Читать книгу Frank Merriwell's Prosperity; or, Toil Has Its Reward онлайн

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“That will be sensible of you, but you must not be foolish about me, my boy—really you mustn’t. I am older than you, and it is my place to give you advice. You have lost your head, not your heart, my dear fellow.”

Bart’s hands clinched and unclosed.

“Don’t talk to me that way!” came hoarsely from his lips. “Don’t talk to me as if you regarded me as a stripling! Answer me, Stella Stanley—will you drop those fellows?”

“I couldn’t think of giving them the marble heart, Hodge. It wouldn’t be right, you know.”

“And you’ll go on laughing and chatting with them! You will walk with Vance! You’ll eat at his table! Do you think I can stay and stand that? No! Oh, you are like all the others, and I hate you—hate you!”

He caught her in his arms and pressed his lips to hers. She was startled by his sudden fierce action and cried out.

A man came springing forward.

“What’s this?” he cried. “Hands off, Hodge!”

It was Vance.

Bart straightened up, still with an arm about the actress, who seemed to hesitate whether to laugh or be angry. His eyes met those of Lester Vance, and they were filled with the most deadly hatred. He did not speak, but suddenly he stooped and kissed Stella once more.