Frank Merriwell's Return to Yale Part 55

It was eleven o'clock when Frank was pa.s.sing 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 cla.s.ses, but they will get through college all right, and every one will call them first-cla.s.s 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 pa.s.sport.

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 x.x.xII.

"THE MARBLE HEART."

"h.e.l.lo, 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 gla.s.ses suspended.

Then somebody muttered:

"Speak of the devil----"

Frank was embarra.s.sed. 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 gla.s.ses, 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 gla.s.s 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 pa.s.sed out. His hands were clinched, his nostrils dilated, his head thrown back and his att.i.tude 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."