Frank Merriwell's Trust; Or, Never Say Die

by Burt L. Standish

Men spoke of him as “the representative American youth,” and boys everywhere tried to pattern after him, live like him and lift themselves high in the scale of manhood as he had done. His example had been a noble one, and it is probable that it had done more good for the boys of the country than that of any other living American. Other men had acquired fame by struggling and battling all their lives; some being great generals, some becoming leaders in grand causes, some occupying the highest office it is in the power of the people to give; but not one of them had ever obtained such universal fame, such absolute admiration, such honor and respect as this beardless youth who had simply worked to perfect himself, to be just and merciful to all, and to uplift his fellows instead of pushing them down.

In most ways this is a beautiful world, but there are many bad things in it, many things to cause suffering, sorrow, and regret. One of the most unpleasant is the constant struggle, the incessant battle for supremacy. In this unceasing battle that is taking place day after day all the wickedness, deceit, treachery, greed, and corruption of human nature is flagrantly exhibited. Men resort to any means to accomplish their ends and exalt themselves above their fellows. They lie, steal, betray, and destroy without compunction and without mercy. That they may mount higher, they pull scores down, trample hundreds beneath their feet. And when they have reached the pinnacle for which they have sacrificed their manhood and destroyed their better nature—they die.

Then, what a grand thing it is to see one who is fighting on in a perfectly fair and honorable way, who refuses to pull a single weak wretch down, who holds out his hands to the faint and faltering and draws them up with him, as he mounts step by step on the joyful journey to the top.

Such a person, if he is human, will find many things to sadden him, for some he has helped will show envy and jealousy when they find they cannot keep pace with him on his upward way. When they have to fall behind they will sneer at and malign him, forgetting often that but for his aid they might have gone to the bottom and been obliterated beneath the merciless feet of the trampling, swaying, striving horde down there. For it is true of human nature that one whom you have helped, one whom you have tried to uplift, will almost always be the first to feel jealousy when he sees you rising above him.

Although this is true, it should deter no one from holding out a helping hand to the needy whenever possible, for he will find that the joy of the action is its own exceeding great reward.

Frank had never hesitated when an opportunity offered to aid a fellow being. He had ever been merciful to the extreme with his enemies. Often he had thus caused those enemies to regard him as weak and yielding, but when they had pressed him to the very verge and he realized that further leniency was worse than folly, they had found him hard as iron.

But he had been rewarded for the course he pursued. The lads who were his firmest friends had once been his enemies, and it seemed that the more they hated him and tried to harm him in the long ago the better they loved him, and the more devoted they were now.

For example, Hodge had once been his most malignant foe, ready to do anything to harm him; but Frank believed he saw in Bart something that did not appear to other eyes, believed the passionate, head-strong youth had in him the making of an admirable man, and he had refused to bring on Bart the punishment and disgrace merited a score of times. At first, Hodge had believed Frank weak and lacking spirit, but slowly his eyes were opened and he finally saw Merry in the true light. Then he realized that his lenient foe was the possessor of moral and physical courage, and was so far his superior in every way that he felt small and miserable and mean and contemptible by contrast. For a time, being proud and obstinate, Bart continued to try to fight on as Frank’s enemy, but he was forced to surrender at last, and he became Merry’s firmest friend, ready in a moment to sacrifice life for him.

One such victory was enough to satisfy and reward Frank for all his defeats. But that one was not all. Strangely enough, nearly all his intimate friends had been won to him in a similar way, his “flock” being made up mainly of those who had once been his bitter enemies, among whom were Diamond, Browning, and Badger. Harry Rattleton alone had been his true and constant friend from their first meeting, and often Frank wondered if Rattleton’s affection for him was as deep and sincere as that of the others.

And now, thinking of all that he had done, Frank could see that he had been urged on by a strange, subtle influence that remained always with him—the influence of the dark-eyed girl who had given him her maiden kiss of love over the gate that moonlight night in Fardale. It is true that man seldom makes much of himself, seldom mounts to great heights unless behind him is the influence of a woman. He may without woman’s influence become a miser, a Shylock, a money magnate, and a wrecker of human lives; but he seldom becomes noble, honored, loved, and cherished in the hearts of his fellow men unless behind him is the influence of a good, true woman urging him on to the splendid deeds which uplift him.