Chapter Twenty Four.
Doubts and Fears.
“You seemed so out of sorts last night, Frank, old chap, that I thought I’d just drop in and see whether you could be cheered up a bit.”
“You’re very kind, Bob,” I said, cracking a matutinal egg, for I was breakfasting; “I’m afraid it’s a little more serious than being out of sorts just now.”
Bob laid his hand kindly upon my shoulder, exclaiming earnestly,—
“That’s exactly what I expected. You and I used to be old chums—now, is it so private that you can’t confide in me, and let me see what I can do, if anything?”
“The fact is I’m just desperate, and don’t know which way to turn for the best,” was my answer, with a savage curse to myself.
“Look here, Frank, remember that I am speaking seriously. In the old days we had many a ‘spree’ together—to use a colloquialism—and perhaps our actions, judged from a high standard of morality, were not all they might have been. You know very well that I’ve never pretended to be a saint, and that I never preach because I can’t be such a confounded hypocrite as to rail at others for being as foolish as myself—and—and you’ll believe, I hope, that I’m sincere in saying this—that you are doing yourself an injustice, and Vera also, if there’s any truth in what we teased you about last night.”
Never had I seen Bob so much in earnest before, and certainly he had never made such a speech in this life. Dear old Bob, he was a right good fellow at heart, after all!
“What do you mean?” I exclaimed, although there was an uneasy consciousness that I was to blame.