“After father’s death I went back to Cambridge to gather up my personal property. Somehow the news got ahead of me that I had not been left a fortune, but was poor. Ha! ha! ha! You should have seen how some of my former friends gave me the marble heart! They cut me dead.”
“The cads!” cried Frank, in disgust.
“Yes,” Fred went on, “some of them who had drunk my wine and borrowed my money did not know me at all. Not one of them offered to pay back a dollar of what he had borrowed, or even mentioned that he would pay it some time. Those things rather upset a fellow’s trust in human nature.”
“They tend to,” confessed Merry; “but we mustn’t let them. I have a theory that as soon as a man loses confidence in human nature he blots out a great element of satisfaction in living. I have been deceived many times by those I firmly believed my friends, but, on the other hand, I have found occasionally that an enemy who seemed to be a thorough rascal was a decent sort of fellow at heart. These things have led me to be slow about judging my fellow men.”
“That’s all right enough, Merriwell,” nodded Forest; “but I can now see that a certain element of our college life tends to make cads and snobs of men.”
“That is true,” agreed Frank; “but, at the same time those chaps have naturally caddish inclinations. Their surroundings simply bring out their true nature. At the same time, the colleges turn out manly men by the thousands, about whom there is nothing caddish.”
“Oh! well, we won’t discuss that now. Come on over to the hotel. I have a proposal to make to you. It may not meet your approval, but——”
“Wait till I see about those tickets.”
“Never mind the tickets now. You can see about them when you decide to go down the river by rail.”
“I have decided on that already.”