But only Starbright and Merriwell knew how worthy he had been as a friend, for it was the big, yellow-haired man from Andover who opened Frank’s eyes to the fact that Inza Burrage had never changed in her devotion since the old days at far-off Fardale. Not only that, but Dick had caused Merry to look inward and discover that his heart, also, remained unchanged, and that Inza was dear to him as in the days of his boyhood. And then Dick stepped aside, making the greatest sacrifice of his life—all for Merry! What nobler friend could Frank have? Truly, Starbright had done something to win for himself the seat of highest honor amid that group of true-blue Merriwell men.
And then there was Dashleigh—he could do something. He could play the mandolin and sing divinely. He had been playing just now, and he lightly strummed the strings as the gathered students fell to chatting and joking.
“Dashleigh,” said Jack Ready, posing with assumed grace before the freshman, “your playing is remarkable for its simplicity. Why shouldn’t it be? It is perfectly characteristic of you.”
“You’re a critic of music, I believe!” retorted Bert scornfully.
“Why shouldn’t I be?” came solemnly from the queer sophomore. “I have traveled a great deal with a band.”
“You have?”
“Yes, I have a habit of wearing a band round my hat. Besides that, I have a lovely drum in my ear. Such advantages as those have given me the right to be critical in musical matters.”
“I know a better critic than you who is deaf and dumb,” declared the freshman.
“Poor fellow!” sighed Jack. “Deaf and dumb?”
“Yes.”