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

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“Don’t welch, Harry! Keep a stiff backbone! Be a man!”

The youth turned on him fiercely, his somewhat weak chin quivering.

“That’s all right for you to say!” he spoke, in a shaking voice—a voice that struck straight to Frank Merriwell’s heart. “What do you care for me now! You brought me here, and——”

“You wanted to come. Don’t squeal like a sick baby!”

“You brought me here,” repeated the youth, “and I’ve lost a fortune in this accursed place! I’m ruined! It’s worse than that! I’m a criminal, for I’ve gambled away thousands that did not belong to me! It will kill my poor mother!”

It was the remorseful cry of a weak, heart-sick youth who realized when too late the folly of his acts.

Frank quietly took a step nearer the three.

“I never thought you a welcher!” exclaimed the man, giving the pale-faced lad a look of reproach. “I did think you had nerve.”

“Nerve! Bah! It’s the fool who has nerve to sit at a gambling-table and play away money he does not own! Nerve! That is a false appearance, assumed to make other men regard you with admiration. But what does it amount to when a man has made a criminal of himself? What does it amount to when he knows the hand of the law will be outstretched to grasp him and drag him to a prison cell? What does it amount to when he knows that the result of his madness and folly will be the shameful death of his poor old mother, who has been so proud of him—who believed him good, and true, and honest? Don’t talk to me about welching! What is the difference now if I do squeal? I’m done for!”