Читать книгу Frank Merriwell's Trust; Or, Never Say Die - Burt L. Standish - Страница 6

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Madison took in a deep breath when they were outside. Frank felt the fellow’s arm trembling.

“Perhaps I was a fool!” he said huskily. “Mr. Merriwell, I’m in a bad box!”

“How?” Merry asked.

“I’ve dropped considerable money in that place.”

“Too bad!”

“And I hoped to get it back.”

“Your chance of doing so was small.”

“I know; but there was a chance. Now there is none. And, by Heaven! I must get that money back!”

He stopped on the sidewalk.

“I’m going back!” he declared. “I must do it, Merriwell! I must win that money back!”

“You’ll lose more, Madison.”

“I must take the chance, for I might win. You don’t know—you don’t understand. I must win that money back!”

Frank fancied he did understand.

“Don’t forget Collins,” he warned. “Madison, if you are in need of a small sum, it may be that we can fix it, somehow.”

The darkness hid the flush that rushed to Billy Madison’s face.

“I couldn’t get what I need any other way than to win it where I lost it,” he declared huskily.

Then Frank knew that Madison was in a desperate strait, and he pitied the fellow.

“You shall not go back into that shark’s hole to-night,” he asserted, keeping hold of Billy’s arm. “We’ll talk it over. How much are you behind, man?”

“Nearly a thousand dollars,” answered the yellow-haired youth, all his false buoyancy gone now.

“No more than that?” asked Frank, with apparent relief.

“It’s as bad as ten times the sum. I can’t make it up.”

“Can you give any security?”

“My word, and I don’t know a man on earth who will take it for that amount.”

“I will.”

“You?”

“Yes.”

“Why, will you let me have the money?”

“If you will make me a promise.”

“What promise?”

They were walking down Fifth Avenue. Frank called a cab before answering Madison.

“To the Fifth Avenue Hotel,” he said, as they got in.

“No; the Hoffman House,” said Diamond. “We are going to look for my money there.”

“We’ll go to the Fifth Avenue first,” said Frank quietly.

Both Madison and Diamond were feeling quite different from a short time before as they rolled up that splendid street. Madison was anxious, and he could not wait for Merriwell to explain.

“What promise do you require?” he asked huskily.

“I know absolutely nothing about you, Mr. Madison,” said Merry; “and I do not mean to ask embarrassing questions. I do not know your occupation, or anything of that sort. You may hold a position of trust where you are permitted to handle large sums of money.”

Madison choked, but did not speak.

“Never mind that,” Merry went on. “You have squandered a sum of money that puts you in a bad place, and you feel that you must get that money back. Something tells me that you are a square man—that you are a man of your word.”

“Thank you,” gasped Madison huskily.

“I have a small bank-account on which I can draw. I will let you have any sum up to a thousand on your agreement to pay as much as possible monthly. But you must make the promise I ask.”

“I can pay you twenty-five dollars a month—yes, I might pay fifty by squeezing. I’ll do it—I’ll pay fifty.”

“Twenty-five is sufficient. I shall ask no interest. All I want is my money back.”

“You shall have it—every penny!”

“But you must make the promise and keep it.”

“What is the promise?”

“Never to gamble again as long as you live!” came impressively from Frank’s lips. “Do you give me that promise?”

“Yes;” cried Madison, without hesitation. “And, by Heaven! I’ll keep it!”

Frank grasped his hand.

“Good boy!” he said, in a tone of earnest satisfaction that impressed the yellow-haired youth strangely. “You will have to cut your friend Charley Herrick in order to keep that promise.”

“I shall cut all my friends of that set, Mr. Merriwell—I swear it! I have learned my lesson this night. That poor fellow who wanted to blow his brains out—ah! that turned my blood to water! It showed me the road I was traveling. I felt that I might stand in his place before the night was over!”

“And so you might had you stayed there to gamble. Had you won to-night, you would have come back. Some night you would have lost everything. That would have been the end.”

Madison shuddered.

“I know you have saved me, Frank Merriwell!” he said. “But who are you? Are you some good angel who goes round saving foolish fellows from the results of their folly?”

“Not exactly!”

“And how can you he sure you’ll ever get back one dollar of the money you have offered to loan me?

“I am sure because I believe in you.”

“But you may be deceived. You know that. You may not get the money back. How dare you take the other risk?”

“I dare not take the other risk!”

“Why—what do you mean?”

“If I did not take this risk I know what the result would be. If I did not let you have the money, I know you would go straight the downward road to destruction. I consider a human life and a human soul worth more than a paltry thousand.”

Billy Madison was dazed, for he had not believed there was in all the world one person like Frank Merriwell. Such unhesitating and unselfish generosity astounded and bewildered him.

“You must be very rich!” he said.

“I am not,” answered Frank. “Every dollar I own in this world I have made myself. The money I shall let you have is the royalty paid me by a theatrical manager who is handling a play I wrote.”

“But your father—the richest man in America?”

“Has never given me a dollar of money. I have no doubt that he would if I needed it; but I’ve never been forced to ask him for it.”

Madison’s wonder and admiration for this Yale man grew.

“It’s wonderful!” he muttered. “I don’t quite understand it.”

“I know some persons would call me easy,” said Frank; “but I’d rather be called that than think that I had the opportunity to save a single soul from destruction, and let it pass.”

“That’s Merriwell!” thought Diamond. “He’s the only man I ever knew who was not afraid of being sized up as a soft mark. He had rather everybody would think him a mark than do a thing he fancies is wrong. If this world had a few more Merriwells in it, it would be a better place.”

Diamond was right. The fear of being regarded as “soft” makes moral cowards of the most of us. We hesitate to extend a helping hand to a brother in distress for fear the world will look on, laugh, and dub us “silly.” And repeated refusals to offer aid renders us callous and hard and unfeeling, so that we give little heed to distress and do not seem to care when we see a human soul, like a disabled vessel, drifting down the stream of life to the cataract of destruction. “It’s none of our business,” we say, and let it go. It is our business—it is your business, my business, everybody’s business! It is our duty to stretch forth a hand to succor and save the unfortunate creature if it is in our power to do so.

Twice this eventful night the hand of Frank Merriwell had been stretched out, each time to men who were strangers to him, for Madison, like Collins, could not be regarded as anything more.

The cab rolled down to Broadway and the hotel was reached. They got out and Frank paid the driver.

Straight to Merriwell’s room they went, and there Frank wrote for William A. Madison a check for nine hundred and seventy-five dollars, which the curly-haired chap said would be enough to put him straight before the world.

Madison was grateful, but Frank cut short his thanks, saying:

“The future will talk far better than any words you can say now. I am willing to wait to see what it will say. Go straight home, my boy. When you wish to send me money, forward it to New Haven. You may also give me an address, where I may write to you.”

Madison pulled out his card-case at once, took a card and wrote upon it.

“Here is my address,” he said. “Anything you wish to know about me I will answer. You may find out by inquiry if I tell you the truth.”

Frank waved a hand lightly.

“I do not wish to ask questions. Had I intended to do so, I should have begun in the first place. But look out for Herrick. Remember my warning. When you meet him, you do not know him.”

“Never again!” vowed Madison.

Then he shook hands with Frank and Jack and left them.

“I believe you’ll receive that money back, Merriwell,” said the Virginian; “but you are taking a risk that few fellows would dare run.”

“And I could not have rested for a week if I hadn’t taken it,” declared Frank.

“Well,” said Diamond, “now that you have fixed him all right, perhaps you will go with me to look for the money I have lost.”

“No,” spoke Frank, “there is no need of it.”

The Southerner stared at him in amazement.

“No need of it?” he cried. “Why not? It’s the last ready money I have in my possession—or the last I had, for it’s gone now. Am I of less consequence than Billy Madison?”

“Not at all, my dear boy; but there is no need to search for your lost money.”

“No need?” repeated Jack. “Why not?”

“Because I have it here,” asserted Frank quietly, drawing a big roll of bills from his pocket and extending them to Jack.

“Am I dreaming?” gasped the Virginian, as he took the roll of bills and dropped limply on a chair, staring at it in a wondering, bewildered way.

Frank sat down, smiling.

“If you will run the money over,” he said, “I think you’ll find it’s all there.”

“But—but—how did it come here?” gurgled Jack. “I—I thought——”

“That it was lost.”

“Yes; and you—you——”

“Had it all the time,” finished Merry, still smiling quietly.

“But why—when——”

“I took it because I did not wish you to blow it in to-night at Dick Canfield’s.”

“You—you took it—when?”

“As we rolled up Fifth Avenue in the cab.”

“How did you take it, man?”

“You sat beside me. I had noted the roll, and observed the pocket in which you placed it.”

A light was beginning to break on Diamond.

“You confounded pickpocket!” he exploded, in mingled indignation, amusement, and relief. “That was a fine trick to play on a friend, sah! Now, wasn’t it, sah?”

“Yes,” nodded Merry, “under the circumstances, I regard it as a very clever piece of business.”

“How did you dare, sah?” fumed Jack, uncertain whether to be angry or delighted. “Why did you do it, Mr. Merriwell?”

“To save you from being robbed.”

“Robbed?”

“Yes.”

“When? Where?”

“In that gambling-den. The chances were against you, and you were bound to lose there if you played long enough. It is always so, for men do not run such places for charity.”

The Virginian sat quite still and looked at Frank in silence for some time. At last he rose, stepped over, and stretched out his hand.

“You are the same generous, far-seeing Merry as of old!” he exclaimed, the flush in his cheeks.

Frank grasped that hand, and they stood face to face.

“Jack,” he said, “I knew something was wrong the moment I saw you in company with those men. As soon as I discovered you were on a spree, I determined to stay with you and learn what was doing. I did not drink with you in the Hoffman House. I took the water, and the barkeeper flung out the gin that I had pretended to taste as a chaser.”

Diamond nodded.

“Just like you!” he said. “But what made you do it?”

“I wished to stay with you, and I had to quiet the suspicions of Herrick. Had I refused to drink, Herrick would not have taken me to Canfield’s. I wanted to make sure of that fellow.”

“I begin to think that he is a confounded scoundrel!”

“That is mild,” smiled Frank. “He is much worse than that. If I were to express my real opinion of him I should be compelled to use profanity, and I do not swear.”

“I have no doubt but you are right,” said Jack, sitting down. “By Jove! I’m feeling bad! I must have a cocktail.”

“Jack—no more.”

“Oh, what’s the use——”

“No more!” declared Frank. “You are going to stop now.”

Diamond looked into Merriwell’s eyes, and was conquered.

“I suppose I’ll have to do as you say,” he groaned rather resentfully; “but you might let me taper off.”

“The only way to taper off at anything is to quit at once,” asserted Merry. “The toper who attempts to taper off never succeeds. The man who has not mind enough to quit a bad habit instantly and at once never can quit. The fellow who confesses that he cannot quit without tapering off confesses that he is weak, wavering, a creature to be pitied—a poor thing who will never make a success at anything he may undertake. Jack, I know you are going to feel bad if you stop short, but the only way to do it is to stop. Brace up, shut your teeth, and take the consequences of your own folly.”

The Southerner nodded, his face gloomy, but beginning to show resolution.

“Oh, I’ll have an awful head to-morrow!” he muttered.

“You must go to bed,” said Frank, “and try to get some sleep.”

“Blamed if I believe I can sleep!”

“Then fight it out, and never give up. In the morning take a cold shower, and then get some exercise in the open air. Do not take a cab, but go out and walk, walk, walk. Rest, exercise, cold baths, and plenty of fresh air will bring you round to your old self, my boy.”

“If you had been with me——” murmured Jack dolefully.

“This would not have happened,” nodded Merry.

“But you could not have prevented her from throwing me down.”

“So she threw you down?” said Merry, who all along had suspected what ailed Diamond.

“Yes. She is a heartless, beautiful—angel!”

Merriwell knew he was speaking of Juliet Reynolds, the handsome English girl who had captured his heart.

“Merry,” said Diamond, his face lighting for a moment, “she is the fairest creature the sun shines upon! But she has black hair and eyes; so have I. That is fatal. I have known we could never be happy together. I told you the reasons in London, before we went out to Henley that time. I did not mean to go, and I should have remained away. I became her slave at Henley, and I can never love another woman. Oh, but those were happy days on that house-boat, Merriwell! It makes me thrill to think of them—and of her.”

“I agree with you, Jack. As a rule, opposites should marry; but you know there are exceptions to all rules.”

“There is no exception in this case. You remember that I told you of my mother’s warning. She knew, and she feared that what has happened might happen. I should have heeded that warning and kept away from Juliet Reynolds. I meant to keep away, but when she turned up in this country last summer, I fell under her spell again.”

“And I supposed everything was all right when you followed her to London.”

“I thought so, too; but I was wrong. For a time there was no cloud to hide the sun in our blue sky. Not even London fog could baffle it. But there came a change. I saw her smile on another. Merriwell, it gave me such a feeling down in my heart that I was ill. I wanted to kill him! Then came our quarrel. She pretended to be very indignant; I accused her. She grew white to the lips. Then and there she told me that from that time we were to be strangers. I declared that nothing could suit me better, and we parted. An hour after I was willing to throw myself at her feet and beg forgiveness.

“The following day I went back and tried to see her. She would not receive me. I went there time after time, and was turned away. I haunted the place, like a fool that I am, and she avoided me. One day I tried to speak with her as she was entering her carriage for a drive. She sprang in quickly, spoke to the driver, and left me on the curb. Another time I met her on Rotten Row. I was mounted, and so was she. I placed my horse across her path. She bent forward and struck it a cut with her whip, causing it to bolt with me. When I got the animal under control, she was gone. At last I realized it was no use and that I had lost her forever. When next I saw her she was at the play, and beside her in the box was the man at whom she had smiled. Then I left the theater and tried to drown my sorrow in the flowing bowl. I have kept it up ever since.”

“And you have found that the flowing bowl simply served to make you forget for a little while.”

“Right. Whenever I sobered up a little I remembered, and I felt worse than ever. That will be the way after this bout, old man. To-morrow I shall be ready to blow the roof of my head off.”

“But you are not ass enough to do anything like that?” asserted Frank.

“I hope not,” said Jack.

“You must have made a strike to have so much boodle with you.”

“An old aunt—a dear old soul—died and left me half her fortune. There were no restrictions. I was at liberty to do as I liked with it, and I have made a hole in it.”

Frank was glad he had stumbled on Jack Diamond that night, and he had resolved to stick by the Virginian till certain the misguided fellow was straightened out and again his old self. The hand that had been outstretched to succor falling strangers should hold tight to this youth who was wavering on the brink of a frightful abyss.

“Jack,” said Merry, “you shall not ruin your life for a woman. You may have been too hasty in quarreling with her——”

“I was—I know it now! I knew it an hour after the quarrel. But she would not see me, and all my letters to her came back unopened. I could not put myself right in her eyes.”

“She is very proud.”

“So am I! There are no prouder people in all Virginia than the Diamonds; but I was willing to humble myself before that girl, to confess that I was wrong, and to ask her forgiveness.”

“Having failed, your pride should keep you from going to the dogs. It is the weak man who gives up and goes to the dogs because a girl refuses him or casts him over.”

After a while Jack said:

“I believe you are right, Merriwell; yes, I know you are right. You’re always right.”

Merry was well satisfied with the turn of affairs.

“Then you promise me now and here that you will straighten out and be a man?”

“I promise.”

“And you will have nothing more to do with Herrick?”

A sudden cloud came to Diamond’s face.

“As soon as the McGilvay bout is over I will shake Herrick,” he promised.

“The McGilvay bout—what’s that?”

“A prize-fight. It is called a sparring exhibition, but it is to be a fight to the finish.”

“Well, how does that connect you with Herrick?”

“Herrick’s friends have an unknown who is to meet Pete McGilvay.”

“Well?”

“The unknown is said to be a middle-weight wonder, but is not a professional.”

“Go on.”

“Odds of two to one have been offered on McGilvay.”

“Yes?”

“Herrick was confident that the Unknown would have an easy thing with Pete.”

“And you bet on the Unknown?”

“Exactly.”

Frank took a breath.

“How much?”

“Five thousand dollars,” answered Jack quietly.

Frank looked grim and worried, shaking his head a bit.

Diamond observed this, and asked:

“You think—just what?”

“I am afraid you are in a trap, old man, to be frank about it.”

“I may be,” nodded the Virginian, “for I have trusted to Herrick’s word. I see now that I was a fool to trust the fellow in anything.”

“These fights, you know, are seldom on the level. In almost every case they are fixed in advance. Prize-fighters, like many politicians, may be bought easily if you have plenty of dough. Some of the recent fights in this city have been the most open cases of robbery ever recorded. Every square sport—and there are a few square men who call themselves sports—is disgusted with the rottenness of the affairs here. The man who puts his money on one of these bouts without knowing just how the land lays is taking a leap in the dark, with everything in favor of a terrible jolt when he strikes.”

“But I supposed I knew; I thought Herrick on the level.”

“And the chances are that you have put your foot in it. Is there no way to hedge?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps I might find somebody to put money on the Unknown if I offered odds enough.”

“It would be taking a desperate chance. When does the fight take place?”

“To-morrow night.”

“Well, it’s no use to worry over it to-night, Diamond. To-morrow we’ll see what can be done. You are to stop here with me.”

“But——”

“There are no buts about it. Just get out of your clothes and turn in.”

The Virginian made no further protest, and thirty minutes later he was sleeping heavily in Frank’s bed.

Merry came over to the bed, and stood there looking down at Jack.

“Poor boy!” he murmured. “It was great luck that I ran on you just when I did, for you were already well entangled in the snare. I must save you and put you on the right road again.”

Then he quietly left the room and descended to send a telegram to his father, addressing it to Charleston, South Carolina, and asking for ten thousand dollars.

For the first time in his life Merry had brought himself to make such an application to his father. And now it was not for his own sake, but for the unfortunate boy, Harry Collins.

Having seen that the message was despatched without delay, Frank returned to his room and turned in for the night, having seen that Jack was still asleep.

Diamond slept late the following morning, but Merry was up early, as usual, took a cold plunge, a rub-down, and some brisk exercise before awakening Jack.

The Virginian was dejected enough when he opened his eyes to the morning light. He had a splitting headache, while his mouth was dry as a chip, and there seemed to be a coat of fur on his tongue.

“Merriwell,” he said solemnly, “a man is a thundering fool to drink!”

“It’s a good thing you’ve found that out,” smiled Frank. “But you want to remember it. Lots of men find it out, but they have a way of forgetting quickly.”

“I think this will do me very well,” declared Jack.

“Wouldn’t you like a big drink of whisky?” Merry asked.

“Not on your life!” cried Diamond, with a look of repugnance.

“Then you are all right. When a fellow gets so he feels that he must have a drink the first thing in the morning he is on the road to a drunkard’s grave. I’m glad to hear you say you do not want anything.”

“But I do want something,” groaned Jack.

“What is it?” Frank asked, in apprehension.

“I want to drink about a barrel of good cold water. I’d like to be backed up to a watering-trough.”

Frank rang for ice-water at once. When the boy brought it, Jack seized the pitcher and came near drinking its entire contents without pausing to take breath.

“Now I have a good tub of ice-cold water waiting for you,” said Frank.

“Great Scott!” gasped the Southerner, in horror. “I can take a cold bath when I am feeling all right, but I don’t believe I have the nerve for it this morning, old man. You’ll have to let me off.”

“It can’t be done. You must take your medicine, my boy. It’s just what you need.”

“Have you no mercy, Merriwell?”

“Not in a case like this. You do not deserve mercy.”

With many protests, Jack was dragged out of bed and compelled to take a plunge in the icy water of the bath. After the rub-down he felt a little better, but he was ready to gulp down another pitcher of ice-water, which he easily accomplished before getting dressed.

“You’re a hard doctor, Merry,” he said, with a rueful grin; “but hanged if I don’t believe you will effect a cure.”

He did not want any breakfast, but Frank would not let him off till he had taken a glass of milk in which an egg had been beaten.

“Now,” said Merriwell, “for a good brisk walk in the open air.”

“Wait till I get a cigar,” said Diamond.

“Not much!” exclaimed Frank. “How much good will a cigar do you? How much good will a walk do you if you are making a smoke-stack of yourself? When a man goes out to take exercise in the open air he should keep tobacco out of his mouth. As he walks and smokes, the fumes of tobacco get into his lungs and taint the pure air that should be filling their every cell. Thus he robs himself of the beneficial effect he might receive from his walk.”

“All right, all right,” muttered Jack feebly. “Don’t lecture! I won’t smoke. But you’re not going to walk far, are you?”

“Not very.”

“About how far?”

“Five miles.”

Diamond protested; he was in no condition to stand it. His protests were unavailing; Merry said he must stand it.

So they set out, and Frank set the pace, which soon brought the color into Diamond’s pale cheeks. North-ward along Broadway they strode until the park was reached, and then Frank gave his companion a merry chase through the park, coming out at last on Fifth Avenue, by way of which they returned to the hotel.

Jack was pretty tired when they got back there, but he confessed that he was beginning to feel better.

Now Frank sought to find out if there had come a reply to the message he had sent his father. On inquiry, he was informed that Mr. Charles Merriwell had sailed from Charleston on the steam-yacht Petrel early the previous day.

“Sailed for what place?” asked Frank.

But that they could not tell him, only knowing that the gentleman had sailed and the message to him had not been delivered into his hands.

Frank looked troubled. After a little meditation, he sent other messages, in the hope of finding out his father’s destination.

“I need his money now if I am going to save Collins,” Merry thought. “I have not enough money of my own—not half enough. If I cannot reach father, I’m afraid Collins will be in a bad scrape.”

Languid and weary, Jack Diamond was resting when Frank went up to the room.

“Haven’t even energy enough to go to my own hotel,” he said. “You pumped it all out of me this morning.”

“But you’ll find it will come back in time. Why, man, can’t you see what the life you were leading was bringing you to? Here you are without life or ambition, exhausted, listless, languid—you who used to be full of fire and spirit and go. Do you like it?”

“It would be easy to put some fire into me now.”

“How?”

“Let me have a few drinks.”

“False fire—fire that burns out both body and soul. That fire has utterly destroyed many a fine fellow. The only way to be sure it will not enfold you in its consuming grasp is to keep away from it. The chap who plays with it is taking chances.”

“That’s so,” Jack nodded. “I know it well enough; you don’t have to tell me. Still, I think it may prove to be a good thing for me that you ran across me last night.”

The Virginian was willing to give Merry credit for everything due.

Frank paced the floor.

“How long are you going to stay in New York?” Jack asked.

“I don’t know. Yesterday I meant to leave this morning, but now—well, I cannot leave before to-morrow. I have to meet Collins at noon to-day, and I wish to hear something from my father. Jack, how much ready money have you?”

“What’s left in that roll you saved for me last night, about five thousand.”

“Not enough.”

“You want money?”

“Must have it.”

“What for?”

“Never mind; but I must have it.”

Diamond had not heard Merriwell’s talk with Harry Collins, and he did not know Frank was determined to give the boy a lift by letting him have such a large sum.

“You may have every dollar I’ve got,” said Diamond quickly.

“It will do me no more good than ten dollars would. I must have ten thousand. I expect to reach my father some time to-day, and I can get it from him.”

Jack was curious to know why Merry wished for such a large sum, but he knew better than to ask. If Frank meant for anybody else to know, he would tell.

“I’ve got to go to my hotel,” said the Southerner, rising. “I’ll settle and come back here to stop to-night, so that we may be together.”

“Do,” said Frank. “We must stick together while we are in this town.”

“Expect I’ll be likely to strike Herrick watching for me.”

Frank looked startled.

“If you do——”

“Don’t worry, Merry; I’m done. I pull up right here.”

“Stick to it, Jack. If you see Herrick, cut him cold.”

“You forget that the fellow has an interest in the Unknown. He might throw me down by fixing the fight and buying the Unknown off.”

“He’ll throw you down, anyhow. The Unknown is booked to lose that fight.”

Jack paled, and his lips were pressed together.

“Well, I’m out five thousand dollars if that is true,” he said. “I’m paying well for my foolishness.”

“Get back as soon as you can,” urged Frank, “and we’ll take lunch together. We can talk the matter over. It’s a shame to lose so much money—to be robbed of it! For you are being robbed, Jack!”

“Haven’t a doubt of that now; but what can I do?”

“You can knock Herrick down; but perhaps you had better wait till you are sure the game is lost.”

Diamond left, and Frank, not a little perplexed and troubled, waited for Collins to appear.