk to you.”

Then, half-leading, half-supporting the miserable boy, he crossed the room to a cushioned seat by the fireplace. The two men looked on, uncertain as to what course they should pursue.

“You have made a terrible blunder,” said Frank, as he sat beside the white-faced lad, a hand on his shoulder; “but you cannot undo it by taking your own life.”

“At least, I can escape the consequences, the shame, the disgrace!”

“And prove yourself a coward. You spoke of your mother. Will she be left in poverty by this act of yours?”

“No; she has the income of property that will take care of her. But the shame will kill her!”

“Do you think it will be any less if you were to take your own life? Do you think the blow would be less severe to her?”

“No, no; but——”

“Then it is only because you fear to face the consequences of your act that you wish to die?”

“I can’t face it—I can’t! I’ve gambled away ten thousand dollars that do not belong to me! That means prison!”

“And you cannot restore one cent?”

“Would to God I could!” sobbed the youth, from the depths of his heart.

“If you could, you would?”

“Yes, yes, yes! I’d slave like a dog to pay that money back! I’d do anything! I’d work to the day of my death! But who would believe me if I said so?”

“I believe you,” declared Frank Merriwell, in a way that gave the other a strange thrill.

“But you—what can you do? You are a stranger to me.”

“Yes, I am a stranger to you; but by the eternal Heavens! I am not going to see a human life go to wreck on the rocks if I can help it!”

“How can you help it?”

“I may find a way. What is your name?”

“Harry Collins.”

“Well, Collins, how long do you think it will be before it is discovered that you have taken this money?”

“It may be discovered to-morrow; it may not be discovered for a week.”

Frank took a card-case from his pocket, removed a card and wrote on the back of it with a lead-pencil.

“There is my address,” he said. “Come to me to-morrow at one o’clock.”

“But you—you—what will you do? You can’t do——”

“I hope to be able to save you from the consequences of your folly. I have asked you only a few questions about yourself, because I do not wish to pry into your private affairs. For your mother’s sake, and in the hope that you have learned the lesson of your folly, I am going to do all I can for you.”

The youth shook his head.

“It’s a trick!” he said. “It’s a trick to get me out of this place. I’ll not find you when I call.”

Frank flushed.

“Perhaps I should not blame you for thinking so,” he said kindly. “Please read the name on that card.”

“I see it—‘Frank Merriwell.’”

“Perhaps you read in the papers some time ago about Charles Conrad Merriwell, who was called the American Monte Cristo?”

“Yes, yes! Why, you——”

“I am his son. My father has plenty of money, and, if I can communicate with him, I believe he will loan you ten thousand dollars.”

The youth gasped.

“Loan—me—ten—thousand—dollars?”

“Yes; at least, I shall ask him to do so, stating your case plainly. I am confident he will not refuse me. With the money you are to make square your debt, and then you must go to work to pay back to my father every dollar of it. He will demand that.”

The overjoyed lad would have fallen on his knees before Frank; he tried to kiss Frank’s hands, while the tears rained from his eyes.

“God bless you!” he sobbed. “I know you will save me, Frank Merriwell! And I swear to pay back every cent!”

Merry lifted him to his feet.

“Now, go,” he said. “Get out of this place, and keep away from all places like it. Come to me at the time set, and I’ll be waiting for you. Steer clear of those two men over there. Quit them at once, and never have anything to do with their like again.”

“I will! I will! But do not fail me, Frank Merriwell! My life depends on it! My mother’s life——”

“There, there! Say no more, but come to me to-morrow. Don’t doubt for an instant that I’ll meet you. I surely will. Good night.”

Merry had walked across that noiseless carpet, his arm about the unfortunate youth. The two men started toward the door, as if to join the lad, but Frank gave them a look that stopped them in their tracks.

At the door Frank gave the misguided lad his hand.

“I know,” breathed Collins—“I know by the grip of your hand that you are true! I know you will save me! Thank God!”

Then he left Dick Canfield’s to return no more.

Frank turned to his companions, quietly saying:

“Come, gentlemen, let’s take a look at the tiger.”