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Frank Merriwell's Chums, a novel by Burt L. Standish |
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Chapter 5. Frank's Revelation |
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_ CHAPTER V. FRANK'S REVELATION "Great Caesar!" gasped Harvey Dare. "Will you look at that! That is what I call nerve for you! That is playing, my boys!" Wat Snell rose slowly to his feet, his face very white. "It's robbery!" came hoarsely from his lips. "Steady, Snell!" warned Harvey Dare. "You were beaten at your own game--that's all." Snell knew this, but it simply served to make his rage and chagrin all the deeper. "I am not a professional card player," he said, bitterly, "and I am no match for a professional." He was more deeply cut by the manner in which he had been beaten than by the loss of his money. "Nor am I a professional," came quietly from Frank Merriwell's lips, as he quickly sorted from the pot the money he had placed therein. "I simply sized you up as on the bluff, and I was right. I don't want your money, Snell; take it. I set into this game for amusement, and not with the idea of beating anybody to any such extent as this." Snell hesitated, and then the hot blood mounted quickly to his face, which had been so pale a few moments before. "No, I will not take the money!" he grated. "I take the offer as an insult, Merriwell." "No insult is intended, I assure you." Snell was shrewd enough to know he would stand little chance of getting into another game of poker with that company if he accepted the money, and so he made a desperate effort to control his rage and play the hypocrite. "I don't suppose you did mean the offer as an insult, Merriwell; and I presume I was too hasty. I am rather quick at times, and, as Dare says, I was beaten at my own game, which made me hot. You had nerve, Merriwell; take the money--keep it." The words almost choked him, but he pretended to be quite sincere, although his heart was full of bitterness and a longing to "get even." It was some time before Frank could be persuaded to accept his winnings, and, when he did finally take it, he was resolved to return it quietly and secretly to Snell, at such a time that no one else could know anything of it. This matter was scarcely settled when there came a peculiar rap on the door. "Who's that?" asked Frank, in some alarm. "It's our sentinel," assured Harris. "His time on post is up." The door opened, and Leslie Gage entered the room. Gage had been Merriwell's bitter enemy at one time during the summer encampment, having made two dastardly attacks on Frank, who had been generous enough to rescue him from death after that, and had saved him from expulsion by refusing to give any testimony against him. For all of this generosity on Merriwell's part, Gage still bore deep down in his heart a hatred for the plebe who had become so popular at the academy. This he tried to keep concealed, pretending that he had changed into a friend and admirer. "Hello, Merriwell," he saluted. "Been having a little whirl with the boys?" "I should say he has!" replied Snell. "He has whirled me wrong end up, and I feel as if I am still twisted." 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 passion for cards--or, to put it more strongly and properly, my passion 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 passion 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 passion 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 God! 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 passion 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, hoarsely. _ |
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