It could not be! Such a thing was unprecedented. Fortune had simply held him back for the fifteenth man. His mouth and lips were dry and he trembled a little. Was it possible, after all, that he had failed to deceive Merriwell? But it had been claimed by all of Merriwell’s friends that he would not use personal feelings to retard any man from advancement.
“He will not,” Defarge told himself. “It would be more like him to go against any feeling of dislike he may have for me, and seek to uplift me for that very reason. I’m all right! I am to be the fifteenth man.”
He heard nothing of the roar from the crowd as a “Keys” man was slapped, or the fainter shout as a candidate went to Wolf’s Head. He was waiting for Frank Merriwell to appear; he was looking in all directions for him.
Those in the crowd who were disappointed were doing their best to hide it away under a mask of happiness over the good fortune of others. Many were there who felt a great pain in their hearts and longed to crawl away and hide themselves, but they laughed in a strained fashion and talked of the luck of others. Those who had been to their rooms, followed by tappers, were back receiving congratulations from friends, their hands being shaken till their arms were tired.
This was the acme of college glory. Truly, it did seem that some of those happy-faced chaps were not nearly as deserving as some others who were congratulating them. But it is the case all through life. Not always the men we regard as the most deserving win the high prizes. We may, however, be wrong in our estimates of men.
Only one more man to go to “Bones.” Who would it be? The crowd were speculating.
“Harrison is the man.”
“Don’t believe yourself. He can’t get there. It’s Fairbush.”
“All wrong. It’s Defarge, of course.”