“That you are beginning to look different from your brother.”
“Different? How?”
“Why, your face—it is flushed. The whisky you drink——”
But that was not all. Bertrand could discern a greater difference than that made by the unnatural flush brought to Packard’s face by the intoxicants he drank. The fellow’s countenance was somehow losing its refinement and delicacy, and was taking on a faint suggestion of grossness and brutality, telling that drink had lowered Packard’s morals and filled his mind with evil thoughts.
It is a fact that the thoughts of any boy are finally written on his face in lines that all may read. If he has kind, elevating, noble thoughts, his face becomes handsome and attractive in its expression; but, no matter how handsome he may have grown to be, if he begins to indulge in evil, brutal thoughts, the result will be a gradual but certain change of countenance that will plainly indicate the trend of his mind.
Defarge had detected the growing difference in the looks of the brothers.
“Oh, Oliver is a pale-faced fool!” petulantly exclaimed Roland. “I’ve told him so.”
“But your flushed countenance would betray you,” said Bertrand. “Merriwell may have been deceived in the past, but he would not be this time. He would recognize the difference between you and Oliver. That would ruin the game.”
“I fail to see quite through the game, anyhow. Even if I were to obtain possession of my brother’s invitation to this supper, and should attend in his place, how could I bring about the purpose we wish to accomplish?”
“Every guest is permitted to bring a friend to the supper. I have heard that they are urged to bring a friend along. That would give you the chance to take Hawkins to that supper.”