A RIFT.
A RIFT.
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:
“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.
“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 folkshow 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.”
“’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.”
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.”
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!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 burningcheerfully 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.
“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.
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. Baldwinwas 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.
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.
PROFFERED FRIENDSHIP.
PROFFERED FRIENDSHIP.
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.
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:
“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.”
“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.”
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.”
“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’tyou 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?”
“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.
“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.”
STONE’S STORY.
STONE’S STORY.
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 dealof 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.
“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.
“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.
“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.
“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.
“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.
“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.
“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 lightenough, 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 ownknife 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.
“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.
“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.”
ON THE THRESHOLD.
ON THE THRESHOLD.
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.”
“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, forthere 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.”
“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.
“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.”
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.
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.
“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 hasbeen 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.