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

40 страница из 68

“Here comes Canfield!”

They parted to permit the serene, calm, well-dressed man to advance. His immobile face was inscrutable. He bowed slightly to Frank, speaking in a gentle, gentlemanly voice:

“I am sorry, Mr. Merriwell, that you should have any trouble with a patron of my house. I do not like to have such disturbances here.”

Frank looked at the keeper of the gambling-house. Canfield was interesting to him.

“The fellow brought it on himself,” said Merry. “I had no intention of making a disturbance, for I have partaken of your hospitality, though I have left none of my money here. I think you made a mistake, Mr. Canfield, in having any dealings with a man of his caliber. He is altogether too eager for his percentage.”

Canfield’s face did not change, though it seemed that a shade of color rose to his cheeks.

“Your insinuation is unpleasant, Mr. Merriwell,” he spoke, in the same restrained voice.

“Because it strikes home, I presume. But I am not going to make a scene here, Canfield. I am sorry for you, but you are not nearly as much to blame as the wolves who hold office in this city and take your hush-money, for which they give you protection. Some day they will hear the outcry of the indignant people; they will find they are cornered; they will realize that they can protect you no longer with safety to themselves, and then they will stand back and let the hand of outraged virtue fall on you. In your extremity you need not look for aid to those men in high places—those men whose pockets you have lined with gold. They will turn their faces from you; they will not know you. You will suffer; they will hold the offices they have betrayed. They will say, ‘We have cleaned the city!’ but as long as the blind people permit such harpies to retain their positions of trust and go unpunished, vice will still flourish.”