Lib Benson, a big, broad-shouldered freshman, who had been the leader of Merry’s freshmen foes, forced his way to a spot where he could grasp Frank’s hand.
“Merriwell,” he said, huskily, “I hope you aren’t ashamed to shake hands with me. I know I’ve been a mean cuss—I know it! I’ve tried to hurt you when I had no reason for doing so, and you’ve always used me white. I hope you won’t hold a grudge against me, Merriwell. I want to say right here, before everybody, that I’ve always been in the wrong, and you’ve always been right. You’re the whitest man I ever saw! Good-by, Merriwell! Good luck go with——”
Then Lib Benson choked, broke down completely, and made a rush to get away, tears dropping from his eyes as he held his head down with shame.
There were other scenes like this.
Frank bade the professors good-by.
That afternoon he was escorted to the train by five hundred students, who marched in silence and looked as solemn as if they were going to a funeral.
It was over at last. Dear old Yale was left behind—forever!
CHAPTER III.
ON THE WAY HOME.
It was a sad homeward journey for Frank Merriwell. After his trip into Maine he had not found time to visit his home before returning to college. In fact, he had seen very little of Bloomfield in recent years. It had not been the home of his mother, but of his uncle. His mother, however, was buried in the quiet little country cemetery at Bloomfield, and he kept thinking of her as he drew nearer home and wondering if her grave had always been cared for as he had directed. Whenever he had visited it he had found it perfectly kept.