Frank Merriwell's Chums Part 6

Then the whole play was explained to Gage, who chuckled over it, and complimented Frank on his nerve.

For all of this apparent restoration of good feeling, Frank was discerning enough to detect the insincerity of both Snell and Gage.

Gage had done his duty as guard, and there was no one on the watch now.

None of the boys felt like taking the place, so it was decided to call the "session" over for that night.

"You must come again, Merriwell," said Dare. "You have given us the sensation of the evening, and you must let Snell have a chance to get square."

"Yes," said Snell, "all I ask is a fair chance to get square. If I fail, I won't say a word, and I'll acknowledge you are the best fellow.

Let's shake hands, Merriwell, and call it quits for the time being."

"That's the stuff!" came from Sam Winslow. "Now everything is quiet on the Potomac again."

Frank shook hands with Snell, and a few moments later the boys began to slip from the room and skurry along the corridors to their rooms, which all reached without being challenged by the sentries.

Bart was filled with satisfaction and delight, and before getting into bed he whispered to Frank, not daring to speak aloud in that room:

"That was the prettiest trick I ever saw! And I was delighted to see you rub that fellow. He hasn't done a thing to me but win every time I have held up a hand against him of late."

Frank said nothing, and had there been a light in the room, Bart would have seen that his face bore an expression that was anything but one of satisfaction.

Merriwell did not sleep well during the few hours before reveille. His slumber was filled with dreams, and he muttered and moaned very often, awaking Hodge once or twice.

"I guess he is still playing," thought Bart.

At reveille Frank was, as a rule, very prompt about springing out of bed and hurrying into his clothes and through his toilet. On the morning after the game, however, he continued to sleep till Hodge awakened him by a fierce shaking.

"Come, come, man!" said Bart; "turn out. Are you going to let a little thing like last night break you up?"

Frank got up wearily and stiffly.

"I didn't sleep well," he said.

He was quite unlike his usual spirited self.

"Get a brace on," urged Bart. "You want to be on hand at roll-call."

Finding it was necessary to "get a brace on," Frank did so, and was able to leave the room in time to go rushing down the stairway and spring into ranks at the last second.

After breakfast, as Bart was sprucing up the room, and Frank was vainly trying to prepare himself for the first recitation, but simply sat staring in a bewildered way at the book he held, the former said:

"You don't know what a slick trick you did last night, Merriwell! Why, I'd given almost anything if I had been the one to soak Snell in that fashion."

Frank put down the book, and rose to his feet, pacing twice the length of the room. All at once he stopped and faced Bart, and his voice was not steady, as he said:

"You didn't mean any harm, old man, but you did me a bad turn last night."

Bart stared, and asked:

"How?"

"By taking me where I could sit into a game like that. I am going to tell you something. I have one great failing--one terrible fault that quite overshadows all my other failings and faults. That is my pa.s.sion for cards--or, to put it more strongly and properly, my pa.s.sion for gambling."

Bart whistled.

"You don't mean to say that you have a failing or a fault that you cannot govern, do you?" he asked.

Frank put out one hand, and partly turned away. Instantly Bart sprang forward and caught the hand, saying swiftly:

"There, there, Merriwell--don't notice it! I didn't mean anything.

You are sensitive to-day. Hang it all, man! do you think I want to hurt your feelings without cause! I shouldn't have said it, for I see you are not yourself."

"No, I am not," confessed Frank. "You know every fellow has a secret.

I did not intend to tell mine. I believe I was born with an intense pa.s.sion for gambling."

"And you cannot govern it?"

"Well, I have been able to do so during the past year."

"Oh, you are all right; you have a strong mind and----"

"Every strong mind has a weak spot. I began gaming by playing marbles, and the pa.s.sion grew on me. When I had money, I gambled for cents and nickels. As I grew older, I learned to play cards, and I gambled for larger sums. If I knew that a game was going on I would leave everything to get into it. Once I 'appropriated' money from my mother's purse to gamble with."

Frank stopped. His face crimsoned as he uttered the words, and he showed his deep shame and humiliation. But he quickly added:

"That was my first and last theft. The shame and disgrace of exposure by my mother was nearly more than I could endure. But she did not know I played cards for money. Thank G.o.d! she never knew! She died when I was twelve years old.

"I never knew much about my father's business. He was much away from home, and I saw him but little. After mother's death, I went to live with my uncle. Still I played cards for money, and the pa.s.sion grew upon me. A little more than a year ago I was rapidly developing into a young gambler. Then came news of my father's sudden death in California, and I swore I would never play cards again. Last night I broke my oath."

"What was the cause of your father's death?" asked Bart, by way of saying something.

"He was shot over a game of cards in a gambling-house," replied Frank, hoa.r.s.ely.

CHAPTER VI.

THE PLOT.

Wat Snell and Leslie Gage were roommates, and they certainly made a delectable pair.

Gage was naturally the leader, being the worse of the two. He was a daring and reckless sort of fellow--one who would not stop at anything, and who would have recourse to almost any measure to gain his ends.

This revengeful fellow had never forgiven Merriwell for what he considered a great injury. Gage had been the pitcher on the regular ball team, but, by superior skill, Merriwell had supplanted him. That was enough to produce in Gage's heart a feeling of undying hatred for the successful plebe.

It made no difference that Frank had, in all probability, saved him from death after he had twice attempted to kill Merriwell. Gage had been shrewd enough to see that he must dissemble if he would remain in the academy, and so he pretended to be repentant and to think Frank one of the finest fellows in the world, while his hatred and longing for "revenge" still lay hidden, black and hideous, in a secret corner of his heart.