A little farther on Ready came upon another man, who seemed to be watching Defarge. It was Hock Mason.
“Hello, Mason!” exclaimed Ready. “Why art thou not wrapped in the arms of old Morpheus? At this witching hour you should be snoring sweetly.”
“I’ve been watching him,” said Mason, motioning toward Defarge.
“All night?”
“A large part of it.”
“Why should you take all that trouble?”
“Because I feared he might commit suicide before morning.”
“Suicide?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He was pretty wild last night. I saw him trying to drink absinth.”
“Trying?”
“I said that.”
“Well, didn’t he succeed?”
“No, sah.”
“Why not?”
“That’s the strange part of it. I can’t tell why. He was crazy for a drink of the stuff, but the odor of it seemed to make him weak and helpless. Then, when he tried to lift the glass quickly and drink it off without stopping, the glass fell from his fingers just before it reached his lips. Three times he tried it, and three times he dropped the glass, which was shattered on the floor.”
“He must have found that drink expensive when he did get it.”
“But he did not get it.”
“No? Did he call the game off?”
“He gave up in despair. He paid for all the stuff, declaring that Merriwell’s eyes had kept him from drinking. Then, in a sort of frenzy, he rushed out of the place. I thought he might do himself harm, and I followed him up. From place to place he went, trying everywhere to get the stuff. When he did get it and tried to drink it, the same thing happened to him again and again. I tell you he became desperate. Then he got out into the night and tore away. I followed him up, meaning to try to prevent in case he attempted to drown himself. I think he did have some such thoughts.”
“Mason,” said Ready, putting a hand on the shoulder of the man from the South, “I have always regarded you as a fellow with horse sense.”
“Thank you, sah,” said Hock.
“But I find,” Jack gravely added, “that I have made a mistake. You are a chump.”
“What—what, sah?” gasped Mason.
“Any man who will contemplate getting wet to prevent Bertrand Defarge from committing suicide is a chump,” Ready gravely declared.
Mason was angry, but he saw something in the face of the queer sophomore that prevented him from losing control of his temper.
“But, sah,” said the youth from South Carolina, “you do not know how much he counted on an election which did not come to him. I know all about it, for I was with him tap day. The hand that fell on my back was the hand he thought must tap him.”
“Which shows that he got just what was due him, my dear Mason. It’s not your place to worry over him in the least, and I think you have been wasting your valuable time chasing him about. Time, you know, is a precious jewel, and the man who wastes it when he can sleep or loaf makes an awful mistake. Come, Hocksie, let’s perambulate toward our boudoirs and prepare for chapel. Forget it, my boy. Let Defarge take care of himself.”
So Jack dragged Mason away, and they left Defarge standing there alone in the gray light of morning.
It had, in truth, been a wild night for Bertrand, but now the intense longing for absinth had passed fromhim, a grateful quietness had come upon him, and something seemed to tell him that never again would he be tempted to drink the stuff that was dragging him to destruction.
He went back to his room, but not to sleep, for Skelding soon followed him. Several times that night Gene had visited the room of Defarge, only to find the fellow out, and it was his fear that the influence of Merriwell had failed, in which case Bertrand might return a raving maniac. He was relieved when he found Defarge sitting there by the window in the morning light, quiet and calm, and unexcited.
Of course, Defarge was astonished when Gene appeared at that hour. Skelding told him how it happened that he was there.
“Well, I have had a bad night of it,” confessed Bertrand. “I was seized by a mad desire for that stuff last night, but the strange thing was that I could not drink it, no matter how hard I tried.”
Gene nodded, smiling.
“At first,” Bertrand went on, “the smell of it made me so sick and faint that I could not get the glass to my lips.”
Again Gene nodded.
“But I felt that I must have it. So, holding it off at arm’s length at first, I lifted it quickly, meaning to dash it down at a swallow.”
“Then what happened?” asked Skelding eagerly.
“The glass fell from my fingers every time before I could touch it to my lips. I can’t understand why it happened, but it fell and was broken on the floor.”
“Then you were saved?”
“Yes, though I was forced at last to roam about through the city for hours. Toward morning a strange calmness came over me, and I knew all desire for that stuff had passed away. I believe it has left me forever.”
“In which case, you have Frank Merriwell to thank that you are not now a murderer and a maniac.”
Defarge stared and lifted his hand.
“Not Merriwell, but you,” he said. “You told me that you exchanged those cartridges.”
“That time, yes; but had you continued to drink that stuff you would have made the attempt again at another time, and I might not have been around.”
“Well, why didn’t I continue to drink?”
“Because Merriwell would not let you.”
Then Skelding told Defarge how Frank had willed that his enemy should not be able to drink absinth in any form, and how just what Merriwell had ordered had come true.
“You can see what you owe to him,” said Skelding. “You hate him; you regard him as your enemy; yet he has saved you from a madhouse.”
Bertrand sat there, gazing out of the window in silence. It was hard for him to think that he owedso much to the fellow whom he had hated so intensely and tried to injure so repeatedly.
“I have been Merriwell’s enemy myself,” Skelding went on. “It was a long time before I saw the folly of my ways, but the truth came to me at last. I am not his friend now, for I would not ask him to be a friend to me; but I have buried the past, and I shall never lift a hand against him again. Why don’t you do the same, Defarge? You can see how hopeless it is for you to try to injure him. He has the power to control you when you are away from him. It is your duty to go to him and confess that you have done wrong, and thank him for saving you by the spell he cast on you.”
Defarge shook his head.
“I can’t do that!” he exclaimed.
“Why not?”
“I can never humble myself to him.”
“It is not humbling yourself when you thank a man, be he friend or foe, for such a favor. Look here, Defarge, you have not many friends in college, have you?”
“No.”
“Neither have I.”
“Well?”
“We might become friends. We both desire some one whom we can regard as such. But, as I have foreverrenounced all intention of harming or trying to harm Merriwell, I cannot be the friend of any one who is plotting him injury. You have your choice now. Be a man and do the right thing with Merriwell and I will stick by you. If you do not—well, we can’t have much of anything to do with each other. That’s all.”
“I’ll have to think it over,” said Bertrand. “I’m tired now.”
“All right,” said Gene, preparing to go. “I hope you’ll come to your senses.”
He went out, leaving Defarge staring through the window at the pink of the morning sky.
It was a beautiful morning, and somehow the passionate French youth felt that a brighter and better morning was breaking within his soul.
Frank was surprised when Defarge came to him and said:
“Merriwell, I have no hope that you will believe me, but I have come to say that in the future I hope God will punish me if I lift my hand against you, or plot with others to do you harm!”
Frank turned those wonderful eyes on Defarge, and saw that the young Frenchman was never more in earnest.
“I should not have come here to say this,” Bertrand confessed, “if it had not been for Skelding. He tellsme you have kept me from drinking absinth. I believe the craving for the stuff has gone from me forever.”
“You can’t be sure of that,” said Merry.
“I know it, and for that reason I wish now to ask you to hold me fast yet a while longer under the spell. Keep me from drinking the stuff. Can you?”
“I can.”
“Will you do that? You know I was crazed by it when I tried to shoot you! You know I am pretty humble now, else I’d not be here asking a favor! I am sorry for the past—I swear I am! Do you believe me, Merriwell?”
“Yes, I believe you.”
“And you will still help me? You will keep me from drinking absinth if I am tempted?”
“I will,” promised Frank.