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.dt Ben Stone at Oakdale, by Morgan Scott - A Project Gutenberg eBook
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BEN STONE AT
OAKDALE
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By MORGAN SCOTT
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Author of
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“Boys of Oakdale Academy,” “Rival Pitchers of
Oakdale,” “Oakdale Boys in Camp,” “The
Great Oakdale Mystery,” “The New Boys
at Oakdale,” etc.
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[Illustration]
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A. L. BURT COMPANY
Publishers\ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ New York
Printed in U. S. A.
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CONTENTS
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CHAPTER || PAGE
I. | #Ben Stone:chap01# | 5
II. | #The Pariah:chap02# | 16
III. | #One Ray of Light:chap03# |26
IV. | #A Brave Heart:chap04# |40
V. | #One More Chance:chap05# |49
VI. | #Into the Shadows:chap06# |61
VII. | #A Desperate Encounter:chap07# |71
VIII. | #A Rift:chap08# |83
IX. | #Proffered Friendship:chap09# |96
X. | #Stone’s Story:chap10# |105
XI. | #On the Threshold:chap11# |118
XII. | #The Skies Brighten:chap12# |127
XIII. | #Hayden’s Demand:chap13# |135
XIV. | #The Bone of Contention:chap14# |142
XV. | #The Fellow Who Wouldn’t Yield:chap15# |152
XVI. | #Stone’s Defiance:chap16# |162
XVII. | #An Armed Truce:chap17# |170
XVIII. | #The Game:chap18# |179
XIX. | #Between the Halves:chap19# |190
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CONTENTS
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CHAPTER || PAGE
XX. | #One Who Was True:chap20#| 198
XXI. | #A Surprising Meeting:chap21#| 209
XXII. | #A Sympathetic Soul:chap22#| 218
XXIII. | #The Blind Fugitive:chap23#| 228
XXIV. | #Clouds Gather Again:chap24#| 235
XXV. | #Flight:chap25#| 247
XXVI. | #The Arrest:chap26#| 256
XXVII. | #The Darkest Hour:chap27#| 265
XXVIII. | #On Trial:chap28#| 280
XXIX. | #Sleuth’s Clever Work:chap29#| 296
XXX. | #Clear Skies:chap30#| 309
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BEN STONE AT OAKDALE.
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//.pm chap 01 I. "BEN STONE."
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CHAPTER I.
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"BEN STONE."
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As he was leaving the academy on the afternoon
of his third day at school in Oakdale, Ben
Stone was stopped by Roger Eliot, the captain of
the football team. Roger was a big, sturdy chap,
singularly grave for a boy of his years; and he
could not be called handsome, save when he
laughed, which was seldom. Laughter always
transformed his features until they became remarkably
attractive.
Compared with Ben, however, Roger appeared
decidedly comely, for the new boy was painfully
plain and uncouth. He was solid and stocky,
with thick shoulders and rather big limbs, having
a freckled face and reddish hair. He had a
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somewhat large nose, although this alone would
not have been detrimental to his appearance.
It was his square jaw, firm-shut mouth, and
seemingly sullen manner that had prevented any
of the boys of the school from seeking his acquaintance
up to this point. Half of his left ear
was gone, as if it had been slashed off with some
sharp instrument.
Since coming to Oakdale Ben had seemed to
shun the boys at the school, seeking to make no
acquaintances, and he was somewhat surprised
when the captain of the eleven addressed him.
Roger, however, was not long in making his
purpose clear; he took from his pocket and unfolded
a long paper, on which were written
many names in two extended columns.
“Your name is Stone, I believe?” he said inquiringly.
“Yes, sir,” answered Ben.
“Well, Stone, as you are one of us, you must
be interested in the success of the football team.
All the fellows are, you know. We must have
a coach this year if we expect to beat Wyndham,
and a coach costs money. Everybody is giving
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something. You see, they have put down against
their names the sums they are willing to give.
Give us a lift, and make it as generous as
possible.”
He extended the subscription paper toward
the stocky boy, who, however, made no move
to take it.
Several of the boys, some of them in football
clothes, for there was to be practice immediately
after school, had paused in a little group a short
distance from the academy steps and were watching
to note the result of Roger’s appeal to the
new scholar.
Ben saw them and knew why they were waiting
there. A slow flush overspread his face, and
a look of mingled shame and defiance filled his
brownish eyes. Involuntarily he glanced down
at his homespun clothes and thick boots. In
every way he was the poorest-dressed boy in the
school.
“You’ll have to excuse me,” he said, in a low
tone, without looking up. “I can’t give anything.”
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Roger Eliot showed surprise and disappointment,
but he did not immediately give over the
effort.
“Why, of course you’ll give something,” he
declared, as if there could be no doubt on that
point. “Every one does. Every one I’ve asked
so far has; if you refuse, you’ll be the first. Of
course, if you can’t afford to give much——”
“I can’t afford to give a cent,” interrupted Ben
grimly, almost repellantly.
Roger slowly refolded the paper, looking the
other over closely. He took note of the fellow’s
well-worn clothes and poverty-touched appearance,
and with dawning comprehension he began
to understand the meaning of the flush on
Ben’s cheeks. Instead of being offended, he
found himself sorry for the new boy.
“Oh, all right!” he said, in a manner that surprised
and relieved Stone. “You know your own
business, and I’m sure you’d like to give something.”
These words, together with Eliot’s almost
friendly way, broke down the barrier of resentment
which had risen unbidden in the heart of
the stocky lad, who suddenly exclaimed:
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“Indeed I would! I’m powerful sorry I can’t.
Perhaps—by an’ by—if I find I’m going to get
through all right—perhaps I’ll be able to give
something. I will if I can, I promise you that.”
“Well, now, that’s the right stuff,” nodded
Roger heartily. “I like that. Perhaps you can
help us out in another way. You’re built for a
good line man, and we may be able to make use
of you. All the candidates are coming out to-day.
Do you play?”
“I have—a little,” answered Ben; “but that
was some time ago. I don’t know much about
the game, and I don’t believe I’d be any good
now. I’m all out of practice.”
“Never you mind that,” said the captain of the
team. “Lots of the fellows who are coming out
for practice have never played at all, and don’t
know anything about it. We need a good lot of
material for the coach to work up and weed out
when we get him, so you just come along over
to the field.”
Almost before Ben realized what was happening,
Roger had him by the arm and was
marching him off. They joined the others, and
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Roger introduced him to “Chipper” Cooper, Sile
Crane, Billy Piper, and the rest. He noticed in
particular the three named, as each was characteristic
in his appearance to a distinct degree.
Cooper was a jolly chap, with mischievous
eyes and a crooked nose. He had the habit of
propounding ancient conundrums and cracking
stale jokes. Crane was a long, lank, awkward
country boy, who spoke ungrammatically, in a
drawling, nasal voice. Piper, who was addressed
as “Sleuth” by his companions, was a washed-out,
colorless fellow, having an affected manner of
keenness and sagacity, which were qualities he
did not seem to possess to any great degree.
They passed down the gravel walk to the street,
and crossed over to the gymnasium, which stood
on the shore of the lake, close behind the fenced
field that served for both a football and baseball
ground.
The gymnasium was a big, one-story frame
building, that had once been used as a bowling
alley in the village. The man who built it and
attempted to run it had failed to find business
profitable, and in time it was purchased at a
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low price by Urian Eliot, Roger’s father, who
moved it to its present location and pledged it
to the academy as long as the scholars should
continue to use it as a gymnasium.
Inside this building Ben was introduced to
many more boys, a large number of whom had
prepared or were making ready for football practice.
There was Charley Tuttle, called “Chub”
for short, a roly-poly, round-faced, laughing chap,
who was munching peanuts; Tim Davis, nicknamed
“Spotty,” even more freckled than Ben,
thin-legged, sly-faced, and minus the two front
teeth of his upper jaw; Sam Rollins, a big, hulking,
low-browed fellow, who lost no opportunity
to bully smaller boys, generally known as
“Hunk”; Berlin Barker, a cold blond, rather
good-looking, but proud and distant in his bearing;
and others who did not impress the new boy
at all with their personalities.
Few of these fellows gave Ben any attention
after nodding or speaking to him when introduced.
They were all busily engaged in discussing
football matters and prospects. Stone heard
some of this talk in the big dressing-room, where
.bn 012.png
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Eliot took him. The captain of the eleven opened
a locker, from which he drew a lot of football
clothing.
“I have my regular suit here, Stone,” he said;
“and here are some other things, a lot of truck
from which you can pick out a rig, I think. Take
those pants and that jersey. Here are stockings
and shoes. My shoes ought to fit you; I’m sure
the rest of the stuff is all right.”
Ben started to object, but Roger was in earnest
and would not listen to objections. As he was
getting into the outfit provided by Eliot, Ben lent
his ear to the conversation of the boys.
“We’ve got to beat Wyndham this year,” said
one. “She buried us last year, and expects to do
so again. Why, they have a regular Harvard
man for a coach over there.”
“Beat her!” cried another. “You bet we will!
Wait till we get our coach. I say, captain, how
are you making it, gathering the needful?”
“First rate,” answered Roger, who was lacing
his sleeveless jacket. “I’ll raise it all right, if I
have to tackle every man, woman and child in
town with that paper.”
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“That’s the stuff!” whooped Chipper Cooper.
“Being captain of a great football team, you are
naturally a good man to tackle people. Rah!
rah! rah! Cooper!” Then he skipped out of the
dressing-room, barely escaping a shoe that was
hurled at him.
“Bern’s home,” said a boy who was fussing
over a head harness. “Came on the forenoon
train with his folks. I saw him as I came by.
Told him there’d be practice to-night, and he
said he’d be over.”
“He’s a corking half-back,” observed a fellow
who wore shin guards. “As long as we won’t
have Roger with us next year, I’ll bet anything
Bern is elected captain of the team.”
“Come on, fellows,” called Eliot, who had finished
dressing in amazingly quick time. “Come
on, Stone. We want to do as much as we can to-night.”
They trooped out of the gymnasium, Ben with
them. A pleasant feeling of comradery and
friendliness with these boys was growing upon
him. He was a fellow who yearned for friends,
yet, unfortunately, his personality was such that
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he failed to win them. He was beginning to imbibe
the spirit of goodfellowship which seemed
to prevail among the boys, and he found it more
than agreeable.
Fortune had not dealt kindly with him in the
past, and his nature had been soured by her
heavy blows. He had come to Oakdale for the
purpose of getting such an education as it was
possible for him to obtain, and he had also come
with the firm determination to keep to himself
and seek no friends; for in the past he had found
that such seeking was worse than useless.
But now circumstances and Roger Eliot had
drawn him in with these fellows, and he longed to
be one of them, longed to establish himself on a
friendly footing with them, so that they would
laugh and joke with him, and call him by his first
name, and be free and easy with him, as they
were among themselves.
“Why can’t I do it?” he asked himself, as he
came out into the mellow afternoon sunshine. “I
can! I will! They know nothing about the past,
and they will never know.”
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Never had the world looked more beautiful to
him than it did as he passed, with his schoolmates
about him, through the gate and onto the football
field. Never had the sky seemed so blue and the
sunshine so glorious. He drank in the clear,
fresh air with his nostrils, and beneath his feet
the springy turf was delightfully soft and yet
pleasantly firm. Before him the door to a new
and better life seemed flung wide and inviting.
There were some boys already on the field,
kicking and passing a football. One of these—tall,
handsome, supple and graceful—was hailed
joyously as “Bern.” This chap turned and
walked to meet them.
Suddenly Ben Stone stood still in his tracks,
his face gone pale in an instant, for he was face
to face with fate and a boy who knew his past.
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.pm chap 02 II. "THE PARIAH."
The other boy saw him and halted, staring at
him, astonishment and incredulity on his face. In
that moment he was speechless with the surprise
of this meeting.
Ben returned the look, but there was in his
eyes the expression sometimes seen in those of a
hunted animal.
The boys at a distance continued kicking the
football about and pursuing it, but those nearer
paused and watched the two lads, seeming to realize
in a moment that something was wrong.
It was Roger Eliot who broke the silence.
“What’s the matter, Hayden?” he asked. “Do
you know Stone?”
The parted lips of Bernard Hayden were suddenly
closed and curved in a sneer. When they
parted again, a short, unpleasant laugh came
from them.
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“Do I know him!” he exclaimed, with the utmost
disdain. “I should say I do! What’s he
doing here?”
“He’s attending the academy. He looks to me
like he might have good stuff in him, so I asked
him out for practice.”
“Good stuff!” cried Hayden scornfully. “Good
stuff in that fellow? Well, it’s plain that you
don’t know him, Eliot!”
The boys drew nearer and gathered about,
eager to hear what was to follow, seeing immediately
that something unusual was transpiring.
Not a word came from Ben Stone’s lips, but
the sickly pallor still clung to his uncomely face,
and in his bosom his heart lay like a leaden
weight. He had heard the boys in the gymnasium
talking of “Bern,” but not for an instant
had he fancied they were speaking of Bernard
Hayden, his bitterest enemy, whom he felt had
brought on him the great trouble and disgrace of
his life.
He had come from the gymnasium and onto
the football field feeling his heart exulting with
a new-found pleasure in life; and now this boy,
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whom he had believed so far away, whom he had
hoped never again to see, rose before him to push
aside the happiness almost within his grasp. The
shock of it had robbed him of his self-assertion
and reliance, and he felt himself cowering weakly,
with an overpowering dread upon him.
Roger Eliot was disturbed, and his curiosity
was aroused. The other boys were curious, too,
and they pressed still nearer, that they might not
miss a word. It was Eliot who asked:
“How do you happen to know him, Hayden?”
“He lived in Farmington, where I came from
when we moved here—before he ran away,” was
the answer.
“Before he ran away?” echoed Roger.
“Yes; to escape being sent to the reformatory.”
Some of the boys muttered, “Oh!” and “Ah!”
and one of them said, “He looks it!” Those close
to Stone drew off a bit, as if there was contamination
in the air. Immediately they regarded him
with disdain and aversion, and he looked in vain
for one sympathetic face. Even Roger Eliot’s
grave features had hardened, and he made no
effort to conceal his displeasure.
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Sudden rage and desperation seemed to swell
Ben’s heart to the point of bursting. The pallor
left his face; it flushed, and from crimson it
turned to purple. He felt a fearful desire to leap
upon his enemy, throttle him, strike him down,
trample out his life, and silence him forever. His
eyes glared, and the expression on his face was
so terrible that one or two of the boys muttered
their alarm and drew off yet farther.
“He’s going to fight!” whispered Spotty Davis,
the words coming with a whistling sound
through his missing teeth.
Ben heard this, and immediately another
change came upon him. His hands, which had
been clenched and half-lifted, opened and fell at
his sides. He bowed his head, and his air was
that of utter dejection and hopelessness.
Bern Hayden observed every change, and now
he laughed shortly, cuttingly. “You see, he
doesn’t deny it, Eliot,” he said. “He can’t deny
it. If he did, I could produce proof. You’d need
only to ask my father.”
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.pn +1
“I’m sorry to hear this,” said the captain of
the eleven, although to Ben it seemed there was
no regret in his voice. “Of course we don’t want
such a fellow on the team.”
“I should say not! If you took him, you
couldn’t keep me. I wouldn’t play on the same
team with the son of a jail-bird.”
“What’s that?” cried Roger. “Do you mean
to say his father——”
“Why, you’ve all heard of old Abner Stone,
who was sent to prison for counterfeiting, and
who was shot while trying to escape.”
“Was that his father?”
“That was his father. Oh, he comes of a fine
family! And he has the gall to come here among
decent fellows—to try to attend the academy
here! Wait till my father hears of this! He’ll
have something to say about it. Father was going
to send him to the reformatory once, and he
may do it yet.”
Roger’s mind seemed made up now. “You
know where my locker is, Stone,” he said. “You
can leave there the stuff I loaned you.”
.bn 021.png
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.pn +1
For a moment it seemed that the accused boy
was about to speak. He lifted his head once
more and looked around, but the disdainful and
repellant faces he saw about him checked the
words, and he turned despairingly away. As he
walked slowly toward the gate, he heard the
hateful voice of Bern Hayden saying:
“Better watch him, Eliot; he may steal those
things.”
The world had been bright and beautiful and
flooded with sunshine a short time before; now
it was dark and cold and gloomy, and the sun
was sunk behind a heavy cloud. Even the trees
outside the gate seemed to shrink from him, and
the wind came and whispered his shame amid the
leaves. Like one in a trance, he stumbled into
the deserted gymnasium and sat alone and
wretched on Roger Eliot’s locker, fumbling
numbly at the knotted shoestrings.
“It’s all over!” he whispered to himself.
“There is no chance for me! I’ll have to give
up!”
After this he sat quite still, staring straight
ahead before him with eyes that saw nothing.
Full five minutes he spent in this manner. The
sound of boyish voices calling faintly one to another
on the football field broke the painful spell.
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.pn +1
They were out there enjoying their sport and
football practice, while Ben found himself alone,
shunned, scorned, outcast. He seemed to see
them gather about Hayden while Bern told the
whole shameful story of the disgrace of the boy
he hated. The whole story?—no, Ben knew his
enemy would not tell it all. There were some
things—one in particular—he would conveniently
forget to mention; but he would not fail to paint
in blackest colors the character of the lad he despised.
Once Ben partly started up, thinking to hasten
back to the field and defend his reputation against
the attacks of his enemy; but almost immediately
he sank down with a groan, well knowing such
an effort on his part would be worse than useless.
He was a stranger in Oakdale, unknown
and friendless, while Hayden was well known
there, and apparently popular among the boys.
To go out there and face Hayden would earn
for the accused lad only jeers and scorn and
greater humiliation.
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.pn +1
“It’s all up with me here,” muttered the
wretched fellow, still fumbling with his shoestrings
and making no progress. “I can’t stay
in the school; I’ll have to leave. If I’d known—if
I’d even dreamed Hayden was here—I’d never
come. I’ve never heard anything from Farmington
since the night I ran away. I supposed Hayden
was living there still. How does it happen
that he is here? It was just my miserable fortune
to find him here, that’s all! I was born under
an unlucky star.”
All his beautiful castles had crumbled to ruins.
He was bowed beneath the weight of his despair
and hopelessness. Then, of a sudden, fear seized
him and held him fast.
Bern Hayden had told the boys on the football
field that once his father was ready to send Stone
to the reformatory, which was true. To escape
this fate, Ben had fled in the night from Farmington,
the place of his birth. Nearly two years
had passed, but he believed Lemuel Hayden to
be a persistent and vindictive man; and, having
found the fugitive, that man might reattempt to
carry out his once-baffled purpose.
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.pn +1
Ben thrust his thick middle finger beneath the
shoestrings and snapped them with a jerk. He
almost tore off Eliot’s football clothes and flung
himself into his own shabby garments.
“I won’t stay and be sent to the reform school!”
he panted. “I’d always feel the brand of it upon
me. If others who did not know me could not
see the brand, I’d feel it, just as I feel——” He
lifted his hand, and his fingers touched his mutilated
left ear.
A few moments later he left the gymnasium,
walking out hurriedly, that feeling of fear still
accompanying him. Passing the corner of the
high board fence that surrounded the football
field, his eyes involuntarily sought the open gate,
through which he saw for a moment, as he hastened
along, a bunch of boys bent over and packed
together, saw a sudden movement as the football
was passed, and then beheld them rush forward
a short distance. They were practicing certain
plays and formations. Among them he caught a
glimpse of the supple figure of Bern Hayden.
“I’d be there now, only for you!” was Ben’s
bitter thought, as he hastened down the road.
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.pn +1
Behind him, far beyond Turkey Hill, the black
clouds lay banked in the west. They had smothered
the sun, which could show its face no more
until another day. The woods were dark and
still, while harsh shadows were creeping nearer
from the distant pastures where cowbells tinkled.
In the grass by the roadside crickets cried
lonesomely.
It was not cold, but Ben shivered and drew
his poor coat about him. Besides the fear of being
sent to a reformatory, the one thought that
crushed him was that he was doomed forever to
be unlike other boys, to have no friends, no companions—to
be a pariah.
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.pm chap 03 III. "ONE RAY OF LIGHT."
As he passed, he looked up at the academy, set
far back in its yard of many maple trees, and
saw that the great white door was closed, as if
shut upon him forever. The leaden windows
stared at him with silent disapproval; a sudden
wind came and swung the half-open gate to the
yard, which closed with a click, making it seem
that an unseen hand had thrust it tight against
him and held it barred.
Farther along the street stood a square, old-fashioned,
story-and-a-half house, with a more
modern ell and shed adjoining, and a wretched
sagging barn, that lurched on its foundations,
and was only kept from toppling farther, and
possibly falling, by long, crude timber props, set
against its side. The front yard of the house
was enclosed by a straggling picket fence. As
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.pn +1
well as the fence, the weather-washed buildings,
with loose clapboards here and there, stood
greatly in want of paint and repairs.
This was the home of Mrs. Jones, a widow
with three children to support, and here Ben
had found a bare, scantily-furnished room that
was within his means. The widow regarded as of
material assistance in her battle against poverty
the rent money of seventy-five cents a week,
which her roomer had agreed to pay in advance.
For all of her misfortune and the constant
strain of her toil to keep the wolf from the door
and a roof over the heads of herself and her
children, Mrs. Jones was singularly happy and
cheerful. It is true the wounds of the battle had
left scars, but they were healed or hidden by this
strong-hearted woman, who seldom referred to
them save in a buoyant manner.
Jimmy Jones, a puny, pale-faced child of eight,
permanently lamed by hip disease, which made
one leg shorter than the other, was hanging on
the rickety gate, as usual, and seemed to be
waiting Ben’s appearance, hobbling out to meet
him when he came along the road.
.bn 028.png
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.pn +1
“You’re awful late,” cried the lame lad, in a
thin, high-pitched voice, which attested his affliction
and weakness. “I’ve been watchin’. I saw
lots of other fellers go by, but then I waited an’
waited, an’ you didn’t come.”
A lump rose in Ben’s throat, and into his chilled
heart crept a faint glow. Here was some one
who took an interest in him, some one who did
not regard him with aversion and scorn, even
though it was only a poor little cripple.
Jimmy Jones had reminded Ben of his own
blind brother, Jerry, which had led him to
seek to make friends with the lame boy, and to
talk with him in a manner that quickly won the
confidence of the child. This was his reward;
in this time when his heart was sore and heavy
with the belief that he was detested of all the
world, Jimmy watched and waited for him at the
gate, and came limping toward him with a cheery
greeting.
Ben stooped and caught up the tiny chap, who
was pitifully light, swinging him to a comfortable
position on his bent left arm.
.bn 029.png
// 029.png
.pn +1
“So you were watching for me, were you,
Jimmy?” he said, in a wonderfully soft voice for
him. “That was fine of you, and I won’t forget
it.”
“Yep, I waited. What made you so late? I
wanted to tell you, I set that box-trap you fixed
for me so it would work, an’ what do you think I
ketched? Bet you can’t guess.”
“A squirrel,” hazarded Ben.
“Nope, a cat!” laughed the little fellow, and
Ben whistled in pretended great surprise. “But
I let her go. We don’t want no cats; we got
enough now. But that jest shows the trap will
work all right now, an’ I’ll have a squirrel next, I
bet y’u.”
“Sure you will,” agreed Ben, as he passed
through the gate and caught a glimpse of the
buxom widow, who, hearing voices, had hastened
from the kitchen to peer out. “You’ll be a great
trapper, Jimmy; not a doubt of it.”
“Say, if I ketch a squirrel, will you help me
make a cage for him?” asked Jimmy eagerly.
“I don’t know,” answered Ben soberly. “If I
can, I will; but——”
.bn 030.png
// 030.png
.pn +1
“Course you ken! Didn’t you fix the trap?
I expect you know how to make ev’ry kind of
thing like that.”
“If I have a chance to make it, I will,” promised
Ben, as he gently placed the boy on the steps and
forced to his face a smile that robbed it in a
remarkable way of its uncomeliness.
“I don’t s’pose we ken begin now?”
“It’s too late to-night, and I’m in a hurry.
We’ll have to put it off, Jimmy.”
The smile vanished from his face the moment
he passed round the corner of the house on his
way to the back door. “Poor little Jimmy!” he
thought. “I can’t help you make your squirrel-cage,
as I’m not going to stay here long enough
to do it.”
He ascended the narrow, uncarpeted stairs to
his small, uncarpeted room over the kitchen,
where a loose board rattled beneath his feet, and
the dull light from a single window showed him
the old-fashioned, low-posted, corded bedstead—with
its straw tick, coarse sheets and patchwork
quilt—pushed back beneath the sloping rafters
of the roof.
.bn 031.png
// 031.png
.pn +1
Besides the bed, there was in the room for
furniture a broken-backed rocking-chair; a small
table with a split top, on which stood a common
kerosene hand-lamp; a dingy white earthen
water pitcher and bowl—the former with a circular
piece broken out of its nose—sitting on a
washstand, made of a long box stood on one end,
with a muslin curtain hanging in front of it. His
trunk was pushed into a corner of the room opposite
the bed.
Another part of the room, which served as a
wardrobe, or was intended for that purpose, was
set off by a calico curtain. The kitchen chimney
ran up through one end of the room and served
to heat it a little—a very little.
Such a room as this was the best Ben Stone
could afford to pay for from his meager savings.
He had been satisfied, and had thought it would
do him very well; for Mrs. Jones had genially
assured him that on evenings when the weather
became colder he would be welcome to sit and
study by the open fire in the sitting-room, a concession
for which he had been duly grateful.
.bn 032.png
// 032.png
.pn +1
But now he would need it no more; his hopes,
his plans, his dreams were ended. He sat down
dumbly on the broken chair, his hard, square
hands lying helpless in his lap. The shadows of
the dingy little chamber crept upon him from
the corners; and the shadows of his life hovered
thick about him.
Finally he became aware of the smell of cooking,
which came to him from below, and slowly
the consciousness that he was hungry grew upon
him. It did not matter; he told himself so. There
was in his heart a greater hunger that might
never be satisfied.
It had grown quite dark and he struck a light,
after which he pulled out his small battered trunk
and lifted the lid. Then, in a mechanical manner,
he began packing it with his few belongings.
At last the craving of his stomach became so
insistent that he took down a square tin box from
a shelf behind the calico curtain and opened it
on the little table. It had been full when he came
on Monday, but now there was left only the end
of a stale loaf of bread and a few crumbs of
cheese. These, however, were better than nothing,
and he was about to make the best use of
them, when there sounded a step outside his door,
followed by a knock that gave him a start.
.bn 033.png
// 033.png
.pn +1
Had it come so soon? Would they give him
no more time? Well, then, he must meet them;
and, with his face gray and set, he opened the
door.
With a long, nicked, blue platter, that served as
a tray, Mrs. Jones stood outside and beamed upon
him. On the tray were a knife, a fork, pewter
spoons, and dishes of food, from one of which—a
steaming bowl—came a most delightful odor.
“Land sakes!” said the widow. “Them stairs
is awful in the dark, an’ I didn’t darst bring a
lamp; I hed my han’s full. I brought y’u somethin’
hot to eat; I hope y’u don’t mind. It ain’t
right for a big, growin’ youngster like you to be
alwus a-eatin’ cold vittles, ’specially when he’s
studyin’ hard. It’s bad f’r the dejesshun; an’
Joel—my late departed—he alwus had somethin’
the matter with his dejesshun. It kep’ him from
workin’ reg’ler an’ kinder sp’iled his prospects,
poor man! an’ left me in straightened circumstances
.bn 034.png
// 034.png
.pn +1
when he passed away. But I ain’t a-repinin’
or complainin’; there is lots in this world
a heap wuss off’n I be, an’ I’m satisfied that I’ve
got a great deal to be thankful f’r. If I’d
thought, I’d a-brought up somethin’ f’r a tablecloth,
but mebbe you can git along.”
She had entered while talking, bringing with
her, besides the odor of food, another odor of
soapsuds, which clung to her from her constant
labor at the washtubs, where, with hard, backaching
toil, she uncomplainingly scrubbed out a
subsistence. For Mrs. Jones took in washings,
and in Oakdale there was not another whose
clothes were so white and spotless, and whose
work was done so faithfully.
Ben was so taken aback that he stood speechless
in the middle of the floor, watching her as
she arranged the dishes on the table.
“There’s some beef stew,” she said, depositing
the steaming bowl. “An’ here’s hot bread an’
butter, an’ some doughnuts I fried to-day. Joel
alwus uster say my doughnuts was the best he
ever tasted, an’ he did eat a monst’rus pile of ’em.
I don’t think they was the best thing in the world
f’r his dejesshun, either. Mis’ Collins give me
.bn 035.png
// 035.png
.pn +1
some apples this mornin’, an’ I made a new apple
pie. I thought y’u might like to try it, though
it ain’t very good, an’ I brought y’u up a piece.
An’ here’s a glass of milk. Jimmy he likes milk,
an’ I hev to keep it in the house f’r him. He don’t
eat much, nohow. I saw you with Jimmy when
you come in, an’ I noticed you looked kinder tired
an’ pale, an’ I says to myself, ‘What that boy
needs is a good hot supper.’ Jimmy he’s bin talkin’
about you all day, an’ how y’u fixed his squirrel
trap. Now, you jest set right up here, an’
fall to.”
She had arranged the dishes and placed the
old chair at the table, after which, as had become
habitual with her on rising from the wash-tub, she
wiped her hands on her apron and rested them
on her hips, her arms akimbo. She was smiling
at him in such a healthy, motherly manner, that
her whole face seemed to glow like the genial
face of the sun when it appears after a dark and
cloudy day.
To say that Ben was touched, would be to fail
utterly in expressing the smallest degree of his
feelings, yet he was a silent, undemonstrative
.bn 036.png
// 036.png
.pn +1
fellow, and now he groped in vain for satisfactory
words with which to thank the widow. Unattractive
and uncomely he was, beyond question,
but now his unspeakable gratitude to this kind
woman so softened and transformed his face
that, could they have seen him, those who fancied
they knew him well would have been astonished
at the change.
“Mrs. Jones,” he faltered, “I—I—how can
I——”
“Now you set right down, an’ let the victuals
stop y’ur mouth,” she laughed. “You’ve bin
good to my Jimmy, an’ I don’t forgit nobody
who’s good to him. I’d asked y’u down to supper
with us, but you’re so kinder backward an’
diffident, that I thought p’raps y’u wouldn’t come,
an’ Mamie said she knowed y’u wouldn’t.”
Ben felt certain that back of this was Mamie’s
dislike for him, which something told him had
developed in her the moment she first saw him.
She was the older daughter, a strong, healthy
girl of seventeen, who never helped her mother
about the work, who dressed in such cheap finery
as she could obtain by hook or crook, who took
.bn 037.png
// 037.png
.pn +1
music lessons on a rented melodeon paid for out
of her mother’s hard earnings, who felt herself
to be a lady unfortunately born out of her sphere,
and who was unquestionably ashamed of her surviving
parent and her brother and sister.
“Set right down,” persisted Mrs. Jones, as she
took hold of him and pushed him into the chair.
“I want to see y’u eatin’. That’s Mamie!” she
exclaimed, her face lighting with pride, as the
sound of the melodeon came from a distant part
of the house. “She’s gittin’ so she can play real
fine. She don’t seem to keer much f’r books an’
study, but I’m sartin she’ll become a great musician
if she keeps on. If Sadie was only more
like her; but Sadie she keeps havin’ them chills.
I think she took ’em of her father, f’r when he
warn’t ailin’ with his dejesshun he was shakin’
with a chill, an’ between one thing an’ t’other,
he had a hard time of it. It ain’t to be wondered
at that he died with debt piled up and a mortgage
on the place; but I don’t want you to think
I’m complainin’, an’ if the good Lord lets me
keep my health an’ strength, I’ll pay up ev’ry
dollar somehow. How is the stew?”
.bn 038.png
// 038.png
.pn +1
“It—it’s splendid!” declared Ben, who had begun
to eat; and truly nothing had ever before
seemed to taste so good.
As he ate, the widow continued to talk in the
same strain, strong-hearted, hopeful, cheerful,
for all of the ill-fortune that had attended her,
and for all of the mighty load on her shoulders.
He began to perceive that there was something
heroic in this woman, and his admiration for her
grew, while in his heart her thoughtful kindness
had planted the seed of affection.
The warm bread was white and light and delicious,
and somehow the smell of the melting
butter upon it made him think vaguely of green
fields and wild flowers and strawberries. Then
the doughnuts—such doughnuts as they were!
Ben could well understand how the “late departed”
must have fairly reveled in his wife’s
doughnuts; and, if such perfect productions of
the culinary art could produce the result, it was
fully comprehensible why Mr. Jones’ “dejesshun”
had been damaged.
.bn 039.png
// 039.png
.pn +1
But the pie was the crowning triumph. The
crust was so flaky that it seemed to melt in the
boy’s mouth, and the apple filling had a taste and
flavor that had been imparted to it in some magical
manner by the genius of the woman who
seemed to bestow something sweet and wholesome
upon the very atmosphere about her.
With her entrance into that room, she had
brought a ray of light that was growing stronger
and stronger. He felt it shining upon him; he
felt it warming his chilled soul and driving the
shadows from his gloomy heart; he felt it giving
him new courage to face the world and fight
against fate—fight until he conquered.
.bn 040.png
// 040.png
.pn +1
.pm chap 04 IV. "A BRAVE HEART."
“There,” said the widow, when Ben finished
eating and sat back, flushing as he realized he had
left not a morsel before him, “now I know y’u
feel better. It jest done me good to see you eat.
It sort of reminded me of the way Joel used to
stow victuals away. He was a marster hand to
eat, but it never seemed to do him no good. Even
when he was in purty good health, which was
seldom, he never could eat all he wanted to without
feelin’ oppressed arterwards an’ havin’ to
lay down and rest. He was a good one at restin’,”
she added, with a slight whimsical touch.
Once more Ben tried to find words to express
his thanks, and once more Mrs. Jones checked
him.
“It ain’t been no trouble,” was her declaration,
“an’ it was wuth a good deal to me to see
you enjoy it so. What’re y’u doin’ with your
trunk pulled out this way?”
.bn 041.png
// 041.png
.pn +1
This question reminded him again of his determination
to leave Oakdale directly; and,
knowing the good woman had regarded the room
as engaged by him for the time of the fall term
of school, and also feeling that to leave her thus
and so deprive her of the rent money she expected
to receive for weeks to come would be a poor return
for her kindness, he hesitated in confusion
and reluctance to tell her the truth.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, noting his
manner. “Has anything happened? I noticed
you was pale, an’ didn’t look jest well, when you
come in. Is there anything wrong?”
“Yes, Mrs. Jones,” he forced himself to say;
“everything is wrong with me.”
“At the academy? Why,” she exclaimed, as he
nodded in answer to her question, “I thought y’u
passed the exammernation all right? Didn’t
y’u?”
“It’s not that; but I must leave school just the
same.”
.bn 042.png
// 042.png
.pn +1
“Land of goodness! Do tell! It can’t be possible!”
Mrs. Jones was completely astounded
and quite shocked.
“It is not because I have failed in any of the
requirements of the school,” Ben hastened to say.
“I can’t explain just why it is, Mrs. Jones. It’s
a long story, and I don’t wish to tell it. But I
have an enemy in the school. I didn’t know he
was here; I saw him for the first time to-day.”
This explanation did not satisfy her. “Why,”
she said, “I was thinkin’ y’u told me when y’u
took this room that you didn’t know a livin’ soul
in this place.”
“I did tell you so, and I thought at the time
that it was the truth; but since then I have found
out I was mistaken. There is one fellow in the
school whom I know—and he knows me! He will
make it impossible for me to attend school here.”
“I don’t see how,” said the widow, greatly
puzzled. “How can anybody make y’u leave the
school if y’u don’t want to?”
“He hates me—he and his father, too. I am
sure his father is a man of influence here.”
.bn 043.png
// 043.png
.pn +1
“Now I don’t want to be curi’s an’ pry inter
nobody’s affairs,” declared the widow; “but I do
think you’d better trust me an’ tell me about this
business. I don’t b’lieve you ever done no great
wrong or bad thing to make y’u afraid of nobody.
Anybody that can be good an’ kind to a little
lame boy, same as you’ve been to my Jimmy, ain’t
bad.”
“Perhaps if you knew all about it you would
change your opinion of me,” said the boy a
trifle huskily, for he was affected by her confidence
in him.
She shook her head. “No I wouldn’t. I b’lieve
you’re makin’ a mountain out of er molehill.
You’re deescouraged, that’s what’s the matter.
But somehow you don’t look like a boy that’s
easy deescouraged an’ quick to give up. Now,
you jest tell me who your enemy is. You ain’t
got no mother here to advise y’u, an’ perhaps I
can help y’u some.”
Her insistent kindness prevailed upon him, and
he yielded.
“My enemy’s name is Bernard Hayden,” he
said.
.bn 044.png
// 044.png
.pn +1
“Land! You don’t tell! Why, he’s the son of
Lemuel Hayden, who come here an’ bought the
limestone quarries over south of th’ lake. He
ain’t been here a year yet, but he’s built buildin’s
an’ run a branch railroad from the main road to
the quarries, an’ set things hummin’ in great
shape. Next to Urian Eliot, who owns ’most all
the mill business in the place, he’s said to be the
richest man in town.”
“I knew it!” cried Ben; “I knew he would be
a man of influence here. I knew him in Farmington,
the place where I was born. Mrs. Jones, if
I do not leave the school and Oakdale at once,
Lemuel Hayden will try to make me do so.”
He could not bring himself to disclose to her
his fear that Mr. Hayden might again seek to
commit him to the State Reformatory. That
secret was the shame of his soul, and when he
was gone from Oakdale he was certain it would
be a secret no longer. Already Bern Hayden had
told the boys on the football field, and in a small place
gossip of such nature flies quickly.
“Now let me talk to you a little,” said Mrs.
Jones, sitting down on the trunk, which threatened
to collapse beneath her weight. “I stick to
it that I don’t b’lieve you ever done northing
.bn 045.png
// 045.png
.pn +1
very bad, an’ if you’re poor that ain’t your fault.
You’ve got a right to have an eddercation, jest
the same as Lemuel Hayden’s boy has. Jest because,
mebbe, you got inter some foolish boy
scrape an’ got this Hayden boy down on you, be
y’u goin’ to let him keep y’u from gittin’ an eddercation,
to make a man of y’u, an’ take you through
the world?
“As I said before, you don’t look like a boy to
be scart or driv easy, an’ I shall be disapp’inted
in you if y’u are. I ain’t goin’ to pry inter the
affair; if y’u want to tell me about it some time,
y’u can. But I’m goin’ to advise y’u to stay right
here in this school an’ hold your head up. Joel,
my late departed, he alwus said it warn’t no disgrace
to be poor. That passage in the Bible that
says it’s harder f’r a rich man to enter the kingdom
of heaven then f’r a camel to pass through
the eye of a needle, alwus was a great conserlation
to Joel.
“An’ there’s rich people in this very town that
should be ashamed to hold their heads up,
knowin’, as ev’rybody does, how they come by
their riches; but to-day I’d ruther be a-earnin’
.bn 046.png
// 046.png
.pn +1
my daily bread by sweatin’ at the wash-tub than
to be in their shoes an’ have on my mind what
they must have on their minds. Ev’ry day I
live I thank the Lord that he’s been so good to
me an’ let me have so many pleasures an’ enjoyments.”
Here she paused a moment to take breath,
having digressed without intending to do so;
and once more Ben found himself wondering at
her splendid courage and the cheerful heart she
maintained in spite of troubles and afflictions
that might well have crushed and broken
the spirit of an ordinary woman. She laughed
in the face of misfortune, and she positively refused
to be trampled on by bitter fate.
She was right in thinking Ben was not a weak
boy nor one to be easily frightened; but had she
known that over him hung the dark, chilling shadow
of the reformatory, she could not have wondered
at the course he had contemplated pursuing,
and she might have hesitated about so freely
giving him advice. Knowing nothing of this,
however, she continued to urge him to reconsider
his determination to give up school and leave
Oakdale.
.bn 047.png
// 047.png
.pn +1
“Now promise me that you’ll stay till y’u have
to leave school,” she entreated. “An’ I don’t
b’lieve you’ll have to at all.”
“Mrs. Jones, I’ll think it over,” he said. “I
have almost decided to take your advice and stay,
no matter what comes.”
“That’s what I like to hear!” she laughed, rising
from the trunk. “Don’t you never back
down an’ run f’r nobody nor northin’. If Joel
hed had more of the stand-up-an’-stick-to-it
sperrit, I’m sartin it would ‘a’ been better f’r us
all—but I ain’t complainin’, I ain’t complainin’.
“Goodness! I’ve been spendin’ a lot of time
here when I’ve jest got loads of things to do before
I can git a blessed wink of sleep this night.
I’ve got to go. But you jest make up your mind
to stick, enermies or no enermies. Good night.”
She had gathered up the dishes and was going.
Ben held the lamp, to light her down the
stairs, calling a grateful good night after her.
.bn 048.png
// 048.png
.pn +1
For two hours, at least, he walked the floor
of that poor little room, fighting the inward battle
with himself. Finally he paused, his hands
clenched and his head thrown back. His square
jaw seemed squarer and firmer than ever, and
the determination on his plain face transfigured
it.
“I am going to stay, Bernard Hayden!” he
said quietly, as if speaking face to face with
his enemy. “Whatever happens, I’ll not show the
white feather. Do your worst!” He felt better
when he had fully settled on this resolution.
Opening his window, he looked out on the
quiet village that seemed winking sleepily and
dreamily with its twinkling lights. Even as he
lifted his eyes toward the overcast sky, the pure
white moon burst through a widening rift and
poured its light like a benediction upon the silent
world. Still with his face upturned, his lips
moving slightly, the boy knelt at the window, and
the hush and peace of the night filled his heart.
.bn 049.png
// 049.png
.pn +1
.pm chap 05 V. "ONE MORE CHANCE."
Although he was certain he would be compelled
to undergo an unpleasant ordeal at school
the following day, he did not falter or hesitate.
With determination in his heart, and his face
grimly set, he turned in at the gate shortly after
the ringing of the first bell, and walked up the
path.
Several boys in a group near the academy steps
saw him approaching. He distinctly heard one
of them say, “Here he comes now”; and then a
hush fell upon them as they watched him draw
near. In spite of himself, he could not refrain
from giving them a resentful and defiant glance.
In return they looked on him in silent scorn,
and he felt that not one of them held an atom
of sympathy in his heart.
.bn 050.png
// 050.png
.pn +1
In the coat-room, where he went to hang his
hat, he found Roger Eliot, who saw him, but did
not speak. Ben’s lips parted, but Roger’s manner
chilled him to silence, and he said nothing.
Bernard Hayden looked in. “Hey, Roger,” he
called. “I want to see you a moment.” Then
his eyes fell on Ben, and his proud lips curled a
bit.
“All right, Bern,” said Eliot, walking out.
Hayden took his arm, and they turned toward the
outer door, talking in low tones.
As Ben entered the big lower room, a little
gathering of girls just inside the door suddenly
stopped chattering, looked at him in a frightened
way, and hastily drew aside, one or two of them
uttering low exclamations. His freckled face
flushed, but it suddenly grew white as he saw a
tall, spare man, who was talking earnestly with
Professor Richardson, near the latter’s desk.
The tall man was Lemuel Hayden, and Ben
knew what had brought him to the academy that
morning.
The principal saw Ben come in, and said something
that caused Mr. Hayden to turn and look
toward the unfortunate boy, who, chilled and apprehensive,
was seeking his seat. Ben felt those
.bn 051.png
// 051.png
.pn +1
cold gray eyes upon him, and suddenly his soul
seemed to quiver with anger. A sense of injustice
and wrong seized him, filling him with a desire
to confront his enemies and defend himself
as best he could.
“No use!” an inward voice seemed to whisper.
“They are too powerful. Who will believe your
word against that of Lemuel Hayden?”
Mr. Hayden was a man who had placed fifty
years of his life behind him, and his appearance
and manner seemed to indicate that during the
greater number of those years his stern will had
dominated the acts and enforced the obedience
of nearly every one who chance to have dealings
with him. His shaved upper lip exposed a firm,
hard, almost cruel, mouth. His carefully trimmed
whiskers, like his hair, were liberally besprinkled
with gray.
“That’s the boy,” Ben distinctly heard him
say. Then Prof. Richardson said something in
a low voice, and once more they fell to talking
earnestly in subdued tones.
.bn 052.png
// 052.png
.pn +1
Ben sat down and waited, feeling certain that
the very worst must happen. After a few moments,
he heard the principal say:
“I shall give the matter my immediate attention,
Mr. Hayden. It is very unfortunate, and I
may be compelled to take your advice.”
The second bell was ringing as Lemuel Hayden
passed down the center aisle and out of the academy.
In passing, he looked at Ben, and his lips
were pressed together above the edge of his whiskers
until his mouth formed a thin, hard line.
Boys and girls came trooping in and sought
their seats. Ben paid no attention to any of
them, although he was sure that many eyed him
closely. His deskmate, however, a little chap by
the name of Walker, found an opportunity amid
the bustle and movement of the scholars to lean
toward Ben and whisper:
“My! I bet you’re going to get it! Look out!”
Ben paid no heed. His nerves were strained,
and he waited in grim silence the coming crash,
fully believing it was Prof. Richardson’s purpose
to open the forenoon session in the regular manner
and then denounce him before the assembled scholars.
.bn 053.png
// 053.png
.pn +1
When the opening exercises were over, Ben’s
heart strained and quivered in the conviction that
the trying moment had come. He was surprised
and temporarily relieved when the first class was
called in regular order and a few of the lower
room scholars left to join a class in the upper
room.
After a short time, however, he concluded that
the time of trial had simply been postponed, and
this conviction brought upon him a sort of slow
torture that was hard to bear. He tried to study,
but could not fix his mind on his book. His eyes
might stare dully at the page, and his lips might
keep repeating words printed there, but his
thoughts persistently dwelt on the desperate
strait into which he had fallen, and he speculated
on the probable course that would be pursued
by Lemuel Hayden.
His fancy pictured Mr. Hayden as hastening
from the academy to consult with the town
authorities and inform them about the dangerous
character who had boldly entered the village
for the purpose of attending school there. Ben
felt that Mr. Hayden’s words would create a
.bn 054.png
// 054.png
.pn +1
profound impression, and he was certain the man
would then demand that the “dangerous character”
of whom he spoke should be taken into custody
at once and sent without delay to the State
Reformatory.
The tortured lad further pictured Mr. Hayden
and the authorities as making out certain papers
and placing them in the hands of the village constable,
urging him at the same time to do his
duty without delay.
The boy fell to listening for the footsteps of
Mr. Hayden and the constable at the door. Once
he started and turned, but the door opened to
admit returning scholars who had been to a recitation
in the upper room.
Suddenly Ben heard his name sharply called
by the principal, and he started to his feet with
the conviction that at last the moment had arrived
and that Prof. Richardson was about to
arraign him before the school. Instead of that,
his class in arithmetic had been called and was
already on the front seats. He hastened down
the aisle and joined the class.
.bn 055.png
// 055.png
.pn +1
Knowing he was wholly unprepared in the
day’s lesson, he inwardly prayed that he might
not be called to the blackboard. He was chosen,
however, as one of five pupils to work problems
on the board and demonstrate them to the rest
of the class.
When the others had finished and taken their
seats, he still remained before the board, chalk in
hand, an unprepossessing figure as he frowned
hopelessly over his task. At last, seeing the boy
had failed, the principal told him to be seated.
Although his face was burning and he was
shamed by his failure, he could not repress a
glance of defiance at some of his slyly-grinning
classmates.
Prof. Richardson did not reprove him, but
dismissed him with the rest of the class when
the successful ones had demonstrated their problems.
“He thinks I won’t be here much longer, and
so it’s not worth while bothering with me,” concluded
Ben.
.bn 056.png
// 056.png
.pn +1
The forenoon wore away. At intermission
Ben did not leave his seat, not caring to mingle
with the boys and give them an opportunity to
insult or anger him.
As the mid-day hour approached, the boy’s
suspense grew greater, for he was still confident
that he was not to escape. Thinking Prof. Richardson
meant to speak of his case before dismissing
the scholars at noon, his dread of the ordeal
grew as the short hand of the clock behind the
desk drew nearer and nearer to twelve.
Finally the hands of the clock stood upright,
one over the other. Prof. Richardson closed his
desk and locked it, after which he turned and
faced the scholars. His eyes found Ben Stone
and stopped. The time had come!
“Stone,” said the professor quietly, without a
trace of harshness or reproof, “I should like to
have you remain after the others are dismissed.
I wish to speak with you.”
For a moment a feeling of relief flashed over
Ben like an electric shock. So it was to be done
privately, and not before the whole school! He
was grateful for that much consideration for his
feelings. When they were by themselves in that
big, empty room, with no one else to hear, the
.bn 057.png
// 057.png
.pn +1
professor would tell him quietly but firmly that
it was quite out of the question to permit a boy of
his bad reputation to remain in the school. He
would be directed to leave the academy, never to
return.
With many backward glances at the lad who
remained behind, the scholars filed out. The
door had closed behind the last of them when
Ben was told to come down to the principal’s
desk. There was no accusation, nothing but kindness,
in Prof. Richardson’s eyes, as he looked on
the boy who stood before him.
“Stone,” he said, in that same self-contained
tone of voice, “I find it necessary to speak of an
unpleasant matter relative to yourself. You came
here to this school as a stranger, and it has ever
been my practice to judge a boy by his acts and
to estimate his character by what he proves himself
to be. This is the course I should have pursued
in your case, but this morning there came to
me a gentleman who is well known in this town
and highly respected, who knew you well before
settling in Oakdale, and he told me many disagreeable
things about you. I cannot doubt that
.bn 058.png
// 058.png
.pn +1
he spoke the truth. He seemed to regard you
as a rather dangerous and vicious character, and
he expressed a belief that it was not proper for
you to associate with the scholars here. I am not,
however, one who thinks there is no chance of
reform for a boy or man who has done wrong,
and I think it is a fatal mistake to turn a cold
shoulder on the repentant wrongdoer. I have
given some thought to this matter, Stone, and I
have decided to give you a chance, just the same
as any other boy, to prove yourself here at this
school.”
Ben was quivering from head to feet. In his
heart new hope and new life leaped. Still in
some doubt, he faltered:
“Then you—you are not going to—to expel me,
sir?”
“Not until I am satisfied that you deserve it;
not until by some act that comes under my observation
you convince me that you are not earnestly
seeking to reform—that you are not worthy
to remain in the school.”
.bn 059.png
// 059.png
.pn +1
“Oh, thank you—thank you!” choked the boy,
and that was all he could say. His voice broke,
and he saw the kind face of the professor through
a blurring mist.
“I hope I am not making a mistake in this,
Stone,” that same soothing voice went on. “I
hope you will try to prove to me that I am not.”
“I will, sir—I will!” Ben eagerly promised.
“That is all I ask of you. If you have a vicious
disposition, try to overcome it; if you have a
violent temper, seek to control it. Learn to be
your own master, which is the great lesson that
every one must learn in case he wishes to become
honored and respected and successful in life.
Prove to every one that you regret any mistakes
of your past, and that you may be thoroughly
trusted in the future. In this manner you will
rise above your mistakes and above yourself. I
don’t think I need say anything more to you, but
remember that I shall watch you with anxiety and
with hope. That is all.”
Ben felt that he could have seized the professor’s
hand and kissed it, but he knew he would
quite break down, and the thought of such weakness
shamed him. All he did was to again huskily
exclaim:
.bn 060.png
// 060.png
.pn +1
“Thank you, sir—thank you!”
The September air seemed again filled with
mellow sweetness as he hurried in happy relief
from the academy. With the touch of a passing
breeze, the maple trees of the yard waved their
hands gayly to him, and in the distance beyond
the football field Lake Woodrim dimpled and
laughed in the golden sunshine.
“One chance more!” he exultantly murmured.
“One chance more, and I’ll make the most of it.”
.bn 061.png
// 061.png
.pn +1
.pm chap 06 VI. "INTO THE SHADOWS."
As he hastened from the yard and turned down
the street, he saw several boys assembled beneath
a tree in a fence-corner near the roadside. They
were laughing loudly at something that was taking
place there. On the outskirts of the little
gathering he saw the thin-legged figure of Spotty
Davis, who was smoking a cigarette and grinning
as he peered over the heads of those in front of
him.
Ben would have hurried past, but he suddenly
stopped in his tracks, checked by the shrill, protesting
voice of a child in distress. At the sound
of that voice, he turned quickly toward the boys
beneath the tree and forced his way among them,
pushing some of them unceremoniously aside.
.bn 062.png
// 062.png
.pn +1
What he saw caused a fierce look to come to
his face and his freckled cheeks to flush; for in
the midst of the group was Hunk Rollins, a look
of vicious pleasure on his face, holding little
Jimmy Jones by the ear, which he was twisting
with brutal pleasure, showing his ugly teeth as he
laughed at the tortured lad’s cries and pleadings.
“Oh, that don’t hurt any!” the bullying fellow
declared, as he gave another twist. “What
makes ye holler? It’s only fun, and you’ll like
it when you get used to it.”
A moment later Ben reached the spot and sent
the tormentor reeling with a savage thrust, at the
same time snatching the sobbing cripple from
him.
“You miserable coward!” he cried, hoarse with
anger.
The cripple gave a cry and clung to him.
“Don’t let him hurt me any more, Ben!” he
pleaded. “He’s pulled my hair an’ my nose, an’
’most twisted my ear off. I was comin’ to meet
you to tell you I ketched a squirrel in the trap.”
In sullen silence the watching boys had fallen
back. Ben was facing Hunk Rollins, and in his
eyes there was a look that made the bully hesitate.
.bn 063.png
// 063.png
.pn +1
“Now you’ll see a fight,” said one of the group,
in an awed tone. “Hunk will give it to him.”
Rollins had been astonished, but he knew what
was expected of him, and he began to bluster
fiercely, taking a step toward Stone, who did
not retreat or move.
“Who are you calling a coward? Who are you
pushing?” snarled the low-browed chap, scowling
his blackest, and assuming his fiercest aspect,
his huge hands clenched.
“You!” was the prompt answer. “No one
but a coward and a brute would hurt a harmless
little cripple.”
“You take care!” raged Hunk. “I won’t have
you calling me names! I want you to understand
that, too. Who are you? You’re nothing but
the son of a jail-bird!”
“Go for him, Hunk!” urged Spotty Davis, his
voice making a whistling sound through the space
left by his missing teeth. “Soak him a good
one!”
“I’ll soak him if he ever puts his hands on me
again,” declared Rollins, who was desirous of
maintaining his reputation, yet hesitated before
that dangerous look on Stone’s face. “I don’t
care to fight with no low fellow like him.”
.bn 064.png
// 064.png
.pn +1
“Hunk’s scared of him,” cried one of the boys,
and then the others groaned in derision.
Stung by this, the bully roared, “I’ll show
you!” and made a jump and a swinging blow at
Ben. His arm was knocked aside, and Stone’s
heavy fist landed with terrible violence on his
chin, sending him to the ground in a twinkling.
The boys uttered exclamations of astonishment.
With his fists clenched and his uncomely face
awesome to look upon, Ben Stone took one step
and stood over Rollins, waiting for him to rise.
It was thus that Prof. Richardson saw them as he
pushed through the gathering of boys. Without
pausing, he placed himself between them, and
turned on Ben.
“It has not taken you very long, Stone,” he
said, in a manner that made Ben shrink and
shiver, “to demonstrate beyond question that
what Mr. Hayden told me about you is true. I
told you it is my custom to judge every boy by
his acts and by what he proves himself to be.
.bn 065.png
// 065.png
.pn +1
For all of your apparently sincere promise to me
a short time ago, you have thus quickly shown
your true character, and I shall act on what I
have seen.”
“He hit me, sir,” Hunk hastened to explain,
having risen to his feet. “He came right in here
and pushed me, and then he hit me.”
Ben opened his lips to justify himself. “Professor,
if you’ll let me explain——”
“I need no explanations; I have seen quite
enough to satisfy me,” declared the professor
coldly. “You have not reformed since the time
when you made a vicious and brutal assault on
Bernard Hayden.”
Involuntarily, Ben lifted an unsteady hand to
his mutilated ear, as if that could somehow justify
him for what had happened. His face was
ashen, and the hopeless look of desperation was
again in his eyes.
Upon the appearance of Prof. Richardson,
many of the boys had lost no time in hurrying
away; the others he now told to go home, at the
same time turning his back on Ben. The miserable
lad stood there and watched them depart,
.bn 066.png
// 066.png
.pn +1
the academy principal walking with Rollins, who,
in his own manner and to his own justification,
was relating what had taken place beneath the
tree.
As Ben stood thus gazing after them, he felt
a hand touch his, and heard the voice of little
Jimmy at his side.
“I’m sorry,” said the lame boy, “I’m awfully
sorry if I got you into any trouble, Ben.”
“You’re not to blame,” was the husky assurance.
“Mebbe I hadn’t oughter come, but I wanted to
tell y’u ’bout the squirrel I ketched. He’s jest
the handsomest feller! Hunk Rollins he’s alwus
plaguin’ an’ hurtin’ me when he gets a chance.
My! but you did hit him hard!”
“Not half as hard as he ought to be hit!” exclaimed
Ben, with such savageness that the lame
lad was frightened.
With Jimmy clinging to his hand, they walked
down the road together. The little cripple tried
to cheer his companion by saying:
“You warn’t to blame; why didn’t you say you
warn’t?”
.bn 067.png
// 067.png
.pn +1
“What good would it have done!” cried Ben
bitterly. “The professor wouldn’t listen to me.
I tried to tell him, but he stopped me. Everything
and every one is against me, Jimmy. I
have no friends and no chance.”
“I’m your friend,” protested the limping lad.
“I think you’re jest the best feller I ever knew.”
To Jimmy’s surprise, Ben caught him up in
his strong arms and squeezed him, laughing with
a choking sound that was half a sob:
“I forgot you.”
“I know I don’t ’mount to much,” said the
cripple, as he was lifted to Stone’s shoulder and
carried there; “but I like you jest the same. I
want you to see my squirrel. I’ve got him in an
old bird cage. I’m goin’ to make a reg’ler cage
for him, an’ I thought p’raps you’d show me how
an’ help me some.”
Ben spent the greater part of the noon hour
in the woodshed with little Jimmy, admiring the
squirrel and explaining how a cage might be
made. Mrs. Jones heard them talking and laughing,
and peered out at them, her face beaming
as she wiped her hands on her apron.
.bn 068.png
// 068.png
.pn +1
“Land!” she smiled; “Jimmy’s ’most crazy
over that squirrel. You don’t s’pose it’ll die, do
y’u?”
“Not if it can have a big cage with plenty of
room to exercise,” answered Ben. “It’s a young
one, and it seems to be getting tame already.”
“Well, I’m glad. Jimmy he’s jest silly over
pets. But I tell him it ain’t right to keep the
squirrel alwus shut up, an’ that he’d better let
him go bimeby. Goodness! I can’t waste my time
this way. I’ve got my han’s full to-day.”
Then she disappeared.
“Mother she thinks it ain’t jest right to keep
a squirrel in a cage,” said the lame boy, with a
slight cloud on his face. “What ju think, Ben?”
“Well,” said Ben, “it’s this way, Jimmy: Yesterday
this little squirrel was frolicking in the
woods, running up and down the trees and over
the ground, playing with other squirrels and enjoying
the open air and the sunshine. Now he’s
confined in a cramped cage here in this dark old
woodshed, taken from his companions and shut
off from the sunshine and the big beautiful
woods. Try to put yourself in his place, Jimmy.
.bn 069.png
// 069.png
.pn +1
How would you like it if a great giant came
along, captured you, carried you off where you
could not see your mother or your friends, and
shut you up in a narrow dungeon with iron bars?”
Jimmy sat quite still, watching the little captive
vainly nosing at the wires in search of an opening
by which he might get out. As he watched,
the squirrel faced him and sat up straight, its
beautiful tail erect, its tiny forefeet held limp.
“Oh, see, Ben—see!” whispered the lame lad.
“He’s beggin’ jest like a dog; he’s askin’ me to
let him go. I couldn’t keep him after that. I
sha’n’t want no cage f’r him, Ben; I’m goin’ to
let him go back to the woods to find the other
squirrels he uster play with.”
Together they carried the cage out into the
old grove back of the house, where Jimmy himself
opened the door. For a moment or two the captive
shrank back in doubt, but suddenly he
whisked through the door and darted up a tree.
Perched on a limb, he uttered a joyful, chittering
cry.
.bn 070.png
// 070.png
.pn +1
“He’s laughing!” cried the lame boy, clapping
his hands. “See how happy he is, Ben! I’m
awful glad I didn’t keep him.”
The first bell was ringing as Ben turned toward
the academy.
“Why, you ain’t had no dinner!” called Jimmy,
suddenly aware of that fact.
“I didn’t want any,” truthfully declared Ben,
as he vaulted a fence. “So long, Jimmy.” He
waved his hand and hurried on.
He did not return to the academy, however.
As the second bell began ringing, he paused on
the edge of the deep, dark woods, which lay to
the north of Turkey Hill. Looking back, he
could see the academy, the lake and the village.
The sound of the bell, mellowed by the distance,
seemed full of sadness and disappointment.
When it ceased, he turned and strode on, and the
shadowy woods swallowed him.
.bn 071.png
// 071.png
.pn +1
.pm chap 07 VII. "A DESPERATE ENCOUNTER."
All that long, silent afternoon, he wandered
through the woods, the fields and the meadows.
The cool shadows of the forest enfolded him, and
the balsamic fragrance of spruce and pine and
juniper soothed his troubled spirit. He sat on a
decaying log, listening to the chatter of a squirrel,
and hearing the occasional soft pat of the first-falling
acorns. He noted the spots where Jack
Frost had thus early begun his work of painting
the leaves pink and crimson and gold. In a
thicket he saw the scarlet gleam of hawthorne
berries.
Beside Silver Brook, which ran down through
the border of the woods, he paused to listen to
the tinkle and gurgle of the water. There the
blackberried moonseed clambered over the underbrush.
When he crossed the brook and pushed
.bn 072.png
// 072.png
.pn +1
on through this undergrowth, his feet and ankles
were wet by water spilled from many hooded
pitcher plants. Near the edge of the woods, with
a sudden booming whir of wings that made his
heart jump, a partridge flew up and went diving
away into the deeper forest.
At the border of the woods, where meadow
and marshland began, he discovered clusters of
pale-blue asters mingling with masses of rose-purple
blazing star. Before him he sent scurrying
a flight of robins, driven from their feast
of pigeon berries amid the wine-stained pokeweed
leaves.
The sun leaned low to the west and the day
drew toward a peaceful close. He seemed to forget
for brief periods his misfortune and wretchedness,
but he could not put his bitter thoughts
aside for long, and whenever he tried to do so,
they simply slunk in the background, to come
swarming upon him again at the first opportunity.
At best, it was a wretched afternoon he
spent with them.
.bn 073.png
// 073.png
.pn +1
He had escaped facing disgrace and expulsion
by declining to return to the academy that afternoon;
but his trunk and clothes were at Mrs.
Jones’ and he must get them, which led him, as
night approached, to turn back toward the village.
On the southern slope of Turkey Hill he lingered,
with the valley and the village below him.
The sunshine gilded a church spire amid the
oaks, and in its yard of maples he could see the
roof and belfry of the academy.
The afternoon session was over by this time,
and from that elevation Ben could look down on
the fenced football field, where he beheld the
boys already at practice. Once the still
air brought their voices to him even from that
distance. His heart swelled with a sense of injustice
and wrong, until it seemed to fill his chest
in a stifling manner.
Of course Bern Hayden was there with the
boys who had so joyously hailed his return to
Oakdale. But for Hayden he might also be there
taking part in the practice, enjoying that for
which his heart hungered, the friendly companionship
of other lads.
.bn 074.png
// 074.png
.pn +1
The shadows were thickening and night was
at hand as he crossed the fields and reached the
road to the north of the academy. He hoped to
avoid observation and reach Mrs. Jones’ house
without encountering any one who knew him.
As he quickened his steps, he suddenly realized
that he must pass the wretched little tumble-down
home of Tige Fletcher, a dirty, crabbed, old recluse,
who hated boys because he had been taunted
and tormented by them, and who kept two
fierce dogs, which were regarded as vicious and
dangerous. Beyond Fletcher’s house there was
a footpath from High street to the academy yard,
and this was the course Ben wished to follow.
Knowing he might be set upon by the dogs, he
looked about for a weapon of defense, finally
discovering a thick, heavy, hardwood cudgel,
about three feet in length. With this in his
hand, he strode on, grimly determined to give
the dogs more than they were looking for if they
attacked him.
He was quite near the house when, on the
opposite side, there suddenly burst forth a great
uproar of barking, with which there immediately
mingled a shrill scream of terror.
.bn 075.png
// 075.png
.pn +1
Unhesitatingly, Ben dashed forward, instinctively
gripping his stout cudgel and holding it
ready for use. The barking and the cry of fear
had told him some one was in danger from Old
Tige’s dogs.
Immediately on passing the corner of the
house, he saw what was happening, and the spectacle
brought his heart into his mouth. The
dogs had rushed at a little girl, who, driven up
against the fence, faced them with her blue eyes
full of terror, and tried to drive them back by
striking at them with her helpless hands.
Giving a shout to check the dogs and distract
their attention from the girl, Ben rushed straight
on. He saw one of the dogs leap against the
child and knock her down. Then he was within
reach, and he gave the animal a fearful blow
with the club as it was snapping at the girl’s
throat.
A moment later Ben found he had his hands
full in defending himself, for the second dog,
a huge brindle mastiff, having a protruding under-jaw
and reddish eyes, leaped at his throat, his
teeth gleaming. By a quick, side-stepping movement,
the boy escaped, and with all his strength
he struck the dog, knocking it down, and sending
it rolling for a moment on the ground.
.bn 076.png
// 076.png
.pn +1
The first dog was a mongrel, but it was
scarcely less ferocious and dangerous than the
mastiff. Although Ben had seemed to strike hard
enough to break the creature’s ribs, it recovered,
and came at him, even as the mastiff was sent
rolling. The yellow hair on the back of the dog’s
neck bristled, and its eyes were filled with a fearful
glare of rage.
The boy was not given time to swing his club
for another telling blow, but was compelled to
dodge as the dog sprang from the ground. His
foot slipped a little, and he flung up his left
arm as a shield. The teeth of the dog barely
missed his elbow.
Quickly though Ben recovered and whirled, he
was none too soon. This time, however, the mongrel
was met by a well-directed blow on the nose,
and the terrible pain of it took all the fight out
of him and sent him slinking and howling away,
with his tail curled between his legs.
.bn 077.png
// 077.png
.pn +1
The mastiff was not disposed of so quickly;
for, although it had been knocked down by the
first blow it received, it uttered a snarling roar,
and again flung itself at the boy the moment it
could regain its feet.
Against the fence the white-faced little girl
crouched, uttering wild cries of fear, as, with
terror-filled eyes, she watched the desperate encounter.
Knowing he would be torn, mangled, perhaps
killed, if the teeth of the great dog ever fastened
upon him, Ben fought for his very life. Three
times he beat the creature down with his club,
but for all this punishment the rage and fury of
the animal increased, and it continued to return
to the attack with vicious recklessness.
The boy set his teeth and did his best to make
every blow count. Had his courage and nerve
failed him for a moment, he must have been
seized and dragged down by the frothing dog.
He kept his wits about him, and his brain at
work. Repeatedly he tried to hit the mastiff on
the nose in the same manner as he had struck
the mongrel, but for some moments, which seemed
like hours, every attempt failed.
.bn 078.png
// 078.png
.pn +1
Once Ben’s heart leaped into his mouth, as his
foot slipped again, but he recovered himself on
the instant and was fully prepared for the big
dog’s next charge.
At last he succeeded in delivering the blow on
which he believed everything depended. Hit
fairly on the nose by that club, which was wielded
by a muscular young arm, the raging beast was
checked and paralyzed for a moment.
Seizing the opportunity, Ben advanced and
struck again, throwing into the effort every particle
of strength and energy he could command.
The dog dropped to the ground and lay still, its
muscles twitching and its limbs stiffening; for
that final blow had broken its neck.
Quivering and panting with the excitement and
exertion of the struggle, Ben stood looking down
at the body of the dog, giving no heed for the
moment to the hoarse cries of rage which issued
from the lips of Old Tige Fletcher, who was
hobbling toward him with his stiff leg. Nor did
he observe three boys who were coming along
the path from the academy at a run, having been
led to quicken their steps by the cries of the girl
and the barking of the dogs.
.bn 079.png
// 079.png
.pn +1
Of the trio Roger Eliot was in the lead, and
he was running fast, the sound of the frightened
girl’s screams having filled him with the
greatest alarm. He was followed closely by Chipper
Cooper, while Chub Tuttle brought up the
rear, panting like a porpoise, and scattering peanuts
from his pockets at every jump.
These boys came in sight soon enough to witness
the end of the encounter between Stone and
the huge mastiff. They saw the dog beaten back
several times, and Roger uttered a husky exclamation
of satisfaction when Ben finally finished
the fierce brute with a blow that left it quivering
on the ground.
By that time Eliot’s eyes had discovered the
girl as she crouched and cowered against the
fence, and he knew instantly that it was in defense
of her that Ben had faced and fought
Fletcher’s dreaded dogs.
Even before reaching that point Roger’s heart
had been filled with the greatest alarm and anxiety
by the sounds coming to his ears; for he believed
he recognized the voice of the child whose
terrified cries mingled with the savage barking
.bn 080.png
// 080.png
.pn +1
and snarling of the dogs. His little sister had a
habit of meeting him on his way home after football
practice, and he had warned her not to come
too far on account of the danger of being attacked
by Fletcher’s dogs. That his fear had been
well-founded he saw the moment he discovered
the child huddled against the fence, as it was,
indeed, his sister.
“Amy!” he chokingly cried.
Reaching her, he caught her up and held her
sobbing on his breast, while she clung to his neck
with her trembling arms.
“Drat ye!” snarled Tige Fletcher, his face contorted
with rage as he stumped forward, shaking
his crooked cane at Ben Stone. “What hev ye
done to my dorg? You’ve killed him!”
“I think I have,” was the undaunted answer;
“at any rate, I meant to kill him.”
“I’ll hey ye ’rested!” shrilled the recluse.
“That dorg was wuth a hundrud dollars, an’ I’ll
make ye pay fer him, ur I’ll put ye in jail.”
Roger Eliot turned indignantly on the irate
man.
.bn 081.png
// 081.png
.pn +1
“You’ll be lucky, Mr. Fletcher, if you escape
being arrested and fined yourself,” he declared.
“You knew your dogs were vicious, and you have
been notified by the authorities to chain them up
and never to let them loose unless they were muzzled.
You’ll be fortunate to get off simply with
the loss of a dog; my father is pretty sure to take
this matter up when he hears what has happened.
If your wretched dogs had bitten my sister—”
Roger stopped, unable to find words to express
himself.
The old man continued to splutter and snarl
and flourish his cane, upon which Tuttle and
Cooper made a pretense of skurrying around in
great haste for rocks to pelt him with, and he
beat a hasty retreat toward his wretched hovel.
“Don’t stone him, fellows,” advised Roger.
“Let’s not give him a chance to say truthfully
that we did that.”
“We oughter soak him,” said Chub, his round
face expressive of the greatest indignation. “A
man who keeps such ugly curs around him deserves
to be soaked. Anyhow,” he added, poking
the limp body of the mastiff, “there’s one dog
gone.”
.bn 082.png
// 082.png
.pn +1
“Ain’t it a dog-gone shame!” chuckled Chipper,
seizing the opportunity to make a pun.
Roger turned to Ben.
“Stone,” he said, in his kindly yet unemotional
way, “I can’t thank you enough for your brave
defense of my sister. How did it happen?”
Ben explained, telling how he had heard the
barking of the dogs and the screams of Amy
Eliot as chance led him to be passing Fletcher’s
hut, whereupon he ran as quickly as possible to
her assistance.
“It was a nervy thing to do,” nodded Roger,
“and you may be sure I won’t forget it. I saw
some of it, and the way you beat that big dog
off and finished him was splendid.”
“Say, wasn’t it great!” chimed in Chub, actual
admiration in his eyes as he surveyed Ben. “By
jolly! you’re a dandy, Stone! Ain’t many fellers
could have done it.”
“I won’t forget it,” repeated Roger, holding
out his hand.
Ben flushed, hesitated, then accepted the proffered
hand, receiving a hearty, thankful grip
from Eliot.
.bn 083.png
// 083.png
.pn +1
.pm chap 08 VIII. "A RIFT."
Ben came down quietly through the grove behind
the house, slipped round to the ell door and
ascended to his bare room without being observed
by any one about the place. It did not take
him long again to draw out his battered trunk
and pack it with his few possessions.
He then found before him an unpleasant duty
from which he shrank; Mrs. Jones must again
be told that he was going away.
It is not remarkable that he hesitated over this,
or that as the shadows once more thickened in
that room he sat for a long time on his trunk,
his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hands,
gazing blankly at the one leaden window.
To his ears came the sound of wheels, which
seemed to stop before the house. A few minutes
later Jimmy’s voice called from the foot of the
stairs:
.bn 084.png
// 084.png
.pn +1
“Ben, Ben, you up there?”
He opened the door. “What’s wanted, Jimmy?”
“I didn’t know you was home,” said the lame
boy, in some surprise. “I didn’t see y’u come,
an’ I was watchin’. They’s somebody down here
wants to see y’u.”
“Wants to see me?” he exclaimed, unable to
repress a feeling of apprehension. “Who is it?”
“It’s Roger Eliot,” answered the boy below,
“an’ he’s jest got a dandy hoss an’ carriage. He
said you must be here, but I didn’t think y’u was.”
“Roger Eliot!” muttered Ben, descending at
once. “What can he want?”
“I dunno,” admitted Jimmy, limping after him
as he left the house. “He jest tole me to tell y’u
to come out.”
“Hello, Stone!” called Roger from the carriage
in front of the gate. “Come, get in here and
take a little drive with me.”
Greatly surprised by this invitation, Ben hesitated
until the boy in the carriage repeated his
words urgently, but with a touch of that command
which had made him a leader among the
boys of the village and captain of the football
team.
.bn 085.png
// 085.png
.pn +1
“I—I haven’t much time,” faltered Stone; but
he wonderingly took his place at Roger’s side and
was whirled away, regretfully watched by Jimmy,
who hung on the sagging gate and stared after
the carriage until it turned the corner under
the street-light opposite the post office.
In front of the post office Chub Tuttle was
munching peanuts and telling Sile Crane and
Sleuth Piper of the wonderful manner in which
Stone had defended Amy Eliot from Tige Fletcher’s
dogs. He had reached the most thrilling
portion of the tale when the carriage containing
Roger and Ben turned the corner.
“Jinks!” exclaimed Crane. “There he is naow
with Roger. Where d’you s’pose they’re going?”
“The mystery is easily solved,” declared Piper
at once. “My deduction of the case is as follows:
Eliot has a sister; this sister is attacked by the
vicious dogs of one Fletcher; Stone rushes to her
defense; he beats off the said dogs and kills one
of them; the before-mentioned Eliot takes his before-mentioned
sister home; he relates to his folks
.bn 086.png
// 086.png
.pn +1
how she was rescued from dire peril and a fearful
fate by the before-mentioned Stone; at once
her parents wish to see and thank the said Stone;
Roger is dispatched post haste for the hero of the
thrilling and deadly struggle; said hero is carried
off in triumph to the palatial residence of the
before-mentioned parents. I’ll stake my professional
reputation on the correctness of the deduction.”
“Guess you’re right, Sleuth,” said Chub.
“Roger thinks an awful lot of his sister, and he
choked and couldn’t seem to find words to say
when he tried to thank Stone.”
“Say,” drawled Crane, “perhaps this Stone
ain’t such an awful bad feller after all. Jack
Walker tol’ me he pitched into Hunk Rollins
hammer an’ tongs ’cause Hunk was plaguing
Jimmy Jones, and he said he was a-going to tell
the professor the whole business. Bern Hayden
is pretty top-lofty, and he’s down on Stone for
somethin’, so he wants to drive Stone outer the
school. I tell you fellers right here that I hope,
by Jinks! that Stone don’t go.”
.bn 087.png
// 087.png
.pn +1
“’Sh!” hissed Sleuth mysteriously, glancing
all around, as if fearful of being overheard.
“Draw back from this bright glare of light,
where we may be spied upon by watchful and
suspicious eyes.”
When they had followed him into the shadow
at the corner of the building and he had peered
and listened some moments, he drew them close
together and, in a low, hoarse voice, declared:
“It is perfectly apparent to my trained observation
that there is more in this case than appears
on the surface. I have struck a scent, which I
am working up. I pledge you both to secrecy;
betray me at your peril. Between Hayden and
Stone there is a deadly and terrible feud. Sometime
in the dark and hidden past a great wrong
was committed. I feel it my duty to solve the
problem and right the wrong. I shall know
neither rest nor sleep until my task is accomplished
and justice is done.”
“Well,” said Sile, in his quaint, drawling way,
“you may git allfired tired an’ sleepy, Sleuth; but
I agree with Chub in thinkin’ it pritty likely
Roger is a-takin’ Stone up to his haouse.”
.bn 088.png
// 088.png
.pn +1
The boys were right in this conviction, although
Ben did not suspect whither he was being
carried until they were passing the Methodist
church and approaching Roger’s home.
“I am taking you to dinner,” said Roger, in
answer to Ben’s questioning. “Mother asked me
to bring you in order that she may thank you for
your brave defense of Amy against old Fletcher’s
dogs; and father wishes to see you, too.”
Ben was filled with sudden consternation.
“Oh, say, Eliot,” he exclaimed, “I can’t go
there!”
“Why not, old man? My mother is an invalid,
you know, and she can’t come to you. It will be
a pleasure to her to meet you, and she has few
enough pleasures in life.”
“But—but,” stammered Ben, remembering
that Urian Eliot was known to be Oakdale’s richest
man and lived in the finest house in the village,
“I am not prepared—my clothes——”
“Nonsense!” heartily returned Roger. “You
will find us plain people who do not go in for
ceremony and style. Your clothes are all right.
Just you be easy and make yourself at home.”
.bn 089.png
// 089.png
.pn +1
Little did Roger know of his companion’s inward
quaking and apprehension, but it seemed
too late to get out of it then, and Stone was compelled
to face the ordeal.
A stableman took charge of the horse and carriage,
and they were met at the door by Amy
Eliot, who had been watching for them.
“Here he is, Sis,” said Roger. “I captured
him and brought him off without letting him
know what was up, or I’d never got him here.”
Amy shyly, yet impulsively, took Ben’s hand.
“You were so good to come and save me from
those dreadful dogs!” she said. “I was nearly
frightened to death. I know they would have
eaten me up.”
As Ben’s chained tongue was seeking to free
itself a stout, square, bald-headed, florid man,
with a square-trimmed tuft of iron-gray whiskers
on his chin, appeared in the doorway of a
lighted room off the hall, and a healthy, hearty
voice cried:
“So this is the hero! Well, well, my boy, give
me your hand! I’ve heard all about it from
Roger and Amy. And you actually killed old
Fletcher’s big dog with a club! Remarkable!
.bn 090.png
// 090.png
.pn +1
Amazing! For that alone you deserve a vote of
thanks from every respectable, peaceable citizen
of this town. But we owe you the heaviest debt.
Our Amy would have been mangled by those
miserable beasts but for your promptness and
courage. Lots of boys would have hesitated
about facing those dogs.”
“This is my father, Stone,” said Roger, as
Urian Eliot was earnestly shaking the confused
lad’s hand.
Ben managed huskily to murmur that he was
glad to meet Mr. Eliot.
>From the adjoining room a woman’s low, pleasant
voice called:
“Why don’t you bring him in? Have you forgotten
me?”
“No, mother,” answered Roger, taking Ben’s
cap from his hand and hanging it on the hall
tree.
“No, indeed!” declared Mr. Eliot, as he led the
boy into a handsome room, where there were
long shelves of books, and great comfortable
leather-covered chairs, and costly Turkish rugs on
the hardwood floor, with a wood fire burning
.bn 091.png
// 091.png
.pn +1
cheerfully in an open fireplace, and a frail, sweet-faced
woman sitting amid piled-up cushions in an
invalid’s chair near a table, on which stood a
shaded lamp and lay many books and magazines.
“Here he is, mother.”
“Yes, here he is, mother,” said Roger, smiling
that rare, slow smile of his, which illumined his
face and made it seem peculiarly attractive and
generous; “but I’m sure I’d never made a success
of it in bringing him if I had told him what
I wanted in the first place.”
“My dear boy,” said Mrs. Eliot, taking Ben’s
hand in both her own thin hands, “mere words
are quite incapable of expressing my feelings,
but I wish I might somehow make you know how
deeply grateful I am to you for your noble and
heroic action in saving my helpless little girl from
those cruel dogs.”
At the sound of her voice Ben was moved, and
the touch of her hands thrilled him. Her tender,
patient eyes gazed deep into his, and that look
alone was a thousand times more expressive of
her gratitude than all the words in the language,
though chosen by a master speaker. He thought
of his own kind, long-suffering mother, now at
rest, and there was a mist in his eyes.
.bn 092.png
// 092.png
.pn +1
“Believe me,” he managed to say, “I didn’t do
it for thanks, and I——”
“I am sure you didn’t,” she interrupted. “You
did it just because it was the most natural thing
for a brave boy like you to do.”
It was quite astonishing to him to have any one
regard him as brave and noble, for all his life
until now everybody had seemed to look on him
as something quite the opposite; and, in spite of
what he had done, he could not help thinking he
did not deserve to be treated so kindly and shown
so much gratitude.
“Sit down, Stone, old man,” invited Roger,
pushing up a chair.
“Yes, sit down,” urged Mrs. Eliot. “I want
to talk with you.”
In a short time she made him feel quite at ease,
which also seemed surprising when he thought of
it; for to him, accustomed to poverty all his life,
that library was like a room in a palace. And
these people were such as circumstances and experience
had led him to believe would feel themselves
in every way his superiors, yet they had
apparently received him as their equal and made
no show of holding themselves far above him.
.bn 093.png
// 093.png
.pn +1
Urian Eliot, who stood on the hearth-rug, with
his back to the fire and his hands behind him,
joined freely in the conversation, and Ben could
not help wondering if this was really the rich
mill-owner whom the greater number of the people
of Oakdale regarded with an air of awe. He
was very free and easy and plain-spoken, yet he
had the reputation of being a hard business man,
close-fisted to the point of penuriousness in all
his dealings.
Amy came and stood close beside Ben, while
Roger sat on the broad arm of a chair, gravely
satisfied in his demeanor.
They talked of many things, and there was no
suggestion of idle curiosity on the part of Mrs.
Eliot when she questioned the visitor about himself.
Ben told of his home with Jacob Baldwin, an
unsuccessful farmer, who lived some ten miles
from Oakdale, explaining how he had done his
best to carry on the little farm while Mr. Baldwin
.bn 094.png
// 094.png
.pn +1
was down with rheumatism, how he had planned
and saved to get money to attend school, and how
he had finally set by a small sum that he believed
was sufficient to carry him through a term at the
academy by strict economy.
Listening to this, Urian Eliot nodded repeatedly
and rubbed his square hands behind his broad
back with an atmosphere of satisfaction. When
the boy had finished, Mr. Eliot surprised him by
saying:
“That’s the right sort of stuff—it’s the kind
that real men are made of. I like it. I was a
poor boy myself, and I had a pretty hard time of
it cutting cordwood and hoop-poles in winter and
working wherever I could earn a dollar in summer;
but I stuck to it, and I managed to pull
through all right. You stick to it, my boy, and
you’ll win. I admire your grit.”
Such complimentary words from a man like
Urian Eliot meant a great deal, and they sent a
glow over Ben. For the time he forgot the cloud
hanging over him, forgot Bernard Hayden and
the blighting past, forgot that he was an outcast
who could never again cross the threshold of Oakdale
academy save to face disgrace and expulsion.
.bn 095.png
// 095.png
.pn +1
Finally dinner was announced, and Roger
carefully wheeled his mother in her chair from
the library to the dining room, while Urian Eliot
followed, offering advice and calling to Ben to
come.
Amy’s little hand stole into Ben’s, and she
pressed close to his side, looking up at him.
“I’m going to sit by you,” she said. “I like
you, Ben. I think you’re just the best and bravest
fellow in the world—except Roger,” she finished,
as an afterthought.
It was a happy hour for Ben.
.bn 096.png
// 096.png
.pn +1
.pm chap 09 IX. "PROFFERED FRIENDSHIP."
That dinner was one never forgotten by Ben.
The softly, yet brightly, lighted table, with its
spotless napery, shining silver, fine china and vase
of flowers, caused him to feel suddenly overcome
as he thought of his own poor, plain clothes and
natural awkwardness. On the sideboard facets
of cut glass sparkled and gleamed with many
diamond colors. Above the wainscoting a few
tasty pictures hung on the dark red walls.
Never before had the boy dined in such a room
and at such a table, and the fear that he might do
some awkward thing to make him blush with
shame was painful upon him. By resolving to
watch the others and follow their example he got
along very well, and by the time the second
course had disappeared their pleasant chatting
and perfect freedom had loosened the strain so
that he was once more somewhat at ease.
.bn 097.png
// 097.png
.pn +1
If he was awkward with his fork, no one noticed
it, and finally he quite forgot his embarrassment
in the realization of the, to him, remarkable
fact that he was among friends, none of whom
were seeking to discover his shortcomings that
they might laugh over them and ridicule him behind
his back.
Without an apparent effort to induce him, Ben
was led to join in the conversation. He observed
that Roger was very tender and considerate toward
his mother, and he did not fail to note the
glances of love and admiration which the invalid
bestowed upon her stalwart son.
Little Amy was light-hearted and happy as she
sat near the visitor and talked to him in her artless
way, while Urian Eliot appeared to be one
of those rare men who leave all their uncompromising
grimness and stiff business manners out
of doors when they enter their own homes.
When the dinner was finished they lingered a
little over the coffee, all seeming keenly to enjoy
this time of relaxation and pleasant converse.
Turning to his son, Mr. Eliot asked:
.bn 098.png
// 098.png
.pn +1
“How are you coming on with your subscription
scheme to raise funds to hire a football coach
for your team, Roger?”
“Pretty well,” was the answer. “But I must
have twenty-five dollars more, at least. I think
we have the material to make a good team this
year, but it takes a coach who knows his business
to get the very best result out of an eleven on
which there is bound to be several absolutely
green players. Wyndham means to beat us
again this year, and we understand she has a
Harvard man as a coach.”
“I suppose you’ve got your eye on a good man
you can secure for that business?”
“Yes; Dash Winton, of Dartmouth. He is
one of the finest full-backs in the country, and
was chosen last year for the All-American
Eleven, picked from the leading colleges. Winton
is the very man for us.”
“Are you sure you can get him?” inquired Mr.
Eliot.
Roger nodded. “I’ve taken care of that. I
have corresponded with him, and I can have him
here two days after I raise the money.”
.bn 099.png
// 099.png
.pn +1
“Well,” said Mr. Eliot, rising, “go ahead and
raise all you can. When you can’t get any more,
come to me and I’ll see what I can do for you.”
“Thank you, father!” exclaimed Roger.
When they had returned to the library Roger
asked Ben to come to his room, and Stone followed
up the broad stairs.
Roger’s room, like the rest of the house, was a
wonder to Ben. In its alcove the white bed was
partly hidden by portières. The rich carpet on
the floor was soft and yielding to the feet. On a
table were more magazines and books, part of a
jointed fishing-rod, and a reel over which Roger
had been puttering, as it did not run with the
noiseless freedom that was necessary fully to
please him. The pictures on the walls were such
as might be selected by an athletic, sport-loving
boy. Supported on hooks, there was also a rifle,
while crossed foils adorned the opposite wall. In
a corner was a tennis racket, and Ben observed
dumb-bells in pairs of various sizes.
“Take the big chair, Stone,” urged Roger.
“You’ll find it rather comfortable, I think. I like
it to lounge in when I’m reading or studying.”
.bn 100.png
// 100.png
.pn +1
Ben found himself wondering that this fellow
who had so many things—apparently all a boy’s
heart could desire—should be so free-and-easy
and should mingle every day without the least air
of priggishness or superiority with other lads in
much humbler circumstances.
This view of Roger’s domestic life, this glimpse
of his home and its seeming luxuries, together
with a knowledge of his unassuming ways, led
Stone’s respect and admiration for him to increase
boundlessly.
“Do you box, Stone?” asked Roger, as he removed
from another chair a set of boxing gloves
and tossed them aside before sitting down. “I
suppose you do?”
“No,” answered Ben, shaking his head; “I
know nothing about it.”
“So? Why, it’s a good thing for a fellow to
know how to handle the mitts. I thought likely
you did when they told me how you biffed Hunk
Rollins. Rollins is a scrapper, you know, although
it is a fact that he usually picks his fights
with smaller chaps.”
.bn 101.png
// 101.png
.pn +1
“I hate fighting!” Stone exclaimed, with almost
startling vehemence; and Roger noted that, as he
uttered the words, he lifted his hand with a seemingly
unconscious motion to his mutilated ear.
“But a fellow has to fight sometimes, old man.
You gave Rollins what he deserved, and it may
teach him a lesson. By the way, Stone, I asked
you out for practice yesterday, and something
happened that caused you to leave the field. I am
sorry now that I let you go, and I want you to
come out to-morrow with the rest of the fellows.
You ought to make a good man for the team, and
we’re going to need every good man this year.”
Ben managed to hide his emotions, but Roger
fancied there was a set expression on his face and
a queer stare in his eyes. Thinking it probable
Stone resented the treatment he had met on the
field and the attitude of the boys on hearing Hayden’s
accusation, the captain of the eleven hastened
to add:
“I hope you’re not holding anything against
me. I didn’t know just how to take it when
Hayden came at you that way. He’s rather popular
here, you know, and there’s a chance that
he’ll be captain of the team next year. I’ll be out
of the school then; I’m going to college. Don’t
.bn 102.png
// 102.png
.pn +1
you mind Hayden or anything he says; I’m captain
of the team now, and I’ve asked you to
practice with us. You will, won’t you?”
There followed a few moments of silence, during
which Ben was getting full command of himself.
The silence was finally broken when he
quietly said:
“I can’t do it, Eliot.”
“Can’t?” exclaimed Roger, sitting bolt upright
in astonishment. “Why not?”
“Because I shall not be at school to-morrow.”
Then, before Roger could ask another question,
Ben hurried on, apparently anxious to have it
quickly over and done with. “I thank you for
again inviting me out for practice, and I want you
to know that I appreciate it; but I can’t come, because
I have left the school for good.”
This astonished Roger more than ever.
“Left school for good?” he echoed. “You don’t
mean that, Stone.”
“Yes I do,” declared Ben, almost doggedly.
“Left school? Why have you left school?”
.bn 103.png
// 103.png
.pn +1
“Because I am compelled to,” explained the
questioned lad, still resolutely keeping his emotion
in check. “I can’t help it; I am forced out of
school.”
Eliot rose to his feet.
“What’s all this about?” he asked. “You didn’t
come to school this afternoon. Was it because
Prof. Richardson caught you thumping Rollins
when the fellow was bullyragging that lame kid?
Is that it, Stone?”
“That had something to do with it; but that’s
only a small part of the cause. That convinced
the professor that I am all that’s low and mean
and vicious, just as Bernard Hayden’s father told
him. Hayden is behind it, Eliot; he is determined
that I shall not attend school here, and he’ll have
his way. What can I do against Bern Hayden
and his father? I am alone and without influence
or friends; they are set against me, and Lemuel
Hayden is powerful.”
Although the boy still spoke with a sort of
grim calmness, Roger fancied he detected in his
forced repression the cry of a desperate, despairing
heart. With a stride, he placed his hands on
Ben’s shoulders.
.bn 104.png
// 104.png
.pn +1
“Look here, Stone,” he said urgingly, with an
air of sincere friendliness, “take me into your
confidence and tell me what is the trouble between
you and Bern Hayden. Perhaps I can help you
some way, and it won’t do any harm for you to
trust me. You saved my little sister from old
Fletcher’s dogs, and I want to do something for
you. I want to be your friend.”
Ben could not doubt the honest candor of his
companion, but he shrunk from unbosoming himself,
dreading to narrate the unpleasant story of
the events which had made both Bern Hayden
and his father his uncompromising enemies and
had forced him to flee like a criminal from his
native village in order to escape being sent to the
State Reformatory.
“Trust me, Stone,” pleaded Roger. “I don’t
believe you’ll ever regret it.”
“All right!” exclaimed Ben suddenly; “I will—I’ll
tell you everything.”
.bn 105.png
// 105.png
.pn +1
.pm chap 10 X. "STONE’S STORY."
“That’s right,” cried Roger, with satisfaction,
resuming his seat. “Tell me the whole business.
Fire away, old man.”
As Ben seemed hesitating over the beginning
of the story, Roger observed that, with an apparently
unconscious movement, he once more
lifted his hand to his mutilated ear. At that moment
Eliot was struck with the conviction that
the story he was about to hear was concerned
with the injury to that ear.
“At the very start,” said Ben, an uncomfortable
look on his plain face, “I have to confess
that my father was always what is called a shiftless
man. He was more of a dreamer than a
doer, and, instead of trying to accomplish things,
he spent far too much time in meditating on what
he might accomplish. He dreamed a great deal
.bn 106.png
// 106.png
.pn +1
of inventing something that would make his fortune,
and this led him to declare frequently that
some day he would make a lot of money. He was
not a bad man, but he was careless and neglectful,
a poor planner and a poor provider. The neighbors
called him lazy and held him in considerable
contempt.
“Although we were very poor, my father was
determined that I should have an education, and
I attended the public school in Hilton, where we
lived. I know I’m not handsome, Eliot, and could
never be much of a favorite; but the fact that we
lived in such humble circumstances and that my
father seemed so worthless caused the boys who
dared do so to treat me with disdain. Naturally
I have a violent temper, and when it gets the best
of me I am always half crazy with rage. I always
was pretty strong, and I made it hot for most of
the boys who dared taunt me about my father or
call me names. It seems to me now that I was
almost always fighting in those times. I hated
the other boys and despised them in a way as
much as they despised me.
.bn 107.png
// 107.png
.pn +1
“My only boy friend and confidant was my little
blind brother, Jerry, whose sight was almost
totally destroyed by falling from a window when
he was only four years old. Although I always
wished for a boy chum near my own age, I never
had one; and I think perhaps this made me all
the more devoted to Jerry, who, I am sure, loved
me as much as I did him.
“Jerry’s one great pleasure was in fiddling.
Father had a violin, and without any instructions
at all Jerry learned to play on it. It was wonderful
how quickly he could pick up a tune. I used
to tell him he would surely become a great violinist
some day.
“Of course my temper and frequent resentment
over the behavior of other boys toward me
got me into lots of trouble at school. Once I was
suspended, and a dozen times I was threatened
with expulsion. But I kept right on, and after a
while it got so that even the older and bigger boys
didn’t care much about stirring me up. If they
didn’t respect me, some of them were afraid of
me.
.bn 108.png
// 108.png
.pn +1
“There was a certain old woman in the village
who disliked me, and she was always saying I
would kill somebody some day and be hanged for
it. Don’t think I’m boasting of this, Eliot, for
I’m not; I am heartily ashamed of it. I tell it so
you may understand what led me into the affair
with Bernard Hayden and made him and his father
my bitter enemies.
“I suppose it was because I was strong and
such a fighter that the boys gave me a chance on
the school football team. Hayden opposed it, but
I got on just the same. He always was a proud
fellow, and I think he considered it a disgrace to
play on the team with me. But I was determined
to show the boys I could play, and I succeeded
fairly well. This changed the bearing of some of
them toward me, and I was beginning to get along
pretty well at school when something happened
that drove me, through no fault of my own, in
shame and disgrace from the school and cast a
terrible shadow on my life.”
Here Stone paused, shading his eyes with his
square, strong hand, and seemed to shrink from
the task of continuing. Roger opened his lips to
speak a word of encouragement, but suddenly
decided that silence was best and waited for the
other lad to resume.
.bn 109.png
// 109.png
.pn +1
“For some time,” Ben finally went on, “my
father had been working much in secret in a garret
room of our house. Whenever anything was
said to him about this he always declared he was
working out an invention that would enable him
to make lots of money. I remember that, for all
of our great poverty, he was in the best of spirits
those days and often declared we’d soon be rich.
“There was in the village one man, Nathan
Driggs, with whom father had always been on intimate
terms. Driggs kept a little shop where he
did watch and clock repairing, and he was noted
for his skill as an engraver. Driggs was also
rather poor, and it was often remarked that a
man of his ability should be better situated and
more successful.
“One dark night, near one o’clock in the morning,
I was aroused by hearing someone knocking
at our door. My father went to the door, and,
with my wonder and curiosity aroused, I listened
at an upper window that was open. The man at
the door talked with my father in low tones, and
I fancied he was both excited and alarmed.
.bn 110.png
// 110.png
.pn +1
“I could not hear much that passed between
them, but I believed I recognized the voice of
Driggs, and I was sure I heard him say something
about ‘friendship’ and ’hiding it somewhere.’
When the man had gone I heard father
climb the stairs to the attic. I wondered over it
a long time before I fell asleep again.
“The following day my father was arrested
and the house was searched. Concealed in the
attic they discovered a bundle, or package, and
this contained dies for the making of counterfeit
money. In vain father protested his innocence.
Appearances were against him, and
every one seemed to believe him guilty. On
learning what the bundle contained, he immediately
told how it came into his possession, stating
it had been brought to him in the night by
Nathan Driggs.
“Driggs was likewise arrested, but he contradicted
my father’s statement and positively denied
all knowledge of the bundle or its contents.
Several members of an organized body of counterfeiters
had been captured, but these men did
not manufacture their dies, and the Secret Service
agents had traced the latter to Fairfield.
.bn 111.png
// 111.png
.pn +1
“Both father and Driggs were held for trial
in heavy bonds. Neither of them was able to
find bondsmen, and so they went to jail. There
were those in Hilton who fancied Driggs might
be innocent, but everybody seemed to believe my
father guilty. It was the talk of the town how
he had shut himself in his garret day after day
in a most suspicious manner and had often boasted
that some day he would ’make a lot of money.’
“At the regular trial I was a witness. I told
how Driggs had come to our house in the night,
and I repeated the few words I had heard him
say. The prosecutor did his best to confuse me,
and when he failed he sarcastically complimented
me on having learned my lesson well. You can’t
understand how I felt when I saw no one believed
me.
“Again Driggs denied everything, and he
had covered his tracks so well that it was impossible
to find him guilty; but my father was
convicted and sentenced to a long term in prison.
It was a heavy blow to my poor mother, and
she never recovered from it.
.bn 112.png
// 112.png
.pn +1
“I now found myself an outcast in every sense
of the word, despised and shunned by all the boys
who knew me. Under such conditions I could
not attend school, and I tried to do what I could
to help my mother support the family; but no
one seemed willing to give me work, and we had
a pretty hard time of it.
“The worst was to come. Two months after
being sent to prison my father attempted to escape
and was shot and killed. Mother was prostrated,
and I thought she would surely die then;
but she finally rallied, although she carried a
constant pain in her heart, as if the bullet that
slew my father had lodged in her breast.”
Once more the narrator paused, swallowing
down a lump that had risen into his throat. He
was a strong lad and one not given to betraying
emotion, but the remembrance of what his unfortunate
mother had suffered choked him temporarily.
When he again took up his story he
spoke more hurriedly, as if anxious to finish and
have it over.
.bn 113.png
// 113.png
.pn +1
“It isn’t necessary to tell all the unpleasant
things that happened after that, but we had a
hard time of it, Eliot, and you can understand
why it was that I just almost hated nearly everybody.
But most I came to hate Bern Hayden,
who was a leader among the village boys, and
who never lost a chance to taunt and deride me
and call me the son of a jail-bird. I don’t know
how I kept my hands off him as long as I did.
I often thought I could kill him with a will.
“My little brother could get around amazingly
well, even though he was blind, and he had a
way of carrying father’s old fiddle with him
into a grove not far from our house. One day
I came home and found him crying himself sick
over the fiddle, which had been smashed and
ruined. He told me Bern Hayden had smashed
the instrument.
“That night Hayden visited another boy, with
whom he was very chummy. This other boy
lived some distance outside the village, and I lay
in wait for Hayden and stopped him as he was
crossing lots on his way home. It was just getting
dark, and the spot was lonely. It was light
.bn 114.png
// 114.png
.pn +1
enough, just the same, for him to see my face,
and I knew from his actions that he was frightened.
I told him I was going to give him such
a thumping that he’d remember it as long as he
lived. He threatened me, but that didn’t stop me
a bit, and I went for him.
“Hayden wasn’t such a slouch of a fighter,
but he couldn’t hold his own with me, for I was
bursting with rage. I got him down and was
punishing him pretty bad when somehow he managed
to get out his pocket knife and open it. He
struck at me with the knife, and this is the result.”
Roger gave a cry as Ben again lifted a hand
to his mutilated ear.
“He cut part of your ear off?” gasped Eliot.
Ben nodded. “Then I seemed to lose my reason
entirely. I choked him until he was pretty
nearly finished. As he lay limp and half dead
on the ground, I stripped off his coat and vest
and literally tore his shirt from his body. I
placed him in a sitting posture on the ground,
with his arms locked about the butt of a small
tree, and tied his wrists together. With his own
.bn 115.png
// 115.png
.pn +1
knife with which he had marked me for life, I
cut a tough switch from a bush, and with that I
gave it to him on his bare back until his screams
brought two men, who seized and stopped me. I
was so furious that I had not heard their approach.
I was all covered with blood from my
ear, and I sort of gave out all at once when the
men grabbed me.
“I tell you, that affair kicked up some excitement
in Hilton. My ear was cared for, but even
while he dressed the wound the doctor told me
that Lemuel Hayden would surely send me to the
reform school. My mother fainted when she
heard what had happened.
“I believe they would have sent me to the reform
school right away had I not been taken
violently ill the following day. Jerry told me
that Bern Hayden was also in bed. I was just
getting up when mother fell ill herself, and in
three days she died. I think she died of a broken
heart. Poor mother! Her whole life was one of
hardships and disappointments.
.bn 116.png
// 116.png
.pn +1
“Uncle Asher, mother’s brother, arrived the
day after mother died. He took charge of the
funeral, but almost as soon as he stepped off the
train in Hilton he heard what a bad boy I was,
and he looked on me with disfavor.
“After the funeral Jerry came to me in the
greatest excitement and told me he had heard
Lemuel Hayden and Uncle Asher talking, and
uncle had agreed that I should be sent to the Reformatory,
as Mr. Hayden wished. Uncle said
he would look out for Jerry, but I was to be carried
off the next morning.
“That night I ran away. I whispered good-by
to Jerry and stole out of the house, with only a
little bundle of clothing and less than a dollar
in money. I managed to get away all right, for
I don’t believe any one tried very hard to catch
me. I fancy the people of Hilton thought it a
good riddance.
“For a long time I was afraid of being taken.
I found work in several places, but kept changing
and moving until Jacob Baldwin took me to
work for him. Both Mr. and Mrs. Baldwin
have been awfully good to me, and sometime, if
I ever can, I’m going to pay them back for it.
They encouraged me to save money to come here
to school. I came and found the Haydens here,
and now that’s all over.
.bn 117.png
// 117.png
.pn +1
“I’ve told you the whole yarn, Eliot; I haven’t
tried to hide anything or excuse myself. I know
I was to blame, but you might have done something
yourself if you had been goaded and tormented
and derided as I was. Then to have
Hayden do such a mean thing as to smash my
brother’s fiddle!
“You’re the first person I’ve ever told the
whole story to, and I suppose, now that you
know just the sort of fellow I am, you’ll agree
with Hayden that I’m no fit associate for other
boys at the academy.”
.bn 118.png
// 118.png
.pn +1
.pm chap 11 XI. "ON THE THRESHOLD."
“On the contrary,” declared Roger earnestly,
as he once more rose from his chair, “I hold quite
a different opinion of you, Stone. You have
had a tough time of it, and any fellow in your
place with an ounce of real blood in his body
might have done just what you did. Every chap
is human, and if you had submitted to insults and
injury without resentment you would have been
a soft mark. Hayden marked you for life, and
he might have killed you when he struck with
that knife; in return you gave him just what he
deserved. There is nothing in the world I despise
more than a fighter who is a bully, and
nothing I admire more than a fighter who fights
for his rights. I don’t believe there is the least
atom of a bully about you, Stone. Put me in
your place and I might have gone farther than
you did.”
.bn 119.png
// 119.png
.pn +1
“Thank you, Eliot—thank you!” exclaimed
Ben huskily, as he also rose. “But I have learned
by experience that any fellow can’t afford to try
squaring up scores with an enemy by fighting or
any sort of personal violence; I’ve found out he
only injures himself the most, and I believe there
must be other and better ways of getting even.”
“Perhaps that’s right, too,” nodded Roger;
“but I am satisfied that it is your natural impulse
to protect the weak and defend them from the
strong and brutal. You do it without pausing
to think of possible consequences to yourself.
That’s why you defended Jimmy Jones from
Hunk Rollins, who, by the way, is a duffer for
whom I have no particular use. That is why you
faced the fangs of old Fletcher’s fierce dogs to
save my sister. Stone, I think you’re all right,
and I’m ready to tell anybody so.”
Again Ben expressed his thanks in a voice deep
with emotion.
“Now,” Roger went on, “I think we understand
each other better, and I am satisfied that
a chap of your grit and determination will be a
valuable addition to the Oakdale Eleven, for
.bn 120.png
// 120.png
.pn +1
there are some fellows on the team who lack sand
and can be well spared. Don’t talk to me about
leaving school!” he exclaimed, lifting a hand and
smiling in that manner which made him so attractive.
“That’s all nonsense! You’re not
going to leave school.”
“But—but I can’t stay,” faltered Stone. “I
don’t want to leave, but——”
“You shan’t; I’ll see to that. Prof. Richardson
shall know just why you sailed into Hunk Rollins,
I promise you. When he understands that
you were simply protecting a helpless cripple
from a bully who was tormenting him he’ll be
pretty sure to do you justice. He’ll find out how
you defended my sister, too. I tell you it’s all
right, old fellow, and you’ll stay right here at
school as long as you care to do so.”
A flush came to Ben’s freckled cheeks and his
eyes gleamed with growing eagerness.
“That’s fine of you, Eliot!” he exclaimed.
“Fine—nothing! Do you think that will be
anything compared with what you did for me?
I should say not! If I didn’t do that much I’d
be a poor flub.”
.bn 121.png
// 121.png
.pn +1
“Hayden—he will——”
“Don’t you worry about Hayden. This is not
Hilton, and it’s not likely Lemuel Hayden could
succeed in making much out of that old affair if
he tried. Besides, I fancy my father has about
as much influence in Oakdale as Lemuel Hayden
has. He has been here a great deal longer, and
the mill business of the place is decidedly more
important than the lime industry. I’ll guarantee
that father will stand by you like a brick, so, you
see, you have some friends of consequence.”
It was difficult for Ben to comprehend at once
that the thing which had menaced him and
threatened to drive him like a criminal from
Oakdale was no longer to be feared. From the
depths of despair he was thus lifted to the heights
of hope, but the sudden change seemed to bewilder
him.
Roger’s arm fell across his shoulders and
Roger went on talking to him quietly and convincingly,
making it plain that his proper course
was to return to school the following day exactly
as if nothing had happened.
.bn 122.png
// 122.png
.pn +1
“Leave it to me; leave it to me,” Roger persisted.
“I’ll guarantee to settle the whole matter
for you. Say you’ll let me take care of this affair,
old chap.”
“You—I—I——”
“Then it’s settled, is it?” cried the determined
boy. “You’ll be there to-morrow? That’s first
rate! Give me your hand on it.”
Ben found Roger shaking his hand, and he returned
the warm, friendly grip, a mist in his
eyes.
“I can’t hardly believe I’m lucky enough to
have such a friend,” half whispered the boy
whose starved heart had yearned all his life for
friendship and comradery. “It’s too good to be
true.”
“Perhaps I’m a bit selfish about it, too,” said
Eliot. “I have my eye on you for the eleven, as
we’re bound to do up Wyndham this year. You
ought to be a stiff man in the line. I want you
to come out for practice to-morrow night. We’ll
have our coach next week, and then we’ll have
to settle right down to business and get into trim.
He’ll make us toe the scratch.”
.bn 123.png
// 123.png
.pn +1
Later, on the way back to his bare room at
Mrs. Jones’, Ben wondered if he had not been
dreaming. It did not seem possible that such
good fortune could come to him at last, just
when, to all appearances, his hard luck had culminated
in blighting disaster.
As he thought of his visit to Roger Eliot’s
home, of his reception by Roger’s family, of that
dinner in the handsome dining room, and of
Roger’s earnest pledge on hearing his story to
stand by him and be his friend, a strange and
wonderful feeling of lightness and exuberant
happiness possessed him and made him long to
shout and sing. An inward voice seemed whispering
that he had left behind him all the dark
shadows, and now stood on the threshold of a
brighter and better life.
Still it was not wholly without a feeling of
dread and misgiving that he approached the
academy the following morning, and the fear that
somehow things might not go right after all left
his face pale, although his heart beat tumultuously,
as he came up the gravel walk.
.bn 124.png
// 124.png
.pn +1
As usual at such an hour on warm and pleasant
days while school was holding there was a
group of boys near the academy steps. Chipper
Cooper had just finished telling for the thirteenth
time that morning how Stone had defended Amy
Eliot and “knocked the stuffing out of Fletcher’s
dogs,” his every statement having been confirmed
by Chub Tuttle, who was making a sort of after-breakfast
lunch on peanuts.
Every boy in the gathering turned to look at
Ben as he drew near, and had he observed he
must have seen there was nothing of unfriendliness
in their faces. When he would have passed
them to enter the academy Chipper called to him.
“Hey, Stone!” he cried; “hold on a minute,
will you? Where did you hit Old Tige’s big dog
when you knocked him stiff? We fellows have
been wondering how you did it.”
“I hit him on the back of his neck,” answered
Ben, pausing a bit.
“Well, that was a dandy trick!” declared
Cooper. “You ought to have a reward of merit
for that.”
Chub Tuttle approached Ben and held out a
handful of peanuts.
.bn 125.png
// 125.png
.pn +1
“Have some,” he urged, his round face beaming.
“Fresh roasted. Got ’em at Stickney’s
store.”
“Thank you,” said Ben, feeling his face flush
as he accepted two or three of them.
At that moment Roger Eliot came from within
the building, saw Ben and seized him immediately,
saying:
“Just the fellow I’m looking for! Prof. Richardson
wants to see you before school begins.
Come in.”
Then, with his arm about Ben, he drew him
into the academy.
“By Jinks!” exclaimed Sile Crane; “I guess
that pretty nigh settles things. When Roger
Eliot takes up with a feller like that, Bern Hayden
nor nobody else ain’t goin’ to down him
much.”
“’Sh!” hissed Sleuth Piper, assuming an air
of caution and mystery. “I have been piping
things off this morning, and I’ll stake my reputation
on it that Eliot has been fixing it for
Stone. He has revealed to the professor the
whole tragic tale of that encounter with Fletcher’s
dogs, and, besides that, the professor has
.bn 126.png
// 126.png
.pn +1
been questioning some of the fellows who were
on the scene of action when the go between Stone
and Rollins took place. My deduction is that
Stone will come out of this affair with flying
colors.”
“You’re almost too knowing to live, Sleuth,”
said Cooper sarcastically. “As for me, I rather
hope Stone does come out all right, for if he stays
in the school he may play football, and I reckon
a stocky chap like him will just about fill an aching
void in the right wing of the line.”
“An aching void!” sneered Piper, who had not
relished Cooper’s words or manner. “Will you
be good enough, Mr. Smarty, to tell us how a
void can ache?”
“Why, sure,” grinned Chipper promptly.
“You have a headache sometimes, don’t you?”
“Smarty! smarty!” cried Sleuth, as he fled
into the academy to escape from the laughter of
the boys.
.bn 127.png
// 127.png
.pn +1
.pm chap 12 XII. "THE SKIES BRIGHTEN."
Having opened school that morning in the
usual manner, Prof. Richardson rose beside his
desk, on which he tapped lightly with his knuckles,
and surveyed the scholars over his spectacles,
which seemed to cling precariously to the tip
of his thin, aquiline nose. There was a slight
bustle of expectancy all over the room, and then
the scholars settled themselves down almost
breathlessly to hear what the principal would say.
Having cleared his throat, Prof. Richardson
began speaking slowly and distinctly, as if weighing
every word. He did not look at first in the
direction of Stone, who sat there flushed and
chilled by turns, keeping his eyes on an open book
which lay before him. There was sternness as
he expressed his sentiments regarding the person
.bn 128.png
// 128.png
.pn +1
with a bullying inclination who took pleasure in
abusing those physically weaker than himself;
and, although Sam Rollins’ name was not mentioned,
every one knew at whom those open remarks
were directed.
Hunk knew, and in an effort to appear unconcerned
and a trifle defiant he was openly
brazen. Soon, however, his eyes drooped before
the accusing gaze of the old professor.
The principal continued by commending with
some warmth the individual whose impulses led
him, regardless of personal danger or the chance
of being misunderstood, to stand up in defense
of one who was being mistreated and abused.
He went on to say that such a thing had occurred
upon the previous afternoon, and that
through undue haste on his own part, which he
now regretted, he had been led to misunderstand
the situation and condemn the wrong person. He
even displayed his own moral courage by offering
an apology.
Ben Stone’s cheeks were burning now, and
his heart pounded so heavily that he fancied
every one near him must hear it. He did not
move as his grinning little seatmate reached over
slyly to pinch him, whispering:
.bn 129.png
// 129.png
.pn +1
“That’s for you, old feller.”
Prof. Richardson was still speaking, and now
he was telling of the remarkable heroism of a
lad who had rushed to the defense of a little girl
beset by two huge and vicious dogs. The principal’s
words were simple and straightforward; he
made no effort at eloquence, and yet his language
was singularly graphic and effective. He made
them shiver at the picture he drew of little Amy
Eliot besieged by Tige Fletcher’s ugly pets. He
caused them to see in imagination the dauntless
defender of the child rushing to the spot and
beating the brutes off.
“It was a very fine thing to do,” said the professor,
who was at last looking straight at the
lad whose eyes remained fixed upon that open
book. “It was something not a few men might
have hesitated about doing, or, at least, might
have done in fear and trepidation. It is really
marvelous that the heroic lad escaped untouched
by the fangs of those snarling beasts. By this
deed he established beyond question the fact that
.bn 130.png
// 130.png
.pn +1
he is a boy of fine courage, possessing the instincts
which lead him unhesitatingly to face
gravest peril in defense of those who are unable
to defend themselves. I have certainly learned
a great deal concerning this lad, who apparently
has been much misunderstood in the past, and I
am proud of the fact that he is a student in this
school. I am speaking of Benjamin Stone.”
A sudden hand-clapping broke out all over the
room, and the professor did not check them nor
reprove them for it.
There was, however, at least one who did not
join in the burst of applause. Bernard Hayden’s
face was pale and cold, but in his bosom there
was a raging fire of wrath and resentment.
Ben was overcome. His head bent lower, and
he blinked his eyelids rapidly to scatter the blurring
mist which threatened to blind him. His
effort to smile simply contorted his plain face a
trifle, and there was nothing noble or heroic in
the picture he made.
“Gee!” whispered Ben’s seatmate. “I never
knew the old Prof. to get so enthusiastic before.”
.bn 131.png
// 131.png
.pn +1
As the regular routine of the day was taken
up, Ben still sat there without daring to look
around. He did not know when Bern Hayden,
complaining of illness, asked permission to go
home. Like one in a trance, he tried to study,
and finally succeeded in forcing his attention
upon his lessons. It truly seemed that the last
shadow had been dispelled.
At intermission the boys came flocking around
him, and some of the girls smiled upon him in a
friendly manner. They found, however, that he
disliked to talk of his exciting encounter with
Fletcher’s dogs.
“The town fathers orter present you with a
medal for killin’ old Tige’s big cur,” said Sile
Crane.
“It may not oc-cur to them to do it,” chuckled
Chipper Cooper.
“Permit me,” grinned Chub Tuttle, “as a token
of my high appreciation and gratitude, to present
you with a genuine fresh roasted, double-jointed
California peanut.”
Even Spotty Davis hung around and sought to
be familiar and friendly. Seizing Davis by the
.bn 132.png
// 132.png
.pn +1
elbow, Sleuth Piper drew him aside and whispered
mysteriously behind his hand:
“Listen to the deduction into which I have
been led by the present surprising turn of affairs,”
pleaded Sleuth. “Take it from me that
this man Stone will become a member of the
great Oakdale eleven, which will be much
strengthened by his marvelous prowess and undaunted
courage.”
“Mebbe so,” nodded Spotty; “but it ain’t going
to set well in Bern Hayden’s crop.”
Walker, Ben’s seatmate, who had once felt it
a sore affliction to be placed beside him, now
hovered near, seeking to enjoy a little irradiated
glory.
It was all very strange and unusual for Stone,
and in spite of his pleasure in it his natural
shyness continued to make him appear distant and
somewhat sullen.
When midday intermission arrived Ben hastened
to leave the academy, rushing away before
any of the boys could join him. That day his
cold lunch tasted sweet indeed, and his little bare
room looked strangely attractive and homelike.
.bn 133.png
// 133.png
.pn +1
He returned late to the academy, arriving
barely in time to escape being tardy. All the
afternoon he studied hard, and in his recitations
he was well prepared.
School over for the day, he was not given time
to get away before the others, Eliot capturing
him on the steps.
“Come on over to the gym, old fellow,” urged
Roger. “This time you’re going to practice. I
know the place for you in the line.”
“Come on, come on,” called several others;
“we must get at it early to-night.”
Hayden was not with them; he had not returned
to the academy since leaving on the plea
of illness.
Again in the dressing room, Ben was supplied
with football togs from Eliot’s locker. He dressed
silently, listening to the chatter of the boys
around him. They were all talking football now.
“I wonder where Bern is?” said Berlin Barker.
“I should think he would want to get out with us
to-night.”
“He was taken suddenly ill,” grinned Chipper
Cooper. “Wonder if he has had a doctor?”
.bn 134.png
// 134.png
.pn +1
Stone felt a chill at the mention of his enemy’s
name. He was congratulating himself over
Hayden’s absence when something like a shadow
seemed to come over him, and he looked up quickly
to discover the fellow in the open doorway.
“Eliot,” called Bern, stepping into the room,
“I want a few private words with you.”
.bn 135.png
// 135.png
.pn +1
.pm chap 13 XIII. "HAYDEN’S DEMAND."
As he passed, the fellow cast a single malignant
glance of hatred in Stone’s direction.
Through the door which opened into the big, long
main room of the gymnasium he strode, grimly
inviting Eliot to follow him.
“Gee!” sibilated Sleuth Piper. “I scent trouble.
Bern is mounted on his high horse.”
“Some folks who ride high hosses git a fall,”
drawled Sile Crane, making a wry face as he
pushed his left foot into a cleated shoe. “Drat
that corn! If it don’t stop botherin’ me purty
soon, I’ll whittle the whole toe off.”
After hesitating a moment, Roger Eliot slowly
followed Hayden, who had paused with an air of
impatience to wait for him in the big room.
Through the open doorway Ben saw them standing
close together, Hayden beginning to speak
in low tones in a manner of mingled demand and
threat.
.bn 136.png
// 136.png
.pn +1
“Look here, Eliot,” said Bern, “I want to know
what you mean to do. I want an immediate understanding.”
“What is it, Bern?” asked Roger. “What are
you talking about?”
“About that son of a stripe wearer, Stone.
Are you going to attempt to ram him down my
throat?”
“Not at all. If you fancy you have any just
reason for not wishing to be friendly with Stone,
that’s your business, and I’m not going to dip
into the affair.”
“Fancy!” grated Hayden resentfully. “There’s
no fancy about it. Friendly with him—friendly
with such a low-bred, worthless cur? To suggest
friendship between us is an insult to me.”
“I have no wish to insult you, old fellow.
Doubtless you believe you have honest reasons
for your dislike toward Stone. Nevertheless, it’s
a fact that many persons hate others from no just
cause.”
.bn 137.png
// 137.png
.pn +1
“You’re insinuating that I’m unjust and dishonest
in this matter. Doubtless Stone has told
you a clever lie, and now simply because he defended
your sister when she was attacked by
Fletcher’s dogs you’re ready to take sides with
him against me.”
“I don’t propose to take sides at all unless compelled
to do so.”
“You’ve done so already.”
“How?”
“By going to Prof. Richardson and interceding
in Stone’s behalf. You can’t deny that. You
certainly did it.”
“Will you wait until I attempt to deny anything?”
requested Roger coldly. “I did go to the
professor and tell him a few plain facts which I
happened to know.”
“Facts!” sneered Bern. “Lies which Stone had
poured into your ears. It’s remarkable that you
should take the word of a creature like that instead
of mine.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,
Hayden. I spoke to the professor about the encounter
between Rollins and Stone, and likewise
told him of Stone’s heroic defense of Amy. Prof.
.bn 138.png
// 138.png
.pn +1
Richardson believed Ben had attacked Hunk
without reasonable provocation; he was not
aware that the affair had been brought about by
Rollins’ bullying abuse of little Jimmy Jones. I
was not the only one who gave him the straightforward
facts; an eye-witness of the whole thing
had spoken to him about it before I mentioned it.
Naturally, I am grateful toward Stone; I’d be a
fine fellow if I wasn’t.”
“He’s a cheap dog, and all your efforts to
patch him up and make him appear decent won’t
succeed; his real nature can’t help coming to the
surface. Why, it’s only necessary for one to take
a look at him to size him up. What has he told
you about me?”
“I prefer not to speak of any private conversation
that may have taken place between Stone
and myself.”
“Oh, then he has told you a mess of stuff. I
knew it. If you wish to know what people think
of Stone in Hilton, I’ll furnish evidence enough.
His father was convicted of counterfeiting, sent
to prison, and——”
.bn 139.png
// 139.png
.pn +1
“Do you believe that the errors of a parent
should blight the life of his son?”
“‘Like father, like son,’ is an old saying, Eliot.
Water won’t run up hill. But Stone’s own record
is enough to ban him from decent company. His
own uncle admitted that he ought to be sent to
the reform school, and he would have been if he
hadn’t run away. The people of Hilton regard it
as a good riddance, too.”
“It’s hard for a fellow when his own relatives
turn against him.”
“It’s plain where your sympathies lie!” exclaimed
Hayden resentfully. “You’re ready and
willing to take up for this fellow against me.
You’ve brought him here to make him a member
of the eleven. Go ahead, but let me repeat that
I’ll never disgrace myself by playing on the same
team with him.”
“Do you think that’s the proper spirit, Hayden?
You know the team is decidedly weak in
several spots. We’re particularly anxious to beat
Wyndham this year, and in order to do so we’ve
got to put our strongest team into the field. A
fellow who is loyal to his school and his team
.bn 140.png
// 140.png
.pn +1
puts aside personal prejudices and is ready for
almost any sacrifice. If Stone becomes a member
of the eleven you don’t have to accept him
as a friend, and it’s not necessary that you should
associate with him off the field. You’re unreasonably
angry now, Bern, but if you’ll take time
to cool off and think it over, I’m confident you’ll
perceive the mistake you’re disposed to make.”
Hayden lifted his clenched fist in a passionate
gesture. “I tell you, Eliot, you can’t ram him
down my throat. You ought to know whether
or not I’m of especial value to the team. If I
was willing to try, I couldn’t play upon it and do
myself justice with that fellow a member. You’ll
have to choose between us.”
“I don’t wish to do anything of the sort. I’m
captain of the team, and, even though I disliked
Stone as bitterly as you do, I’d accept him as a
member if I knew he would strengthen our
forces.”
“Yes, you’re captain of the team,” sneered
Bern, “and you’re trying to work for your own
advantage; but let me inform you that if you persist
in this course it will be to your decided disadvantage.
.bn 141.png
// 141.png
.pn +1
You’ll find I’m not the only one who
can’t swallow Stone. If you want harmony on
the team—and that’s rather important—just send
him scooting. He can’t play football, anyhow.
He’s a big, lumbering, dull-witted creature who
will be an incumbrance.”
“I can’t see how we can tell about that until
he has been tried out.”
Again the indignant lad made that passionate
gesture with his clenched fist. “Try him out
then!” he snarled. “Have your own way and
see what comes of it, but you’ll be sorry for your
obstinacy.” With which he stepped past Roger
and walked swiftly back through the dressing
room, his dark face pale with pent-up exasperation.
“I say, Bern,” called Berlin Barker, “where
are you going? Aren’t you going to stay for
practice?”
“Not to-night,” Hayden flung over his shoulder,
“nor any other night until Eliot comes to his
senses.”
.bn 142.png
// 142.png
.pn +1
.pm chap 14 XIV. "THE BONE OF CONTENTION."
For a few moments the boys looked at one another
in silence, their faces expressive of dismay.
To a fellow, they understood what it meant, and
presently some of them glanced toward Ben
Stone. He likewise knew, and, rising, he stepped
forward to meet the captain of the eleven.
“Eliot,” he said in a low tone, “I think I’d
better get out. I’m making a lot of trouble.”
Before them all Roger placed a hand on Ben’s
shoulder. “Stone,” he retorted, “the trouble is
not of your making. I invited you to come out
for practice, and I hope you won’t go back on
me now.”
As long as he put it that way, it was impossible
for Ben to quit.
.bn 143.png
// 143.png
.pn +1
Minus Hayden, the boys repaired to the field.
They lacked their usual exuberance, however,
and Ben detected some of them speaking together
in low tones. In spite of everything, he felt
that he was an intruder, and his self-consciousness
made him particularly awkward and slow
about the work he was given to perform. He
fumbled punts, he fell on the ball in wretched
form, and there seemed to be leaden weights in
his shoes. Occasionally he detected some of the
boys watching him in anything but a manner of
approval.
Finally Eliot made up the team, filling Hayden’s
place in the backfield with a substitute and
placing Stone at left guard.
“You’re good and solid,” smiled Roger, “and
when you wake up you ought to strengthen this
wing of the line. Remember to start low and
quick at the signal.”
But although the signals, which were very
simple, had been fully explained to Ben, he could
not grasp them quickly, and he was more or less
confused when the time came to act. Roger,
however, seemed to consider this very natural,
and laughed at him in a good humored way.
.bn 144.png
// 144.png
.pn +1
“You’ll get onto it all right in time,” declared
the captain. “Perhaps this code of signals won’t
be used at all after we get our coach. I’m just
trying the fellows out to get them used to the
formations.”
“My deduction is—” began Piper; but no
one listened to him.
Practice over, Ben returned to the gymnasium
to change his clothes, feeling far from pleased
with himself. His discomfiture was increased
when he heard Berlin Barker telling some of the
boys that he considered it a great misfortune that
Hayden should become huffed and leave the team.
“I don’t know how we’re going to get along
without him in the backfield,” said Barker. “He’s
fast, and he knows the game right down to the
ground. His place can’t be filled.”
“Oh, he’ll get over it,” prophesied Cooper
cheerfully. “He will come round in a day or
two.”
“You don’t know him,” returned Berlin. “He’ll
never change his mind.”
Ben sat alone in his room, thinking it all over.
He felt that Barker was right in believing that
as long as he remained on the team Bern Hayden
.bn 145.png
// 145.png
.pn +1
would not return to it. That Hayden was
a good player and a valuable man he had no
doubt. What did it matter whether he himself
played football or not? True, he would have
enjoyed doing so, but, to a certain extent, he had
triumphed over the fellow who had tried to drive
him out of school, and might it not be best if
that satisfied him? Discord on the team was a
serious misfortune, and only for Eliot’s persistence
he would have taken himself away already.
“Roger is a fine fellow,” he whispered. “He’s
a friend worth having. Still, in order to show
his friendliness toward me, he should not produce
disruption on the eleven. For the good of
the school I must withdraw.”
He went out for a walk in the open air. Passing
the post office, he saw in the light which shone
from the open door Berlin Barker and Bernard
Hayden talking together.
“Barker stands by Hayden,” he muttered,
“and I suppose there are others.”
He did not sleep well that night; he was disturbed
by dreams, in which he lived over again
that desperate struggle with his malignant enemy—the
struggle that had brought upon him the
great trouble of his life.
.bn 146.png
// 146.png
.pn +1
Saturday morning Ben sought Roger Eliot at
the latter’s home and was given a hearty welcome.
Roger invited him in, but the visitor preferred
not to enter, and they went into the garage,
where Urian Eliot kept his big touring car.
“She’s a beaut, Ben,” said Roger, admiring
the polished, glittering automobile; “but father
is queer and won’t let me drive it. He had to
discharge our chauffeur; the man drank. It’s a
shame for the car to be hung up just now, with
the roads in elegant condition. I can drive a car
as well as any one, but I have to consider my
father’s whims. If we get hold of another chauffeur
before the season is over, I’ll take you out
for a ride that you’ll enjoy.”
Ben flushed; there was no halfway business
about Roger, who had taken his stand and was
ready to let every one know that he regarded
Stone as a worthy friend. Ben had never set
foot in an automobile, and the promise of a ride
in Mr. Eliot’s fine car gave him a thrill.
.bn 147.png
// 147.png
.pn +1
“Thank you,” he said; “I know I shall enjoy
it.”
He found it difficult to introduce the topic
which had led him there, but presently he succeeded,
and Roger listened calmly to his argument.
“Stone,” said the captain of the eleven, “you’re
not looking at this matter from the proper angle.
I’ve told Hayden what I think of a fellow who
would allow personal prejudice to lead him into
deserting his team. Hayden wants to be captain
next year, and he will be if he stands by the
team. Otherwise, some one else will be elected.
He’ll think this over when he cools down, and I
prophesy that he will come back. It would be
a mistake for you to quit now, for it would
weaken my authority. Why, Hayden would be
the man who was running the team, not I. I
want you out for practice this afternoon. By
Monday, perhaps, Bern will come to his senses.”
Roger was indeed a grim and determined fellow,
and Ben was finally compelled to yield to his
judgment.
.bn 148.png
// 148.png
.pn +1
That afternoon, however, Barker, as well as
Hayden, failed to come out for practice. This
made it necessary to use two substitute half-backs,
in neither of whom the boys had any confidence
whatever. On the whole the practice was
of the most unsatisfactory sort, and, if possible,
Stone appeared at greater disadvantage than
ever, something caused almost wholly by his
knowledge that he was a “bone of contention”
and his firm belief that the majority of the boys
were greatly displeased by the trouble he had
caused.
On his way home he was in a downcast mood
when Spotty Davis overtook him. Spotty had
suddenly betrayed an unwelcome inclination to
extreme friendliness.
“Oh, cheer up,” he said. “You ain’t to blame.
Of course Hayden’s pretty sore, but Roger is
bound to have his way, and he won’t give in to
anybody.”
“That’s it,” said Ben; “I feel like an intruder.
I feel that I’m doing positive harm to the team.
Why didn’t Barker come out?”
.bn 149.png
// 149.png
.pn +1
“Oh, he’s one of Bern’s friends, and I guess
he’s going to stand by him. It will be pretty
hard luck to lose ’em both. I dunno how Roger’s
ever going to fill their places.”
“I’m breaking up the team,” muttered Ben.
“I’d like to play football, but——”
“Most of the fellers don’t seem to think you’d
ever be much of a player,” grinned Spotty frankly.
“Now if we was going to lose Bern and you
could fill his place, it would be different. Anyhow,
mebbe Hayden and Barker will come back
when the coach gets here. Roger says he’s going
to wire for him to-night. He’s got enough
money pledged.”
“It will give me no more pleasure than it will
Hayden to play on the same team,” declared Ben;
“but I’d be willing to do anything for the good
of the school. That’s why I thought I hadn’t
better play. I’m not anxious to make trouble.”
“Bern says you’ve always been a trouble maker.
Oh, he’s got it in for you, all right. But you’ve
won a lap on him, the best he can do. It’s bitter
medicine for him to swaller. He tried to down
you, and he’d done it, all right, if you hadn’t put
yourself on top by defending Amy Eliot. That
was lucky for you. Urian Eliot has got about as
.bn 150.png
// 150.png
.pn +1
much pull as anybody ’round these parts. You
just better let things simmer along, and they’ll
come out all right.”
Nevertheless, Spotty’s words added to Stone’s
disquietude of mind, for he also believed that the
loss of Hayden from the team—to say nothing of
Barker—could not be compensated for.
Sunday passed quietly. Not having a suit of
clothes to satisfy him, Ben did not attend church.
He spent much of the day with Jimmy, and was
invited to supper by Mrs. Jones, who had heard
all about his bravery and persisted in talking of
it. Mamie, however, snubbed him mercilessly.
When Roger appeared at school on Monday
morning he informed the boys that he had heard
from Winton, who would arrive early enough in
the afternoon to begin the work of coaching that
day. He even took particular pains to tell
Hayden.
“I’m not at all interested in your team, Eliot,”
said Bern repellently.
.bn 151.png
// 151.png
.pn +1
“My team,” cried Roger—“mine? Why, you
ought to be as much interested in it as I am. I
took you for a fellow who would be loyal
and——”
Hayden cut him short. “I don’t want to hear
any more of that talk from you. You’ll find me
loyal enough to the team when you do what I ask
of you. If you don’t do it, I doubt if you’ll have
any team in another week.”
That night in addition to Hayden and Barker
there were two other deserters, Rollins and Sage.
Eliot was compelled to explain the situation to
the coach. Winton listened and asked a few
questions. In the end he advised Roger to drop
Ben Stone.
.bn 152.png
// 152.png
.pn +1
.pm chap 15 XV. "THE FELLOW WHO WOULDN’T YIELD."
Through the mail that night Roger received a
letter from Jack Merwin, captain and manager
of the Clearport eleven, which he read ere leaving
the post office. The letter was as follows:
.sp 2
.nf l
“Mr. Roger Eliot,
”Capt. Oakdale Academy Football Team,
“Dear Sir:—
“Replying to yours of the 13th regarding the
scheduling of one or more games between Oakdale
and Clearport, would say that we have an
open date on next Saturday, the 29th, and will
play you here in Clearport if you care to come.
After the usual custom, we will, of course, defray
the expenses of the visiting team. I trust
you will inform me without delay whether or
not this proposal is acceptable to you.
“Yours truly,
“John Merwin, Capt. Clearport Eleven.”
.nf-
.sp 2
With the letter still in his hand, Roger met
Sam Rollins on the postoffice steps. Hunk would
have hurried on into the building, but Eliot
stopped him.
.bn 153.png
// 153.png
.pn +1
“Look here, Rollins,” he questioned. “I want
to know why you failed to come out for practice
to-day?”
Hunk shrugged his thick shoulders. “Why, I
had some work to do,” he faltered.
“Did you, indeed? How long since you have
become ambitious to work? You know, according
to your reputation, you never lift a hand to
do any labor if you can avoid it.”
“Ho!” grunted Rollins. “That’s all right.
Sometimes a feller has to do some things.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t coming
out to the field? You should have given me notice,
and you could have done so without any
trouble at all.”
“I didn’t think of it,” lied Hunk.
“You know better than that, Rollins. At any
rate, you should have thought of it. You were
told that our new coach would be on hand, and
you knew well enough that I wanted every man
out at the field.”
.bn 154.png
// 154.png
.pn +1
“Was I the only one who didn’t come?” asked
the fellow, with a leer.
The grim expression of Roger’s face did not
change in the least. “I’m talking to you about
what you did, and not speaking of the acts of
any one else. I shall say what I have to say directly
to them, as I do to you.”
“Well, what are you going to do about it if I
don’t come out?” was Hunk’s insolent question.
“I’ll tell you what I’m going to do, Rollins,
and you’d better pay close attention. You’re not
such a valuable man to the team that any one
would think of chasing you up and coaxing you.
Your place can be filled, and it will be filled if
you play any more such tricks.”
“Oh, perhaps you can fill the places of some
other fellers.”
“Perhaps so; but, as I just remarked, I’m telling
you what will happen in your individual case.
If you want to play on the academy eleven, you’ll
come out for practice regularly, or you’ll give a
good and sufficient excuse in case you can’t appear—and
give it in advance, too. If you’re not
at the field to-morrow afternoon when practice
begins you’ll be dropped for good.”
.bn 155.png
// 155.png
.pn +1
“Say, you’re a regular autocrat, ain’t ye?
You’re going to try to run things your way with
an iron hand, ain’t ye? Mebbe you’ll find
out——”
“That’s enough. You’ve heard all I have to
say. Think it over. If you don’t come out to-morrow
night it won’t be any great loss to the
team.” With which Eliot left Rollins there on
the steps, muttering and growling beneath his
breath.
At the very next corner Roger saw a fellow
who had been coming toward him cross over suddenly
to the opposite side of the street, which
was darker. He recognized the figure and movements
of Fred Sage, the quarter back, who had
likewise absented himself without excuse or explanation
of any sort.
“Sage,” he called sharply, “I’m looking for
you.”
The fellow paused, and then slowly recrossed
the street toward the determined captain of the
eleven.
.bn 156.png
// 156.png
.pn +1
“That you, Roger?” he asked in pretended
surprise. “I didn’t recognize you.”
Eliot despised him for the prevarication and
was tempted to give him the same advice about
lying that he had given Rollins. Instead of that,
however, he asked:
“Have you decided not to play football this
season?”
“Why—why, no,” stammered Fred. “How’d
you get that idea?”
“You weren’t at the field this afternoon, and
I told you our coach would be there, for which
reason I desired every man to be on hand. You
are filling an important position on the team.
Of course we have a substitute who can take
your place if you are injured in a game, but that
will make it necessary to shift the line-up. If
you have any thought of quitting, I want to know
it now.”
Sage shifted his weight from one foot to the
other and twisted his heel into the ground. Twice
he started to speak; twice he stopped; then he
suddenly blurted:
.bn 157.png
// 157.png
.pn +1
“You’ll have trouble finding substitutes for all
the fellows who didn’t come out to-day.”
“So that’s it,” said Roger. “I’m glad you
didn’t make the same excuse as Hunk Rollins—didn’t
claim you had work to do. Sage, the academy
football team will not be broken up by the
underhand work of any one, nor do I propose to
knuckle to the man who is seeking by such contemptible
methods to force my hand. Don’t pretend
that you don’t know what I mean, for you
do. If I yielded in this case, any fellow who had
a grudge against another chap might try the
same picayunish, selfish, discipline-wrecking trick.
A chap who is so unpatriotic that he will quit his
team because he had a personal grudge against
some fellow on it is of no real value to the team
anyhow; and when he seeks to lead others to follow
his example he’s worse than a traitor. You
have lived in Oakdale long enough to know that
I have influence and a following, and I’ll tell you
now that I’m not going to be whipped into line
by the fellow who is trying to force me to yield
to him. No matter how much the team is weakened
by deserters, it will go ahead and play football—it
.bn 158.png
// 158.png
.pn +1
will do so even if we don’t win a game
this season. I would like to see you at the field
for practice to-morrow afternoon, but you’ll not
be asked again to come out. Good night.”
Sage stood there looking after Eliot as the latter’s
sturdy figure melted into the darkness.
“By Jove!” he muttered. “Roger means it, and
when he makes up his mind in that fashion nothing
in the world can change him. He has all of
old Urian Eliot’s stubbornness. Bern never can
make him bend.”
Eliot contemplated seeking Berlin Barker next,
but suddenly he decided to go straight to Hayden
himself. He arrived at the latter’s home just as
Bern was bidding Barker good night. Berlin
looked a trifle startled as the captain of the eleven
appeared, but into Hayden’s eyes there sprang a
light of satisfaction; for he fancied Eliot had
come to temporize, possibly to plead.
“Good evening. Glad to see you, old fellow,”
he said with pretended friendliness. “Berlin and
I have just been having a little chat. Won’t you
come up to my room?”
“Yes,” said Roger.
.bn 159.png
// 159.png
.pn +1
Once in Hayden’s room, the visitor did not beat
about the bush in the least. He declined to sit
down. Facing the dark-eyed youth, who regarded
him expectantly, he spoke deliberately and
with a grimness that gave assurance of his unalterable
resolution.
“Hayden, I can’t find words to express my
contempt of the methods to which you have resorted.
I’ve something to say to you, and I hope
you’ll not interrupt me. You have succeeded in
leading your friends and certain weak-kneed fellows
to follow your lead in failing to come out
for practice. There are four of you, all told. I
doubt if there’s another fellow in Oakdale who
can be induced to do such a thing, and I’m sure
there can’t be more than one or two. I’m not
asking anything of you; play your cards to the
limit. However, I’m going to tell you precisely
what will happen. When you have won all the
followers possible, there will still be enough fellows
left to make up a team, and that team will go
ahead and play through the present season.
Doubtless you will weaken it, and the record may
not be one to be proud of; but your record will
.bn 160.png
// 160.png
.pn +1
be still more shameful. I’m dead sure that the
majority of the fellows will back me up. You are
looking to be chosen captain of the team for
next season. What chance do you think you will
stand if you persist in your dirty work? Yes,
that’s what I call it—dirty work. Why, you
won’t even be a member of the team, and it would
be impossible to elect a man outside the team for
captain next year.”
By this time Hayden’s face was pallid with
rage and his eyes glowing. He trembled a little,
and his voice shook as he retorted:
“You seem to fancy yourself a perfect czar,
Roger. Have you got an idea that you alone can
throw me off the team? Answer me that.”
“If you leave the team it won’t be necessary
to throw you off; you’ll take yourself off by your
own act.”
“You know why I refuse to play. You’re the
one who is weakening the team by insisting on retaining
that miserable——”
.bn 161.png
// 161.png
.pn +1
“It won’t do you any good to slur Ben Stone,
and I don’t think you’d better call him names before
me. Of course I wouldn’t put a hand on you
here in your own home, but——”
“Great Cæsar! you’re threatening me, Eliot.”
“Stone will remain on the team, Hayden; you
may as well make up your mind to that. If you
haven’t manhood enough to come back and work
for the team, you’re not worthy to be on it.
You’re going to find it a losing fight, my boy;
you may hurt me, but you’ll hurt yourself far
more. The poorer record the team makes without
you and your friends, the more you’ll be
blamed when the season is ended. Think that
over. It’s all I have to say.”
Without even adding good night, Roger left
the room, descended the stairs and passed out of
the house.
.bn 162.png
// 162.png
.pn +1
.pm chap 16 XVI. "STONE’S DEFIANCE."
It is almost impossible to describe the mental
condition of Bernard Hayden immediately after
Roger’s departure. Resentful wrath nearly
choked him, and for a few moments he raged
against Eliot like a lunatic. Even when he grew
calmer outwardly, the fierce tumult in his heart
continued.
“How dare that fellow come here and talk to
me in such a fashion!” he snarled, pacing the
floor of his room; “how dare he! So he’s going
to stand by Stone at any cost! Judging by what
I’ve heard about him, he’s just mule enough to
do it, too. I presume he’s right in believing he
has pull enough with the fellows to carry the
thing through. I’ve got to down Stone, and I
will; but I can’t afford to hurt myself while I’m
about it, and, with Eliot taking the stand he vows
.bn 163.png
// 163.png
.pn +1
he will take, it will be necessary for me to try
other tactics. I hate to give in a whit, and I’ll
only seem to do so, in order that I may adopt
some other plan—some plan that can’t possibly
fail. Perhaps you think you have me nipped,
Mr. Eliot, but at any cost I’ll win eventually.”
The following morning, watched by Jimmy,
Stone was mending a broken swing in the orchard
behind Mrs. Jones’ house when, looking up,
he discovered Bern Hayden standing not twenty
feet away. Their glances met and clashed, and,
startled by the strange look on Ben’s face, Jimmy
glanced round, discovering the frowning, dark-faced
intruder.
“Oh!” gasped the little chap nervously. “I
didn’t hear nobody coming.”
Ben had straightened up to his full height.
His stout shoulders were squared, his feet planted
firmly, and he fronted his foe without a symptom
of quailing. He had felt that this time must
come, but now the dread of it passed from him
instantly, and he was almost frightened by that
feeling of eager fierceness and uncontrollable
rage which had possessed him in the hour when
.bn 164.png
// 164.png
.pn +1
he was led to wreak physical violence on Hayden
for the destruction of little Jerry’s fiddle. Slowly
and unconsciously he lifted his hand and touched
his mutilated ear.
Bern, seeing that movement, flushed until his
face took on a purplish tinge.
“It would have been a good thing,” he said in
a harsh voice, “if in self-defense I had struck
more effectively.”
Every nerve in Stone’s body seemed to vibrate.
Without looking at the lame boy, who had begun
to creep toward him, he said:
“Jimmy, you had better go into the house. I’ve
some private business to transact with this person.”
The little lad hesitated a few steps away.
“Ben,” he whispered, “oh, Ben, I’m afraid!”
“Go into the house, please,” urged Stone; and,
with many fearful backward glances, Jimmy
limped away.
For yet some moments they continued to stare,
those two who hated each other with all the intensity
of their natures. If stabbing eyes could
have killed, both would have sunk, mortally
wounded, beneath the orchard trees.
.bn 165.png
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.pn +1
“What do you want?”
It was Stone who asked the question. With a
start, Hayden advanced a few steps, but he
stopped while yet well beyond reach of the other
lad’s powerful hands. As he noted that Bern
was disinclined to come nearer, something like a
hideous smile momentarily contorted Stone’s uncomely
face.
“As I was passing I saw you here,” said Bern,
“and I decided to tell you just what you’re doing.
You’re ruining the Oakdale football team, for
there are a number of decent fellows who absolutely
refuse to play on the same eleven with
you.”
“Decent fellows!” scoffed Ben. “Your friends!
If they knew you for what you are, as I do, the
least decent among them would have nothing to
do with you.”
“Eliot is mulish, and, having taken a stand, he
dislikes to turn back; but I know—and others
know—that he would rejoice to be rid of you.
You would realize it yourself if you were not so
.bn 166.png
// 166.png
.pn +1
dull. Of course he tells you he wants you to
play, for since you protected his sister he feels
that he can’t do anything else. You saw last
night that the fellows are quitting the team. It’s
because you’re on it, and besides those who have
already quit there will be others. I’m in a position
to know just how they all feel about it, and
unless you take yourself off it won’t be long before
Eliot will have no team behind him. You
can’t play football, anyhow.”
It was this final taunt that brought Stone’s retort.
“I can play as well as you, Hayden, and
I’ll prove it, too. In Hilton you always had your
own way, but you can’t in Oakdale. You helped
break my mother’s heart; you disfigured me for
life, and you drove me, an outcast, from Hilton.
Here, assisted by your cold-blooded, heartless old
father, you tried your best to get me turned out
of school and to force me in disgrace from the
town. You failed in that, just as henceforth
you’ll fail in all your vile schemes. I was compelled
to run from you once, but I’ll never do so
again, Hayden. I’ll never turn my back on you;
I’ll fight you to the finish, and may the best man
win.”
.bn 167.png
// 167.png
.pn +1
“By which, I presume, you mean that you’re
going to stick on the team?”
“I’m going to stick on the team; I’m going to
stick in the school; I’m going to stick right here;
and for all of you I’ll come out on top.”
It was a flat defiance, and at last Hayden realized
that mere words alone would be quite as
potent to move a mountain.
“Very well,” cried Bern, “then you’ll have to
take the consequences, you—you son of a——”
“Stop! My father is dead—murdered—an innocent
man. It will not be safe for you ever
again to utter a slur against him in my hearing.”
The threat in the speaker’s face was far more
effective than in his words, and Bern Hayden did
not complete the interrupted sentence. Turning,
he walked swiftly away, followed by the eyes of
the lad he had failed to intimidate.
Spotty Davis, leaning on the orchard fence,
had been watching them for some moments. Hayden
scarcely noticed Spotty as he passed, and
Davis grinned at Ben, to whom he called:
.bn 168.png
// 168.png
.pn +1
“Come on, Stoney, let’s toddle up to the acad.
You’ll be late if you don’t come along now.”
A strange calmness had come over Ben Stone.
This had taken the place of the wrath that had
burned in his veins, and now he felt that he was
indeed master of himself. And whoever masters
himself may likewise master fate.
“You’n Bern are gittin’ kinder friendly, ain’t
yer?” chuckled Spotty, as Ben came out. “Sorter
surprised me to see him makin’ a mornin’ call on
you.”
As he passed through the academy gate, Hayden
glanced back and saw Stone and Davis coming.
A strange look flashed swiftly across his
face, and the words which he muttered no one
save himself could have understood had they
heard them.
That night Roger Eliot noted with satisfaction
that Fred Sage was promptly on hand at the football
field. Hunk Rollins likewise put in an appearance;
and, to complete Eliot’s triumph, both
Barker and Hayden arrived before practice
began.
.bn 169.png
// 169.png
.pn +1
There were others who took notice of these
things, and Sleuth Piper, whispering mysteriously
in Chub Tuttle’s ear, observed:
“My deduction is that Capt. Eliot has put on
the screws and brought the delinquents to time.
The before-mentioned delinquents have come
trotting up to the dough dish as gentle as lambs,
and——”
“Lambs don’t like dough,” said Chub. “Your
figures of speech are shocking, Sleuth.”
“Mebbe so,” said Piper. “Gimme a peanut,
will you?”
.bn 170.png
// 170.png
.pn +1
.pm chap 17 XVII. "AN ARMED TRUCE."
At practice that night Stone astonished everybody,
even himself. All hesitation and doubt
seemed to have left him, and at everything he
attempted he was amazingly sure and so swift
that not a few of the boys who had fancied him
heavy and awkward gasped with astonishment
and confessed to one another that they had
“sized him up wrong.” Those who had fancied
him dull of wit were also led to wonder over the
rapidity with which he seemed to grasp and understand
every suggestion of the coach. He was
able to catch punts on the dead run; when he
fell on the ball he got it cleanly, never once permitting
it to bound away from him; and he could
kick, too, his sturdy right leg sending the pigskin
sailing far through the air.
.bn 171.png
// 171.png
.pn +1
Bern Hayden likewise practiced well, putting
all his usual snap and dash into everything he
did, his accomplishments plainly demonstrating
why he had been generally singled out as the fellow
who would certainly be chosen as captain of
next year’s team. Of them all he was, perhaps,
the only one who gave no attention to Stone; as
far as he was concerned—outwardly, at least—Ben
did not exist.
All this was most encouraging and stimulating
to Capt. Eliot and the others. The coach, who
on the previous night had felt greatly disappointed
in the material from which he had hoped to
build a clever high school eleven, betrayed his
relief and satisfaction by the altered expression
of his face and the change in his manner. In
fact, every one seemed happy, and possibly, with
the exception of Hayden, every one was.
With remarkable craft Bern masked his feelings.
He did not even betray the wrath that
stirred his soul when, standing a short distance
away, he heard Dash Winton say to Eliot:
“I think I was mistaken about that chap Stone.
I fancied he wasn’t much good, but I’ve changed
my mind since watching him work to-night. He
ought to make one of the most valuable men on
the team.”
.bn 172.png
// 172.png
.pn +1
“I’m glad you think so,” returned the captain;
“for we certainly need him to stiffen the line.”
“To-morrow night,” said Winton, “we must
have enough fellows out here to make up a scrub
team for a practice game. You’ll need all that
kind of work you can get if you’re going to play
next Saturday.”
Hayden and Barker left the field together.
“Peace has spread itself like oil upon the troubled
waters,” observed Berlin, with a faint smile.
“Too bad you had to give in, but I suppose it
was the only thing you could do.”
His companion’s dark eyes flashed him a look.
“If you fancy I’ve given in you don’t know me.
I’ve never yet been downed, Barker.”
“But you had to give up your plan for bringing
Eliot to time.”
“That’s all right. A good general who sees
one of his movements blocked changes promptly
to another style of campaign.”
“Then you’ve another scheme in view?”
.bn 173.png
// 173.png
.pn +1
“I always believe in keeping a few cards up
my sleeve.”
Bern betrayed no disposition to show these
cards even to his friend, and Barker refrained
from asking questions he felt might not be answered,
being confident that in good time Hayden
would let him into the secret.
To every one else, as the days slipped by and
Bern made no move, it seemed that something
like a truce had been mutually agreed upon. To
be sure, it might be an armed truce in which both
parties were patiently waiting the time when the
certain course of events would again bring open
warfare; for never in all that time did the two
bitter enemies betray, even by a look, that either
recognized the existence of the other. In football
practice, when necessary, they worked together
harmoniously enough for the accomplishment
of the plays in which they were involved.
It frequently happened that Stone, breaking
through the line of the scrub, became a part of
the interference which assisted Hayden in advancing
the ball, and always he was an effective
part of it. Both Winton and Eliot arrived at
.bn 174.png
// 174.png
.pn +1
the conviction that one of the team’s best ground
gaining plays would be that in which Stone and
Piper opened a hole between the opposing guard
and tackle to let Hayden through.
On Thursday the coach requested that the gate
of the field should be closed and guarded to keep
out the throng of spectators who were eager to
watch the practice, and that night, having
strengthened the scrub, he kept the regular team
working constantly on the defensive; for he
claimed that a good defensive game was fully
as essential as an offensive one.
Saturday came at last, and at ten-thirty in the
forenoon the players were at the railway station
to take the train for Clearport. Quite a crowd
gathered to see them off and cheer them heartily,
while about a dozen of the scholars, including
several girls, all bearing banners, accompanied
them.
On the train Hayden and Barker sat together
and took little part in the general conversation.
Even when Clearport was reached and the arrivals
were welcomed by Capt. Merwin and a delegation,
this pair held themselves aloof, finally
.bn 175.png
// 175.png
.pn +1
walking up to the hotel behind the rest of the
crowd. And at dinner, coming late, Bern and
Berlin sat at a separate table, having made arrangements
in advance with the head waiter.
Eliot did not wholly hide his displeasure over
this, for he had expected that the players, the substitutes
and the coach would all sit at one long
table. Nor did the distant pair betray any interest
in the jests and laughter of their teammates.
Dinner over, Winton had a private word with
Roger. “As an exhibition of snobbishness,” he
said disgustedly, “that was the limit. If you don’t
look out, Eliot, those fellows will yet make trouble
for you.”
“There’s only one,” returned the captain, “who
is at all dangerous, and I have an idea he realizes
he can’t afford to make any real trouble. Of
course I don’t like the spirit he displays, but he’s
such a valuable man that I presume we’ll have to
put up with it.”
The hour for the game drew near at last. It
was a bright, snappy day, with a strong westerly
wind blowing, and when the Oakdale lads arrived
at the field they found quite a crowd already
.bn 176.png
// 176.png
.pn +1
assembled, while a steady stream of people
came pouring in. Not a few persons from Oakdale
had come over the road in teams and automobiles,
and the most of these were gathered in
a group on the seats at the southern side of the
gridiron. With a cheer they welcomed the appearance
of Eliot and his followers.
That cheer gave Ben Stone a tingling thrill;
he seemed to feel that a little of it was meant for
him. This thrill was intensified as he heard them
crying:
“There’s Roger!” “Good boy, Eliot!” “There’s
Bern!”
“What’s your deduction about this game,
Sleuth?”
“Got any peanuts, Chub?”
Then suddenly some one cried distinctly:
“Look at Stone! ’Rah for old Stoney!”
They shed their sweaters. A ball was tossed
out, and immediately they began passing, punting
and falling upon it. And now Stone, painfully
self-conscious, fumbled. When, a moment
or two later, the pigskin came bounding his way
over the ground, he flung himself at it only to
.bn 177.png
// 177.png
.pn +1
have it squirm out of his grasp and spin off to
one side. He rose, his face crimson, realizing
that something was the matter.
A hand touched him lightly on the shoulder,
and Eliot’s voice sounded in his ear.
“All right, Stone, old man; don’t mind the
crowd. Forget it.”
That was the matter; he knew it in a twinkling.
Getting a grip on himself, he became
steady and sure.
Presently he found himself, with others,
watching the two captains who had stepped aside
to consult with the referee. For a moment his
eyes roved over the scene. On one side of the
field the seats were already well filled. A mass of
blue banners indicated where the scholars of
Clearport High were grouped. At the south the
crowd was thinner and the crimson banners of
Oakdale were not so plentiful. East and west the
goal posts rose against the sky. Between those
posts the regular white chalk marks made a huge
checkerboard.
.bn 178.png
// 178.png
.pn +1
Oh, it was a fine thing to be living! And it was
a marvel indeed to be there, a member of one of
those two teams of healthy, brown-faced lads
who would soon be struggling for supremacy on
that field.
His eyes came back to the two captains and
the referee. He saw the latter toss into the air
something that spun and glittered brightly. He
saw all three stoop to observe how the coin had
fallen. Then Eliot slapped Merwin on the shoulder,
said something, turned and came trotting
toward his comrades.
“Come on, fellows,” called Roger; “I won the
toss. We’ll take the western goal and have both
wind and sun at our backs.”
.bn 179.png
// 179.png
.pn +1
.pm chap 18 XVIII. "THE GAME."
Plunk! Clearport’s full back, Ramsdal, kicked
off, booting the ball into the teeth of the wind.
Over the chalk marks sped the end men, Long
and Stoker, closing in from either side as the
huge yellow egg began to drop.
Bern Hayden was in position to receive the
ball, and, without removing his eyes from it, he
realized that one or both of those oncoming men
would be at hand to tackle him if he attempted
to run. Therefore he lifted his hand in the
proper signal for a fair catch and took the pigskin
cleanly. Turning it deftly in his hands, he
let it drop; and an instant later it was sailing
away from his toe on the return to Clearport’s
territory.
.bn 180.png
// 180.png
.pn +1
Buoyed by the wind, the ball soared on and on
far past the center of the field, far over toward
the eastern goal. It was immediately apparent
that the home team, while defending that goal,
could not afford to be led into a kicking game.
Cooper and Davis, playing ends for the visitors,
followed the ball. Spotty was a really fast
runner, being able to get over the ground with
his thin legs in a way that should have given him
a reputation as a sprinter. This fleetness put
him in splendid position to tackle Boothby, Clearport’s
left half back, who took the ball; but Spotty
seemed to hesitate a bit at the moment when he
should have plunged, and Boothby got away like
a flash, Davis missing miserably when he flung
himself at the fellow. Cooper, the slower, displayed
more nerve, tackling the fleet half back
and bringing him down after the ball had been
advanced ten yards. Chipper rose, gasping, when
the whistle had sounded the signal that the ball
was “down.”
“Ja-jarred me some,” he stammered, with a
sickly grin; “but I got him.”
“Ready—line up fast!” called Eliot, perceiving
that the enemy were swiftly getting into position
for the first scrimmage. “Stop ’em! Hold ’em!”
.bn 181.png
// 181.png
.pn +1
Ben Stone found himself crouching nose to
nose with Barney Carney, called “the fighting
Irishman of Clearport.” He had been told about
this fellow, and he recognized him instinctively.
“Arrh, me bucko! Good avening,” grinned
Carney. “It’s a pleasure to meet yez.”
Through Stone’s mind flashed the instructions
of Winton, “Stick by your man and get him
every time.”
Muzzle uplifted, Capt. Merwin, who played
quarter for his team, bayed a signal. Stone saw
the ball snapped to Merwin, and the moment it
left the ground he leaped tigerishly at Carney.
The Irishman had leaped at the same instant, and
they came together with a crash which must have
astonished the Clearport guard, for he was literally
bowled aside, the Oakdale man hammering
through like a battering-ram. Sleuth Piper, succeeding
in keeping his man busy, aided Stone in
getting through; and Ben was just in time to
meet Boothby, who had received the ball from
Merwin and was plunging at that very spot in
the line. Boothby’s rush was checked as if he
had struck a wall of granite, and down to the turf
he went, with Stone’s arms locked around his
thighs.
.bn 182.png
// 182.png
.pn +1
“Great luck!” cried Piper, releasing Morehead;
but there had been little luck about it, for even
as he lunged at Carney Stone had seen Boothby
shooting across behind Merwin in a manner
which seemed to indicate beyond doubt that he
would take the ball. Having obeyed the instructions
of the coach and disposed of Carney in a
jiffy, Stone’s natural impulse was to meet and
grapple with Boothby.
At the southern side of the field the crimson
banners were wildly agitated, and a sudden cheer
arose—a cheer for Stone. Ben’s ears were deaf
to that sound, however; he was wholly unaware
that his name came snapping forth at the end
of that cheer like a cracker at the end of a whiplash.
The fire of battle was in his veins, and the
only thing he heard was the booming of his heart
like the distant throbbing of heavy guns.
Checked with a slight loss, the Clearporters
made ready again. Once more Ben found himself
vis à vis with Barney Carney, in whose faded
smile there was now a slight sickly tinge.
.bn 183.png
// 183.png
.pn +1
“It’s a loively birrud ye are,” observed Carney;
“but your wings can be clipped.” To which the
grim-faced fellow opposite made no retort.
The signal came again, and again Stone and
Carney met. This time, locked together, they
struggled, neither gaining the slightest advantage.
The tide of battle, however, swept to the
far end of the line, toward which Oakes, the right
half back, was racing with the pigskin.
It was Hayden who divined the play, and
Hayden who came leaping to meet the runner.
Tackling cleanly and handsomely, Bern stretched
Oakes prone. As he rose he heard them cheering
as they had cheered for Stone—and he had
not missed that.
“That’s the stuff, fellows!” cried Roger.
“That’s the way to hold them!”
Winton, watching from his position at the side
of the field, permitted a crinkle of a smile to flit
across his face, even though he realized that the
splendid and surprising defense had been accomplished,
almost unaided, by two players. At the
very outset Clearport had succeeded in one thing,
at least—had found the strong spots of the visiting
team. Later certain weak spots which the
coach was fearful of might be unmasked.
.bn 184.png
// 184.png
.pn +1
In desperation the locals made a furious slam
into center, recovering, however, barely the distance
lost; and then, forced to it, Ramsdal fell
back to kick. Eliot was ready for this, and, seeming
to gauge the distance the ball would travel,
he took it cleanly and easily, shooting past the
first man who came at him, dodging the second,
and bringing the spectators to their feet by a run
that carried him to Clearport’s thirty yard line
ere he was forced out of bounds. And Winton
smiled again, for another tower of strength had
loomed through the smoke of battle.
The referee brought the ball out and placed it.
The line-up followed, one or two anxious Clearporters
being warned back ere the man in authority
permitted the resumption of play.
Crouching before Carney, Stone heard Sage
calling the signal. As his ears drank in the
numbers, he gazed straight into the Irish lad’s
eyes without a flicker crossing his face, even
though he knew directly that much would depend
upon him. He knew Hayden would come across
with the ball, looking for the opening he must
assist in making.
.bn 185.png
// 185.png
.pn +1
In another moment they were straining, breast
to breast. With all his strength he sought to
thrust Carney to one side. Cooper bucked Morehead
handsomely, and the gap was made.
Through it went Barker, with Bern at his heels.
Barker sacrificed himself to Oakes, and before
Ramsdal got him Hayden came within four yards
of putting the ball over.
Four yards to go, and the first down! No
wonder the crowd with the crimson banners
seemed crazed; no wonder the blue banners were
drooping on the northern side of the field.
“Like water through a sieve,” chuckled Chipper
Cooper; and barely had the words left his
lips when Sage began calling a signal which sent
Barker into the other wing of the line.
Crane did his duty there, but Davis was weak,
and Berlin met Stoker, who had hurled Spotty
aside. Not an inch was gained.
“Hold ’em,” implored Merwin, “we’ve got to
hold ’em!”
.bn 186.png
// 186.png
.pn +1
“Another chance, fellows,” said Eliot. “We
can make it.”
Again that signal which told the visitors that
Hayden would try the enemy’s right wing. Sage
varied the call, but the key number was distinctly
heard, and with the snapping of the ball Ben
Stone flung himself bodily at the fighting Irishman.
Merwin had leaped in to support Carney,
yet both of them were not sufficient to check
Stone and the man who was hurled against him
from the rear. The Clearport line buckled and
broke, and Hayden lunged through headlong for
a touchdown.
“My deduction is,” panted Piper, “that it’s a
snap.”
The Oakdale crowd cheered as the ball was
punted out. Hayden was given the privilege of
trying to kick a goal, and, absolutely confident of
himself, he booted the ball against one of the
uprights.
“Never mind,” grinned Chipper Cooper, as the
Oakdalers spread out on the field with their backs
toward the eastern goal. “It would have been
a shame to spoil the fun by taking all the sand
out of them right away.”
.bn 187.png
// 187.png
.pn +1
Indeed, it seemed that the visitors were too
strong for the home team. Even when favored
by the wind and sun, the Clearporters could not
carry the fighting far into Oakdale’s territory,
and they were soon compelled to surrender the
ball by kicking.
Once more the lads from the inland town began
bucking their way over the chalk marks, and
frequently their best gains were secured through
openings made by Stone and Piper. Barney
Carney was livid with wrath, but his grim opponent
remained outwardly unchanged. An end
run by Barker again placed the visitors in a position
to threaten Clearport’s goal. It was followed
by a trick play, in which Barker drew attention
to himself while Eliot went romping and zigzagging
through a broken field and crossed the line
for the second touchdown.
This time Roger kicked, and he lifted the pigskin
squarely over the center of the crossbar.
.bn 188.png
// 188.png
.pn +1
Even to Winton it had begun to seem as if
Oakdale was too strong for the locals. He was
glad indeed that Clearport had not yet located
certain weak spots of which he had entertained
serious apprehension, but he knew they had not
done this mainly on account of their half demoralized
condition.
Following that second touchdown, Oakdale
seemed to let up somewhat. This brought a
frown to Winton’s face, but he could do nothing
until the half was finished.
Toward the end of the first half the visiting
team took another spurt and seemed to have
things pretty much its own way. Hayden was
the principal ground gainer, and it was Stone
who provided effective interference in assisting
him to make his greatest distances. Twenty-five
yards from the line, however, the locals stood
firm. Then Sage called for a play by which
Hayden was to pass the ball to Eliot just before
dashing into the formation which had proved so
effective. Eliot was to attempt to round the end.
This was carried through, Stone slamming into
Carney in the regular manner. Hayden came at
him from behind, while Eliot, having secured the
ball, sought to race past Pete Long.
.bn 189.png
// 189.png
.pn +1
Something smote Ben with a terrific shock, and
a sudden pall of darkness fell upon him. He
sank to the ground just as Eliot was tackled and
dragged down and the referee’s whistle shrilled
the signal which told that the half was over.
.bn 190.png
// 190.png
.pn +1
.pm chap 19 XIX. "BETWEEN THE HALVES."
Stone recovered to find some one sopping his
face with a cool, dripping sponge. They had carried
him off the field, and he was lying on a
blanket behind the tiered seats, over the upper
tier of which bent a row of sympathetic faces.
His teammates were around him, being kept back
by one or two fellows who insisted that he should
have air.
“What—what’s matter?” he mumbled thickly,
as he tried to sit up.
“Easy, old fellow,” said the voice of Roger
Eliot, who had been applying the sponge. “You
were knocked stiff in that last scrimmage.”
“Scrimmage?” echoed Ben uncertainly, vaguely
fancying he had been in a fight with his bitter
enemy. “Did Bern Hayden——”
.bn 191.png
// 191.png
.pn +1
“It wasn’t Hayden. We tried to fool the Clearporters
into thinking he’d again go through with
the ball, but he passed it to me. They downed
me, though, just as the half ended.”
“Oh,” said Stone, remembering at last, “we
were playing football.”
“That fightin’ Irishman must have soaked
ye,” observed Sile Crane. “You had him crazy all
right, the way you bucked him around.”
“Carney did not hit me,” declared Ben positively.
Winton, like Eliot, had been working to bring
Stone round. “Well,” he observed with satisfaction,
“you seem to be all right now. I reckon
you can get back into the game for the next half,
can’t you?”
“Sure thing,” was the prompt answer. “I’m
not hurt any.”
“That’s the stuff,” applauded the coach, rising
to his feet. “That’s the spirit that wins. Some
of you fellows need a little more of it. Rollins,
you’re bigger and heavier than that man Hutt,
but he’s walked through you four or five times.
Brace up and stop him. Davis, you’ve got to
show more nerve. Don’t be afraid of cracking
.bn 192.png
// 192.png
.pn +1
yourself when you try to tackle; you’re not
crockery. Look alive, Tuttle, and get into the
plays quicker. Sometimes you take root in your
tracks.”
“Great ginger!” gasped Chub in astonishment
over this call-down. “I thought we were all
doing pretty well.”
“Give him a peanut, somebody, to brace him
up,” chuckled Chipper Cooper.
In another moment Chipper was shivering beneath
the withering eye of the coach.
“You’ve got a whole lot to learn about football,”
said Winton. “Move your feet when you
go down the field under a kick. Davis can run
around you twice and be ahead of you at the
place where the ball falls.”
“Oh, jiminy crickets!” gasped Cooper. “I’ve
got mine! Stop your grinning, Spotty.”
“You all let up after that second touchdown,”
continued Winton. “Did you think you had
points enough? Have you a notion that there’s
danger of overexerting yourselves? You should
have had two more touchdowns, at least. Clearport
was growing better toward the last of it,
.bn 193.png
// 193.png
.pn +1
and you fellows acted as if you had caught the
hookworm. This kind of a football game is
never won till it’s finished, don’t forget that. If
you quit a little bit in the next half you’re liable
to get it put all over you. Those fellows are
good; they’re better than you are, but they don’t
know it. Let them wake up to the fact, and you’ll
be lucky if they don’t play you off your feet.
You’ve got to keep them so busy they won’t find
time to realize how good they are. Hayden, I’d
like a private word with you.”
With a look of surprise on his face, Bern followed
the coach, who stepped aside from the
others. In a moment Winton was talking to him
in low tones.
“By gum!” said Sile Crane. “He sorter handed
it right out to the whole of us, didn’t he? I
kinder thought he was goin’ to praise us for our
fine work.”
Cooper poked a thumb into Piper’s ribs. “He
didn’t say anything to you personally, did he,
Sleuth? Wonder how you got by? Morehead
had you groggy in that last smash.”
.bn 194.png
// 194.png
.pn +1
“Yes,” admitted Sleuth, “we butted our cocoanuts
together, and my deduction is that he’s got
more head than I have.”
“Oh, you villain!” exclaimed Chipper. “You
trespasser on my sacred preserves! I should
have thought to say that myself. Look at Bern;
he’s getting excited. Wonder what Winton’s
drilling him for?”
Hayden was indeed showing traces of excitement,
for his face was flushed, his hands
clenched, and he shook his head with an air of
angry denial.
“I saw you,” said Winton, in a low, calm tone,
“I saw you slug Stone on the jaw with your
fist, Hayden; it’s useless to deny it.”
“It’s very strange,” sneered Bern, “that you
were the only one who saw it. Where were the
referee’s eyes?”
“Following the ball, doubtless. Carney swung
Stone round sidewise as you lunged into the
scrimmage, for doubtless he thought you had the
ball, and he was trying to block you. It gave
you a chance to hit Stone squarely on the side of
the jaw, and you smashed him. Perhaps I was
the only person who observed it; I hope I was.
.bn 195.png
// 195.png
.pn +1
You’ve played a brilliant game, Hayden, and you
can’t afford to let your temper and your hatred
of Stone mar your record. Only for the fine
style in which he blocked off the opposing guard,
you never could have made such good gains. He
doesn’t know you hit him, for he didn’t see you;
and he won’t know unless I——”
“I deny that I did it,” muttered Bern sullenly.
“And while you deny it you’re aware that I
know you did. Settle your personal grudges off
the football field; that’s the thing to do. Don’t
think for a moment that I’m taking sides in this
quarrel between you and Stone; I know nothing
of the merits of the matter, and it’s no affair of
mine. Nevertheless, if I should see you do another
wretched trick of that sort I’d stop the
game to pull you off the field.”
“You’re only the coach; the captain of the
team would have something to say about that.”
Winton’s eyes flashed. “I’m the coach, and
as long as I continue in that capacity I’ll exert
my authority to pull any man out of the game.
You have a nasty temper and a revengeful disposition,
my boy, and it will be for your advantage
to learn to curb yourself. Would you like
to see Clearport win this game?”
.bn 196.png
// 196.png
.pn +1
“Certainly not.”
“I thought not.”
“Clearport can’t win. We’ve got them beaten
now.”
“So that’s what you think. If you had seen
as many football games as I have, and if you
had watched this one from the side-lines, you
would realize that there is not as much difference
between these two teams as there seemed to be.
If they ever discover our weak spots and get
busy on them, they’ll make us go some yet. The
line is none too strong, and the loss of Stone
would weaken it frightfully. Furthermore, what
do you imagine the fellows would think of you if
they even suspected that you had tried to knock
Stone out—and you might have succeeded if the
half hadn’t ended just as you slugged him. I’m
not going to say anything more; I think I’ve
said enough. But don’t forget that I have my
eyes on you.”
.bn 197.png
// 197.png
.pn +1
Not a word of this conversation had reached
Stone’s ears, yet, sitting on the blanket and looking
toward Winton and Hayden, Ben somehow
obtained a slight inkling of the truth. This suspicion
was strengthened as Winton finished
speaking and turned away; for, in spite of himself,
Bern could not help glancing toward Stone,
and his eyes wavered beneath the boy’s steady,
questioning gaze.
Piper, having stretched himself on the ground
near Ben, had likewise fallen to watching Hayden
and his accuser.
“My deduction is——” began Sleuth.
Two short, sharp blasts from the referee’s
whistle told that the intermission was over and
the time for the second half to begin had arrived.
.bn 198.png
// 198.png
.pn +1
.pm chap 20 XX. "ONE WHO WAS TRUE."
In less than two minutes after the resumption
of play the spectators perceived that a great
change had taken place in the home team, for the
Clearporters had returned to the field firmly resolved
to redeem themselves, and they went into
the struggle with a snap and dash that temporarily
swept the visitors off their feet. Tricked by a
crisscross in the second scrimmage, Oakdale permitted
Oakes to get round the right end, Spotty
Davis being effectively and easily blocked by
Stoker, while Crane let Butters through, and the
left tackle of the locals flung himself before Hayden,
preventing a tackle.
The few shrill cries which had risen from the
northern side of the field became a chorus of
shouts, and those shouts swelled into a roar as
Oakes got past Eliot and raced onward, with a
few pursuers straggling out behind in a fruitless
effort to overtake him.
.bn 199.png
// 199.png
.pn +1
Winton, who had lighted a cigar, chewed savagely
at the weed and smote his knee with his
clenched fist.
“Just what I was afraid of!” he muttered.
Over the goal-line went Oakes for a touchdown,
cheered wildly by the delighted crowd beneath
the blue banners. The ball was punted out
and caught, and Oakes held it for Ramsdal to
lift it with a sure and handsome kick over the
crossbar.
“We can’t afford to let them repeat that performance,”
said Eliot regretfully.
But the locals, retaining the ball after the
kick-off, carried it fifteen yards in a swift dash
before they were stopped. Having their courage
restored and being spurred on by Merwin, they
lined up and lunged into the scrimmage before
the visitors were wholly prepared, and a gain of
nine yards through center might have developed
into another sensational run had not Eliot himself
nailed the man with the pigskin.
.bn 200.png
// 200.png
.pn +1
Cheer after cheer was flung across from the
northern side of the field. The visitors on the
southern side answered bravely, yet not wholly
without a note of distress and alarm.
“Got yez going, me bhoy,” grinned Barney
Carney into the face of Ben Stone. “Oi belave
it’s our turrun now.”
He was not the only one who believed this; the
whole team believed it. And when a body of
contestants in any game get the idea that they
are bound to succeed, it is doubly difficult to stop
them. The Clearporters had talked it over; they
had decided that the left wing of the visitors was
stronger than the right. Stoker had told them
that Spotty Davis was “soft as mush.” Nevertheless,
they were crafty enough not to betray
immediately their plan to batter at that right
end, and by shifting their movements rapidly,
they kept their opponents guessing. Round Davis
and through the line between him and Crane they
occasionally shot a runner for good gains, which
carried them on again and again just when it
seemed that they had been checked.
.bn 201.png
// 201.png
.pn +1
Eliot entreated Davis; he begged, and then he
scolded. Spotty, feeling the weight of the battering
hurled upon him, swiftly lost heart; and when
in a sort of blind despair he finally tackled a runner
head on, he was the one who remained
stretched on the hard ground after the ball was
down.
“Come, Davis—come,” called Eliot, “get up
and get into the game. For goodness’ sake, take
a brace!”
Spotty groaned dolefully. “I can’t,” he whimpered,
with a choke in his voice. “I can’t; I’m
done up.”
Roger turned toward Winton, who lifted his
hand in a signal, to which the Oakdale captain
replied with a nod. Walker, Stone’s seatmate at
school, was promptly sent out by the coach; and
the little fellow came running without hesitation,
trembling with excitement, delighted because he
was to have a chance in the game.
His head hanging, Davis staggered off the field
and fell prostrate upon the ground, hiding his
face on his curved arm. “I was getting the whole
of it,” he mumbled chokingly. “They were bound
to do me.” But no one paid any heed to his muttering
or to the tears he shed.
.bn 202.png
// 202.png
.pn +1
Stoker laughed at Walker, but the little chap
soon demonstrated that he was on the field to do
his handsomest as long as he lasted; and, despite
the greater weight of the opposing end, he was
able to keep the fellow busy. For a time this
change seemed to put a little new life into the
Oakdalers; but even though they got the ball,
they could not hold it long, and, checked near the
center of the field, they found themselves compelled
to surrender the pigskin by kicking.
Clearport came back again with the dash and
go which had so surprisingly altered the run of
the game. Merwin made a successful quarterback
run; Boothby gained a little ground through
center; and then Stone, breaking through Carney,
slammed a runner down for a loss. Right on top
of this the locals were penalized for holding, but
the rising courage of the visitors was dampened
when the home team pulled off a handsome forward
pass that yielded double the distance needed.
Even though Oakdale fought every inch of the
ground, being at last fully aroused to the danger,
Clearport repeatedly worked the crisscross with
good effect and brought into play still another
.bn 203.png
// 203.png
.pn +1
well-executed forward pass that landed them up
against the goal-line, where, after being held for
two downs, they finally pushed the ball over by
barely six inches.
Apparently the tide had turned most decisively,
and it was not strange that some of the easily discouraged
Oakdalers felt that they were surely
beaten. If the captain thought so, however, he
succeeded marvelously well in hiding his feelings,
trying his best all the time to brace his teammates
up, encouraging the equally staunch, chiding a
few who showed symptoms of wavering, and entreating
one or two who apparently had lost
heart.
There was a hush as Ramsdal prepared to try
for goal. The defenders, lined up behind the
posts, crouched, ready to charge; and as Clearport’s
full back booted the ball Hayden leaped
forward and upward, his open hands stretched
high above his head. His fingers barely grazed
the leather, but did not check the flight of the
ball; if anything, they lifted it a trifle and aided in
shooting it over the bar.
.bn 204.png
// 204.png
.pn +1
The home crowd was still making a terrific
uproar as the two teams once more spread out
upon the field, and there was every reason why
that portion of the spectators should rejoice; for
Clearport had won the lead by a single point, and
the course of the game in the second half seemed
to promise beyond doubt that this lead could be
held.
The moment the ball came again into the possession
of the locals they retained it and resumed
their rushing tactics. Pounding their way into
Oakdale’s territory, they marched on by short
but sufficient gains toward yet another touchdown,
the line of the visitors being pierced at
almost every point save that defended by Ben
Stone, which had been found practically invulnerable.
Again and again it was the players in the
backfield, Eliot, Hayden or Barker, who checked
the assaults and prevented still larger gains. Winton’s
fears that Oakdale would prove weak in
defense had surely been well grounded. To add
to the dismay of the visitors, they were penalized
for fowling on their own thirty yard line, and
the distance thus lost made the situation seem
absolutely hopeless. Almost every spectator believed
Clearport destined to add further points to
her score.
.bn 205.png
// 205.png
.pn +1
In the darkest moment, however, with the locals
beating Oakdale back against the goal-line,
Fred Merwin fumbled. The ball, snapped to
him by Corbin, twisted out of his fingers and
bounded off to one side. Even as he flung himself
at it he saw a figure that had cut through
Barney Carney flash before him. The ball was
scooped from the ground in a marvelous manner,
and Merwin, having miscalculated, clutched at
the heels of the fellow who had secured the pigskin—clutched
but could not hold fast, even
though his fingers touched the stocky ankles of
Ben Stone.
How it was that Ben got that ball up from
the ground and kept his feet no witness could
tell. For two or three strides it seemed that he
must plunge headlong with it, and then he regained
his equilibrium and brought a gasping
chorus of cries from the southern side of the field
as he ran on toward Clearport’s goal. Nevertheless,
he had given his left ankle a wrench, and
every step hurt like the jab of a knife. With
.bn 206.png
// 206.png
.pn +1
his teeth set, he hugged the ball beneath one arm,
the other thrown out stiffly to fend off a dark figure
he saw coming at him; and he left the would-be
tackler jarred, dazed and knocked to his knees.
Once more every spectator was standing, and
from opposite sides of the field came cries of dismay
and wildly palpitant shouts of joyous encouragement.
It was Boothby, the swift left half back of the
locals, who slowly but surely cut down the man
with the ball. Had Ben found it possible to run
barely a trifle faster, he could have carried the
pigskin over the line. As it was, he made a
thrillingly sensational run, and Boothby, shooting
at him from behind, brought him down less
than fifteen yards from Clearport’s goal.
Slammed to the ground, Stone held fast to the
huge yellow egg, and the next he knew Eliot
was patting him on the back and telling him how
good he was.
With the two teams preparing for the scrimmage,
the Oakdale captain moved up and down
behind the line, touching first one and then another
of his comrades as he urged them to get
into the play like fiends.
.bn 207.png
// 207.png
.pn +1
“We’ve got to do it right now,” said Roger,
“and we can.”
Panting, Stone heard Sage calling the signal,
and at the sound of the key number every nerve
in his body went taut as a bow-string; for it was
the play by which the most effective gains had
been made in the first half—Hayden was to go
through Clearport’s right wing with the ball. Ben
knew he was expected to make the opening for
the runner. If the work was well done, there
was a chance that Bern might cover the remaining
distance and secure a touchdown.
The remembrance of what had happened at
the very finish of the first half struck Stone like
a blow between the eyes. He doubted not that
it was Hayden who had slugged him, yet now
he was expected to assist that fellow in a play
which might give him the glory of winning the
game.
.bn 208.png
// 208.png
.pn +1
Winning the game—that was it! that was
everything! Nothing else counted. The fellow
who would let a personal grudge interfere was
not worthy to wear an Oakdale uniform.
Tuttle snapped the ball, and Stone went at
Carney like a thousand of brick. Already the
Irishman had been led to respect his opponent,
and, even though his backbone had weakened not
a whit, he could not withstand the charge which
swept him from his pins and spun him aside.
Sleuth Piper did his part by taking care of
Morehead, and, his teeth set, Hayden came
through that opening. It was Oakes who had
seemed to anticipate the play, and Oakes who
flung himself at Hayden; but it was Stone, interfering
for the runner, who was brought down
by the right half back of the locals. He had
leaped forward in the tackler’s path just in time
to save Bern.
What a shriek of joy went up from those who
bore the crimson banners! How those red flags
waved! For Hayden had crossed the line, and
the touchdown was made.
.bn 209.png
// 209.png
.pn +1
.pm chap 21 XXI. "A SURPRISING MEETING."
The game was over; after the third touchdown
by Oakdale it had not lasted long enough for
Clearport to recover and accomplish anything.
The visitors had won, and they were being congratulated
by their overjoyed admirers. Hayden
was applauded, and his hand was shaken until
he repulsed the exuberant crowd that surged
around him. Stone likewise came in for his share
of applause and praise, and, although his heart
was happy, his unfortunate manner might have
led many to fancy him stolid and almost sullen.
Nevertheless, when, with a hand on Ben’s shoulder,
Winton told him that he was the man who
had saved the day and won the game, he smiled
a little, and there was a blurring mist in his eyes.
Roger Eliot, his face lighted by that rare smile
of his, praised them all.
.bn 210.png
// 210.png
.pn +1
“I see my father is here with his touring car,”
he said. “I wish the car were large enough to
take you all back to Oakdale, boys; but it isn’t,
and so by the way of company I’ll take one of
you. Come on, Stone, old chap.”
Ben flushed, surprised because he had been
singled out.
“He’s the feller,” cried Chipper Cooper generously—“he’s
the feller to take, Roger. Give him
a good ride; he deserves it.”
Hayden said nothing; he had not expected to
be invited, yet he was angered because Roger had
selected Stone.
The boys had left their regular clothes in a
room at the hotel, and to this they repaired to
shed the dirty, sweat-stained garments of the
game. Stone took no part in their light-hearted
chatter; when they congratulated him, he simply
said he had tried to do his best. Finally, bearing
his bundle of football togs, he descended with
Roger and found Mr. Eliot’s car waiting at the
door. Little Amy was in the car with her father,
who sat beside the driver. The child laughed and
clapped her hands as her brother and Ben appeared.
.bn 211.png
// 211.png
.pn +1
“I’m going to ride on the back seat between
you,” she called.
Mr. Eliot beamed on the boys. “You pulled
out of that game pretty well, Roger,” he said. “I
saw only the last of it, for I couldn’t get here
sooner. I thought you were done for, son, but
Ben saved you with that great run. That was
really what won the game, as it gave you a
chance to make the touchdown you needed.”
Roger’s father had called Ben by his Christian
name, and Stone felt his heart swell. Seated in
the tonneau of the automobile with Amy beside
him, he was borne out of Clearport and away over
the brown, winding road that led to Oakdale.
Often he had longed to ride in an automobile
and wondered if he would ever have the privilege.
The sensation of gliding softly along as
he lay back against the tufted leather cushions
brought him a feeling of great satisfaction and
peace. The sun, peeping redly over the western
rim of the world, smiled upon him, and nowhere
in all the sky was there a cloud, even as large as
a man’s hand.
.bn 212.png
// 212.png
.pn +1
Amy talked gaily; she told how excited she
had been as she watched Ben running with the
ball, and, although she did not understand the
game, she knew he had done a splendid thing.
“It would have been a frightful calamity for
us if you had been knocked out at the finish of the
first half, Ben,” said Roger. “I was afraid of
it, and we never could have won that game without
you.”
Stone recalled his suspicions, and a shadow fell
athwart his face, but his lips remained silent. If
Hayden had really perpetrated that foul trick, he
had failed in his purpose, and Ben, triumphant,
had no desire to speak of it.
A soft, tingling, cold twilight came on with the
setting of the sun. At their bases the distant
hills were veiled in a filmy haze of blue. The
engine beneath the hood of the car purred softly
as it bore them over the road with the power of
fifty horses. As, with a mellow warning note
of the horn, they swept around a gentle curve,
they came upon a small, dusty human figure
.bn 213.png
// 213.png
.pn +1
trudging slowly in the direction they were traveling.
It was a boy, ahead of whom trotted a little
yellow dog, held by a line attached to its collar.
Over the back of the little lad a violin was swung
by supporting strings.
The dog turned aside, pulling at the line, and
the boy followed him, as if led and guided in
this manner.
Ben Stone uttered a sudden shout. “Stop,” he
cried wildly—“stop quickly! Please stop!”
“Stop, Sullivan,” commanded Mr. Eliot; and
the chauffeur responded by bringing the car to
a standstill as soon as possible. Even before the
wheels ceased to revolve Stone had vaulted over
the side door of the tonneau and was running
back toward the boy they had passed. “Jerry!”
he called. “Jerry! Jerry!”
The little yellow dog barked at him, but, paying
no heed to the animal, Ben swooped down on the
lad who held the line and scooped him up in his
arms.
“Who is it, Roger?” asked Urian Eliot in surprise.
.bn 214.png
// 214.png
.pn +1
“Jerry,” said Roger—“he called him Jerry.
Why, father, it must be Ben’s own brother.”
“His brother? Why, I didn’t know——”
“He told me about his brother,” explained
Roger. “They were separated after Ben’s parents
died. Jerry is blind.”
“Oh!” murmured Amy. “Isn’t that just dreadful!
Blind and walking all alone with only a
dog for company! We must take him in the car,
papa.”
“Certainly,” said Mr. Eliot, opening the door
and stepping out. “This is a most remarkable
occurrence.”
In the meantime, Ben and Jerry—for it was
indeed Ben’s unfortunate younger brother—were
transported by the joy and surprise of the unexpected
meeting. They clung to each other,
laughing, crying and talking brokenly and incoherently.
The little dog, who had at first seemed
to fear some harm threatened its master, frisked
back and forth before them, barking frantically,
finally sitting up on its haunches with its forward
paws drooping, its mouth open and its protruding
tongue quivering; for at last it appeared to comprehend
.bn 215.png
// 215.png
.pn +1
that there was really no danger, and this
affair was one over which even a small yellow
dog should laugh and be happy.
Roger had left the automobile likewise, and he
came back to them, waiting near at hand until
they should recover from the distracting excitement
of the moment.
“Oh, Jerry!” choked Ben. “To find you here—I
don’t understand it, Jerry.”
“I’ll tell you all about it, Ben, as soon as I can.
I’ve been searching for you everywhere, but I
was afraid I’d never, never find you.”
“Stone,” said Roger, “take him into the car.”
Jerry shrank against his older brother. “Who—who
is it, Ben?” he whispered.
“A friend—the best friend—besides you, Jerry—that
I’ve ever known. We’ve been playing
football, and we’re going back to Oakdale now—going
back in a big, fine automobile. This is
Roger Eliot, Jerry.”
Roger stepped forward and took one of the
little lad’s soiled hands. “I’m very glad to meet
Ben’s brother,” he declared with such sincerity
that Jerry’s alarm was instantly dispelled and
his sympathy won. “My father’s auto is waiting,
and there’s room to spare.”
.bn 216.png
// 216.png
.pn +1
“You never rode in an automobile, Jerry,” said
Ben. “It’s corking.”
Through the dusk Roger saw the smaller lad’s
sightless eyes turned upon him.
“But—but my little dog, Pilot?” said Jerry
questioningly. “I must take him. I know he’s
tired, the same as I am, and I wouldn’t leave him
for——”
“Certainly we’ll take him,” assured Roger.
“Come on.”
To the sightless wayfarer it was a marvel beyond
words, almost beyond comprehension. He
heard them speak of Roger’s father and felt the
reassuring touch of Urian Eliot’s strong but gentle
hands, while the voice of the man sounded
in his ears. He was lifted into the tonneau of
the car, the dog whining nervously at the end of
the line until bidden follow, upon which, with a
single sharp yap of thankfulness, he sprang up.
He heard also the voice of a child, who spoke
softly and seemed glad to welcome him. It was
not strange that his head swam with the wonderment
of it.
.bn 217.png
// 217.png
.pn +1
While waiting, the chauffeur had lighted the
gas lamps of the car, and, with the machine again
under way, they blazed a golden path through the
deepening autumn darkness. The sharp, cold air
whipped Jerry’s cheeks, but the strong arm of
the brother he loved was about him, and his heart
beat with happiness so intense that it was like a
keen, sweet pain.
.bn 218.png
// 218.png
.pn +1
.pm chap 22 XXII. "A SYMPATHETIC SOUL."
Both Roger and his father urged Ben and
Jerry to come home with them for dinner, but the
older brother declined, saying that they had many
things to talk over between them. Already Ben
had found that Jerry was disinclined to answer
his eager questions in the presence of the strangers,
and he was consumed with curiosity to
know what singular chance had brought the blind
boy thither.
When the automobile stopped in front of the
house, Jimmy Jones, his eyes big with wonderment,
peered forth through the darkness and saw
the two boys alight and the little dog hop out
after them. Then good nights were called, the
big car swung slowly round and rolled away, and
Jimmy came hopping forth, palpitant to know
about the game.
.bn 219.png
// 219.png
.pn +1
“Did you play, Ben—did you play?” he asked.
“Who won?”
“We did, and I played, Jimmy.”
“Oh, good! I wish I could ‘a’ been there to
see it. Mother she’s kept some hot bread for you
and some coffee. She said you’d be hungry.”
“That’s right,” confirmed Mrs. Jones, her ample
figure appearing in the doorway. “You’re
young and strong, and I don’t b’lieve hot bread
will do no damage to your dejesshun. Joel, my
late departed, he was a master hand for hot bread
and presarves. We had baked beans for supper,
an’ I’ve left the pot in the oven, so they’re piping
hot. Joel, he used to eat about four heapin’ plates
of beans, an’ then he’d complain because every
little morsel he put into his stummick disagreed
with him. Who’s that with ye?”
“This is my brother, Mrs. Jones—my brother
Jerry. We haven’t seen each other for a long
time, and he’s been walking far to-day, so he’s
very tired. Step up, Jerry.”
.bn 220.png
// 220.png
.pn +1
Ben grasped the little chap’s arm and guided
him as the steps were mounted. In an aside he
whispered for the ear of Mrs. Jones, “He’s
blind.”
“Land sakes!” breathed the good woman, putting
up both hands. “Come right in and set down
to the table. Mamie, she’s gone out somewhere,
an’ Sadie’s having one of her chills. Don’t stumble
on the doorstool. Right this way.”
Gently but firmly she swept them into the room,
where the table still sat with the white cloth and
some dishes upon it. Jerry clung to the line, and
now the little dog followed at his heels.
“This is a surprise,” said the widow, as she
hastened to place another plate and another chair.
“Y’u never told me about your brother, Ben;
fact is, y’u never told me much about y’urself,
nohow. I s’pose y’u’ll want to wash up. There’s
the sink an’ soap an’ water an’ a clean towel. Did
y’u come all the way from Clearport in Mr.
Eliot’s automobile? My goodness! that must ‘a’
been grand. I don’t cal’late I’ll ever have no opportunity
to ride in one of them things, an’ I
guess I’d be scat to death if I did, ’cause they go
so fast. Don’t it ’most take a body’s breath
away?”
.bn 221.png
// 221.png
.pn +1
“Not quite as bad as that,” answered Ben, smiling;
“but it’s splendid, and I enjoyed it.”
“So did I,” said Jerry. “It ’most felt like I
was kind of flying through the air. I hope I ain’t
making nobody a lot of trouble, coming so unexpected
this way.”
“Trouble!” beamed Mrs. Jones. “My gracious!
I should say not! Why, Ben he’s gittin’ to be
’most like one of my fambly, though sometimes
it’s hard work makin’ him come down to eat with
us when I ax him. I ain’t like some folks, thank
goodness, that’s put out and upsot over every little
thing that happens; an’ if I’d been so, livin’
so many years with an ailing husband, they’d had
me dead an’ buried long before him. I never can
endure folks that’s always complaining about the
hard time they have to get along, when there’s
so much to enjoy in this world an’ so much to be
thankful for. Every time I git sorter billious
and downcast an’ dejec’ed I look ’round till I find
somebody that’s wuss off than I be, an’ then I
take holt an’ try to give them a lift, an’ that
cheers me up an’ makes me feel thankful an’ content
with my lot.”
.bn 222.png
// 222.png
.pn +1
As she talked she brought forth the beans and
poured them, steaming, upon a huge platter. Hot
bread, fresh butter and a dish of preserves were
likewise placed on that table, after which the coffee
was poured.
“Now,” said the widow, “I want to see y’u two
youngsters make a hole in the vittles.”
“I think we can,” laughed Ben. “I know I’m
mighty hungry, and I expect Jerry is, too.”
Jerry was hungry, indeed; really, the little fellow
was almost starved, and it was with no small
difficulty that he repressed the eager desire to
gulp his food. Watching him, the widow understood,
and covertly, even while she talked in the
same cheerful, optimistic strain, she wiped her
eyes more than once with the corner of her apron.
There was something about these two boys that
appealed to her big, motherly heart, and the
thought that the thin, weary-looking little chap
was doomed never to enjoy the precious privilege
of sight gave her a feeling of regret and sorrow
that she found difficult to disguise.
.bn 223.png
// 223.png
.pn +1
“You see,” said Ben suddenly, thinking it
courteous and necessary to make some explanation—“you
understand, Mrs. Jones, that if I’d
known Jerry was coming I’d told you about it.
He gave me a regular surprise. I hope you won’t
mind if he stops with me to-night, for there’s
plenty of room, and——”
“Land sakes! what be y’u talkin’ about, Ben?”
interrupted the widow protestingly. “Mind—’course
I don’t mind! I’m glad he’s come. I’m
glad y’u have got some comp’ny to cheer y’u up,
for sometimes y’u do sort of seem to need it, an’
I know I can’t just fill the bill; for old folks never
do jibe in proper an’ sympathetic with young
folks. Then I’m so busy I don’t have the time to
look arter y’u the way I’d like to.”
“You’ve been very good indeed to me, Mrs.
Jones—almost like a mother,” returned Ben. “I
don’t know how I’ll ever be able to repay you.”
“Now don’t talk that way. Goodness gracious!
ain’t y’u fussed ’round amusin’ Jimmy, a-fixin’
squirrel traps an’ swings an’ things for him?
That’s more’n squared any little thing I could do
for y’u to make y’u comf’table.”
.bn 224.png
// 224.png
.pn +1
“Look!” cried Jimmy. “The little dog is hungry.
See him begging. He’s hungry, mom.
Can’t I feed him?”
Pilot was sitting on his haunches, his forward
paws drooping as he turned his head to look from
one to another beseechingly.
“’Course y’u can feed him,” said the widow
quickly. “I sorter forgot about him. Lemme
look, an’ I’ll see if I’ve got a bone in the pantry.”
She found some bones and scraps, which she
brought forth on a plate, and Jimmy, begging the
privilege, was permitted to feed Pilot, who expressed
his appreciation by a sharp bark and such
frantic wagging of his tail that his whole body
was shaken from side to side all the way to his
forward shoulders.
When supper was over, to satisfy Jimmy, Ben
was compelled to tell about the football game,
and this he did with such modesty that the listeners,
who had not witnessed the contest, were
given no inkling as to how conspicuously he had
figured in it. He was even fair and generous
enough to accord Hayden all the credit the fellow
deserved.
.bn 225.png
// 225.png
.pn +1
At the first mention of Bern’s name the blind
lad uttered a cry of astonishment and alarm,
reaching out a trembling hand to touch his
brother.
“Ben! Ben!” he exclaimed. “It’s not Bern
Hayden who—who used to live in Hilton—not
that fellow?”
“Yes, Jerry, it’s the same fellow. He lives
here in Oakdale now.”
“But, Ben, he—why, you know what he did.
You know——”
“I’m not likely to forget it, Jerry.”
“He hates you.”
“There’s not an atom of love lost between us,”
was the grim retort.
“He made you go away from Hilton.”
“And he tried to drive me out of Oakdale, but
he failed in that, Jerry. He came mighty near it,
it’s true, and only for the good friends I made
here he would have succeeded. His old father
even went to Prof. Richardson, at the academy,
and tried to poison his mind.”
“Oh, I’m afraid of them, Ben! I know Bern
Hayden would do anything to hurt you—anything.”
.bn 226.png
// 226.png
.pn +1
“You needn’t be afraid. Roger Eliot is my
friend; his father is, too, and Mr. Eliot has fully
as much strength and influence in Oakdale as
Lemuel Hayden.”
“That’s right,” confirmed Mrs. Jones, “and
he’s lived here lots longer. Everybody knows
Urian Eliot ’round these parts; an’, even if he is
a rich man and rather tight and close in business
dealin’s, they do say he’s honest an’ just. ’Course
he’s got his enemies, same’s anybody has; but
even the wust on ’em can’t point out no crooked
thing he’s ever done.”
Nevertheless, it was no easy matter to calm
and reassure the agitated blind boy. Presently,
after they had talked for a time, Mrs. Jones
lighted a small hand-lamp and gave it to Ben,
saying:
“I won’t keep y’u up no longer, for I know y’u
must be tired an’ want to go to bed—anyhow,
I’m dead sartain your brother is plumb pegged
out. But to-morrer is the day of rest, an’ y’u can
sleep jest as late as y’u want to.”
.bn 227.png
// 227.png
.pn +1
Good nights were said, and the brothers mounted
the narrow back stairs, Ben assisting Jerry
while the little dog scrambled up behind them.
When at last they were in the privacy of Ben’s
room, he questioned Jerry.
“I didn’t want to ask too many things before
people,” he said, “because I thought perhaps
there might be something you wouldn’t care to
answer; but I don’t understand how it was that
I found you, tired and worn out, tramping to
Oakdale. How did Uncle Asher happen to let
you leave his home?”
“Uncle Asher is dead,” said Jerry.
.bn 228.png
// 228.png
.pn +1
.pm chap 23 XXIII. "THE BLIND FUGITIVE."
Ben was startled. “Dead,” he cried, aghast—“Uncle
Asher dead?”
“Yes,” answered Jerry, sitting on the edge of
the bed, “he was took off sudden, Ben. He didn’t
live much more’n an hour after he was struck
down. It was apoplexy or something like that.
The doctor, he couldn’t do anything. Uncle, he
never spoke but once, and that was just before he
went. Of course I was awful scat, Ben, but I
was in the room, and I heard him whispering my
name. I went to the bed and felt for his hands.
One of them didn’t have any strength, and it was
stone cold. The other was cold, too, but I felt it
grip my wrist, and then, sort of husky and choky,
Uncle Asher said, ‘The will, it’s in’—and that
was all. He never finished; he couldn’t. I don’t
believe it was ten minutes after that when they
told me he was gone.”
.bn 229.png
// 229.png
.pn +1
Ben seemed to be stupefied by the intelligence
of this tragedy. “Uncle Asher dead!” he repeated,
apparently finding it difficult to comprehend
the situation. “He was good to you, wasn’t he,
Jerry?”
“Always. He wouldn’t talk about you, Ben;
all he’d say was that nobody knowed what had
become of you. But he was good to me, and he
said I’d always be taken care of.”
“I’m sorry,” said Ben simply, brushing away
the tears which welled into his eyes. “As long
as he was good to you, I don’t mind what he
thought about me, for I suppose he had reasons
to believe I was bad.”
“I wanted to tell you all about it when we met
back there on the road,” said Jerry; “but I
thought perhaps it wasn’t best to talk too much
before other people. I was afraid to talk, Ben,
and I’ve got good reasons to be afraid. Listen,
Ben; I ran away.”
“You—you what?” gasped the older lad in
great astonishment.
“I ran away, Ben. I didn’t even wait till the
funeral was over.”
.bn 230.png
// 230.png
.pn +1
“What made you do that?”
“Because—because they were going to send me
off to some institution for poor and helpless children.
I heard them talking about it, the doctor
and the lawyer and one or two of the neighbors.
They didn’t know I heard them, but I couldn’t
help listening. The lawyer had come, and he said
he’d drawn up Uncle Asher’s will four years ago.
It was in a safety deposit vault at the bank. I
heard him telling that there wasn’t no provision
made for me in that will. Something was left to
the housekeeper and one or two distant relatives,
and all the rest went to benevolent institutions; I
was left out.
“Of course I thought of you, Ben, the very
first thing, and I wanted to let you know; but
there wasn’t nobody who could tell me where you
were. It was pretty hard to think mebbe I’d be
shut up in some institution and kept there and
never, never find you again. When I thought
about that all alone in my room I got desperate,
Ben. All that was left to me was my little dog,
Pilot, that uncle had bought for me and trained
to lead me round; and I was afraid they’d take
.bn 231.png
// 231.png
.pn +1
Pilot away from me, too. So that night I packed
up a few things, and took the violin Uncle Asher
had given me, and took Pilot, and we stole out
of the house and ran away.
“I told Pilot just what I was going to do, and,
honest and true, I believe he understood what I
said. I told him Uncle Asher was gone, and that
if we didn’t run away mebbe folks would separate
us and we couldn’t be together no more. He’d
never been outside that town before, Ben, but
when we took to the road in the night he just
kept going straight ahead without once trying to
turn back. Needn’t nobody ever tell me some
dogs don’t understand as much as human folks.
“I’d took along some bread and doughnuts out
of the pantry, and, when it come morning and I
could feel the sun shining, we had breakfast side
of a little brook, after which we crept into the
bushes and hid all day long. I heard people going
by on the road, but I told Pilot to keep still,
and he minded. There was enough food left for
supper, and the next night we tramped it again
all night long, stopping only two or three times
to rest. In the morning I had breakfast off some
.bn 232.png
// 232.png
.pn +1
apples I found in an orchard. Pilot he left me,
and I thought mebbe he’d deserted for good, and
I guess I cried, Ben; but he hadn’t gone far, and
after a while he come back with an old bone he’d
found, and that served him for breakfast. We
got into a shed and slept there till it was dark
and we could travel some more.”
“Oh, Jerry,” cried Ben sympathetically—“oh,
Jerry, it must have been terrible!” He seated
himself beside the blind lad, about whose shoulders
his arm was tenderly flung. The little dog,
half dozing on the floor, rolled a contented, satisfied
eye toward them and closed it again.
“I can’t tell you all we did and all we went
through, Ben,” the blind lad continued; “but we
managed to get along somehow, though I was
always scat for fear they’d catch me and take me
back. I played on the violin and sometimes I
sang, and Jerry he would sit up on his haunches
and beg, and people gave us some money. That’s
how we were able to live and buy food.”
“It was a marvel you were not caught, Jerry.
Perhaps no one searched for you.”
.bn 233.png
// 233.png
.pn +1
“Oh, yes, they did,” declared the blind boy
quickly—“yes, they did, Ben. It was three
nights ago I was stopping at a house in a little
village where some kind folks agreed to put me
up when I heard somebody knocking at the door.
It gave me a start, and I listened. I heard a man
talking to the man of the house, and he was asking
about me. He described me—a little blind
boy with a fiddle and a dog. I hadn’t undressed
for bed, and that was lucky. I called Pilot softly,
and somehow we got down the back stairs and
out of the house before they came up to that room
to look for me. Again we tramped it all night
long, though it was awful cold and I shivered
and almost froze every time we stopped to rest.
Everywhere I went I asked for you, and I kept
praying to find you, Ben, though it didn’t seem
that there was any chance. I guess, though, that
prayer was heard.”
“It was, Jerry; it must have been. Something
led you to me, and something guarded you from
capture until you had found me.”
“But what if they find me now, Ben—what can
we do?”
.bn 234.png
// 234.png
.pn +1
The older lad meditated a moment. “I can
take care of you, Jerry,” he said. “I’m strong,
and I can work. I’ll have to give up school for
a time and find work again.”
“But you know, Ben—you know they think
you’re bad. They might separate us on that account.
I’m sure they would.”
“And only for Bern Hayden,” exclaimed Ben
bitterly, “I’d never have such a reputation! We’ll
do the best we can, Jerry; don’t you worry. Fortune
has seemed to favor me here in Oakdale,
and I feel sure everything is bound to come out
all right in the end. We won’t be separated, little
brother; we’ll stick together.”
.bn 235.png
// 235.png
.pn +1
.pm chap 24 XXIV. "CLOUDS GATHER AGAIN."
Again Ben Stone found himself confronted by
a problem that demanded immediate solution. It
disturbed his pillow long after Jerry, wearied to
the extreme, was sleeping soundly; and when at
last he slept it gave him troubled dreams.
He was first to waken in the morning, and,
when he would have slept still longer, the great
question swooped upon him and tore away the
last shred of slumber. The little dog welcomed
him with wagging tail as he crept softly out of
bed that he might not disturb his sleeping brother.
He was nearly dressed when Jerry awoke with
a startled cry, sitting up on the bed and thrusting
out his thin arms, his hands spread open as
if to hold away some fearsome thing. In a
twinkling Ben was at the bed, speaking reassuringly
to Jerry.
.bn 236.png
// 236.png
.pn +1
“Oh—oh, is it you, brother?” gasped the blind
boy, as he felt himself gathered into the embrace
of Ben’s strong arms. “I thought they had
caught me. I thought they were going to take
me back.”
“You were only dreaming, Jerry. You’re quite
safe with me.” Tenderly he caressed the little
lad, who, trembling, clung to him.
“You won’t let them take me away, will you,
Ben?”
“No, Jerry, they shall not take you away.”
Mrs. Jones would have had them down to
breakfast, but when she came to call them they
had eaten from Ben’s small store of apples and
sandwiches, and they seemed quite happy and
contented, so that she had no glimpse of the
threatening shadow which hovered near.
During the greater part of that Sunday the
brothers remained in the little room, having many
things to talk about and being unwilling to advertise
for the general public the fact that Jerry
was in Oakdale. Late in the afternoon, however,
they walked out together, turning westward to
avoid the main part of the village and passing
.bn 237.png
// 237.png
.pn +1
the academy. Before reaching Turkey Hill they
left the road and set off across the fields toward
a grove of pines upon the shore of Lake Woodrim.
Pilot, unleashed, frisked before them. On
the shore of Bear Cove they found a seat beneath
one of those pines where the ground was
carpeted with soft brown needles.
They were sitting there, talking, when a small,
flat-bottomed punt containing a single occupant
rounded Pine Point in full view and was paddled
toward them. The person in the boat was Spotty
Davis, who, despite the fact that it was Sunday,
had been fishing. He discovered them almost immediately,
and, recognizing Ben, called loudly:
“Hello, Stoney, old fel; what ju doin’?
Thought mebbe I could ketch a pick’rel or two
here in the cove.”
Although Ben had not found Spotty’s friendship
wholly unwelcome, he was now far from
pleased by the chap’s appearance. It was too late
to get away, however, and so he waited until
Davis, paddling straight in, grounded the punt
upon a bit of gravelly beach and sprang out.
Pilot regarded the stranger doubtfully, growling
a little.
.bn 238.png
// 238.png
.pn +1
“Say, who’s your friend, Stoney?” inquired
Spotty, advancing unhesitatingly. “Gee! what
an ugly lookin’ dog!” he added, with a derisive
grin. “Don’t let him chaw me up, will ye?”
“Down, Pilot! Be still!” commanded Jerry.
And, although he obeyed, the dog continued to
regard Davis with suspicious eyes.
“This is my brother Jerry,” explained Ben.
“He arrived in Oakdale last night. Jerry, this is
one of my friends, Tim Davis.”
“Your brother, hey?” said Spotty, taking the
thin hand Jerry held forth. “Say, what’s the
matter with his blinkers? They look awful
funny.”
“He’s blind,” explained Ben in a low tone.
“Sho! Can’t see nothin’? Jerusalem! that’s
tough. Can’t he really see nothin’ at all?”
“As far as sight is concerned, he can’t distinguish
daylight from darkness.”
“Whew!” breathed Spotty, sitting down and
staring at Jerry. “I never see nobody like that
before. You never told me about him, Ben;
you’ve never said much of anything about your
folks.”
.bn 239.png
// 239.png
.pn +1
“I thought possibly you had heard some stories
from Bern Hayden.”
“Well, not much; he just sorter knocked you,
and I s’posed that was ’cause he was sore on
you. Say, I guess you proved that you could play
football yesterday. Bern didn’t have much on
you in that game. Wasn’t it tough I got knocked
out? Them fellers kind of picked me out and
soaked me. They’ve always had a grudge against
me, them Clearporters. Last time I played baseball
against them Harry Hutt spiked me, and that
put me out of the game, too. Eliot he was mad,
’cause he said I wasn’t hurt so bad I couldn’t
play; and I s’pose he was mad yesterday, too.
He’s awful stiff-necked sometimes; but you certainly
got on his soft side through what you done
for his sister, and I guess he’d back you up in
anything. He brought Hayden to terms all right
when Bern tried to force you off the team by gettin’
the fellers to quit. I wish you’d heard a few
things Bern had to say yesterday ’cause Roger
invited you to ride home in the automobile.”
.bn 240.png
// 240.png
.pn +1
“I’m decidedly glad I didn’t hear them,” returned
Ben. “All I ask is that Bern Hayden
keeps away from me and lets me alone.”
“He didn’t like it much when some of the fellers
said we couldn’t ever won that game only
for you. That was a hard pill for him to swaller.
He’s always used me all right, in a way, though
I know he thinks he’s better’n I am ’cause his
father’s got the dough. I don’t think it’s right,
either, for some folks to have so much money
and other folks to have so little. Now there’s
lots of things I’d like if I only had the chink to
buy ’em. Look a’ the rotten old fishin’ tackle
I’ve got in that bo’t; if I had money I’d buy an
elegant jointed rod, a triple action reel, a silk line,
and any amount of hooks and flies and baits.
How long is your brother goin’ to stay?” Spotty
concluded suddenly with that question.
“I—I don’t know about that,” faltered Ben.
“We haven’t quite decided. Isn’t it pretty late in
the season for fish to bite?” he asked, seeking to
turn the drift of conversation.
.bn 241.png
// 241.png
.pn +1
“Guess ’tis,” admitted Davis. “I ain’t had a
bite. We can generally ketch pick’rel pretty late,
though.”
Ben rose and assisted Jerry to his feet. “I
think we’ll go back,” he said.
“What’s your hurry?” asked Davis. “It’s
kinder comf’table here. The wind don’t cut into
this cove, and the sun’s warm.”
But they left him, and, after they had passed
through the grove and were recrossing the open
field beyond, Jerry said: “Somehow, I don’t like
your friend, Ben. There’s something about his
voice and the way he talks that I don’t like.”
“Oh, I reckon he’s a harmless fellow, and he
was one of the first in Oakdale to be really friendly
toward me; I can’t forget that.”
When they reached the house they learned
that Roger Eliot had been there asking for them.
“He seemed real disapp’inted,” said the widow.
“P’raps y’u’d better walk ’round to his house an’
see him.”
But it was late and growing dark, and Ben
decided not to call on Roger that night.
.bn 242.png
// 242.png
.pn +1
Stone appeared at school the following day
wearing a gravely troubled face, which led Eliot
to question him, and he was on the point of telling
Roger everything and asking his advice when
several other boys came up and the opportunity
was lost. All day long Ben’s mind dwelt on the
perplexing problem, and gradually he came to
believe there was only one solution; he must give
up school, leave Oakdale, and find a job of some
sort by which he could support himself and Jerry.
It meant the shattering of all his plans, but he
faced the alternative bravely, and even became a
bit more relieved and cheerful when he had decided
to accept it as the only thing that could be
done.
When the boys came out for practice that
afternoon neither Stone nor Hayden was with
them. Spotty Davis was on hand, however, and,
after a consultation with the coach, Roger called
Spotty aside for the purpose of telling him as
kindly as possible that he would be no longer
needed upon the team.
Davis instantly showed his resentment and
anger. Hayden, coming up, heard him shrilly
saying:
.bn 243.png
// 243.png
.pn +1
“That’s all right, Mr. Eliot, you can fire me.
I’ve seen other fellers knocked out in football
games, and they wasn’t fired. Mebbe you’ll need
me yet, and mebbe you won’t get me if you do.”
With which he walked away and sat down alone
on one of the lower rows of seats, his sly face
wearing a sour expression of resentment and
anger.
Practice was begun without Stone. In the
midst of it he appeared, wearing his plain, homespun
clothes, and called to the captain.
“Roger,” he said, “I can’t play football any
more.”
Eliot uttered an exclamation of surprise.
“Why not, Ben? What’s the matter now?”
“I told you my story some time ago; you’re
the only one who has ever heard it from me.
Uncle Asher, who took my blind brother to care
for, is dead, and now someone must look after
Jerry. I haven’t money enough to attend school
and take care of him too, so I’m going to leave
school. I must find work; I’ve settled on that.”
“Oh, say, that’s too bad, Stone, old chap!
Now don’t be hasty; let’s think this matter over.
Perhaps my father will do something for Jerry.”
.bn 244.png
// 244.png
.pn +1
Ben shook his head. “I couldn’t permit my
brother to accept charity, Roger; I thank you very
much for the generous thought, but I’ve made
up my mind. I’ve left the suit you loaned me,
and everything else, in the gym. Perhaps I’ll
see you again to-morrow before we leave Oakdale.
I couldn’t practice to-night if I wanted to,
for Jerry is all alone. I went to see him after
school was over and tell him my decision; that’s
why I wasn’t here promptly. Don’t say anything
to the rest of the fellows now. I’d like to bid
them all good-by, but I don’t want to do so here
at this time.”
Roger found it useless to advance argument,
and finally Ben departed, watched by the eyes of
Hayden, who had sauntered past in time to catch
a few words of the conversation.
Five minutes later Hayden excused himself and
left the field in the wake of Spotty Davis, who
was finally going away in a sullen and resentful
frame of mind.
Stone went down into the village to purchase
a pair of shoes for Jerry, whose footwear was
almost wholly gone to the uppers. In his timidity
.bn 245.png
// 245.png
.pn +1
the blind boy had remained all day long in
that room at Mrs. Jones’, again beset by fear
that the pursuers he dreaded might find him; and
he was even unwilling to be seen in the village
with his brother.
Ben spent some time selecting the shoes, for
he wished to get a stout and serviceable pair at
a moderate price, which was no easy matter.
Having made the purchase at last, he was on the
point of leaving when the shopkeeper said:
“There was a man here in town a while ago
asking for a boy by your name, only the front
part of his name was Jerry instead of Ben, and
the man said he was blind.”
For a moment Ben’s heart ceased to beat.
“How long ago was that?” he asked huskily.
“Oh, less than an hour, I guess. He’d just
struck town, and he’s gone over to the hotel for
supper.”
Ben ran all the way back to Mrs. Jones’ house.
At the door he met Spotty Davis, who had just
come down the back stairs.
.bn 246.png
// 246.png
.pn +1
Davis seemed a trifle startled. “Hello, Ben!”
he exclaimed. “I just dropped round to see ye.
Found your brother all alone. Saw you wasn’t
practicin’ to-night, and sorter wondered what the
matter was. You know, Eliot he’s fired me.
What do you think of that? I didn’t believe he’d
do it.”
“I can’t stop to talk with you, Spotty,” said
Ben; “I’m in a great hurry. Excuse me, will
you?”
“Sure,” said Davis, with great willingness, as
he passed on.
At the gate Davis paused an instant to glance
back; but Ben had disappeared, and Spotty scudded
away into the gathering twilight.
.bn 247.png
// 247.png
.pn +1
.pm chap 25 XXV. "FLIGHT."
Ben mounted the stairs in haste. “Here,
Jerry,” he said,“let me try these shoes on you.
Let’s see if they fit.” His hands trembled a bit
as he removed the remnants of the shoes the blind
boy had worn and tried the others upon Jerry’s
feet. “How do they feel?” he asked, as he hastened
to lace them.
“All right,” was the answer. “But what’s the
matter, Ben? You’re panting and excited. Has
anything happened?”
“I’ve been hurrying,” said Ben evasively.
But even the little yellow dog seemed to realize
that something was wrong, for he moved about
uneasily, eying the brothers and whining.
“I’ve decided we had better leave Oakdale at
once—right away,” said Ben, as he rose to his
feet. “Sit still, Jerry, while I gather up the things
I must take.”
.bn 248.png
// 248.png
.pn +1
“Ben,” said the younger lad, with conviction,
“something has happened. You’re nervous and
alarmed; I know it by your voice. Why don’t
you tell me, Ben—why don’t you tell me?”
At any rate, it would be necessary to tell him
in a few moments, and so, seeking to frighten the
blind boy as little as possible, Ben did so at once.
The moment Jerry learned a man had appeared
in Oakdale asking for him he became panic-stricken;
his face grew pallid and he trembled in
every limb.
“They will take me away from you, brother—they
will separate us!” he exclaimed.
“They shall not!” cried the older lad fiercely.
“I had decided already to leave Oakdale to-morrow;
we’ll leave to-night—we’ll slip away at
once. Keep still, Jerry, and I’ll make all the
preparations.”
“But what if that man should come—what if
he should come before we can start?”
“He’ll have to get here in a hurry to find us.”
Indeed, it did not take Ben Stone long to make
a bundle of the few belongings he felt he must
take. A great deal of his poor personal property
.bn 249.png
// 249.png
.pn +1
he had resolved to abandon for the time being,
confident that Mrs. Jones would take care of
everything for him. Sometime when there was
no longer danger he could recover it all.
“We’ll get out of the house without saying a
word to anybody,” said Ben. “That’s the best
way, although I hate to do it, for we seem to be
running away like criminals.”
At the last moment, smitten by regret because
fancied necessity seemed to compel him to leave
without bidding the kind widow good-by, he
seized a piece of brown paper and the stub of a
pencil and sat down to write a few words of farewell—Jerry
urging him to hasten even while he
was scribbling. This was what he wrote:
.sp 2
.nf l
“My Dear Mrs. Jones:—
“I’ll never be able to thank you enough for all
your kindness to me and to my little blind brother.
I’m forced to do what I am doing, though I
regret it very much. I wish I might say good-by
to you and to Jimmy, but I do not dare. I
know I shall always be ashamed and sorry for
this last thing I have done, but I couldn’t help it.
I hope you’ll forgive me and always think as well
of me as you can, no matter what you may hear
about me.”
.nf-
.bn 250.png
// 250.png
.pn +1
At this point Jerry’s impatient pleading could
be no longer resisted, and, hastily signing his
name, Ben left the note of farewell where it could
not be overlooked by Mrs. Jones. With all possible
stealth they descended the stairs and got
softly out of the house.
The night had come on overcast and dark,
heavy clouds veiling the moon. A raw wind, chill
and dank, came from the east, soughing fitfully
through the bare limbs of the trees and sending
fallen leaves scurrying along the ground. Just
outside the gate Ben turned to look back at the
lighted windows. Mamie, accompanying herself
on the melodeon, was singing, and there was a
choking sensation in Ben’s throat as he listened.
.sp 2
.nf l
“An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain;
O! give me my lowly thatch cottage again;
A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there,
Which, seek through the world, is ne’er met with elsewhere.
Home, home, sweet, sweet home!
Be it ever so humble, there’s no
place like home.”
.nf-
.bn 251.png
// 251.png
.pn +1
“Come,” entreated Jerry; and they fled on past
the silent academy, the gym and the athletic field—on
into the bleak night. The blind boy had
brought his violin, and it was swung by the cord
over his back.
With the village behind them, Ben paused once
more to look around. The lights of Oakdale
twinkled far down the road. It was there he had
dreamed pleasant dreams; it was there he had
fought his fight until victory seemed within his
grasp; but those dreams were over, and he had
been conquered by cruel fate in the hour of his
triumph. Fear, which frequently perverts the
soundest judgment, had forced him, without reasoning
or sober thought, into this flight by night.
They went on, and soon a barren shoulder of
Turkey Hill shut out those lights and they were
alone on the highway that led to the northwest.
“We’ll be followed, Ben,” said Jerry apprehensively.
“What can we do?”
“If you, blind and alone, save for Pilot, could
avoid pursuers so long, surely together we must
find it a simpler matter. Trust me. This is not
the first time I have been forced into running
away.”
.bn 252.png
// 252.png
.pn +1
“I know—I know; but they didn’t try to catch
you, Ben. They let you go and thought it good
riddance. Now it’s different.”
“I don’t understand why they should put themselves
to so much trouble and expense to find
you, Jerry, and shut you up in an institution.
Perhaps they’ll give it up after a while.”
Hand in hand they went on through the black
night. At times Pilot, having trotted a short distance
ahead, would pause to peer at them through
the blackness, and whine. The wind moaned
across the open spaces and crashed the limbs of
trees together while they were passing through
strips of woods. The dampness in the atmosphere
added to the penetration of the chill, and
Jerry’s teeth chattered.
They came to Barville, ten miles from Oakdale,
and were in the outskirts of the dark and silent
village before they were aware of it. They were
tempted to try to circle round the place, fearing
someone might see them, but only two or three
dim lights gleamed faintly from windows, and
.bn 253.png
// 253.png
.pn +1
not a soul did they encounter on the streets of
the town. Once a dog barked in a house they
were passing, but Jerry was swift enough in
bidding Pilot be still to prevent the little animal
from answering.
Beyond Barville they paused to rest, and Ben,
hearing Jerry’s teeth chatter, persisted in pulling
off his coat and buttoning it about the blind lad’s
shoulders. In this manner the violin on Jerry’s
back was protected when, later, a fine, drizzling
rain began.
“But you’ll be wet through, Ben, and you’ll
catch cold,” said Jerry. “I wish you’d take your
coat.”
“I’m all right,” laughed the elder brother. “I’m
tough, and there’s never anything the matter
with me. Perhaps we can find shelter somewhere.”
The rain, driven in the teeth of the wind, soon
drenched him through; and when at last he perceived
near the road an old barn with no house
at hand, even Ben was more than willing to stop.
.bn 254.png
// 254.png
.pn +1
“I think the house must have burned down,”
he said, “for there isn’t any to be seen. It’s a
good place, Jerry. We must be eighteen or
twenty miles from Oakdale. We can stop here
and keep out of sight all through the day, if
necessary.”
So they tried the door of the barn and found
it unfastened. In the black darkness they felt
their way cautiously, at last climbing upon a haymow,
where Jerry sank down exhausted.
“Perhaps they’ll give it up when they find
we’re gone, Ben,” said the blind boy, shivering.
“Maybe they won’t try to follow us.”
“Maybe not. We’ll hope so, anyway. Bern
Hayden will be glad when he finds out. He’ll
rejoice over it.”
They burrowed into the hay and talked for a
time of various plans, while gradually, in spite
of their drenched condition, the heat of their
bodies as they snuggled close together warmed
them through. Pilot crept up against Jerry and
contented himself. The wind swept against the
old barn and moaned through cracks, while the
rain beat unceasingly upon the roof.
.bn 255.png
// 255.png
.pn +1
Ben thought of Bern Hayden’s fine home, and
he had a wrestle with the bitter resentment
against fate which sought to claim him. At first
it seemed that everything in the world was wrong
and that those who least deserved it, or did not
deserve it at all, were most favored by fortune;
but then he remembered Roger, to whose home he
had been welcomed, and he knew that some who
were worthy were privileged to bask in prosperity’s
sunshine.
Finally the mournful sweep of the wind and
the fitful beating of rain lulled his senses, and he
slept—slept to dream of Hayden leering triumphantly
upon him. In his sleep he muttered:
“Wait—wait; my time will come!”
.bn 256.png
// 256.png
.pn +1
.pm chap 26 XXVI. "THE ARREST."
A lance of sunshine, piercing a crack in the old
barn, struck squarely into Ben Stone’s eyes and
awoke him. For a few moments he lay still without
comprehending, the odor of the haymow in
his nostrils; his head alone was uncovered by the
hay into which the fugitives had burrowed. High
up in the peak of the barn the morning light
streamed in through a broken, dusty, cobwebby
window; with the passing of the night the storm
had passed also, and the new day was bright and
fair.
Ben turned his head slowly, softly, and saw his
brother sleeping beside him, which sight brought
back with a rush the memories of recent events
leading up to and including the flight by night
from Oakdale. They were fugitives, he and
Jerry—fugitives and wanderers upon the face of
the earth.
.bn 257.png
// 257.png
.pn +1
Jerry awoke; the sightless eyes unclosed and a
faint smile crept over his face. “Ben,” he called,
moving a hand to touch the lad at his side—“Ben,
is it you?”
“Yes, Jerry. Did I wake you up? I didn’t
mean to do so.”
“Oh, I’m glad you did; I’m glad to know we’re
together again. It is morning.”
“Yes, it is morning; the sun is shining.”
“I’m warm and dry and comfortable now. I
was so wet and cold when we found this place
last night!”
“It was a mean old night. If it hadn’t stormed,
we’d got a much bigger start—we’d be lots further
away from Oakdale now.”
“We’d better stay here all day long, Ben, for
anyone won’t be likely to find us. That’s the way
I did at first—hid in the daytime and traveled
at night.”
“But we brought no food, and we must have
something to eat. I’m afraid you’re hungry
now, Jerry.”
.bn 258.png
// 258.png
.pn +1
“Oh, not a bit,” was the assurance. “It ain’t
so hard for a feller to go all day without eating if
he only tries; I know, for haven’t I done it lots
of times! Perhaps when night comes again we’ll
be able to find something to eat somehow.”
“I have money,” said Ben. “I can buy food.”
“But if you try it now somebody who sees you
may send word back to Oakdale. Please don’t
try it now, Ben, for truly I’m not hungry.
Where’s Pilot?”
For the first time they thought of the little
dog, and, to their surprise and dismay, he was
gone. Ben, however, was far more concerned
than Jerry over this.
“He’ll come back,” declared the blind boy.
“He’s gone to hunt for his breakfast, and I know
he’ll come back; he always does.”
They lay there for some time, talking of the
past and planning for the future. The ray of sunshine
that had aroused Ben crept on across the
mow, leaving them in shadow, and presently
Jerry once more betrayed tokens of drowsiness,
slumber again claiming him at last.
.bn 259.png
// 259.png
.pn +1
“Poor little chap!” murmured Ben with infinite
tenderness. “You’ve had a hard time of it,
but I’m going to stick by you now and take care
of you always. I can do it, and I will.”
The silence in the barn was so profound that he
could hear crickets fiddling in the thickets of
brown, rain-washed grass outside. With a clatter
of hoofs and a rumble of wheels, a horse and
carriage passed on the road near by. Ben listened
till the sounds died out in the distance, and
then after a time he likewise slept once more.
It was the barking of Pilot that next aroused
the brothers, and the little dog came scrambling
up onto the low mow and sniffed around them,
whining strangely. He barked again, a short,
sharp note, whereupon Jerry clutched his brother
with both hands, whispering excitedly:
“Danger, Ben—danger! Pilot is trying to tell
us.”
Even as these words were uttered they heard
the voices of men and the tramp of heavy feet.
One of Jerry’s hands found Pilot’s collar, and beneath
that touch the dog crouched upon the hay
and was still.
.bn 260.png
// 260.png
.pn +1
There seemed to be two men. “The critter sartainly
come right in here,” said one of them.
“Mebbe ’tain’t the same dorg, but he answers the
deescription the Widder Jones give; and it’s
mighty queer a dorg should be hookin’ it round
here, where there ain’t no houses nigher than a
quarter of a mile.”
“Where’s the beast dodged to, sheriff?” questioned
the other man. “I heared him bark arter
he skipped in through the open door.”
Sheriff! Ben Stone’s heart leaped into his
throat at that word, and a shuddering sickness
overcame him. He felt Jerry trembling violently
at his side. Both lay perfectly still, scarcely
breathing, but unable to repress the heavy beatings
of their hearts. The men searched below,
and after a time one of them climbed upon the
mow. In a few moments he nearly trod upon
them, halting to utter a shout:
“Here they be!”
As the other man came scrambling to the mow,
Ben threw aside the hay and sat up.
“What do you want?” he asked huskily.
One man, tall and thin, with a bunch of tobacco-stained
whiskers on his chin, answered immediately:
.bn 261.png
// 261.png
.pn +1
“We want you, and, by hokey, we’ve got ye!”
“Oh, Ben!” sobbed Jerry, likewise sitting up.
“Oh, Ben!”
In a moment Pilot bristled and barked savagely
at the men, who, however, betrayed no shade
of alarm over this demonstration.
“If I hadn’t spied that yaller cur,” said the
shorter man of the two, “we might never located
them to-day. Nobody we questioned ’round here
had seen anything of ’em. You’ve got to give me
the credit, sheriff.”
“That’s all right, Hubbard; you’ll git all the
credit that’s comin’ to ye, don’t worry.”
Ben had seen both men in Oakdale. The taller
was William Pickle, a deputy sheriff; the other
Abel Hubbard, a constable. The deputy stooped
and fastened a strong hand on Ben’s shoulder.
“Come on,” he ordered. “You took a long
walk last night; we’ll give ye a ride to-day.”
“What are you going to do with me?”
“Goin’ to take ye back to Oakdale, of course.”
“What for? What have I done?”
“I ruther guess you know. You’re a slippery
rascal, and you’ve left a record behind ye everywhere
you’ve been. Gimme the irons, Hubbard.”
.bn 262.png
// 262.png
.pn +1
There was a clanking, rattling sound as the
constable brought forth a pair of handcuffs, at
sight of which all the resentment in Ben Stone’s
outraged soul rose.
“Don’t you put those things on me!” he shouted
furiously. “I haven’t done anything.”
Both men held him, and, in spite of his struggles,
the manacles were snapped upon his wrists;
while Jerry, still sitting on the mow, pleaded and
sobbed and wrung his hands, the little dog vainly
seeking to soothe him by trying to lick his face.
“He’s a desp’rate character, sheriff,” said the
constable. “’Twouldn’t be safe not to iron him.”
“I ain’t takin’ no chances,” declared William
Pickle grimly. “I had one prisoner break away
once, and that learnt me a lesson. Now it’s no
use to raise sech a fuss, young feller; you might
jest as well take your medicine quiet. You ought
to know what alwus comes to them that plays the
tricks you’ve been up to.”
.bn 263.png
// 263.png
.pn +1
“I haven’t done anything to be arrested,” protested
Ben wildly. “I have a right to take care
of my own brother, for he’s blind and can’t look
out for himself.”
“Purty good bluffer,” grinned Abel Hubbard.
“That’s all right; ’twon’t do him no good,” returned
the deputy sheriff. “Course he’s got sense
enough to know anything he owns up to may be
used as evidence against him.”
Again and again Ben protested that he knew
not why he had been placed under arrest. “Why
don’t you tell me?” he cried. “What’s the
charge?”
“Robbery,” said Pickle; “and there’s sartainly
evidence enough to put ye behind the bars. You
might jest as well come along quiet, for it won’t
do ye no good resistin’. We’d better be movin’,
Hubbard.”
They dragged him down from the mow, Jerry
following, dumb with anguish. At a distance
from the barn a horse, attached to a carriage,
was hitched beneath a roadside tree, and toward
this conveyance the manacled prisoner was
marched between the two officers. His brain was
in a whirl, for he could not understand the meaning
of this hideous accusation against him.
.bn 264.png
// 264.png
.pn +1
“Unhitch the hoss, Hubbard,” directed the deputy
sheriff. “I’ll put this feller inter the wagon.”
“Take me with my brother!” pleaded Jerry,
who had followed to the spot.
“We ain’t got no orders to take only jest him,”
said William Pickle. “The wagon ain’t roomy
enough to carry you, too, and so we can’t bother
with ye. Mebbe ’twas an oversight we wa’n’t
give’ orders to fetch ye, for you might serve as a
witness against him; but, having neither authority
nor room, we won’t cumber ourselves with
ye.”
With the captive between himself and Hubbard,
William Pickle took the reins and turned
the horse toward Oakdale. Looking back, the
manacled lad saw Jerry standing there, his face
hidden in his hands, the yellow dog gazing up
sympathetically at him, a spectacle never to be
forgotten; and the frightful injustice of fate
seemed to crush and smother the last spark of
hope and strength in Ben’s soul.
.bn 265.png
// 265.png
.pn +1
.pm chap 27 XXVII. "THE DARKEST HOUR."
The Oakdale lockup was beneath the Town
Hall, and into that cage for culprits Stone was
thrust. Curious and unfriendly eyes had seen
him brought back into the village. As the post
office was passed, one of a group of men lounging
on the steps called out: “I see you got the
critter, Bill.”
“Yep,” answered the deputy sheriff, with a
grin of triumph; “we ketched the rascal all right,
Eben.”
The afternoon session had begun at the academy,
and therefore Ben’s plight was not witnessed
by any of the scholars, for which he was
doubly thankful. When they were inside the lockup
Pickle removed the handcuffs from the boy’s
wrists.
.bn 266.png
// 266.png
.pn +1
“There,” he said, “I don’t guess you’ll break
out of here. There’s a chair and a bunk, and you
better make yo’rself as comf’table as ye can. Hubbard
will have charge of ye now till you’re
brought to trial.” The door closed heavily behind
the departing officer, the bolt grating
harshly in the lock.
On the journey back to Oakdale Ben had tried
in vain to learn the particulars of the crime with
which he was charged. While avoiding or refusing
to answer his questions, the two men had
craftily sought to lead him into compromising
statements; failing in which, they disappointedly
told each other that his attempt at “slickness”
would do him no good.
The boy sat on the heavy, broken-backed chair,
resting his elbows on his knees and bowing his
face in his hands. There he sat motionless for
a long time, trying to divine by what baleful
freak of circumstances he had been brought to
this wretched plight; but, without knowledge of
the facts to work upon, he found himself floundering
helplessly and blindly in a mire of uncertainty.
.bn 267.png
// 267.png
.pn +1
He was aroused by voices outside the door,
above which an iron-barred window admitted
light and air.
“I say it’s just inhuman to treat the poor boy
in sech a fashion! You ain’t fed him, y’u say;
y’u ain’t even found out if he’s hongry an’ starvin’.
I’ve brung him some vittles, an’ the least
y’u can do is feed him. I don’t b’lieve he ever
stole nothin’, an’ I’ll never b’lieve it till it’s
proved ag’in’ him. He’s a good boy, an’ a kindhearted
boy. He was good to my little Jimmy,
an’ I’ll never forgit it as long’s the Lord lets me
live.”
Ben thrilled, for it was the voice of Mrs.
Jones; and here was one, at least, who still had
faith in him.
“That’s all right, Mis’ Jones,” said Abel Hubbard.
“Your sympathetic heart sartainly does
you credit, but in this case it’s a dead sure thing
you’re a-wastin’ your sympathy on an undeservin’
objec’. Why, there ain’t no doubt in the world
but he’s the thief, for wasn’t the watches and the
rings and some of the money found hid under the
straw tick of his bed right in your own house?
That’s proof enough, Mis’ Jones, and there ain’t
no gittin’ round it.”
.bn 268.png
// 268.png
.pn +1
“I don’t b’lieve he put them things there, Abel
Hubbard—no, siree! I dunno how they come to
be there, but that boy never stole ’em.”
“He’s been up to things wuss’n that, and his
father before him was a jailbird. Blood will tell,
Mis’ Jones—blood will tell. I s’pose he orter
have somethin’ to eat, but we’ve been so busy we
ain’t got ’round to feed him yet. I’ll give him
the grub you’ve brung. Yes, I’ll give it to him
now, Mis’ Jones; but you better stand back from
the door, ’cause he’s a desperate critter, and
there’s no tellin’ what he may try. He’ll never
play no snigdums on me, though; he’ll find me
ready if he tries ’em.”
When the heavy bolt was shot back and the
door opened cautiously by the constable, Ben was
seen standing at a distance, showing no disposition
to attempt anything desperate. The widow
was there, bearing in her hands a large dish
covered by a napkin, snowy white, though somewhat
frayed. Her broad, kindly face was softened
with sympathy and sorrow.
.bn 269.png
// 269.png
.pn +1
“Oh, my poor boy!” she said. “I’ve brung y’u
something to eat to keep y’u from starvin’, for
these heathen ’round here don’t seem to have no
thought about that. I’ve brung the best I had
in the house, which, goodness knows, is poor
enough—cold beans left over from Sunday, an’
bread an’ butter an’ doughnuts an’ a piece of
blueb’ry pie. I’ll fetch y’u a warm supper by
and by, for I bought a piece of lamb to stew
a-purpose, an’ Sadie is tendin’ it. You must be
awful hongry, an’ I know cold beans won’t hurt
your deejeshun, though they alwus sot monstrous
hard on Joel’s stummick. You jest keep up your
pucker, Ben, an’ don’t lose courage; for you’ve
got some friends left, an’ they’re goin’ to do
everything they can for y’u. I wisht the constable
would let me in to see y’u, but he says no, an’
so I can’t come.”
Ben had advanced slowly toward the door,
closely watched by the suspicious eye of Abel
Hubbard. He had fought back his emotions until
once more he seemed to be the stolid, indifferent
fellow who had won so little sympathy when he
first appeared in Oakdale. Nevertheless, there
.bn 270.png
// 270.png
.pn +1
was a catch in his voice as he took the dish and
sought to express his gratitude. The door closed
upon him, and he was again alone.
He had eaten some of the beans and one of the
doughnuts when Hubbard reopened the door on
a crack and thrust in a pitcher of water, which
he left standing upon the floor.
The time passed with leaden feet. He had
ceased trying to understand; he waited dumbly.
Far away a bell clanged, sending a slight shudder
through him; it was the academy bell, telling that
mid-afternoon intermission was over. Doubtless
his schoolmates knew all about it by this time;
they had heard of his arrest and imprisonment in
the lockup, and they had told one another what
they thought of it. Hayden was rejoicing and
his friends were satisfied, while probably still
others had said they knew all along it would
come to something like this. It was the darkest
hour of Ben Stone’s life.
He did not think wholly of himself, however;
indeed, his thoughts dwelt far more upon his
helpless blind brother, whom he had promised to
stand by and to protect, but from whom he had
.bn 271.png
// 271.png
.pn +1
been ruthlessly and unfeelingly separated. His
soul was heavy and faint with the weight laid
upon it, when again there were voices at the door
and again the lock grated harshly.
Roger Eliot entered, followed by a smooth-faced,
middle-aged man; and the constable, stepping
inside, relocked the door and stood grimly
on guard.
Ben had risen. His eyes met those of Roger
squarely, and in a moment the latter rushed forward
with his hand outstretched.
“Stone, old fellow,” said Eliot, “this is tough
luck.”
Their hands met, and there was strength and
reassurance in the grip Roger gave.
“I didn’t hear what had happened to you until
intermission time, Stone,” said the football captain
apologetically; “if I had, you’d seen me before
this. My father sent me word. He has
engaged Lawyer Marsh to defend you. This is
Mr. Marsh, Ben.”
The lawyer likewise took the hand of the accused
boy, looking earnestly into his face. “Mr.
Eliot,” he said, “seems to think there must be
some mistake. He is unwilling to believe you are
guilty, my lad.”
.bn 272.png
// 272.png
.pn +1
Ben’s face, which had been quite pale, flushed
deeply; for, of a sudden, his heart sent the blood
leaping through his body. So Urian Eliot did not
believe him a thief! Roger had faith in him and
was ready to stand by him! After a moment he
spoke with strange calmness:
“I am not guilty.”
“I knew it!” cried Roger. “I would have
staked my life on it.”
“As your counsel,” said the lawyer, “I have
come to talk the matter over with you, that I may
prepare to defend you when the trial is called at
ten o’clock to-morrow. I shall ask you some
questions, and you must answer them frankly,
fully and truthfully.”
“You shall have a truthful answer to every
question you ask, sir.”
“I suppose you know the circumstances which
have led to your arrest?”
“I only know that I am charged with robbery.
I have been told nothing more.”
.bn 273.png
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.pn +1
“Then you may not be aware that two lockers
at the gymnasium were broken open, that of
Roger and of Bernard Hayden.”
“I know nothing about it, sir.”
“They were broken open and pilfered while
football practice was in progress last night.
Roger’s watch and some money belonging to him
were taken; Hayden likewise lost a watch, two
rings and some money. These watches, the rings
and a part of the money were found after you
had disappeared, concealed beneath the straw tick
of the bed in your room. That is the evidence
against you, and to most people it must seem
decidedly convincing.”
“I never touched any of those stolen articles,
sir. I did not hide them in my room. If I had
stolen them why did I leave them there when I
ran away?”
“That’s it!” cried Roger. “The very question
I asked.”
“But why did you run away?” interrogated the
lawyer, watching Ben intently.
Stone answered that question without hesitation.
In doing so, he went back to the cause of
Jerry’s flight from the home of his dead uncle,
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.pn +1
explaining how the blind lad had been pursued
even to Oakdale, and how while purchasing that
pair of shoes Ben had learned that a man had
arrived in the town and made inquiries for the
fugitive.
“They told me the man was at the hotel getting
supper,” concluded Ben. “I knew he would have
no trouble in finding Jerry after that, and so we
lost not a minute in getting away.”
“This clears up that point, which I could not
understand,” smiled Roger in great satisfaction.
“I knew there must be some other explanation
than that Ben had fled to escape arrest. The man
arrived at Mrs. Jones’ house while Deputy Sheriff
Pickle was searching Ben’s room. He was
intensely disappointed when he found he had delayed
just long enough to baffle himself.”
“Where is he now—where is he?” asked Stone
eagerly.
“He left this morning, after doing a lot of
telephoning. I think he fancied he had a clew to
the course you had taken. I doubt if he has yet
learned of your arrest.”
“He will catch Jerry!” said Ben dejectedly.
.bn 275.png
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.pn +1
“Which doubtless will be the best thing that
could happen,” was the lawyer’s opinion. “We
must bring the man and your brother back to
Oakdale. We’ll need them both at the trial to
establish the motive for your flight. It’s really
unfortunate that the officers who arrested you
didn’t bring Jerry along also.”
“But we’ll find them both—we’ll find Jerry and
the man,” declared Roger. “The telephone will
do it, and my father’s car will bring them to
Oakdale in a hurry.”
“My boy,” urged the lawyer, “tell me your
exact movements on leaving the academy yesterday
afternoon.”
“I went directly to my room, where I knew
Jerry was waiting all alone. I hurried away
from the academy without saying a word to anyone.
We had a talk, Jerry and I, and I told him
I had made up my mind at last to leave school
and take him away to some place where I could
find work; for what money I had was not enough
to support us both while I finished the term at the
academy. When we had talked it all over, I took
some things Roger had loaned me and left them
.bn 276.png
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.pn +1
in the gymnasium, after which I crossed over to
the field that I might let Roger know. From the
field I came straight back into town and purchased
a pair of shoes for Jerry at Mr. Doyle’s
store. It was there I heard of the arrival in town
of a man who had made inquiries about a blind
boy and a little yellow dog. I knew what that
meant, and I ran back to Mrs. Jones’, where as
soon as possible I made up a bundle of things
most needed, fearing every moment that the man
would appear. We slipped out of the house and
got away on the road to Barville. That’s all I
can tell you, sir, and every word is true.”
He had spoken in a convincing manner, and
the lawyer nodded his head slowly. “A straightforward
statement, my lad; but how that stolen
property came to be concealed in your bed is a
staggering question.”
“Someone must have placed those things there—some
enemy of mine. I have a bitter enemy.”
“He means Bern Hayden,” said Eliot; “but
Hayden could not have done it—that’s out of the
question. Nevertheless, Bern is determined to
push this matter. I have refused to press it, for
which Hayden has been pleased to sneer at me.”
.bn 277.png
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.pn +1
“Oh, he thinks he’s got me now!” cried Stone.
“He’s glad, and he’ll make me suffer, if he can.”
“We’ll do our best to get this business straightened
out and cleared up,” promised the lawyer;
“and, in order that we may make all possible
haste, I’ll have to telephone right away and try
to locate the man who gave his name as Henry
Bailey—the man who was trying to catch your
brother. Keep up your courage, my boy, and
we’ll talk this matter over again when there’s
more time to go into the minutest details. You
have a loyal friend in Roger, and one in his father,
who will stand behind you and fight it out
to a finish. If you’re innocent—and since hearing
your statement I myself believe you are—we’ll
leave no stone unturned to establish that
fact.”
“That’s right, old fellow,” assured Roger, his
face lighted by that rare smile as he placed his
hands on Stone’s shoulders. “A man is never
down and out till he loses heart and gives up.
I’ve seen you play football, and you’re a good
fighter at that; be a good fighter at this, and
you’ll win.”
.bn 278.png
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.pn +1
Their hands met again, and once more Eliot’s
firm, friendly grip imparted some of his own optimism
and strength. They left Ben feeling
greatly heartened and encouraged.
“Roger is right,” he said after a time; “the
fellow who knows he’s right and quits isn’t
worthy to come out on top.”
As night was coming on Mrs. Jones brought a
huge steaming bowl of lamb stew, and with it
more words of cheer. Ben ate the stew, every bit
of it. The window above his prison door he left
open to admit air when he finally lay down upon
the hard bunk. Occasional sounds from the village
drifted in upon him. Once he heard some
of the boys calling to one another. He had uttered
a prayer for Jerry, and the sleep that came
to him at last was full and peaceful, unbroken by
dreams.
Nevertheless, he awoke suddenly, fancying
that he was dreaming; for to his ears floated the
sound of a violin, on which someone was playing
the tune that had so moved him as he was beginning
.bn 279.png
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.pn +1
his flight from Oakdale, “Home, Sweet
Home.” For a few moments he lay listening like
one in a trance. Then he leaped up, stumbled
against his chair, seized it, felt his way in the
darkness to the door, placed the chair and mounted
it, till, grasping the iron bars above, he could
peer out through the grating.
A thin, pale moon was in the sky, and by
its light he saw beneath his door the little lad who
was drawing that plaintive melody from the old
fiddle. At the feet of the player sat a small
dog.
“Oh, Jerry,” cried Ben—“Jerry, Jerry!”
.bn 280.png
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.pn +1
.pm chap 28 XXVIII. "ON TRIAL."
The trial of Ben Stone had begun. It was
held in the Town Hall, which proved none too
large to hold comfortably the surprising number
of curious persons who flocked thither; for in
any small country town that is somewhat removed
from larger places those inhabitants who
can spare the time to do so seldom fail to attend
such an affair, which provides for their more or
less uneventful lives a certain sort of entertainment
and a topic out of the ordinary for discussion.
On this occasion they had almost completely
filled the seats in the hall, staring at the judge,
the lawyers, the witnesses and the prisoner, and
filling the room with a suppressed hum of comment
until called to order.
.bn 281.png
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.pn +1
The clerk had done his part, the case had been
stated, and Lawyer Frances, representing the
prosecution, had made his opening, telling plainly
and concisely what he would attempt to prove.
A part of the stolen property—all that had been
recovered—together with some other articles in
evidence, could be seen on a table at the judge’s
elbow. The prisoner sat at one side, with his
counsel, Lawyer Marsh, near him. His face was
calm; but it was not an attractive face, and more
than one, gazing at it, had whispered to a neighbor
that he looked like a thief. It is remarkable
how quickly most persons may fancy they can
perceive criminal indications in the features of
any one charged with crime and placed under
arrest.
Not far from Ben—as near as they would permit
him—sat his blind brother, Jerry; and beside
Jerry was seen Henry Bailey, the man from
whom the afflicted boy had hidden repeatedly in
his flight, after his uncle’s death. Bailey was a
harmless, kindly-appearing person, who showed
the greatest interest in every move of the trial,
and who more than once was seen to speak a
few low words in a seemingly reassuring manner
into the ear of Jerry Stone. Pilot, the faithful,
lay on the floor at Jerry’s side.
.bn 282.png
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.pn +1
Of course Bern Hayden was on hand, and his
father also. Bern was with the witnesses, but
Mr. Hayden sat back, watching and listening in
cold and distant satisfaction. The other witnesses
were William Pickle, Roger Eliot, Sleuth Piper,
and Spotty Davis, the last mentioned displaying
a great deal of uneasiness, which at times
amounted almost to fear.
The first person called upon was the deputy
sheriff, who, questioned by Lawyer Frances,
stated that upon the previous night he was at
Stickney’s store shortly after supper, where Bern
Hayden found him and told him that there had
been a robbery, adding the request that he should
at once find Ben Stone, whom Hayden suspected,
and search him. In company with Bern, Pickle
had gone to the house of Mrs. Jones and obtained
admission to the room of the suspected
lad, only to discover that the room was empty,
and, from indications, that Ben and his brother
had made hasty flight.
.bn 283.png
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.pn +1
“Go on, officer,” urged Lawyer Frances.
“What did you do then?”
“At young Hayden’s request I searched the
place,” said Pickle. “Under the straw tick of
the bed I found two watches, two rings, and
some money, amounting to purty nigh ten dollars.”
“Are these the watches and the rings?” questioned
the lawyer, handing the articles to the
witness for inspection.
“Yep,” nodded Pickle positively, “them’s they.
I looked them over, and I’m reddy to swear
they’re the ones.”
“And the money here——”
“I wouldn’t swear to that; but they was a five
dollar bill, a two dollar bill, and quite a lot of
coin.”
“Did you find anything else?”
“Yep; a letter—that is, a sort of a letter, writ
in lead pencil and apparently scratched off in a
mighty hurry.”
.bn 284.png
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.pn +1
“Is this it?” The sheet on which Ben had
written his hasty farewell to Mrs. Jones was
taken from the table and handed to the deputy
sheriff for inspection.
“Sartin, that’s it,” declared the officer. “I read
the most of it, though part was scrawled so that
I couldn’t make it out.”
“Your Honor,” said the prosecuting attorney,
“the chirography is that of a person writing in
great haste, and therefore somewhat difficult to
read. I am sure, however, that I can read it;
and with your permission I will do so.”
The judge gave consent, and Mr. Frances read
the note slowly and distinctly, placing particular
emphasis on certain phrases. Listening, Ben
Stone was astounded and almost appalled as he
realized that to most persons that brief note must
sound like a confession of guilt.
Pickle went on to tell how, urged by Bern
Hayden and his father, he had set out at once to
trace the fugitives, and had finally succeeded,
through the discovery of the blind boy’s little
dog, in apprehending Ben some miles beyond
Barville.
.bn 285.png
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.pn +1
“Course,” concluded the officer, “we give the
feller warnin’ that anything he said might be
used as evidence ag’in’ him, and I ruther guess
he kept it in mind; for, ’though we talked with
him considerable on the way back to Oakdale, he
didn’t make no slip-ups, and he pertended all the
time not to know nothin’ at all ’bout the robbery.
I says to Constable Hubbard, says I, ‘He’s a
slick critter, an——’”
“Never mind that,” interrupted Judge Trueworthy.
“Your opinions of the prisoner’s conduct
are not desired.”
“’Scuse me, Your Honor,” said William
Pickle.
That was all; with a gesture Lawyer Marsh
signified that he did not wish to cross-question
the officer, and Pickle sat down.
Bern Hayden was called next, and as he rose
Ben Stone’s hand involuntarily went up to his
mutilated ear, while his pale face became, if possible,
a shade more pallid. He kept his eyes unflinchingly
on Bern, who, after a single look in
his direction, turned his gaze aside.
Bern told his story without hesitation. Chancing
to overhear Stone bidding Eliot good-by at
the football field, an impulse had led him to leave
.bn 286.png
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.pn +1
the field and follow the fellow. Having seen
Ben proceed directly into the village, however, he
had returned to the field and practiced with the
team until it became too dark for further work.
With the others he had gone into the gymnasium,
where two lockers, his and Eliot’s, had been
discovered broken open and rifled. He had lost
his watch, two rings, and some money, nearly
eight dollars, which he had left in his own
locker. He then identified one of the watches
and both of the rings as belonging to him, further
stating that the money left by him in his
locker was a five dollar bill, a two dollar bill, and
change which must have amounted to nearly a
dollar and a half. Knowing Ben Stone as he did,
he had suspected him at once, and therefore he
went in search of the deputy sheriff, whom he had
some difficulty in finding. He had been on hand
when Pickle searched Stone’s room, and had seen
the officer uncover the stolen property and take
possession of Ben’s note of farewell to Mrs.
Jones.
Bern having finished, Lawyer Marsh cross-questioned
him.
.bn 287.png
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.pn +1
“Hayden,” said the lawyer, “you were acquainted
with Benjamin Stone ere you came here
to Oakdale, were you not?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You knew him, I believe, in Hilton, his native
town?”
“I did, sir.”
“And, if I am not misinformed, you had some
trouble with him there, did you not?”
“Yes.”
“Was not this trouble of a somewhat serious
nature—a personal encounter between you and
Stone, which led you to entertain the most intense
feelings of animosity toward him?”
“I object, Your Honor,” cried Lawyer Frances.
“I can’t see what this has to do with the present
case.”
“Your Honor,” beamed Marsh placidly, “I propose
to establish that this feeling of animosity
which young Hayden entertained toward Stone
has a great deal to do with the case. I propose
to show a motive on Hayden’s part which might
lead him into an effort to injure my client.”
.bn 288.png
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.pn +1
“Go on,” said the judge. “Objection overruled.”
The lawyer repeated the question, and, after a
bit of hesitation, Hayden answered:
“We had a fight in Hilton, but even before that
I had no use for Stone. He was a cheap, ruffianly
fellow, and nobody thought anything of him in
that town. His father——”
“Never mind that,” interrupted Marsh sharply.
“Answer my questions, that’s all. You admit a
feeling of dislike for Stone?”
“Nobody ever liked him—before he came here;
and he wouldn’t have had any friends here if, by
accident, he hadn’t——”
“We’ll cut that out also. Is it not true that on
finding Stone in this town you exerted your utmost
efforts to turn your schoolmates against
him and to force him out of school? Did you not
induce your father to go to Principal Richardson
of the academy for the purpose of urging him to
turn Benjamin Stone out?”
Unable to restrain himself longer, Lemuel
Hayden sprang up, crying:
.bn 289.png
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.pn +1
“Look here, I want to know if it’s my son who
is on trial.”
“Not yet, sir—not yet,” answered Lawyer
Marsh serenely.
The judge rapped sharply for order and requested
Mr. Hayden not to interrupt the proceedings.
Having led Bern into acknowledging he had
done his best to force Ben out of Oakdale Academy,
Lawyer Marsh seemed satisfied. Lawyer
Frances, however, was far from it; and immediately,
by various questions, he tried to show
that Bern, knowing the dangerous and desperate
character of Stone, had tried to get him dropped
from the school because he did not believe he was
a fit person to associate with the academy scholars.
At this Lawyer Marsh simply smiled.
Roger Eliot came next, identifying one of the
watches as belonging to him, and stating he had
lost a little over two dollars in coin, which had
been taken from his locker.
These were all the witnesses against the prisoner,
and Marsh, after a brief opening address,
began by calling those who had been summoned
.bn 290.png
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.pn +1
for him. Henry Bailey, the first, was requested
to explain his business in Oakdale. Mr. Bailey
stated that, following the death of Asher Rand,
Jerry Stone, the blind boy, had disappeared ere
the funeral could take place or Mr. Rand’s will
be read. Bailey had been engaged to learn
whence the blind boy had gone and bring him
back. In endeavoring to do this he had been
led a hard chase, failing more than once by the
smallest margin in getting his hands upon the
elusive boy, and in the end the pursuit had
brought him to Oakdale.
At this point Lawyer Frances interrupted.
“Your Honor, I fail to see what this has to do
with the case.”
“Your Honor,” smiled Marsh, “we are seeking
to establish the motive for the sudden flight of
Ben Stone from this town, and we hope to show
beyond doubt that he did not run away because
he had committed theft, but because he knew this
pursuer of his brother had arrived and feared—unreasonably,
doubtless—that it boded harm to
the blind lad.”
.bn 291.png
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.pn +1
Ben was next called upon, and after a moment
of faltering he told his story in a slow, distinct
manner, making it straightforward and
simple. And as he proceeded the unfavorable
impression that had prevailed concerning him
was gradually dispelled; for surely he did not
speak like a desperate character or a thief; nor
was Lawyer Frances, by his sternest and most
accusing cross-questioning, able to confuse the
lad or shake him in his statements. When at last
Ben was permitted to sit down, not a few of the
listeners in that room were looking at one another
questioningly and doubtfully.
Spotty Davis came next. He trembled visibly
as he rose, and his parted lips, revealing the space
of the two missing teeth in his upper jaw, seemed
to quiver. Glancing furtively from side to side,
but never once looking straight toward Stone, he
finally let his gaze rest upon the floor.
“Young man,” said Lawyer Marsh, “you were
at the football field when Stone appeared last
evening and spoke to Roger Eliot, were you not?”
“Ye-yes,” faltered Spotty faintly.
“Speak a bit louder, witness,” commanded the
judge.
.bn 292.png
// 292.png
.pn +1
“When Stone left the field you followed him,
didn’t you?” asked Marsh.
“I—I dunno; I guess so. I never noticed.”
“Do you mean to say that you did not see Stone
when he departed from the field?”
“Why, nun-no; I saw him. I guess ’t’wa’n’t
long after he left before I got out. There wa’n’t
no use hangin’ round longer, for Eliot had tole
me he didn’t want me on the team any more.”
“On leaving the field, whither did you go?”
“To the gym.”
“Did you find Stone there?”
“Nope—no, sir. There wa’n’t nobody there.”
“Why did you go to the gym?”
“To peel off my togs. I was in a playing suit,
you know. It didn’t belong to me; it belonged
to the team, so I left it in the gym.”
“How long were you in the gymnasium?”
“Can’t tell; not a great while. It didn’t take
me no longer than was necessary to git off my
football suit, git into my own rags and leave.
There wa’n’t nothing for me to hang round there
for.”
.bn 293.png
// 293.png
.pn +1
“After leaving the gymnasium where did you
go?”
“Lemme see,” hesitated Spotty as if in doubt.
“I don’t seem to remember just where I did go.”
“Come, come, young man; of course you remember.
You must remember. You’ll find it best
to remember, I think. Where did you go?”
“Oh, I sort of poked along into the village.”
“Into the village? Where did you go in the
village?”
“Oh, I remember now,” said Spotty suddenly.
“I thought there was something wrong with
Stone—thought it was queer he didn’t stay for
practise; so I just run in to Mrs. Jones’ house to
see him.”
“You went to Stone’s room, did you?”
“Yep—I mean yes, sir.”
“Was Stone there?”
“No; his brother was, though.”
“The blind boy?”
“Yes, he was there.”
“How long did you stay in Stone’s room?”
.bn 294.png
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.pn +1
“Oh, lemme see. I’d have to guess at it, for I
ain’t got no watch, and I didn’t take no notice
of time, anyhow. Mebbe I was there five minutes
or so.”
“What did you do while you were there?”
“Talked with Ben’s brother.”
“Did you sit down?”
“Don’t b’lieve I did. Yes, come to think of
it, I set on the edge of the bed while I was talkin’
to him. What are you askin’ me all these questions
for? I don’t know anything about this
business. I can’t tell anything that will do no
good.” Spotty was perspiring freely, even while
he continued to shiver occasionally.
“We’re simply trying to get at the facts,” said
Lawyer Marsh quietly. “It’s always best to tell
the exact truth.”
“I hope you don’t think I’m lyin’,” protested
the disturbed witness. “I ain’t got nothing to lie
about.”
“Did you see Ben Stone at all?”
“Yep; he was just comin’ in as I was leavin’.
He was in an awful rush.”
“Did you stop to speak with him?”
.bn 295.png
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.pn +1
“No; I was goin’ to stop, but he was in such a
hurry I didn’t. He acted mighty queer to me—sort
of scat like.”
“That’s all, young man,” said the lawyer suddenly;
and Spotty sank down with a breath of
relief.
Then came a surprise as the lawyer said:
“The next witness for the defense will be William
Piper. Piper, stand up.”
Sleuth rose to his feet, and there was a stir
among those boys of the academy who had absented
themselves from school to attend the trial.
What did Piper know about it?
.bn 296.png
// 296.png
.pn +1
.pm chap 29 XXIX. "SLEUTH’S CLEVER WORK."
Beneath the battery of wondering eyes turned
upon him Sleuth bore himself proudly, for he
felt that at last his hour had come—the hour in
which he would demonstrate to the confusion of
those who had sneered at him that he really possessed
the keen, penetrating, analytical mind of
a great detective. He had long yearned for this
opportunity, and at last, circumstances providing
it, he was confident he had risen to the occasion.
Indeed, there was an expression of dignity and
sagacity in Piper’s face which surprised those
who knew him best and led more than one to
fancy it possible he had underrated the lad.
Having been sworn, Sleuth cast a reassuring
glance in the direction of Ben Stone, who was
watching him intently, following which his eyes
wandered to Spotty’s face, who once more suddenly
fell to shivering, touched by the chill hand
of apprehension and dread.
.bn 297.png
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.pn +1
Silence fell on the room. Bernard Hayden
leaned forward a trifle, that he might watch the
witness the better, and anyone looking at him
must have fancied that in his eyes there was an
expression of anxiety which he could not wholly
conceal, even if he sought to do so.
“Piper,” said Lawyer Marsh, “I wish you to
tell His Honor in your own language, and as concisely
and clearly as possible, what you know
about this case. Go on, my lad.”
Sleuth cleared his throat. “Your Honor and
gentlemen of the jury,” he began; and then he
stopped short, realizing there was no jury. The
slight titter that ran through the room did not
disturb him, however. “Your Honor,” he commenced
once more, “being personally acquainted
with the parties of the first part and the parties
of the second part involved in this case——”
“I presume,” interrupted the justice, repressing
any inclination to smile that he may have
felt, “you are referring to the prisoner and the
plaintiff.”
.bn 298.png
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.pn +1
“Yes, Your Honor,” bowed Sleuth; “in the
language of the law, they are the parties under
consideration. Being personally acquainted with
the before-mentioned parties, what was more
natural than that, on hearing that this heinous
crime had been committed, I should become profoundly
interested in the case and should resolve
to give it my earnest attention with the determination
of solving the deep, dark mystery appertaining
thereunto?”
In the silence following Sleuth’s pause at the
end of this rounded period Chipper Cooper was
distinctly heard as he whispered in the ear of
Charlie Tuttle:
“Say, Chub, old Sleuthy is slinging English
some, isn’t he?”
The judge rapped for silence, requesting the
witness to endeavor to tell his story in the simplest
language he could command. Still unruffled,
Piper proceeded:
“Unfortunately, Your Honor, I was not present
at the time the apartment of Benjamin Stone
was searched by the representative of the law.
Had I been present, doubtless, witnessing the discovery
.bn 299.png
// 299.png
.pn +1
of the loot and the message penciled by
the agitated hand of the unfortunate prisoner at
the bar would have aided me greatly in drawing
a correct and accurate deduction. Nevertheless,
upon learning something of what had taken place
I set forth to obtain precise knowledge as far as
possible of every detail. I sought the fountain
head of knowledge, our esteemed and highly efficient
deputy sheriff, Mr. Pickle, but found him
unwilling to accept my assistance upon the case,
even though I gave him my generous assurance
that I would solve the mystery. He was in a
hurry; he wouldn’t talk about it; he told me to
get out and stop bothering him.
“I then proceeded to interview my fellow
schoolmate, the plaintiff, Bernard Hayden; but
he likewise received me with extreme ungraciousness,
informing me that I had better mind my
own business. Although thus repulsed, I was in
no whit discouraged and I vowed I would not
be baffled.
“It was later in the evening that I fell in with
one Timothy Davis and drew him into conversation
concerning the topic which was then upon
.bn 300.png
// 300.png
.pn +1
every tongue. The said Davis seemed more than
willing to discuss the matter and was surprisingly
well informed upon certain points I desired
to know. Up to that time I had not met anyone
who had even dropped a furtive word concerning
the discovery of the seemingly self-accusing missive
penned by the hand of the before-mentioned
defendant. The before-mentioned Davis knew
about it, and, upon being closely interrogated, he
declared he had obtained his information direct
from the before-mentioned plaintiff. To me it
seemed very remarkable indeed that the latter—by
which, if you please, I refer to Bernard Hayden—should
impart such information to Spotty
Davis, with whom he had never been on terms
of close comradeship, while withholding the desired
knowledge from me. Upon my making further
inquiries in a careless, offhand manner,
Davis told me how the loot had been found hidden
beneath the mattress—two watches, two rings,
and the exact sum of nine dollars and sixty-eight
cents, including a five dollar bill and a two dollar
bill.”
.bn 301.png
// 301.png
.pn +1
“Your Honor,” interrupted Lawyer Frances,
“what bearing can all this rambling, second-hand
information have upon the case? I think we are
wasting valuable time.”
“May it please Your Honor,” said Sleuth loftily,
“I have been requested by the attorney for the
defense to tell my story in my own way, and ere
I have finished I will demonstrate to your satisfaction
and the satisfaction of every person present
that every word I speak has a bearing upon
the matter and is necessary to explain the reasons
which led up to my deduction involving the
before-mentioned Timothy Davis in a network of
his own weaving, from which I think he will
scarcely escape with ease.”
At this Davis betrayed such consternation that
even the least acute could perceive beyond question
that he was intensely alarmed.
“Go on, Piper,” instructed Judge Trueworthy;
“but do try to cut out some of the big words.”
“As far as I could learn,” proceeded Sleuth,
“not another person outside of those who were
present at the time of the discovery of the swag
knew exactly what sum of money had been found
hidden beneath the straw mattress in the room of
.bn 302.png
// 302.png
.pn +1
the defendant. It is true that, by comparison of
their losses, Bern Hayden and Roger Eliot had
stated the amount of money stolen; and here
comes the discrepancy which set me at work upon
a clew of vast importance. Unless the before-mentioned
Hayden and Eliot were mistaken, the
amount stolen from them failed to correspond by
the sum of twenty cents to the amount recovered
by the representative of the law, Deputy Sheriff
Pickle. A trifling matter, perhaps you will say.
Certainly it is true that the thief might have
retained the missing sum, but does it not seem
remarkable that he should have done so and left
behind him in his flight the larger amount hidden
in that room? It is likewise true that the beforesaid
Davis might have learned from the before-mentioned
Hayden just what sum of money
was recovered, but, being nonchalantly questioned
regarding this, he denied it. Therefore my deduction
was that Timothy Davis, knowing precisely
where the plunder was concealed, knowing
accurately the amount recovered by the officer
of the law, knew also more than he had revealed
unto me. I spent some hours in meditating on
this matter. Indeed, sleep scarcely visited my
eyes during the night but lately passed.
.bn 303.png
// 303.png
.pn +1
“At break of day I rose and hastened to the
gymnasium, to which I obtained admittance by a
key similar to that provided every member of the
football team. At the gymnasium I made a close
inspection of the pilfered lockers, being there to
obtain a clew of some sort, a desire which was
amply rewarded. Within the locker of the plaintiff,
Bernard Hayden, I discovered, attached to
the end of a protruding nail, a shred of cloth
apparently torn from the coat-sleeve of some person
who had reached into that locker. I seized
upon it with avidity, for I was assured it would
prove of vast importance in the solution of the
dark and baffling mystery.”
“Is this the shred of cloth you found there,
Piper?” questioned Lawyer Marsh, as he took a
tiny three-cornered piece of fabric from amid
the exhibits on the table and passed it to the
witness.
“That is the identical shred,” declared Sleuth
positively, handing it back. “Close examination
led me to the conclusion that that piece of cloth
.bn 304.png
// 304.png
.pn +1
could possibly have come from the garment of
only one person in Oakdale. In order, however,
that I might make no error, I again sought Timothy
Davis immediately after breakfast, and,
without arousing his suspicions by letting him
become aware of my motive, I perceived that a
small patch of cloth, corresponding in every particular
with the one before the court, had been
torn from the right sleeve of his coat.”
Again all eyes were turned on Davis, who sat
huddled upon his chair, his right arm held across
his lap.
“Davis,” called Lawyer Marsh sharply, “will
you please stand up.”
Shaking like a leaf, Spotty lifted himself upon
his pins.
“Hold up your right hand,” requested the lawyer,
stepping quickly toward him and seizing his
wrist. “Here, Your Honor, you may see the
torn place in this lad’s coat-sleeve, and you may
also perceive beyond question that the shred of
fabric discovered by Piper clinging to the nail in
Bernard Hayden’s locker corresponds with the
material of this garment.”
.bn 305.png
// 305.png
.pn +1
“I never——” began Spotty chokingly; but the
lawyer released him, and the judge, rapping his
desk, sternly ordered him to sit down and be
silent.
Triumphantly Piper proceeded. “By this time,
Your Honor, I was absolutely convinced that I
was on the right trail, and thenceforth I shadowed
the suspect with the persistence of a bloodhound,
never once letting him escape from beneath
my hawklike eye. About an hour before
court opened Davis entered the store of one Theodore
Welcome, who is proprietor in this town of
a bazaar at which tobacco in its various forms
may be purchased. I was at his heels, lingering
at a little distance in a careless, insouciant manner;
and from the open doorway of Mr. Welcome’s
store I saw Davis purchasing a pack of
cigarettes, for which he tendered a piece of silver
money.
“Then arose some discussion over the silver
piece, which the proprietor of the store stated
amounted only to the value of twenty cents, but
which the before-mentioned Davis had apparently
fancied was a quarter. The instant Davis departed
.bn 306.png
// 306.png
.pn +1
I hurried to Mr. Welcome and asked the
privilege of examining that piece of money,
which he kindly showed me. The moment my
eagle eye fell upon it I knew it was a coin on
which there was a premium, as it bore the date
of 1878. This piece of money I secured from
Mr. Welcome, giving him fifty cents for it, and
it is here among the exhibits as evidence in this
case. There is upon it a mutilation, a tiny cross
cut or scratched by some sharp instrument.
“Your Honor, I knew the moment my eyes
fell on that mark that I had previously seen that
twenty-cent piece in the possession of my highly
esteemed friend, Roger Eliot, who carried it as
a pocket piece. Therefore I was assured beyond
doubt that it must be a part of the plunder, the
sum missing when the money was recovered from
its place of concealment. I had often heard Eliot
refuse to part with that silver piece, upon which
he stated in my hearing that there was a premium
of two dollars.”
By this time there was a profound sensation in
the courtroom. As he proceeded, the somewhat
extravagant language of Piper was overlooked
.bn 307.png
// 307.png
.pn +1
by all, and now, with this climax, the judge was
compelled to rap repeatedly to restore quiet and
order in the room.
Lawyer Marsh, grave but well satisfied, took
the piece of money from the table and requested
Piper to identify it, which he did. Roger Eliot
likewise examined the coin, and stated that it
belonged to him and had been stolen, with the
rest of his money and his watch, from his locker.
“Your Honor,” said Sleuth, eager to proceed,
“having learned from the lips of the said Davis
that, after leaving the football field last night, he
visited the room of the defendant while the said
defendant was absent, I immediately arrived at
the deduction that——”
“Never mind your deductions, young man,” interrupted
the justice. “If you have reached the
end of your story you may sit down.”
This Piper did with evident great reluctance
and disappointment; and, Theodore Welcome
being present, he was called to the stand, where
he corroborated the statement of the last witness
and also identified the coin as the one he had received
from Davis.
.bn 308.png
// 308.png
.pn +1
“Your Honor,” said Lawyer Marsh, “the defense,
having no further witnesses and desiring
none, rests here, with the request that the deputy
sheriff be instructed to keep a close watch upon
Timothy Davis until a warrant may be sworn
out for his arrest.”
A sob broke the silence; it came from Davis,
who suddenly cried in a husky, choking voice:
“Don’t arrest me—please don’t! I’ll confess!
I’ll tell everything! I took the stuff from the
lockers. I was sore on Eliot ’cause he fired me
off the eleven. I was sore on everybody, I guess—Stone,
too, ’cause he had made good. But I’d
never done it if it hadn’t been for Bern Hayden.
He come to me when I was changing my togs in
the gym. He told me to do it, and he promised
to git me back onto the team and give me ten
dollars to boot. He’s more to blame than I be.”
“It’s a lie,” shouted Hayden, who had risen to
his feet, “a dirty lie, and I——”
“Order in the court!” thundered the judge,
pounding the desk with his gavel.
.bn 309.png
// 309.png
.pn +1
.pm chap 30 XXX. "CLEAR SKIES."
The case against Ben Stone broke down right
there. Lawyer Frances held a hurried consultation
with Lemuel Hayden and his son, and on his
advice the charge against Ben was withdrawn
and Stone was dismissed, exonerated.
The demonstration which followed was remarkable.
People crowded around Ben and
Jerry and insisted on shaking the former’s hand
and telling him how pleased they were because his
innocence had been established. His schoolmates
thumped him on the back and would have carried
him on their shoulders from the hall had he
not fought against it. Mrs. Jones forced her
way through the crowd, with Jimmy hobbling on
his crutches behind her, and, sobbing her joy,
clasped Ben in her arms.
.bn 310.png
// 310.png
.pn +1
“I knowed he wa’n’t no thief!” she cried happily.
“Nobody that could be good as he was to
a little lame boy would steal. You’ve had a heap
of troubles, Ben, but they’re all over now. I
don’t s’pose y’u have et anything since y’u was
locked up; but I cal’lated you’d git off, an’ I’ve
got Sadie tendin’ a big roast, an’ we’ll have a feed
that’ll give y’u injunjesshun, which I guess y’u
can stand once if Joel, my late departed, could
endure it all his born days. Land! but I’m so
happy I feel like cryin’ my eyes out.”
“With your permission, madam,” said Henry
Bailey, “I would like to accompany these two
lads to your house, having a matter of great
importance to talk over with them.”
“Come right along, mister,” invited the widow.
“There’ll be plenty of vittles for y’u, too.”
Mr. Bailey was not the only one who accompanied
them. Leaving the courtroom, Ben and
Jerry were escorted by a triumphal procession
all the way to Mrs. Jones’ gate, where twenty
boys cheered the acquitted lad, who paused upon
the steps to look back at them, his plain face illumined
by an expression of joy which made it
seem actually comely.
.bn 311.png
// 311.png
.pn +1
“Thank you, fellows,” he said, holding out his
open hands to them. “It’s good of you, and I’ll
never forget it.”
Sleuth Piper started to make a speech.
“My deduction was——” he began.
“Your deduction was all right, Sleuth,”
laughed Roger Eliot, giving him a slap on the
shoulder. “You’ve established your reputation
as the greatest detective of modern times, Sherlock
Holmes not excepted.”
Even after the house was entered those boys
were heard cheering for Stone as they marched
back into the village.
“Set right down, everybody,” invited the
widow. “Make yourselves to home while I take
a look at the roast an’ git the potatoes to bakin’.”
“It is very fortunate, boys,” said Henry
Bailey, “that this affair terminated as well as it
did. This is my first opportunity to talk with
you both together, and I’ll tell you now that much
more good fortune is in store for you. Jerry put
himself to needless trouble by running away ere
his uncle’s will was read; for in that will, which
was drawn up barely two months before Asher
.bn 312.png
// 312.png
.pn +1
Rand’s death, and which was found in Mr.
Rand’s small private safe, a legacy was left to
you both—a legacy that will place you beyond
need.
“It seems that your father, in those years while
he worked so privately in his home, was engaged
upon a very clever invention, which he had practically
perfected at the time of his unfortunate
arrest. That invention fell into the hands of
Asher Rand, who, on learning its value, was
sorely tempted and kept its existence a secret,
finally disposing of it to a concern that pays a
royalty upon it of three thousand dollars yearly.
Your uncle’s conscience must have been pricked
to a point which led him to draw up that last will,
in which he provides that the income from this
invention shall be divided equally between you
both.
“But since Mr. Rand’s death there have been
disclosures of still greater importance. Nathan
Driggs, the man who caused all your father’s
trouble and calamitous misfortune, has been ill
for some months, and recently he passed away.
Ere he died, being satisfied beyond doubt that
.bn 313.png
// 313.png
.pn +1
there was no hope for him, he made a confession
which fully exonerates your father and clears his
name of the stigma upon it. Driggs confessed
that your father’s testimony concerning him at
the trial was absolutely true—that he did bring
the packages of dies for making counterfeit
money to your father, and, having deceived him
regarding the contents of those packages, induced
him to conceal them in his house, where
they were found. Therefore Abner Stone was
unjustly convicted of the crime and died an innocent
man through the effects of the wound he
received while trying to escape from prison.”
All this was so marvelous that it left the two
boys breathless.
The widow had listened with speechless delight;
and now, her eyes again filled with tears
of joy, she cried:
“Lands to mercy! Now ain’t that jest amazin’!
Here I’ve been entertainin’ under my roof
a couple of heirs to wealth! Three thousand dollars!
Fifteen hundred dollars apiece! Why, it
puts y’u both beyond the touch of the tooth of
.bn 314.png
// 314.png
.pn +1
avarice. I guess folks ’round this town will set
up an’ take notice when they hear about it.”
Ben gave his blind brother a hug. Everybody
laughed. The little yellow dog, sitting on
his haunches and gazing at them, barked sharply,
then, with his mouth open, wrinkled his nose and
bobbed his tongue.
“Look,” cried Jimmy—“look at Pilot! He’s
laughing, too.”
.tb
Every cloud was gone from the sky, swept
away to return no more. Ben Stone, whose appearance
in Oakdale had been so unfavorable,
whose days there had been so filled with trouble
and strife, found himself the hero of the
village and the coveted friend of those lads
who had once regarded him with doubt and
aversion. When he and Jerry and Pilot departed,
with Henry Bailey, who took the boys away
until such time as Asher Rand’s affairs should
be definitely settled and a guardian appointed for
them, nearly every lad in the village, together
with a number of the girls and not a few of the
older citizens, accompanied them to the railway
station.
.bn 315.png
// 315.png
.pn +1
“Ben,” said Roger Eliot, speaking for the
party on the station platform, “we’re proud of
you, and we hate to see you leave us. We need
you on the eleven. It’s too bad you’re going
away now.”
“My deduction is,” interrupted Sleuth Piper,
“that he will come back.”
“Yes, boys,” promised Ben, with his hand
grasping the iron rail of the passenger coach, “I
shall come back if I can. I have talked about it
with Mr. Bailey, and he thinks there will be no
trouble in making the arrangements. I have had
something of a scramble in Oakdale, but I like
the place; for here at last I have found more
friends that I ever knew before. Oh, yes, I’m
coming back if I can.”
Then the train bore him away.
.tb
He did come back. In less than two weeks he
returned to finish his course at the academy, stopping,
as before, at the home of the Widow Jones,
but now having the best room in the house.
.bn 316.png
// 316.png
//.pn off
.pb
.pm adillust benstone_ad1.jpg 100
.ll -16
.nf c
The
Golden Boys
Series
.nf-
.ll
.nf c
.sp 2
.if h
.sp 2
.if-
BY L. P. WYMAN, PH.D.
Dean of Pennsylvania Military College.
.nf-
A new series of instructive copyright stories for
boys of High School Age.
.nf c
Handsome Cloth Binding.
PRICE, 65 CENTS EACH.
.nf-
.hr 30%
.nf b
THE GOLDEN BOYS AND THEIR NEW ELECTRIC CELL
THE GOLDEN BOYS AT THE FORTRESS
THE GOLDEN BOYS IN THE MAINE WOODS
THE GOLDEN BOYS WITH THE LUMBER JACKS
THE GOLDEN BOYS RESCUED BY RADIO
THE GOLDEN BOYS ALONG THE RIVER ALLAGASH
THE GOLDEN BOYS AT THE HAUNTED CAMP
.nf-
.hr 70%
.nf c
For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price
by the Publishers
A. L. BURT COMPANY
114-120 EAST 23rd STREET\ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ NEW YORK
.nf-
.pb
.bn 317.png
// 317.png
.pn +1
.ll -16
.pm adillust benstone_ad2.jpg 100
.nf c
The
Boy Troopers
Series
.nf-
.ll
.nf c
.sp 2
.if h
.sp 2
.if-
BY CLAIR W. HAYES
Author of the Famous “Boy Allies” Series.
.nf-
\ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ The adventures of two boys with the Pennsylvania
State Police.
.nf c
All Copyrighted Titles.
Cloth Bound, with Attractive Cover Designs.
PRICE, 65 CENTS EACH.
.nf-
.hr 30%
.nf b
THE BOY TROOPERS ON THE TRAIL
THE BOY TROOPERS IN THE NORTHWEST
THE BOY TROOPERS ON STRIKE DUTY
THE BOY TROOPERS AMONG THE WILD MOUNTAINEERS
.nf-
.hr 70%
.nf c
For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by
the Publishers.
A. L. BURT COMPANY
114-120 EAST 23rd STREET\ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ NEW YORK
.nf-
.pb
.bn 318.png
// 318.png
.pn +1
.ll -16
.pm adillust benstone_ad3.jpg 100
.nf c
The Boy Allies
(Registered in the United States
Patent Office)
With the Navy
BY
ENSIGN ROBERT L. DRAKE
.nf-
.ll
.hr 30%
.nf c
For Boys 12 to 16 Years.
All Cloth Bound Copyright Titles
PRICE, 65 CENTS EACH
.nf-
Frank Chadwick and Jack Templeton, young American lads,
meet each other in an unusual way soon after the declaration
of war. Circumstances place them on board the British cruiser,
“The Sylph,” and from there on, they share adventures with
the sailors of the Allies. Ensign Robert L. Drake, the author,
is an experienced naval officer, and he describes admirably the
many exciting adventures of the two boys.
.sp 2
THE BOY ALLIES ON THE NORTH SEA PATROL; or, Striking
the First Blow at the German Fleet.
THE BOY ALLIES UNDER TWO FLAGS; or, Sweeping the
Enemy from the Sea.
THE BOY ALLIES WITH THE FLYING SQUADRON; or, The
Naval Raiders of the Great War.
THE BOY ALLIES WITH THE TERROR OF THE SEA; or,
The Last Shot of Submarine D-16.
THE BOY ALLIES UNDER THE SEA; or, The Vanishing
Submarine.
THE BOY ALLIES IN THE BALTIC; or, Through Fields of
Ice to Aid the Czar.
THE BOY ALLIES AT JUTLAND; or, The Greatest Naval Battle
of History.
THE BOY ALLIES WITH UNCLE SAM’S CRUISERS; or, Convoying
the American Army Across the Atlantic.
THE BOY ALLIES WITH THE SUBMARINE D-32; or, The
Fall of the Russian Empire.
THE BOY ALLIES WITH THE VICTORIOUS FLEETS; or,
The Fall of the German Navy.
.hr 70%
.nf c
For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price
by the Publishers
A. L. BURT COMPANY
114-120 EAST 23rd STREET\ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ NEW YORK
.nf-
.bn 319.png
// 319.png
.pb
.pn +1
.ll -16
.pm adillust benstone_ad4.jpg 100
.nf c
The Boy Allies
(Registered in the United States
Patent Office)
With the Army
BY CLAIR W. HAYES
.nf-
.ll
.hr 30%
.nf c
For Boys 12 to 16 Years.
All Cloth Bound Copyright Titles
PRICE, 65 CENTS EACH
.nf-
In this series we follow the fortunes of two American lads
unable to leave Europe after war is declared. They meet the
soldiers of the Allies, and decide to cast their lot with them.
Their experiences and escapes are many, and furnish plenty
of good, healthy action that every boy loves.
.sp 2
THE BOY ALLIES AT LIEGE; or, Through Lines of Steel.
THE BOY ALLIES ON THE FIRING LINE; or, Twelve Days
Battle Along the Marne.
THE BOY ALLIES WITH THE COSSACKS; or, A Wild Dash
Over the Carpathians.
THE BOY ALLIES IN THE TRENCHES; or, Midst Shot and
Shell Along the Aisne.
THE BOY ALLIES IN GREAT PERIL; or, With the Italian
Army In the Alps.
THE BOY ALLIES IN THE BALKAN CAMPAIGN; or, The
Struggle to Save a Nation.
THE BOY ALLIES ON THE SOMME; or, Courage and Bravery
Rewarded.
THE BOY ALLIES AT VERDUN; or, Saving France from the
Enemy.
THE BOY ALLIES UNDER THE STARS AND STRIPES; or,
Leading the American Troops to the Firing Line.
THE BOY ALLIES WITH HAIG IN FLANDERS; or, The Fighting
Canadians of Vimy Ridge.
THE BOY ALLIES WITH PERSHING IN FRANCE; or, Over
the Top at Chateau Thierry.
THE BOY ALLIES WITH THE GREAT ADVANCE; or, Driving
the Enemy Through France and Belgium.
THE BOY ALLIES WITH MARSHAL FOCH; or, The Closing
Days of the Great World War.
.hr 70%
.nf c
For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price
by the Publishers
A. L. BURT COMPANY
114-120 EAST 23rd STREET\ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ NEW YORK
.nf-
.pb
.in +4
.nf l
Transcriber's Notes
.if t
Italicized words or phrases are presented by surrounding the
text with _underscores_.
Bold-face works or phrases are presented by surrounding the
text with equal signs (=).
.if-
page 157 - changed "picyunish" to "picayunish"
...same picyunish, selfish...
no page number - ad - The Boy Allies with the Navy
changed "JUTLND" to "JUTLAND"
THE BOY ALLIES AT JUTLND
no page number - ad - The Boy Allies with the Army
changed "ALIES" to "ALLIES"
THE BOY ALIES WITH THE GREAT ADVANCE
.nf-
.in