“Keep away, Merriwell!” advised several.
Frank did not heed them. He advanced toward Ready, but, of a sudden, it seemed that the freshman recognized Merry, and he fell into a fit of terror that was awful to see.
“Don’t touch me!” he screamed, cowering and shaking in every limb. “You are the one I killed! Your blood is on my soul! Don’t touch me with your hands!”
“I am not dead, Ready,” said Frank, as mildly as he could, seeking to give the fellow confidence.
“Yes, you are!” panted the freshman. “I know, for I killed you! I drove the knife into your heart! Oh, but I didn’t mean to do it—I didn’t mean to! I swear I didn’t! They told me the knife was wooden! They told me I could not hurt you! Oh, they are the ones who did it!”
Ben Halliday groaned.
“I’d give ten years of my life if I’d had nothing to do with this wretched piece of business!” he said sincerely.
The maniac dropped on his knees before Frank, his hands outstretched in a pitiful appeal.
“Say you forgive me!” he pleaded. “Oh, please say that! My soul will be tortured forever and forever if you do not!”
“There is nothing to forgive, old man,” said Frank, stepping yet nearer. “I am not dead at all. It was nothing but a joke. Can’t you see that I am alive?”