“He did, poor devil!”
“Poor devil! Poor nothing! He’s a cheap sneak!”
“It is plain that he was compelled to take something to his father, for that man surely was his father. He did not have money, and so he felt that he was compelled to get something.”
“Oh, for Heaven’s sake, don’t try to excuse him that way! Other things have been stolen. It is certain now that he is the college sneak-thief. It is evident that he takes his booty to his miserable old father, or to this pal of his, and the one to whom he takes it disposes of the stuff and raises the money on it. It is a combination for crime. I do not believe he is deserving of your sympathy in the least, and you make me sick by wasting any sympathy on him!”
Frank was forced to confess that Bart might be right. Hodge talked to him some time.
“I’m tired,” said Merry, at last. “I must go to bed.”
“Then I’ll be going.”
“Wait a little. Wait till I undress. Let’s talk of old times, Bart—of old times at Fardale! Let’s try to forget this! Talk to me of something else, my friend, while I prepare for bed.”
So Bart remained yet a little longer and talked to Frank, who slowly began to undress. The light in the little sleeping-room was turned on, and Bart sat by the door. Frank moved about slowly, as if weary in every limb. It was plain to Hodge that he must pass a wretched night.
After a time, Merry opened the bed, turning down the clothes. As he did so, he paused and uttered a cry. Then he clutched something and held it up, shouting: