CHAPTER XXSTARBRIGHT SPEAKS OUT.
Frank Merriwell and Dick Starbright sat alone in Merry’s room in the Fifth Avenue Hotel. It was long past midnight, and, despite the exciting adventures of the last few hours, Jack Diamond had retired in an adjoining room and was already wrapped in the arms of slumber.
In the morning, Frank and Dick expected to start for New Haven and Yale, but this had not prevented them from remaining up to talk over the strange happenings of the day. The freshman was eager to talk, and Merry gave him an opportunity.
There was a burden on Starbright’s mind, and the big, open-hearted youth felt that it would be impossible for him to sleep till he had freed himself of the load.
Having slipped to the door of the adjoining room and closed it quietly, Dick came back and stood before Frank, who looked at him questioningly.
“Merry,” said the big freshman, “I am not worthy of her!”
“You mean——”
“Inza.”
“I thought——”
“I know I am not worthy of her, for I doubted her.”
There was a look of shame on the face of the big fellow that touched Merry deeply, yet, believing Dick was entitled to feel shame, Frank did not speak.
“At first I doubted you,” the Andover man went on. “I had no right to do that, for it was I who came between you and Inza.”
Merriwell made a gesture of protest.
“Don’t stop me!” pleaded Dick. “I know what I am saying. I also know that I never really won a place in her heart. I may have aroused her admiration by something I did, and she liked me; but that was all, and I know she did not love me.”
“How do you know?”
“I can’t tell you just now; but I know it now—there isn’t a doubt about it.”
But Frank could not feel so sure, and he shook his head.
“If you were anybody but yourself you would see it, too,” asserted Starbright earnestly. “She loves you, Frank—she has always loved you. I know that!”
“Oh, my dear boy, you are quite wrong!” quickly cried Frank. “She has told me with her own lips that her affection for me was merely that which a sister might feel for a very dear brother.”
“And did you think she would tell you anything else unless you were the first to speak?” demanded Dick. “You are astute and far-seeing, Merry, but in this matter you have been blind as a bat. She is proud. Do you think she’d let you know how much she cared for you, thinking as she did that you cared more for another? Of course she would tell you she could never be anything but a sister to you.”
Dick smiled in a dry way, but that smile gave him pain of which Frank knew nothing, for the big, handsome blond athlete had been deeply smitten by the dark eyes of Inza Burrage, and the sacrifice he was making now was costing him the effort of his life.
Dick Starbright possessed physical courage, as he had often demonstrated; but, caring for Inza as he did, it now took great moral courage for him to abandon his last hope of ever winning her.
But he had become convinced beyond the shadow of a doubt that he was unworthy of Inza, and that Frank was the worthy one. More than that, he believed that Frank, without being entirely aware of it himself, loved Inza.
On top of this came the conviction that Inza had loved Frank all along, though her pride had caused her to try to hide the secret in her heart, being satisfied that Merry cared more for Elsie. Having fought against her liking for Frank, it was but natural that Inza should, to aid her in her struggle, turn to some other youth whom she admired.
Circumstances had made the other one Dick Starbright. Satisfied that she would be doing the right thing toward Frank and Elsie by appearing to care for another than Merry, Inza’s conscience had not troubled her in the least.
She had not been false and fickle; she was true to her convictions of right. Never had she given Starbright a reason to be certain that she cared for him in any other way than as a friend. Indeed, she had told him that was the only way she cared for him or ever could care for him.
But Dick, like any man thus encouraged, had hoped for something more. His jealousy had been aroused when Frank remained behind in New York. Tortured by the thought that Merriwell was with Inza, he had finally rushed back to the city.
Then came the adventures which opened his eyes, convinced him that Frank truly loved Inza and was worthy of her, and led him to resolve to withdraw from the field at once.
Inza knew nothing of Starbright’s doubts concerning her, but from the lips of her brother she learned that he owed his life to Frank Merriwell, who had groped through flame and smoke to find him helpless in the burning building and bear him forth.
And now Starbright, having seen himself in his true light, and having discovered Frank’s secret, made a noble resolve to take himself out of the way without delay. This had led him to remain up long after Jack Diamond retired, seeking an opportunity to talk privately with Merry.
Dick’s words gave Merriwell a shock. Could it be true the freshman was right? Could it be true Inza had loved him all along, but had sought to hide her love from his eyes? Further, was it true that he had loved Inza—that he still loved her?
As he asked himself these questions, he felt a strange sensation creeping over him, thrilling him from his head to his feet with the same old emotion he had experienced one moonlight night in dear old Fardale, as he leaned over the gate in front of Inza’s home and kissed her for the first time.
Was it love stirring and reawakening within his heart?
Frank sat like one under a spell, a rapt look of pleasure on his handsome face as he seemed to live over again that happy hour of a moonlight night in Fardale, far away. He saw Inza as she looked then, leaning on the gate, the white moonlight showing the sweet, girlish outline of her high-bred oval face, and he remembered the look he saw within her dark eyes just before he impulsively pressed his lips to hers.
That kiss—the memory of it had been with him always! Sometimes it seemed that he had tried to forget, but still it clung to him. In times of peril it sustained him and gave him hope; in times of distress it soothed him and gave him comfort. When his life hung in the balance, as it had more than once, and it seemed that there was no hope, the memory of that kiss over the gate had kept the spark of hope alive in his heart, had caused him to continue the battle, had kept him from ever giving up.
Now it seemed that for the first time he fully realized this. Now for the first time he understood that in moments of frightful peril, when there seemed absolutely not a ray of hope, he had hoped on and had not given up because he thought of Inza—because he must see her again.
The thought struck home to him with convincing force. Through all the years since they plighted their love in the moonlight at Fardale he had loved her. Through all the years since then her influence had been over him, making him better, stronger, nobler. She had been his guardian angel, saving him scores of times from deadly perils. Her love, her influence, her spirit had hovered near, even though the width of the world separated them.
No wonder Frank Merriwell sat there like one entranced, wondering that he had never realized this before, bitterly condemning himself for his blindness.
His face must have expressed much, for Starbright was silenced and turned quietly away, leaving Frank to meditate on this wonderful thing which had dawned upon him like a glorious light in a dark place.
The love of Inza had been pure and noble and uplifting. He had felt it thus, and to it he owed much that he had become. Now, at this late hour, after all that had happened, he knew it was for Inza he had striven and struggled. For her he had worked to make himself physically and mentally great. For her he had labored night and day to conquer all things, surmount all obstacles, reach the loftiest heights.
What a revelation it was! He saw how her influence had uplifted him above the level of common men and had placed him on a pinnacle where those below looked up at him in wonder and admiration.
For truly in his short life no other man had ever reached the height of absolute manhood and popularity attained by Frank Merriwell. Not that others had not equaled him, but never had their names and fame spread abroad like his. From one end of the United States to the other, from East to West, the name Frank Merriwell was a synonym of all that was noble and grand and desirable in a manly way.
Men spoke of him as “the representative American youth,” and boys everywhere tried to pattern after him, live like him and lift themselves high in the scale of manhood as he had done. His example had been a noble one, and it is probable that it had done more good for the boys of the country than that of any other living American. Other men had acquired fame by struggling and battling all their lives; some being great generals, some becoming leaders in grand causes, some occupying the highest office it is in the power of the people to give; but not one of them had ever obtained such universal fame, such absolute admiration, such honor and respect as this beardless youth who had simply worked to perfect himself, to be just and merciful to all, and to uplift his fellows instead of pushing them down.
In most ways this is a beautiful world, but there are many bad things in it, many things to cause suffering, sorrow, and regret. One of the most unpleasant is the constant struggle, the incessant battle for supremacy. In this unceasing battle that is taking place day after day all the wickedness, deceit, treachery, greed, and corruption of human nature is flagrantly exhibited. Men resort to any means to accomplish their ends and exalt themselves above their fellows. They lie, steal, betray, and destroy without compunction and without mercy. That they may mount higher, they pull scores down, trample hundreds beneath their feet. And when they have reached the pinnacle for which they have sacrificed their manhood and destroyed their better nature—they die.
Then, what a grand thing it is to see one who is fighting on in a perfectly fair and honorable way, who refuses to pull a single weak wretch down, who holds out his hands to the faint and faltering and draws them up with him, as he mounts step by step on the joyful journey to the top.
Such a person, if he is human, will find many things to sadden him, for some he has helped will show envy and jealousy when they find they cannot keep pace with him on his upward way. When they have to fall behind they will sneer at and malign him, forgetting often that but for his aid they might have gone to the bottom and been obliterated beneath the merciless feet of the trampling, swaying, striving horde down there. For it is true of human nature that one whom you have helped, one whom you have tried to uplift, will almost always be the first to feel jealousy when he sees you rising above him.
Although this is true, it should deter no one from holding out a helping hand to the needy whenever possible, for he will find that the joy of the action is its own exceeding great reward.
Frank had never hesitated when an opportunity offered to aid a fellow being. He had ever been merciful to the extreme with his enemies. Often he had thus caused those enemies to regard him as weak and yielding, but when they had pressed him to the very verge and he realized that further leniency was worse than folly, they had found him hard as iron.
But he had been rewarded for the course he pursued. The lads who were his firmest friends had once been his enemies, and it seemed that the more they hated him and tried to harm him in the long ago the better they loved him, and the more devoted they were now.
For example, Hodge had once been his most malignant foe, ready to do anything to harm him; but Frank believed he saw in Bart something that did not appear to other eyes, believed the passionate, head-strong youth had in him the making of an admirable man, and he had refused to bring on Bart the punishment and disgrace merited a score of times. At first, Hodge had believed Frank weak and lacking spirit, but slowly his eyes were opened and he finally saw Merry in the true light. Then he realized that his lenient foe was the possessor of moral and physical courage, and was so far his superior in every way that he felt small and miserable and mean and contemptible by contrast. For a time, being proud and obstinate, Bart continued to try to fight on as Frank’s enemy, but he was forced to surrender at last, and he became Merry’s firmest friend, ready in a moment to sacrifice life for him.
One such victory was enough to satisfy and reward Frank for all his defeats. But that one was not all. Strangely enough, nearly all his intimate friends had been won to him in a similar way, his “flock” being made up mainly of those who had once been his bitter enemies, among whom were Diamond, Browning, and Badger. Harry Rattleton alone had been his true and constant friend from their first meeting, and often Frank wondered if Rattleton’s affection for him was as deep and sincere as that of the others.
And now, thinking of all that he had done, Frank could see that he had been urged on by a strange, subtle influence that remained always with him—the influence of the dark-eyed girl who had given him her maiden kiss of love over the gate that moonlight night in Fardale. It is true that man seldom makes much of himself, seldom mounts to great heights unless behind him is the influence of a woman. He may without woman’s influence become a miser, a Shylock, a money magnate, and a wrecker of human lives; but he seldom becomes noble, honored, loved, and cherished in the hearts of his fellow men unless behind him is the influence of a good, true woman urging him on to the splendid deeds which uplift him.
At times Merry had seemed to realize the presence of that subtle influence, and then had risen vague visions of the many girls he had known, with Elsie and Inza the most prominent. Elsie, by her gentle ways, had crept into his heart, and, for a time, it had seemed that she had excluded Inza. Not that she had meant to do such a thing, for Elsie Bellwood, sweet, gentle, loving, would have died rather than wrong the girl who had been her friend. But Elsie was human, and all who are human make mistakes. Inza was no less human, and her spirit and pride had led her into blunders as great—perhaps greater—than those of Elsie. Was that a reason why Frank should not love her? Rather, was it not a reason why he should love her more?
It seemed that his love had been pent-up and suppressed all these years; but now, in a single moment, Dick Starbright, by a few simple words, had torn away the dam, and it came rolling down upon Frank’s heart in a tide that was overwhelming and irresistible. He felt himself seized and swept away with the released tide, against which it was useless to battle.
“It’s true!” he told himself, in sudden joy. “I do love her!”
But Elsie!
He felt a sudden chill run over him, and it seemed that his heart stood still. What of her? He was forced to confess to himself that for a long time he had fancied he cared more for sweet, gentle Elsie than for Inza.
And had he not given Elsie reason to believe such was the case? Had he not placed himself in an awkward position, a position from which he could not manfully withdraw?
No wonder he was chilled! No wonder his heart seemed to stop beating! No wonder he sat there like one turned to stone, the expression of happiness having left his face and the light of joy vanished from his eyes.
Frank groaned aloud, causing Starbright to start and turn slightly. If Dick had meant to speak he was checked by a single gesture Frank made, and he settled back once more to let the tortured youth fight out the battle with himself and solve the problem if he could.
Merry rose and paced the floor, seemingly having forgotten Dick entirely. His aspect plainly indicated that a terrible tumult stirred his soul, but his teeth were set, his jaws squared, and no further sound came from his closed lips.
Starbright had seen him look somewhat like this before in times of severe trial, but never quite so awe-inspiring and intense. Not even in the mighty contest against Harvard on the gridiron had such an expression rested in Frank’s face.
His mind was running over the past, and he was weighing every word and act in the balance, feeling that the deciding hour of his life had come. He might have sought to put it off had he been weak and faltering; he might have resolved to wait and let circumstances work out the solution; but, instead, he set himself to weigh everything carefully and decide what was the thing he must do. He would cut out his course for the future and try to follow it to the end.
To do this he was compelled to compare his emotions toward the two girls, for whom he had cared so much. His feelings toward Elsie were those of deep tenderness, and the thought of her awoke all the gentler side of his nature. He had felt her tremble in his arms in a time of frightful peril, had felt her cling about his neck, confident that he could save her, and the memory of her quivering form, her soft, round, clinging arms, thrilled him with the same old emotion he had mistaken as love.
Was it love?
He knew now that always and ever she would have a place in his heart, which she had won there by her sweet disposition and her gentle, self-sacrificing ways, but—did he love her?
Then he thought of Inza, and he was carried away by the rush of feelings that came upon him, so that, in a twinkling, all thought of Elsie had been banished, and he was unable to compare this surging emotion with the gentle feeling of tenderness he had entertained toward the other girl.
This was love! Instantly in his heart was established the conviction, which, however, did not give him immediate satisfaction and relief.
Elsie had trusted him. Would he not be betraying her if he turned back to this girl who had been his first—and he now knew—his only true love?
Then, like a flash, came thoughts of some events that had happened on Cumberland Island, off the coast of Georgia, not many weeks before. He remembered how, when he was on the very verge of speaking out to Elsie herself, she had told him there was another who had a claim upon her. He thought of the encounter with Hodge that had followed and of their talk alone on the beach. At that time, having been led into a false conception of his regard toward Elsie, Frank openly told Bart he loved her and regarded Inza with a feeling of friendly affection. In return, Bart had unburdened his own heart, explaining how he had been led to reveal to Elsie his passion for her—a passion he had meant to suppress and hold in check. Thus they, the dearest of friends, stood revealed to each other as rivals for the same girl.
Rivals—yes! Enemies—no! For had they not spoken freely and then clasped hands, swearing that whatever happened they would remain true to each other!
Having thought about this, Frank fell to pondering on Elsie’s words and actions at the time and later. As he pondered, the conviction grew upon him that, beyond a doubt, she had discovered that she did not love him as intensely as she imagined. Possibly she had been carried away by the burning passion of Bart’s love for her.
But, ever faithful and true, having learned that Inza seemingly cared for Starbright, Elsie had resolved on a course of self-sacrifice which she fancied would be the only honorable course she could pursue. She would crush back any rising passion in her heart, she would not permit herself to care for Hodge, and she would not marry Frank. She would remain single!
Frank knew well enough how many girls say in joking mood that they will never marry, but something had convinced him that Elsie was in sober earnest, having made that resolve when she decided that it was the only course for her to pursue.
Such being the case, it was probable that when she found Frank no longer held a fancied claim upon her she would give up to the dictation of her heart and surrender to Hodge, which would bring untold happiness to the dark-eyed lad.
Having reached this point, Frank came over and sat down, a sigh of relief escaping him.
“Well?” said Starbright inquiringly.
“I hope it is well,” said Frank. “I can talk no more about it to-night. Let’s go to bed.”
But, somehow, Dick was satisfied.