“On the track at last!” he mentally exulted. “That young fellow who seemed to have a roll to blow and who was so eager to see the prize fight was Bart Hodge!”
Frank Merriwell was on the alert now, his ears open to catch every word of the conversation to which up to that point he had listened with the idlest sort of interest.
Frank wondered why he had not thought of tracing Bart by means of the strip pasted on Hodge’s grip. In a moment, however, it seemed natural enough that he had not thought of such a thing, for it had not seemed probable a fellow who had just stolen over eight hundred dollars would travel around with a conspicuous label by which he might be spotted and recognized. It was rather remarkable that Hodge had not removed the words in some manner from his traveling bag.
And Hodge had acted as if he had a “roll to blow!” In the midst of his feeling of satisfaction, Frank was stricken by a sharp pain. He was glad to be on the track of Bart, but the evidence of his former friend’s complete depravity filled him with distress.
Hodge had taken the money, and he was bound to have a gay time while it lasted. At least, everything seemed to indicate that.
Merry fancied that Bart had given up at last in his attempt to be honest and upright. For a long time he had struggled against his natural inclinations and against the unjust suspicions of others. He had grown tired fighting fate, for it had seemed that fate was determined that he should go wrong. No one save Frank Merriwell had shown absolute confidence in him.
Merriwell had ever seemed to believe that Bart would turn out well in the end, but now it appeared that his faith had been sadly at fault and his confidence woefully misplaced.
Frank could understand how a proud, sensitive fellow like Hodge could be driven to dishonesty by suspicion and mistrust. But there was one thing Merry could not understand.
How had Hodge smothered his conscience and his sense of justice and gratitude enough to permit him to rob the best and truest friend he had ever known?
That was a puzzle to Frank. He did not like to think of it. He could not bear to believe he had been entirely wrong in his estimate of Bart’s character.