“And you’ve been ready to stand up for him ever since, which shows how loyal you are. I admire you for it, Miss Burrage. He should appreciate it, but I suppose he’s like all conceited fellows, and they seldom think much of their best friends. For it is a fact that Merriwell always was conceited.”
“Thank you, sir!” said a quiet voice.
Frank Merriwell was standing near.
CHAPTER XXIII
THE RAILROAD WRECK.
Walter Burrage accompanied Merry, and they had entered the car and approached while Inza was talking with Swift.
“As you have been expressing your mind so very freely concerning me,” said Frank, in a calm, restrained tone, “let me tell you that there are persons in this world who have not sufficient judgment to discern between conceit and self-esteem, and the man who does not possess a certain amount of self-esteem never can win the regard and esteem of his fellow men. Others are not liable to judge you higher than you judge yourself.”
“Which is wisdom straight from the shoulder,” put in Walter Burrage; “And I’ve found the people with the greatest amount of conceit are forever jeering at others for being conceited.”
Swift had straightened up, flinging his shoulders back and assuming a military attitude, everything about him proclaiming self-consciousness and pride in his fine appearance, for he truly was a well-built young man.
“I beg your pardon,” he said, looking at Frank. “I did not know you were within hearing. But it is an old and true saying that ‘listeners seldom hear good of themselves.’”