“Ahum—thank you. Mary. If you will help me on with my greatcoat, I—ahum——”
Mary helped him get into his overcoat; and, with his cane in hand, Colonel Gunn sallied forth. The unpleasant note was in his pocket.
“A—er—a distressing thing,” he was thinking. “Until recently I have thought so well of young Merriwell! I fear he will never be the man his father was. Dear me, the pranks that fellow used to cut here; he, too, was quite wild! Nevertheless, there was a saving grace in him; a—er—thoughtfulness. I was younger then, too; and my dear father, Zenas Gunn, of blessed memory—yes, the older Merriwell annoyed him a great deal.”
The night was falling, and the early lights of the village were shining. There were no lights to-night on the lake, unless carried by some skater, and Gunn’s way lay in that direction, along the lake to the Pavilion.
The colonel reflected that he ought to have company, and was on the point of turning aside and telephoning for the constable; but was deterred by the thought that he ought not to expose a student in that way, even though the student deserved exposure.
“By going alone I may be able to prevent a scandal. Yet—er—of course, Mr. Merriwell will have to leave the academy; I—ahum—see no other way. I shall write to his father a full explanation; tell him that recently there has—er—been a great change in his son; I shall have to speak of this violent animosity against the youth, Kadir Dhin, who came here as a foreigner and stranger, under—er—my protection. Such base calumnies as Kadir Dhin assures me young Merriwell has heaped on him—there is even an element of insanity in it! Is the whole world going mad?”
The worthy head of Fardale grew warm with indignation as he stumped along, prodding the snow angrily with his walking stick.
“As for Gunga Singh, Kadir Dhin thinks that the money I have been furnishing him for the purpose of hiring men to hunt down that Hindu murderer will soon bring results. I—ahum—I hope so; I hope so! It is growing very expensive. If results are not attained soon I shall—ahum—be compelled to desist in making further advances. A terrible state of affairs! And the—er—constable makes no progress.”
His mind turned back to Chip Merriwell.
“A drinking bout of Fardale students down at the Pavilion, and Mr. Merriwell left there in so beastly a state of intoxication that he cannot even walk. Dreadful!”