“Why shouldn’t I win her for my own?” he mentally cried.
Then he looked at Frank Merriwell, and he believed he had found his answer. Contrasting himself with Frank, he seemed very immature, despite his size, and there was something of greenness about him that must count against him. How dared he think for a single moment that he, the raw youth, could win from this clever and experienced young man of the world! He was crushed and abashed.
Coming out of his trance, Dick found Frank was telling Inza of some photographs he had taken. She wished to see them, and he said they were in an adjoining room. She rose at once, and they passed beyond some portières.
Though he still could hear her voice through the open door, it seemed to Dick Starbright that something went out of the sunshine, leaving it dull and somber, and there was a strange sensation like a pain in his heart.
Frank and Inza chatted over the pictures, which consisted of a group of the Yale football-team, with Merry the central figure, and a number of snap shots of the team in practise and at play. The smell of Browning’s pipe pervaded the rooms, and Merry threw open a door leading into the hall, which gave a draft.
“I suppose you are glad the holidays have come?” said Inza.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “You see, it is different with me than with other fellows. They have homes, and fathers, and mothers, and brothers, and sisters to which they go. Their fathers and mothers are waiting to greet them with affection, while their brothers and sisters will regard them with admiration and pride. They are going to pleasant firesides, Christmas trees and merry times. I have no home, no mother, sisters, or brothers. True, I have a father, but he is worn and old and strange to me, for I’ve never seen much of him. But I love him, just the same. Poor old man! He has suffered much, and now, with no enemy to harass him further, I trust he may have peace and happiness.”
Inza was touched by Merry’s words. For the first time, it seemed, she fully realized his unfortunate position in the world.
“I’m sorry, Frank,” she said, looking into his eyes. “But your play has given you money so that you might purchase a home of your own, and your father has a fortune. He could buy a mansion.”
“He might,” admitted Merry; “but he cannot get over the feeling that the ghost of his enemy may rise to haunt him as of old, and he is the most restless person I ever saw. Were he a younger man, I’m sure nothing could keep him from traveling constantly. Even now, I worry for fear he may take a freakish notion to strike out suddenly for parts unknown.”