CHAPTERI.HOOKER.“There’s Frank Merriwell and his set,” said Tilton Hull, with an effort to appear contemptuous.“A nice lot of chumps they are!” exclaimed Julian Ives, speaking loudly, as if he wished to be heard by the little group of laughing students that was passing down the walk in front of Battell, one of the halls at Yale.“Don’t nothithe them,” lisped Lew Veazie, turning his back on the passing group. “They are verwy cheap.”“Be generous, be generous!” said Rupert Chickering, with clasped hands. “We should pity them, instead of speaking of them with scorn. They can’t help being what they are.”“Your campaign against Merriwell does not seem to thrive?” said Hull, addressing Gene Skelding, who was leaning against the fence and scowling blackly at the passing students.“I’m waiting,” muttered Gene. “I’ll get him yet.”“There are others who are waiting,” said Ives impatiently. “That fellow Badger must have given up his ambition to down Merriwell.”“Don’t mention him!” cried Ollie Lord, standing on his tiptoes in an attempt to look tall and imposing, although he was barely five feet in height. “He insulted me! I felt like killing him on the spot!”“You mutht westwain your angwy pathions, deah boy,” simpered Lew. “You thould not allow yourthelf to become dangerous.”The idea of Ollie becoming very dangerous was extremely ludicrous, but nobody in the group cracked a smile. The Chickering crowd took themselves seriously.“Badger,” said Ives, “is a bluff. But I did think that Bertrand Defarge might take some of the wind out of Merriwell’s sails.”“Defarge got it in the neck,” muttered Skelding, “and he’s as quiet as a sick kitten now.”“They say Merriwell played with him after the fashion of a cat playing with a mouse,” spoke Ives, gently caressing his bang, which fell in a roll over his forehead quite to his eyebrows.The trouble with the Frenchman was that he thought Merriwell knew nothing at all about fencing,” declared Skelding.“Is there anything in the world that Merriwell knows nothing at all about?” exclaimed Tilton Hull, looking over the top of his wonderfully high collar despairingly.“Sure thing,” nodded Skelding, scowling. “His weak point will be found some time, and then he’ll go down with a crash. Every man has a weakness, you know.”“I take extheptionth!” cried Lew Veazie, with great vigor. “I weally defy anybody to dithcover my weak point.”“Claret punch,” said Ollie Lord.“Well, you can’t thay a word,” grinned Lew.Merriwell and his party had passed on. Rattleton had called attention to Chickering’s crowd, but Frank did not even deign to glance at the group by the fence.“They are not worth noticing,” he said. “Don’t mind them, anybody.”“I’d like to eat that little runt Veazie!” exclaimed Bink Stubbs.“Well, he’d make you sick if you did!” returned Danny Griswold.“We were speaking of the money question,” grunted Browning. “Which side of that question are you on, Jones?”“The outside,” answered Dismal sadly. “Haven’t received a remittance from the governor since Jonah swallowed the whale.”“You’re in hard luck.”“Don’t mention it!”“Will a tenner help you out?” asked Frank.“Will it? Ask me!”“All right,” said Merry; “come up to the room. Come along, all of you.”“There’s another fellow,” grunted Browning, pointing to a student who was sitting all alone on the end of the fence in front of Durfee, “who looks as if he might be on the outside of the money question.”The person referred to looked forlorn and dejected.“I’ve noticed him often,” said Merry. “He never seems to travel with anybody.”“You mean that nobody travels with him,” said Rattleton.“It’s all the same. He doesn’t associate with other students.”“On the contrary, other students do not associate with him.”“I wonder why.”“He has a bad name,” said Griswold.“What is it?”“Hooker.”“You don’t mean to say that that has anything to do with the fact that he has no associates?”“Well, the name seems to fit him.”“How?”“They say his father has served a term in the jug for larceny.”Merry was interested.“And is that the reason why he has no associates here?”“One reason.”“Then there are others?”“There is another.”“What’s that?”“His nature seems to fit his name.”“What do you mean?”“Things have a habit of disappearing when he’s round.”“What! Do you mean that he’s light-fingered?”“Well, nobody’s ever caught him yet, but he has that reputation.”Frank’s interest increased.“You say that his father has served time for larceny, and that this poor fellow has a bad name? If nobody has caught him at anything crooked, why should he be ostracized?”“Well, the fellows here don’t care about associating with anybody who has such a father.”“Still, I am willing to wager,” said Merry, “that some of the sons of wealthy men in this college are being educated with the aid of money dishonestly acquired by their fathers. Stealing is stealing, whether it’s done in stock manipulations or in some other manner.”“Yes,” grunted Browning, “but the man who can steal a hundred thousand at a lick is called smart, while the fellow who swipes a paltry hundred is called a fool. That’s the difference.”“It’s a difference in public opinion, that’s all,” declared Merry. “One is as much a thief as the other. I have heard fellows say they’d never touch a dollar that did not belong to them unless they could make a big haul, and I always set such chaps down as dishonest at heart, though they may be regarded as square and honorable. I’ve even heard old men say, in the presence of young men, that the hungry wretch who stole a loaf of bread deserved no pity, but that the sleek rascal who was able to rob a bank and get out of the country did a good job. An old man who entertains such ideas is a thorough scoundrel, and, by his openly expressed admiration for the broad-gage rascal, he often plants the seed of dishonesty in the heart of some young man and ruins a career for life. I believe a man who expresses such sentiments is no better than the thief himself, and I have nothing but the utmost scorn and aversion for him!”Frank spoke warmly, for he felt strongly on that point. His sentiments were right.“Anyhow,” said Rattleton, “nobody here cares to associate with a fellow who is known to be the son of a criminal. That’s why Hooker is an outcast.”“And by shunning him,” said Merry, “they may be souring his soul and embittering his life.”“Well, the fellow who has anything to do with him will be regarded as no better than he is.”They had passed Hooker, who looked lonesome enough. Frank’s heart was touched by his wretched appearance.“And so no one has the moral courage to give him a helping hand and a word of cheer,” said Merriwell. “I’m glad I’ve learned something about him. Excuse me, gentlemen.”“Why, where are you going?”“I’m going back to see Hooker,” said Merry, turning square about.“Hold on!” exclaimed Harry. “What’s the use to——Well, that’s just like him!”“Yes,” growled Bruce, with a tired air; “you might have known he’d do it!”“Well, where does my ten dollars come in?” sighed Jones.“You’ll have to wait for it till Merriwell gets through with Hooker,” grinned Stubbs.“And then Hooker may have it,” said Griswold. “You’re up against it, Jones.”“As usual,” groaned Dismal. “Wish I’d never learned how to play poker.”“You haven’t,” said Bink. “That’s what ails you. You simply play the sucker, while the other fellows play poker.”“It’s fate,” declared Jones, with resignation. “I’ve been studying the lines in my hand, and I find I’m destined to be a sucker all my life.”“By the way,” said Stubbs, “what would you call a paper devoted to palmistry?”“A hand-organ,” answered Griswold instantly.“You’re too smart!” sneered Bink.They watched till they saw Merry walk straight back to the lonely student on the end of the fence. Frank advanced and spoke to Hooker.“Excuse me,” said Merry, with a pleasant smile, holding out his hand. “I don’t believe we’ve ever met before.”Hooker dropped down from the fence, a look of surprise coming to his pale face.“No, I believe not,” he faltered, accepting Frank’s hand hesitatingly, as if in doubt about what was going to follow.“My name’s Merriwell,” said Frank.“You don’t have to tell me that. Every man in college knows you. My name is Hooker—James Hooker. Perhaps,” he added, flushing, “perhaps you have heard of me?”“Nothing much,” said Merry. “I saw you all alone on the fence as I passed along with some friends. You looked rather lonesome, and I don’t like to see anybody look that way, so I came back to jolly you up a little, if I could.”“That was good of you! I appreciate it, Mr. Merriwell, I assure you, but—but——”“But what?”Hooker was greatly confused, but he seemed to force himself to say:“Perhaps you’d better make some inquiries about me before you permit yourself to be seen with me in such a public place as this.”It was plain he said this with a great effort, and Frank’s sympathy for him redoubled.“Why should I do that?” exclaimed Merry. “I am not in the habit of judging my friends by the estimation made of them by others.”“Your friends!”“Yes.”“But—but I’m not one of your friends!”“Perhaps you may become one—who knows?”Hooker shook his head with a look of sadness.“That’s too much!” he declared. “No one here cares to be friendly with me. You don’t know——”“I know you were in a brown study on the fence, just now, and when a fellow falls into a brown study, he’s likely to get blue. The blues are bad things. Don’t be grouchy, Hooker. What you need is to be stirred up. If I get you into a crowd of good, jolly fellows, it will do you good.”A look of pleasure came to the outcast’s eyes, but it quickly faded and died away.“You don’t know,” he said sadly. “They’ll tell you, now that you’ve been seen with me. There’s Chickering pointing us out now, and calling the attention of others to the fact that you are talking with me.”“Well, if you think for one moment that anything Chickering may say or do will have the slightest influence on my future actions, you are making a big mistake, Hooker. There is no cheaper set in college than Chickering and his gang.”“But they think themselves too good to have anything to do with me.”“Which is a mighty good thing for you, old man! You should thank your lucky stars.”“I’ve never cared to associate with them, but still it cuts a fellow to have such chaps treat him with scorn.”“Don’t let it worry you, Hooker. As far as that is concerned, they treat me with just as much scorn, and I really enjoy it.”Frank laughed cheerfully.“They can’t hurt you, but when a chap has a bad name, everybody seems ready to believe anything evil about him, no matter what its source may be.”Frank realized that this was true, and his sympathy for the outcast grew.“I believe you are too sensitive, old man,” he said. “You are inclined to draw into your shell, like a turtle. You must quit that. Come with me to my room, and I’ll introduce you to a lot of fine fellows.”Hooker looked pleased, but still he seemed in doubt as to Merry’s sincerity.“Do you mean it?” he asked.“Of course I do! Come along.”“It’s awfully good of you!” exclaimed Hooker, his eyes blurring a bit. “I appreciate it, but have you asked your friends if they want to meet me?”“Certainly not. My friends will be ready and glad to meet any one I choose to introduce to them.”The outcast shook his head doubtfully.“I’m afraid not,” he said sadly. “It can’t be that you know about—about my—father?”He stumbled over the final words, the hot blood surging up to his cheeks.“I’ve heard,” declared Merry quietly.“You have?”“Yes.”“That he—that he——”“I have heard all about it.”“And still you are willing to introduce me to your friends?”“Yes. I do not believe in killing a fellow for something his father did.”“God bless you!” cried Hooker sincerely, his voice shaking with emotion. “Now I am beginning to understand why you are so popular here. It’s not simply because you are a great athlete, but it is because you are a gentleman and have a noble heart. Let me tell you, Mr. Merriwell, you have given me more pleasure to-day than I have felt before for months! I thank you!”“You have nothing to thank me for, my dear fellow. I do not believe you have been treated just right here at college, and I’m going to see if the mistake can’t be remedied. I am going to get you in with my set, and I rather think that will give you standing.”“I think you had better find out if they are willing to meet me. It will be better.”“Nonsense! My friends are not cads!”“I know, but——”“There are no buts about it. You must come along. We were going to my room, and there will be a little gathering there now. Come, Hooker.”Frank passed his arm through that of the outcast, and thus they left the fence and passed along the broad walk.“Look at them!” exclaimed Gene Skelding, who, with Chickering and the rest of his crowd, had been watching Merriwell. “By Jove! if Merriwell isn’t walking arm in arm with that son of a thief, I’m a liar!”“That’s right,” nodded Julian Ives, excitedly slapping his bang. “Merriwell has picked up the outcast!”“And that,” said Lew Veazie “thows that he ith no better than that cheap fellow Hooker.”“We ought to be able to spread the report,” observed Tilton Hull, with his chin high in the air.“Oh, have sympathy,” said Rupert Chickering. “Merriwell is liable to fall from his perch any time. Don’t push him.”“Oh, no!” grinned Skelding, with his thumbs in the armholes of his vest, thus exposing the expanse of his gaudy shirt-bosom, “we won’t push him—if we don’t get a chance!”“We ought to be able to get something on him if he associates with Hooker,” said Ollie Lord.“We’ll do our best, at any rate,” nodded Ives. “We can start some things circulating.”The friends who had accompanied Frank, seeing him talking earnestly with Jim Hooker at the fence, had passed on and ascended to his room, where they found Jack Diamond and Joe Gamp.“Hello!” said the Virginian. “Where’s Merriwell?”“We left him by the fence,” answered Rattleton.“What was he doing?”“Guess, and I’ll give you a prize.”“Talking football.”“No, talking to Jim Hooker.”“What?” Diamond was astonished.“It’s on the level,” grunted Browning, dropping on an easy chair and producing a pipe. “That’s what Merriwell is doing.”“Well, why in the world should he talk to a fellow like that?” cried Jack.“Ask us!” said Bink Stubbs, bringing out a package of cigarettes and sprawling in his accustomed place on a handsome rug.“Why, that fellow Hooker has a jailbird for a father!” said Diamond.“And there is a report that he’s light-fingered himself,” said Rattleton.“Gol darned if I want him around mum-mum-me!” declared Joe Gamp. “I had a pup-pup-pup-pickpocket sus-sus-swipe a watch off me one time, and I’ve steered clear of um ever sence.”“Did you know when it was done?” asked Griswold.“Gosh, yes! Feller held me right up with a pup-pup-pistol.”“What did you do?”“I hollered for help.”“What did he do?”“Why, he just sus-sus-said, ‘Bub-bub-bub-be calm, sir; I dud-dud-dud-don’t need any help; I cuc-cuc-cuc-can do this job alone.’ And he did it.”The manner in which Joe told this caused them to utter a shout of laughter. When the merriment had subsided, Browning observed, as he lighted his pipe:“I’m afraid Merry will have this fellow Hooker hanging round after him, now he’s spoken to him.”“Well, I fight shy of pickpockets and burglars,” said Griswold. “I don’t like ’em.”“What would you do,” asked Bink, “if you should open your eyes at night and see the dark form of a burglar in your room?”“I’d shut my eyes again,” said Danny promptly. “Give me a cigarette.”“Since you’ve taken to drinking again,” declared Bink, flinging the cigarette at Dan, “it’s never dark in your room at night, unless you cover your nose with powder.”Griswold caressed his red beak.“That’s sunburn,” he said. “You know I’m going in for athletics of late, and I’m outdoors a great deal.”“I’m going in for athletics, too,” murmured Bink.“Going to try the clubs?” asked Dan.“No; going to try rolling my own cigarettes.”“Haw!” snorted Griswold. “That’s hot stuff. Have you heard my latest joke? It’s positively Shakespearian.”“Yes, I’ve heard it,” said Bink promptly; “but I thought it dated back of Shakespeare.”“Oh, you’re too funny!” snapped Dan. “You ought to match up with Ollie Lord. Hear what happened to him yesterday? He got his cane-head in his mouth and couldn’t get it out.”“Too bad!” said Bink. “How much was it worth?”“I met Lord this morning,” said Jones, in his dry way. “I let him have ten dollars last spring, and I haven’t seen it since.”“He must have been ill after that sad affair with his cane,” observed Rattleton. “How was he looking, Jones?”“He was looking the other way when I met him,” answered Dismal.“Well,” grunted Browning, “you know Doctor Holmes says ‘poverty is a cure for dyspepsia.’”“It may be,” nodded Dismal; “but I’d rather have the dyspepsia.”They made themselves quite at home till, at last, Frank appeared; but, to their great astonishment, Merry conducted Jim Hooker into the room.“Fellows,” said Frank, “I have brought along a friend, to whom I wish to introduce you.”Diamond hastily rose.“I beg your pardon, Merriwell,” he said, with icy politeness; “but, really, I have an important engagement, and I had quite forgotten it. I’ve lingered overtime already. See you later, you know.”Then he hurried out.“By jingoes!” cried Rattleton, “it’s time for me to meet Nash, the tailor. He’s coming round to my room. Excuse me.”He hastily followed Diamond.“Tailor?” grunted Browning, dragging himself up with an effort. “Nash? Hold on. I owe him a little bill. I’ll go along and settle up.”He followed Rattleton.“By gosh!” exclaimed Gamp, as if struck by a sudden thought, “I’ve gotter go to pup-pup-plugging. I’ve wasted too much tut-tut-time already.”He was the fourth one to leave the room.“I must have some cigarettes,” cried Bink Stubbs, scrambling up.“Hold on,” said Griswold; “I want some, too. I will go with you.”They escaped in company. Dismal Jones alone was left. Frank Merriwell’s face had hardened, but now he said:“Mr. Jones, this is my friend Mr. Hooker.”Jones got up, but did not hold out his hand.“How do you do, Mr. Hooker?” he said freezingly. “I must be going. Excuse me, gentlemen.”And even he departed.As the door closed behind Jones, Frank turned slowly and sorrowfully to Hooker. The outcast realized the full extent of the slight put upon him, and he was pale as chalk. Frank held out his hand.“My dear fellow!” he said sympathetically.“I told you how it would be!” cried Hooker hoarsely. “I did not wish to come here!”“I beg a thousand pardons for bringing you! I did not dream for a moment that such a thing would happen.”“I knew! I knew! Nobody here will have anything to do with me!”“But my friends—I thought my friends were different.”“They’re all alike!” said Hooker. “They believe me a crook, and they shun me! Oh, God! it’s enough to drive any man to crookedness! It’s enough to make a man hate himself and all the world!”Then he dropped on a chair, buried his face in his hands, and burst into tears. Never was Frank Merriwell more wretched and disgusted than at that moment. As he had said, he had not fancied his friends could stoop to use Hooker so contemptuously, and their actions had filled him with astonishment.“Don’t give way like this, old man! You’ll live it down in time,” he exclaimed.“I don’t know,” came thickly from the outcast. “It’s a hard struggle.”“I will help you.”“You?”“Yes.”“But your friends——”“Never mind them.”“It’s plain you’ll have to choose between them and me.”“I shall choose, and I’ll stand by you, Hooker!”The fellow lifted a tear-wet face and gazed at Frank wonderingly.“You do not realize what it may mean,” he said. “You do not wish to be shunned by all your friends. I am nothing to you, and your friends are everything.”“When they are in the right, they are everything; but when they are in the wrong, like this, nothing. Don’t worry for me, Hooker. I’ll bring them round.”“How can you?”“I’ll find a way. They shall accept you as their friend.”“Impossible!”“We shall see. But that is not all.”“What more?”“I’ll make them one and all ask your pardon for this slight to-day!” cried Frank. “I promise you that.”
“There’s Frank Merriwell and his set,” said Tilton Hull, with an effort to appear contemptuous.
“A nice lot of chumps they are!” exclaimed Julian Ives, speaking loudly, as if he wished to be heard by the little group of laughing students that was passing down the walk in front of Battell, one of the halls at Yale.
“Don’t nothithe them,” lisped Lew Veazie, turning his back on the passing group. “They are verwy cheap.”
“Be generous, be generous!” said Rupert Chickering, with clasped hands. “We should pity them, instead of speaking of them with scorn. They can’t help being what they are.”
“Your campaign against Merriwell does not seem to thrive?” said Hull, addressing Gene Skelding, who was leaning against the fence and scowling blackly at the passing students.
“I’m waiting,” muttered Gene. “I’ll get him yet.”
“There are others who are waiting,” said Ives impatiently. “That fellow Badger must have given up his ambition to down Merriwell.”
“Don’t mention him!” cried Ollie Lord, standing on his tiptoes in an attempt to look tall and imposing, although he was barely five feet in height. “He insulted me! I felt like killing him on the spot!”
“You mutht westwain your angwy pathions, deah boy,” simpered Lew. “You thould not allow yourthelf to become dangerous.”
The idea of Ollie becoming very dangerous was extremely ludicrous, but nobody in the group cracked a smile. The Chickering crowd took themselves seriously.
“Badger,” said Ives, “is a bluff. But I did think that Bertrand Defarge might take some of the wind out of Merriwell’s sails.”
“Defarge got it in the neck,” muttered Skelding, “and he’s as quiet as a sick kitten now.”
“They say Merriwell played with him after the fashion of a cat playing with a mouse,” spoke Ives, gently caressing his bang, which fell in a roll over his forehead quite to his eyebrows.
The trouble with the Frenchman was that he thought Merriwell knew nothing at all about fencing,” declared Skelding.
“Is there anything in the world that Merriwell knows nothing at all about?” exclaimed Tilton Hull, looking over the top of his wonderfully high collar despairingly.
“Sure thing,” nodded Skelding, scowling. “His weak point will be found some time, and then he’ll go down with a crash. Every man has a weakness, you know.”
“I take extheptionth!” cried Lew Veazie, with great vigor. “I weally defy anybody to dithcover my weak point.”
“Claret punch,” said Ollie Lord.
“Well, you can’t thay a word,” grinned Lew.
Merriwell and his party had passed on. Rattleton had called attention to Chickering’s crowd, but Frank did not even deign to glance at the group by the fence.
“They are not worth noticing,” he said. “Don’t mind them, anybody.”
“I’d like to eat that little runt Veazie!” exclaimed Bink Stubbs.
“Well, he’d make you sick if you did!” returned Danny Griswold.
“We were speaking of the money question,” grunted Browning. “Which side of that question are you on, Jones?”
“The outside,” answered Dismal sadly. “Haven’t received a remittance from the governor since Jonah swallowed the whale.”
“You’re in hard luck.”
“Don’t mention it!”
“Will a tenner help you out?” asked Frank.
“Will it? Ask me!”
“All right,” said Merry; “come up to the room. Come along, all of you.”
“There’s another fellow,” grunted Browning, pointing to a student who was sitting all alone on the end of the fence in front of Durfee, “who looks as if he might be on the outside of the money question.”
The person referred to looked forlorn and dejected.
“I’ve noticed him often,” said Merry. “He never seems to travel with anybody.”
“You mean that nobody travels with him,” said Rattleton.
“It’s all the same. He doesn’t associate with other students.”
“On the contrary, other students do not associate with him.”
“I wonder why.”
“He has a bad name,” said Griswold.
“What is it?”
“Hooker.”
“You don’t mean to say that that has anything to do with the fact that he has no associates?”
“Well, the name seems to fit him.”
“How?”
“They say his father has served a term in the jug for larceny.”
Merry was interested.
“And is that the reason why he has no associates here?”
“One reason.”
“Then there are others?”
“There is another.”
“What’s that?”
“His nature seems to fit his name.”
“What do you mean?”
“Things have a habit of disappearing when he’s round.”
“What! Do you mean that he’s light-fingered?”
“Well, nobody’s ever caught him yet, but he has that reputation.”
Frank’s interest increased.
“You say that his father has served time for larceny, and that this poor fellow has a bad name? If nobody has caught him at anything crooked, why should he be ostracized?”
“Well, the fellows here don’t care about associating with anybody who has such a father.”
“Still, I am willing to wager,” said Merry, “that some of the sons of wealthy men in this college are being educated with the aid of money dishonestly acquired by their fathers. Stealing is stealing, whether it’s done in stock manipulations or in some other manner.”
“Yes,” grunted Browning, “but the man who can steal a hundred thousand at a lick is called smart, while the fellow who swipes a paltry hundred is called a fool. That’s the difference.”
“It’s a difference in public opinion, that’s all,” declared Merry. “One is as much a thief as the other. I have heard fellows say they’d never touch a dollar that did not belong to them unless they could make a big haul, and I always set such chaps down as dishonest at heart, though they may be regarded as square and honorable. I’ve even heard old men say, in the presence of young men, that the hungry wretch who stole a loaf of bread deserved no pity, but that the sleek rascal who was able to rob a bank and get out of the country did a good job. An old man who entertains such ideas is a thorough scoundrel, and, by his openly expressed admiration for the broad-gage rascal, he often plants the seed of dishonesty in the heart of some young man and ruins a career for life. I believe a man who expresses such sentiments is no better than the thief himself, and I have nothing but the utmost scorn and aversion for him!”
Frank spoke warmly, for he felt strongly on that point. His sentiments were right.
“Anyhow,” said Rattleton, “nobody here cares to associate with a fellow who is known to be the son of a criminal. That’s why Hooker is an outcast.”
“And by shunning him,” said Merry, “they may be souring his soul and embittering his life.”
“Well, the fellow who has anything to do with him will be regarded as no better than he is.”
They had passed Hooker, who looked lonesome enough. Frank’s heart was touched by his wretched appearance.
“And so no one has the moral courage to give him a helping hand and a word of cheer,” said Merriwell. “I’m glad I’ve learned something about him. Excuse me, gentlemen.”
“Why, where are you going?”
“I’m going back to see Hooker,” said Merry, turning square about.
“Hold on!” exclaimed Harry. “What’s the use to——Well, that’s just like him!”
“Yes,” growled Bruce, with a tired air; “you might have known he’d do it!”
“Well, where does my ten dollars come in?” sighed Jones.
“You’ll have to wait for it till Merriwell gets through with Hooker,” grinned Stubbs.
“And then Hooker may have it,” said Griswold. “You’re up against it, Jones.”
“As usual,” groaned Dismal. “Wish I’d never learned how to play poker.”
“You haven’t,” said Bink. “That’s what ails you. You simply play the sucker, while the other fellows play poker.”
“It’s fate,” declared Jones, with resignation. “I’ve been studying the lines in my hand, and I find I’m destined to be a sucker all my life.”
“By the way,” said Stubbs, “what would you call a paper devoted to palmistry?”
“A hand-organ,” answered Griswold instantly.
“You’re too smart!” sneered Bink.
They watched till they saw Merry walk straight back to the lonely student on the end of the fence. Frank advanced and spoke to Hooker.
“Excuse me,” said Merry, with a pleasant smile, holding out his hand. “I don’t believe we’ve ever met before.”
Hooker dropped down from the fence, a look of surprise coming to his pale face.
“No, I believe not,” he faltered, accepting Frank’s hand hesitatingly, as if in doubt about what was going to follow.
“My name’s Merriwell,” said Frank.
“You don’t have to tell me that. Every man in college knows you. My name is Hooker—James Hooker. Perhaps,” he added, flushing, “perhaps you have heard of me?”
“Nothing much,” said Merry. “I saw you all alone on the fence as I passed along with some friends. You looked rather lonesome, and I don’t like to see anybody look that way, so I came back to jolly you up a little, if I could.”
“That was good of you! I appreciate it, Mr. Merriwell, I assure you, but—but——”
“But what?”
Hooker was greatly confused, but he seemed to force himself to say:
“Perhaps you’d better make some inquiries about me before you permit yourself to be seen with me in such a public place as this.”
It was plain he said this with a great effort, and Frank’s sympathy for him redoubled.
“Why should I do that?” exclaimed Merry. “I am not in the habit of judging my friends by the estimation made of them by others.”
“Your friends!”
“Yes.”
“But—but I’m not one of your friends!”
“Perhaps you may become one—who knows?”
Hooker shook his head with a look of sadness.
“That’s too much!” he declared. “No one here cares to be friendly with me. You don’t know——”
“I know you were in a brown study on the fence, just now, and when a fellow falls into a brown study, he’s likely to get blue. The blues are bad things. Don’t be grouchy, Hooker. What you need is to be stirred up. If I get you into a crowd of good, jolly fellows, it will do you good.”
A look of pleasure came to the outcast’s eyes, but it quickly faded and died away.
“You don’t know,” he said sadly. “They’ll tell you, now that you’ve been seen with me. There’s Chickering pointing us out now, and calling the attention of others to the fact that you are talking with me.”
“Well, if you think for one moment that anything Chickering may say or do will have the slightest influence on my future actions, you are making a big mistake, Hooker. There is no cheaper set in college than Chickering and his gang.”
“But they think themselves too good to have anything to do with me.”
“Which is a mighty good thing for you, old man! You should thank your lucky stars.”
“I’ve never cared to associate with them, but still it cuts a fellow to have such chaps treat him with scorn.”
“Don’t let it worry you, Hooker. As far as that is concerned, they treat me with just as much scorn, and I really enjoy it.”
Frank laughed cheerfully.
“They can’t hurt you, but when a chap has a bad name, everybody seems ready to believe anything evil about him, no matter what its source may be.”
Frank realized that this was true, and his sympathy for the outcast grew.
“I believe you are too sensitive, old man,” he said. “You are inclined to draw into your shell, like a turtle. You must quit that. Come with me to my room, and I’ll introduce you to a lot of fine fellows.”
Hooker looked pleased, but still he seemed in doubt as to Merry’s sincerity.
“Do you mean it?” he asked.
“Of course I do! Come along.”
“It’s awfully good of you!” exclaimed Hooker, his eyes blurring a bit. “I appreciate it, but have you asked your friends if they want to meet me?”
“Certainly not. My friends will be ready and glad to meet any one I choose to introduce to them.”
The outcast shook his head doubtfully.
“I’m afraid not,” he said sadly. “It can’t be that you know about—about my—father?”
He stumbled over the final words, the hot blood surging up to his cheeks.
“I’ve heard,” declared Merry quietly.
“You have?”
“Yes.”
“That he—that he——”
“I have heard all about it.”
“And still you are willing to introduce me to your friends?”
“Yes. I do not believe in killing a fellow for something his father did.”
“God bless you!” cried Hooker sincerely, his voice shaking with emotion. “Now I am beginning to understand why you are so popular here. It’s not simply because you are a great athlete, but it is because you are a gentleman and have a noble heart. Let me tell you, Mr. Merriwell, you have given me more pleasure to-day than I have felt before for months! I thank you!”
“You have nothing to thank me for, my dear fellow. I do not believe you have been treated just right here at college, and I’m going to see if the mistake can’t be remedied. I am going to get you in with my set, and I rather think that will give you standing.”
“I think you had better find out if they are willing to meet me. It will be better.”
“Nonsense! My friends are not cads!”
“I know, but——”
“There are no buts about it. You must come along. We were going to my room, and there will be a little gathering there now. Come, Hooker.”
Frank passed his arm through that of the outcast, and thus they left the fence and passed along the broad walk.
“Look at them!” exclaimed Gene Skelding, who, with Chickering and the rest of his crowd, had been watching Merriwell. “By Jove! if Merriwell isn’t walking arm in arm with that son of a thief, I’m a liar!”
“That’s right,” nodded Julian Ives, excitedly slapping his bang. “Merriwell has picked up the outcast!”
“And that,” said Lew Veazie “thows that he ith no better than that cheap fellow Hooker.”
“We ought to be able to spread the report,” observed Tilton Hull, with his chin high in the air.
“Oh, have sympathy,” said Rupert Chickering. “Merriwell is liable to fall from his perch any time. Don’t push him.”
“Oh, no!” grinned Skelding, with his thumbs in the armholes of his vest, thus exposing the expanse of his gaudy shirt-bosom, “we won’t push him—if we don’t get a chance!”
“We ought to be able to get something on him if he associates with Hooker,” said Ollie Lord.
“We’ll do our best, at any rate,” nodded Ives. “We can start some things circulating.”
The friends who had accompanied Frank, seeing him talking earnestly with Jim Hooker at the fence, had passed on and ascended to his room, where they found Jack Diamond and Joe Gamp.
“Hello!” said the Virginian. “Where’s Merriwell?”
“We left him by the fence,” answered Rattleton.
“What was he doing?”
“Guess, and I’ll give you a prize.”
“Talking football.”
“No, talking to Jim Hooker.”
“What?” Diamond was astonished.
“It’s on the level,” grunted Browning, dropping on an easy chair and producing a pipe. “That’s what Merriwell is doing.”
“Well, why in the world should he talk to a fellow like that?” cried Jack.
“Ask us!” said Bink Stubbs, bringing out a package of cigarettes and sprawling in his accustomed place on a handsome rug.
“Why, that fellow Hooker has a jailbird for a father!” said Diamond.
“And there is a report that he’s light-fingered himself,” said Rattleton.
“Gol darned if I want him around mum-mum-me!” declared Joe Gamp. “I had a pup-pup-pup-pickpocket sus-sus-swipe a watch off me one time, and I’ve steered clear of um ever sence.”
“Did you know when it was done?” asked Griswold.
“Gosh, yes! Feller held me right up with a pup-pup-pistol.”
“What did you do?”
“I hollered for help.”
“What did he do?”
“Why, he just sus-sus-said, ‘Bub-bub-bub-be calm, sir; I dud-dud-dud-don’t need any help; I cuc-cuc-cuc-can do this job alone.’ And he did it.”
The manner in which Joe told this caused them to utter a shout of laughter. When the merriment had subsided, Browning observed, as he lighted his pipe:
“I’m afraid Merry will have this fellow Hooker hanging round after him, now he’s spoken to him.”
“Well, I fight shy of pickpockets and burglars,” said Griswold. “I don’t like ’em.”
“What would you do,” asked Bink, “if you should open your eyes at night and see the dark form of a burglar in your room?”
“I’d shut my eyes again,” said Danny promptly. “Give me a cigarette.”
“Since you’ve taken to drinking again,” declared Bink, flinging the cigarette at Dan, “it’s never dark in your room at night, unless you cover your nose with powder.”
Griswold caressed his red beak.
“That’s sunburn,” he said. “You know I’m going in for athletics of late, and I’m outdoors a great deal.”
“I’m going in for athletics, too,” murmured Bink.
“Going to try the clubs?” asked Dan.
“No; going to try rolling my own cigarettes.”
“Haw!” snorted Griswold. “That’s hot stuff. Have you heard my latest joke? It’s positively Shakespearian.”
“Yes, I’ve heard it,” said Bink promptly; “but I thought it dated back of Shakespeare.”
“Oh, you’re too funny!” snapped Dan. “You ought to match up with Ollie Lord. Hear what happened to him yesterday? He got his cane-head in his mouth and couldn’t get it out.”
“Too bad!” said Bink. “How much was it worth?”
“I met Lord this morning,” said Jones, in his dry way. “I let him have ten dollars last spring, and I haven’t seen it since.”
“He must have been ill after that sad affair with his cane,” observed Rattleton. “How was he looking, Jones?”
“He was looking the other way when I met him,” answered Dismal.
“Well,” grunted Browning, “you know Doctor Holmes says ‘poverty is a cure for dyspepsia.’”
“It may be,” nodded Dismal; “but I’d rather have the dyspepsia.”
They made themselves quite at home till, at last, Frank appeared; but, to their great astonishment, Merry conducted Jim Hooker into the room.
“Fellows,” said Frank, “I have brought along a friend, to whom I wish to introduce you.”
Diamond hastily rose.
“I beg your pardon, Merriwell,” he said, with icy politeness; “but, really, I have an important engagement, and I had quite forgotten it. I’ve lingered overtime already. See you later, you know.”
Then he hurried out.
“By jingoes!” cried Rattleton, “it’s time for me to meet Nash, the tailor. He’s coming round to my room. Excuse me.”
He hastily followed Diamond.
“Tailor?” grunted Browning, dragging himself up with an effort. “Nash? Hold on. I owe him a little bill. I’ll go along and settle up.”
He followed Rattleton.
“By gosh!” exclaimed Gamp, as if struck by a sudden thought, “I’ve gotter go to pup-pup-plugging. I’ve wasted too much tut-tut-time already.”
He was the fourth one to leave the room.
“I must have some cigarettes,” cried Bink Stubbs, scrambling up.
“Hold on,” said Griswold; “I want some, too. I will go with you.”
They escaped in company. Dismal Jones alone was left. Frank Merriwell’s face had hardened, but now he said:
“Mr. Jones, this is my friend Mr. Hooker.”
Jones got up, but did not hold out his hand.
“How do you do, Mr. Hooker?” he said freezingly. “I must be going. Excuse me, gentlemen.”
And even he departed.
As the door closed behind Jones, Frank turned slowly and sorrowfully to Hooker. The outcast realized the full extent of the slight put upon him, and he was pale as chalk. Frank held out his hand.
“My dear fellow!” he said sympathetically.
“I told you how it would be!” cried Hooker hoarsely. “I did not wish to come here!”
“I beg a thousand pardons for bringing you! I did not dream for a moment that such a thing would happen.”
“I knew! I knew! Nobody here will have anything to do with me!”
“But my friends—I thought my friends were different.”
“They’re all alike!” said Hooker. “They believe me a crook, and they shun me! Oh, God! it’s enough to drive any man to crookedness! It’s enough to make a man hate himself and all the world!”
Then he dropped on a chair, buried his face in his hands, and burst into tears. Never was Frank Merriwell more wretched and disgusted than at that moment. As he had said, he had not fancied his friends could stoop to use Hooker so contemptuously, and their actions had filled him with astonishment.
“Don’t give way like this, old man! You’ll live it down in time,” he exclaimed.
“I don’t know,” came thickly from the outcast. “It’s a hard struggle.”
“I will help you.”
“You?”
“Yes.”
“But your friends——”
“Never mind them.”
“It’s plain you’ll have to choose between them and me.”
“I shall choose, and I’ll stand by you, Hooker!”
The fellow lifted a tear-wet face and gazed at Frank wonderingly.
“You do not realize what it may mean,” he said. “You do not wish to be shunned by all your friends. I am nothing to you, and your friends are everything.”
“When they are in the right, they are everything; but when they are in the wrong, like this, nothing. Don’t worry for me, Hooker. I’ll bring them round.”
“How can you?”
“I’ll find a way. They shall accept you as their friend.”
“Impossible!”
“We shall see. But that is not all.”
“What more?”
“I’ll make them one and all ask your pardon for this slight to-day!” cried Frank. “I promise you that.”