The early spring days passed rapidly at the college, and the interest of the students had been for days centered in the date fixed for the elections to the senior societies.
It was five o’clock in the afternoon of the third Thursday in May. In front of the fence the juniors had congregated in a body, and there they waited in solemn and expectant silence. Without doubt, every man in that throng by the fence hoped deep in his heart that it would be his fate to make “Bones.”
Some there were who felt confident, and their confidence showed in their faces; but others were doubtful and nervous, while still others, knowing that their chances were not worth reckoning upon, seemed resigned, as if nothing more than curiosity to watch the rest had brought them there.
Still all hoped. Often in the past some unexpected man had been chosen to accept the high honor of entering one of the three senior societies, and what had happened might happen again. Of course, there were men whose election seemed certain. Their society career had begun in Kappa Omicron Alpha, when they were at Andover, and had continued triumphantly throughHé Boulé or Eta Phi, the Yale sophomore societies, into Delta Kappa Epsilon, Psi Upsilon, or Alpha Delta Phi, the great junior societies of the college. It would be against all precedent to leave such men out of all three of the senior societies, and of course they felt certain that the hand of some searching senior society man would fall smartly on their backs that day.
But out of that throng of students only forty-five men could be the favored ones, fifteen to each society. The confident ones were all looking to make “Bones,” though, to tell the truth, there was some inward trepidation among them.
For Skull and Bones is the great senior society at Yale, being the oldest and richest of them all. He is not a Yale man who would prefer scholarship, honors, or prizes to membership in this society, and it is supposed that the honor falls each year to the fifteen men who stand highest as scholars, athletes, or have made brilliant records in a literary and social way.
Next to “Bones” comes Scroll and Key, generally known as “Keys,” and, after “Bones,” it gets the cream of the picking. If a man does not make “Bones,” he may feel solaced and satisfied that his great ambitions have not been entirely fruitless in case he is taken into “Keys.” Indeed, the men who make the latter society seem to convince themselves that it is the one they always preferred, and they bear themselves with the air and dignity of conquerors.
And so on this third Thursday in May all the probable and possible candidates were gathered at the fence. Freshmen and sophomores stood off and looked on, for in this ceremony they had no part.
In less than one minute after the clock struck five, a solemn senior was seen threading his way through the crowd, and all knew a “Bones” man was in search of the candidate he had been sent to notify. All eyes followed him, and an anxious hush fell on the great throng.
“It’s Gunnison!” whispered somebody, as the searcher was seen looking sharply at a man.
“No, Rice!” fluttered another. “See, he’s turned away from Gunnison.”
But he passed Rice.
“Who can it be?”
In a moment they would know. Of a sudden, the searcher dealt a student a sharp slap on the back, sternly saying:
“Go to your room!”
“It’s Gildea!” said a voice that was drowned in a great shout that goes up from the spectators.
The first “Bones” man had been chosen.
Then came another grave senior weaving in and out through the throng, and soon another shout went up as another man was tapped sharply on the back and ordered to go to his room.
The watchers were keeping count with untold excitement and anxiety, for thus they could tell where each man went and how their own chances were growing less, in case they were juniors.
Bertrand Defarge was smiling and serene, for he had made a sophomore and a junior society, and he was confident of being taken into the field of “Bones.”
At one time he had feared, but since that time he had made his peace with Merriwell. It had been a terrible humiliation for him to go to Frank and humble himself, but the French youth, feeling that his ambition was hopeless unless he did, had forced himself to do so. It was the manner in which Merriwell had met him that restored hope and confidence to the heart of Defarge, for Frank had seemed glad that he came, and had appeared to accept in good faith his repentance.
Defarge left Merriwell that night with the firm conviction that Frank’s one great ambition in life was to make friends of his enemies. And he told himself that he had deceived Merry finely with his tearful protestations of sorrow, repentance, admiration, and pledges of future friendship. He had seen Merriwell do much in the past for enemies who had become his friends, and Bertrand worked to deceive Frank into giving him a lift toward the goal of his ambitions, “Bones.” In this he was crafty, knowing that open speech would not do, but yet he fancied he had managedto convey his meaning and desires in a most delicate manner.
The fellow had even been so confident that he boasted of his cleverness to one or two intimate and confidential friends.
“Merriwell is the easiest fellow in the world to fool if you know how to go about it,” he had said.
“Do you think that?”
“I know it. I’ve been playing my cards wrong with him. I’ve just found out the trick.”
“What is it?”
“Make him think you love him. Make him believe you’re awfully sorry for any harm you may have tried to do him. Be a repentant sinner, and seek forgiveness. He loves to forgive. He has a magnanimous way of saying: ‘Oh, that’s all right, old man; don’t mention it.’ Then he’ll turn to and do more for the enemy he believes has become his friend than for any one else.”
“What makes you think that?”
“His record. Diamond was his enemy; see what he did for Diamond. Browning was his enemy, and he has stood ready to do anything for him. Hodge was one of the bitterest enemies he ever had, yet they are bosom friends now. Badger, who hated him, finally turned friend, and Merriwell helped Badger win and carry off Winnie Lee for his wife. That is proofenough. I’ve given him the hint, and I know he’ll throw his influence for me. Not a word, old man, but I’m sure of making ‘Bones’ now.”
So Defarge stood by the fence and smiled as he saw man after man tapped and ordered away. He had little interest in a chap he knew was looking for a “Keys” candidate, and none whatever in the Wolf’s Head searcher.
Hock Mason happened to be standing close to Defarge. Bertrand had sought to be friendly toward all of Merriwell’s friends after his professed “change of heart,” and now he was conversing with the youth from South Carolina.
“Twelve men gone to ‘Bones,’” he said in a low tone. “That leaves only three more.”
“And I know twenty good fellows who ought to go there,” said Hock.
“Oh, yes; that’s all right; but you see it can’t be, as only fifteen men can make it.”
“You’re not tapped yet.”
“Oh, there’s time enough,” declared Bertrand, but the confident smile was fading from his face and giving place to a look of anxiety.
What if he should not be chosen, after all? What if he should be thrown down after making every other Society in order? He felt that the disgrace would kill him. But that could not be. Merriwell had not yet appeared in search of a candidate. He wouldcome soon, and something told Defarge that it would be the hand of Frank Merriwell that would tap him on the back. Ha! what a satisfaction it would be to use Merriwell at last as a tool in this manner! Defarge felt that there was something in making use of a hated foe in such a way that was even more satisfactory than in maiming or killing him. Of course, they would be bound together as brothers in the society, and Defarge knew he would never again lift a hand against Merriwell; but the fact that Frank must leave college in a few short weeks, to return no more, was a great comfort to Bertrand.
Another cheer went up from the great throng, telling that yet another candidate had been chosen. The happy man was seen walking swiftly toward his room, followed by the grave-faced senior who had slapped him on the back.
“‘Bones,’” said the watchers.
“Thirteen!” counted Defarge, in a husky whisper.
“Only two more,” muttered Mason.
“Just enough to take us both in,” said Bertrand, with pretended lightness, though his heart was sinking.
“Not enough to take me in,” declared the youth from South Carolina rather sadly. “There was never a ghost of a show for me. I only came here to see the other fellows made happy. You know my record when I first came here hurt me, and when a man gets started wrong at Yale, he has hard work to changehis course and get on the right track. I’ve been side-tracked right along.”
“It’s too bad!” nodded Defarge. “Hello! there goes another ‘Keys’ man. You might make Wolf’s Head, Mason, you know.”
“My chance of making heaven is better. But surely a society man like you——”
“‘Bones,’ or nothing!” muttered Defarge grimly. “There are two more to go, and I’m waiting.”
“Hooray! Codwell! Hoopee! Hooray!”
“‘Bones!’” said Defarge hoarsely, his face growing white.
“Fourteen!” counted Mason. “That leaves but one more.”
“I’m the man!” the French youth inwardly declared. “I must be the man! What if they did not take me in! What if I failed after making the other societies!”
It could not be! Such a thing was unprecedented. Fortune had simply held him back for the fifteenth man. His mouth and lips were dry and he trembled a little. Was it possible, after all, that he had failed to deceive Merriwell? But it had been claimed by all of Merriwell’s friends that he would not use personal feelings to retard any man from advancement.
“He will not,” Defarge told himself. “It would be more like him to go against any feeling of dislike he may have for me, and seek to uplift me for that very reason. I’m all right! I am to be the fifteenth man.”
He heard nothing of the roar from the crowd as a “Keys” man was slapped, or the fainter shout as a candidate went to Wolf’s Head. He was waiting for Frank Merriwell to appear; he was looking in all directions for him.
Those in the crowd who were disappointed were doing their best to hide it away under a mask of happiness over the good fortune of others. Many were there who felt a great pain in their hearts and longed to crawl away and hide themselves, but they laughed in a strained fashion and talked of the luck of others. Those who had been to their rooms, followed by tappers, were back receiving congratulations from friends, their hands being shaken till their arms were tired.
This was the acme of college glory. Truly, it did seem that some of those happy-faced chaps were not nearly as deserving as some others who were congratulating them. But it is the case all through life. Not always the men we regard as the most deserving win the high prizes. We may, however, be wrong in our estimates of men.
Only one more man to go to “Bones.” Who would it be? The crowd were speculating.
“Harrison is the man.”
“Don’t believe yourself. He can’t get there. It’s Fairbush.”
“All wrong. It’s Defarge, of course.”
“That’s right; Defarge must be the man. Lookhow cool he is. He knows he will be chosen, even though there is only one more choice. He’ll get it.”
“Sure thing. Who’s the man he’s talking to?”
“Oh, that’s Mason.”
“So it is! What a chump I am not to know him! He can play ball.”
“Merriwell brought him out. Nobody ever suspected there was much in him till Merriwell took hold of him. He never did cut any ice.”
All at once Defarge stiffened up. Moving through the crowd, looking right and left, he had seen a well-known senior.
It was Merriwell!
Frank was the last of the “Bones” men to come forth in search of a candidate. His was the fifteenth man. All eyes were turned on Merriwell, and a great hush fell on the watching throng.
In and out, here and there, Frank moved. As he came near, the heart of many a man rose into his throat; as he turned away, those swelling, fluttering hearts seemed to drop back like lead.
The mouth of Defarge was dry as a chip now, and he felt cold shivers running up and down his spine. He almost feared to watch Merriwell’s movements.
What if he should be left out? It seemed that he could never bear the disgrace of it. Mason was speaking to him. At first he did not seem to hear, but soon he understood these words:
“Everywhere for you. He’s passed Fairbush and Harrison. They are both looking ill. Too bad! I’m sorry for them. It must be tough on a man who has counted on being chosen. He sees you, Defarge! He is coming this way!”
Yes, it seemed that Frank had seen Bertrand at last. He turned in that direction, and came forward slowly, as became the dignity of a senior on such a grave mission.
Bertrand’s heart leaped for joy. Now there could no longer be a doubt; he was the man, and to Merriwell had fallen the lot of notifying him.
Defarge came near laughing aloud. He did smile. He saw how everybody was watching Merriwell. Many present knew Frank had found in the French youth a persistent foe, but of late it seemed that Merry had discovered a way to hold Bertrand in subjection and submission. But the great mass of students did not dream of the many villainous attempts Defarge had made to injure Frank.
In that moment Bertrand Defarge saw visions of being made a member of Merriwell’s flock. He even vowed that he would do his level best to gain such distinction, as it would give him standing after Merriwell had left college.
Not that he loved Merriwell at all. Not that his treacherous nature had been changed in the least. But “Bones” would bring about the eternal burial of thehatchet, and never could anything cause them to betray a symptom of enmity.
Frank came nearer.
“It’s a sure thing, Defarge!” said Mason, in a whisper. “Congratulations.”
“Yes, it’s a sure thing,” thought Bertrand. “I knew it. How could I ever doubt it for a minute? They could not skip me. I was a fool to think such a thing!”
Frank came nearer. Bertrand even turned his body so that Merry might have less trouble in reaching his back and giving it a slap. Then he waited again.
Smack! Frank’s hand had fallen.
“Go to your room!”
The fifteenth man had been chosen.
It was not Defarge!