“Because it strikes home, I presume. But I am not going to make a scene here, Canfield. I am sorry for you, but you are not nearly as much to blame as the wolves who hold office in this city and take your hush-money, for which they give you protection. Some day they will hear the outcry of the indignant people; they will find they are cornered; they will realize that they can protect you no longer with safety to themselves, and then they will stand back and let the hand of outraged virtue fall on you. In your extremity you need not look for aid to those men in high places—those men whose pockets you have lined with gold. They will turn their faces from you; they will not know you. You will suffer; they will hold the offices they have betrayed. They will say, ‘We have cleaned the city!’ but as long as the blind people permit such harpies to retain their positions of trust and go unpunished, vice will still flourish.”
Frank stopped suddenly, and then said:
“Excuse the lecture! I didn’t mean to do it, Canfield; it was an accident, I assure you!”
The faintest smile curled the gambler’s lips.
“Never mind,” he said. “I see Harvard will have to hustle in her next debate with Yale. Without doubt you have shot off lots of truth, Mr. Merriwell; but you are damaging my business. Would you mind going out quietly, without further demonstration?”
Frank could not help admiring the fellow.
“I’ll go.”
“Thank you,” bowed the gambler. “The man at the door will be notified not to admit you again, so you can save time by not taking the trouble to call.”
“And you might have spared your breath, for there was not the least danger that I would ever again present myself at your door.”
“Still, I wish you to understand that I have no feelings against you. In fact, having read about you in the papers, I learned to admire you some time ago. If we were to meet elsewhere, I’d take pleasure in chatting with you a while. Good night, Mr. Merriwell.”