Читать книгу Frank Merriwell's Trust; Or, Never Say Die онлайн

11 страница из 68

“I fail to see it. You are a gentleman, and the son of a gentleman.”

“Thank you, Merriwell; I hope, sah, that I am. But my father could take his medicine, and he always remained a gentleman. It doesn’t make so much difference about me. The fact is, it doesn’t make any difference what becomes of me now. I am up against it, and I’m going to play this streak through to the end.”

More than ever was Frank alarmed, for now he saw that Diamond was in a desperate mood, and, being in such a condition, the hot-blooded Virginian would not easily listen to reason.

Merry knew it would do little good to argue with Jack just then, for argument with a man under the influence of drink is generally a waste of words and the height of folly.

“I’d like to know why it doesn’t make any difference what happens to you,” Frank smiled. “It makes a difference to me. You are my friend.”

“True, true!” said Jack, with deep feeling. “And you are mine. That’s why I do not want to see you take that drink. If you ever get started fooling with the cursed stuff, Merriwell, you can’t tell where you’ll stop. I know you’ve got a stiff backbone, but drink has drowned many a fine man. It would be the first thing to overthrow you, so you hadn’t better fool with it. Come, now, old chum, make it something soft, and let it go at that.”