Tip Top Weekly No. 139: Frank Merriwell's Father — page 21: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

TIP TOP WEEKLY, 19 And somehow it seemed to Frank that this man had a right to command; somehow it seemed to Frank that he must obey. It was a remarkable feeling, and he could not ac- count for it. “Very well, sir,” he said, with enthusiasm that astonished himself; “I will not use them again.” The man flung aside the cigar. “It is well,’ he murmured. “There are words some men do not care to hear. Those words [I do not care to hear.” His manner changed. Of a sudden he reached out his hand and placed it on Frank’s shoulder. He stood thus for a few seconds, looking at Merry for the first time with a show of interest. “TI like you,’ he finally said.“ I don’t know why, but I like you. No person has ven- tured to speak to me as you have—no person has ventured since—since— He hesitated, seeming to grope a moment for the right expression. Then he finished: “Since I came back into the world.” A queer feeling ran over Merriwell. “Why,” he exclaimed, almost breathless- ly, “have you—have you been—out of the world?” | “T have,” declared the man. in the prime of life when I went out of the world. You seeme now. I have come back an old man. But I brought a fortune with me, and I have money to burn.” “I shall Spend the rest of my life burning it.” “Yiou could spend the rest of your life in a far better manner. You claim you are ut- terly selfish, and you will spend money only in procuring pleasure for yourself. A man in your place should find the greatest pleas- ure in spending his money to aid the poor and needy. It should be a delight to him that hei is able to relieve suffering and want, au Contants a Pitekfork On One Side and all ANG om the Other—True Bins 6 Mt a. “tT was aman I think you are seeking pleasure in the wrong direction. Many a man is generous because it gives him the greatest pleasure to be so.” “And that is one form of selfishness,” as- serted the singular man. “If he did not en- joy being generous, he would not be gener- ous, and so ‘he is selfish in his generosity.” This was a remarkable argument, and Frank was thinking how he would meet it, when, all at once, the man asked: “What is your name?” “Frank Merriwell.” “T thought so!”’ “Eh? You thought so?” “Yes.” “Then you have seen the advertising?” “What advertising?” “Of my play.” “No, I do not think I have.” “But why—why should you think my name was Frank Merriwell?” | “Because I did think so, that is all. Some- thing told me that was your name. You are a fine looking young man—a youth any father should be proud to call his son.” These words impressed Frank strangely. All at once, with singular abruptness, the man turned away. “Are you going?” asked Frank. “Yes, lam going. We shall meet again.” “This money a “Keep it. Do anything you like with it. Give it to the poor, if that suits you best.” The man paused. “One moment.” ; “Come to the theater to-night and see ‘John Smith, of Montana,’” invited Frank. “You shall have a pass.” : “A pass! Young man, I will come, but I do not want a pass. every seat in the house and never know I have spent the money. What is this ‘John Smith, of. Montana?’ 2 If I choose, I can buy . O)(O)(O)