“More than ever I feel like offering you my hand,” exclaimed Frank sincerely. “I tell you now, Skelding, that I have absolutely no use for the Chickering crowd. My friends have accused me of being altogether too lenient with my enemies; but I think I could not be lenient with those fellows. My contempt for them is too great.”
“I don’t wonder,” nodded Gene. “They have no friends among the real men here. They are outcasts. Unfortunately for me, I was fool enough to get their brand on me, and I know I’ll never be able to pull away from it while I am in Yale.”
“You can try,” said Frank encouragingly; “although a man does find it mighty hard to live down a bad reputation, and for that very reason may get discouraged. It is true heroism to keep trying, however. The fellow who has had a bad name must feel that he is to blame for it himself, and he should not be disheartened if every one seems to doubt him when he is doing his best to be straight. Persistence wins at everything.”
Gene’s face began to take on an expression of eagerness.
“Do you really suppose there is a chance for me?” he asked. “How can I make friends that are worth being called friends? The Chickering odium will stick to me.”
“Show that you have quit them for all time, but make no talk about it. If you go round telling people you are done with them, you’ll find you’ll not get much credit. If you show that you are too eager to make the right sort of friends, you may only succeed in arousing suspicion and defeating yourself.”
Skelding felt that this was good advice.
“But we’re forgetting Defarge,” he said. “It’s for him I want you to promise to do something. I know there is no reason why you should lift your hand for a man like him, but you may be able to save him from going to the madhouse.”
“How?”
“Your influence—your power. You understand what I mean?”