"You?" he screamed. "Have you come here to gloat over me, Frank Merriwell?"
"No," said Frank; "I have come to see if I can do anything for you."
"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Harris, in a manner that made Frank believe madness could not be far away. "You wouldn't do that! I know why you are here! You have triumphed over me! You wish to see me in all my misery! Well, look at me! Here I have been thrown into this hellish hole, amid rats and vermin, ironed like a nigger! Look till you are satisfied! It will fill your heart with satisfaction! Mock me! Sneer at me! Deride me!"
"I have no desire to do anything of the sort," declared Frank. "I am sorry for you, Harris."
"Sorry! Bah! You lie! Why do you tell me that?"
"It is the truth. You brought this on yourself, and so——"
"Don't tell me that again! You have told it enough! If I'd never seen you, I'd not be here now. You brought it on me, Frank Merriwell. If I die here in this cursed hole, you'll have something pleasant to think about! You can laugh over it!"
"You shall not die here, Harris, if I can help it. I'll speak to the captain about you."
The wretch stared at Merry, his eyes looking sunken and glittering. Then, all at once, he crouched down there, his chains clanking, covered his face with his hands and began to cry.
No matter what Harris had done, Frank was deeply pitiful then.