CHAPTER VSAM FACES THE MUSIC
Almost every town has the misfortune to include among its residents a few persons perhaps best described as “undesirable citizens.” In the case of Plainville by far the most undesirable of these was Peter Groche, idler, sot, brawler, and petty thief. On several occasions vigorous efforts had been made to rid the community of his presence; but Peter, unchastened by thrashings or jail sentences for robbing hen roosts or clothes-lines, persisted in turning up like the worst of bad pennies. There was, therefore, general satisfaction in the town when news spread that, at last, he had been caught in an offense so serious that Plainville reasonably could hope to be relieved of him for a term of several years; especially as the irascible, determined and energetic Major Bates was directly interested in his prosecution.
Mr. Parker, returning from his trip toEpworth, heard the news down-town, and brought it home with him. Across the supper table he discussed the matter with his wife, and found her quite of his opinion that a shining example should be made of Peter Groche. The topic, in fact, fairly shared their attention with the annoying absence of the son of the house. Sam had not been home for dinner, Mrs. Parker announced; and now he appeared to have forgotten the supper hour.
“I don’t know what has come over the boy,” she said. “He went out right after breakfast, and nobody but Maggie has seen him since. She says he came in about two o’clock and had lunch; and then went out again. I think you’d better talk to him seriously. He doesn’t understand how important it is to a growing boy to have his meals regularly.”
“Very well; I’ll take him in hand,” said the father.
Mrs. Parker gave a little sigh. “Ah! I feel, sometimes, as if Sam were growing away from me. He’s getting to be such a big fellow, you know. Now and then I can’t buthave my doubts that I’m capable of managing him.”
“Still, you’ve done very well so far,” her husband assured her. “Sam’s a pretty good boy, as boys go. I don’t happen to think of any other youngster for whom I’d care to exchange him. But if he’s getting beyond you—well, I’ll try my luck. Only”—he hesitated—“only, when I do, perhaps you’d better make it a strictly masculine session. I may have to lay down some rather rigid rules, and—well, it will be just as well not to have an over-merciful court of appeal too conveniently at hand. Send him to me when he comes in, and Master Sam and I will reach an understanding.”
So they arranged it; and so it came to pass that when Sam walked into the library—the clocks were striking eight as he entered—his mother, after gently chiding him for his tardiness, slipped out. The shaded light, by which his father was reading, left the ends of the room in shadow, and Sam lingered for a moment by the door. At last he came forward, halting directly in front of his father.
Mr. Parker looked up. “Well, youngman——” he began, but suddenly his tone changed sharply. “What in the world have you been doing, Sam? You look as if you’d been dragged through a knot-hole!”
Sam’s wan smile was more eloquent than his speech. “I shouldn’t wonder if I did, sir. I’ve been walking around and—and thinking.”
“Where have you been walking?”
“Around town, sir—up and down the streets—anywhere.”
“Thinking all the while?”
“Yes, sir; thinking hard.”
“Been alone?”
“All alone.”
“Umph!” said Mr. Parker.
Sam licked dry lips. “I’ve been thinking, and I’ve thought it out,—what I ought to do, sir. And—and I’m here to make a clean breast of things.”
The father studied the boy’s face for a moment. “Sam,” he said slowly, “Sam, I can see that you’re greatly exercised about something or other. What it is I don’t know. I had intended to have you on the carpet for being late for dinner and supper, but I’mafraid this is something more serious. But whatever it is, I hope you’ll do just what you say you wish to do—make a clean breast of it.”
“And face the music!” There was a new note in the boy’s voice, a firmer note.
“That’s part of the game of life, Sam—if you play the game fairly and squarely.”
Sam drew a long breath, and made his plunge. “Father, you’ve heard about the arrest of Peter Groche? They say he shot at Major Bates. Well, he didn’t—but I did!”
Mr. Parker bent forward; he was looking into the boy’s eyes, and the boy did not quail under his scrutiny.
“I don’t ask you if you’re in earnest, Sam. I know that you are. Go on!”
“I took your gun this morning, and went out to the Marlow woods. I’d been told there were deer there. I was crouching under some bushes, and looking across a hollow, when I saw something dark on the other side. It moved, and I fired. Then a man’s head showed. I didn’t recognize him. I was so scared that I burrowed deeper in the bushes—hid for a while, sir. Then I realized I ought to do something. So I crossed the hollow. Ifound blood spots, but the man had gone away. It seemed as if he couldn’t have been badly hurt. Then I came home. I hoped I wouldn’t have to tell anybody, but—but now they’ve locked up Peter Groche for what I did.”
“When did you learn of the arrest?”
“This afternoon.”
“And since then?”
“I’ve been thinking it over—fighting it out with myself, sir.”
Mr. Parker rose and crossed the room. He picked up the gun, threw open the breach, peered into the barrels.
“You fired only once?”
“Only once, sir. Here’s the empty cartridge.” Sam took the shell from his pocket.
Mr. Parker put the gun in its place, and went back to his chair. There was a little pause; then said he:
“You had your mother’s permission, did you, to take that gun?”
“No, sir,” said Sam.
“Or to go hunting?”
“No, sir.”
“Did you seek it?”
Sam shook his head. “She was out, and I—well, I didn’t wait for her to come home.”
“I see. By the way, were you under an impression that I had ever authorized such an expedition?”
“No, sir,” said Sam frankly. “But, then, you’d never forbidden it,” he added.
“There are several things it has never occurred to me to forbid you to do,” said his father drily.
Sam nodded. “That’s so, sir. I don’t think much of the excuse.”
“There we are of a mind. So you must have realized that you were doing wrong.”
“I didn’t bother—think, I mean—about that part of it; that is, I didn’t seem to comprehend how wrong the thing might be. Of course, I understood that it wasn’t exactly—exactly proper.” Sam had difficulty in picking the word, and did not appear to be over-pleased with his choice.
“Go on,” said his father. “Tell me just what you did when you reached the Marlow woods.”
Sam obeyed. Very carefully he went over the incidents of the morning. He describedhis cautious advance through the thick growth, his ascent of the first ridge, his discovery of the dark object across the ravine. In detail he explained how he had conquered his attack of “buck fever”; how he had taken aim and fired; how he had been overcome by consternation when the head of a man appeared. He did not deny that he had been slow in crossing the gully. In fact, he made no attempt to present his case in a more favorable light than it deserved.
Mr. Parker did not interrupt the story.
“Sam,” he said, at its close, “this is an extraordinary yarn of yours. It is borne out in part by the empty cartridge shell. I can see, too, that one barrel of the gun has been discharged. Also I am fully convinced that you have tried to present the exact truth about the shooting. I shall assume that the facts are as you have stated them. I don’t need to add that they make the case very serious.”
“I—I’m afraid it is, sir.”
“Yet you haven’t hesitated to make confession?”
Sam moved uneasily. “I—I—oh, but I did hesitate, sir. It was a hard pull to bring myselfup to the point. I guess I walked miles and miles before I was ready to come back and tell you everything.”
“I wonder,” said Mr. Parker meditatively, “I wonder if it occurred to you that you might run away from all the trouble.”
The boy reddened. “It did occur to me, sir. And—you may think it a funny way to put it, but it’s true—my legs just seemed to be determined to carry me down to the railroad station. And they did! I was there a long time, looking at time-tables.”
“But finally they lost interest?”
“Yes, sir. I’d reasoned it out that there could be no use in bolting; it wouldn’t help anybody.”
“It very seldom does help anybody, Sam.”
“I guess that’s so, sir.”
There was a long pause, which Mr. Parker ended.
“Sam, we’ve got to consider the next step—no doubt you have considered it; for it necessarily follows your statement. You’ve declared your faith, so to speak; now you’ve got to supplement faith with works.”
The boy nodded. “I know, sir. They’velocked up Peter Groche. We—I, that is—have got to get him out; for he’s innocent.”
“Precisely.”
Sam could not repress a shudder. “He’s in the police station for something I did. When they release him, I suppose I’ll have to take his place. I don’t know much about law, but that would seem to be—er—er—to be——”
“Essential justice?” queried his father.
“That—that’s my idea, sir.”
“I see. But how do you plan to bring it about?”
Sam squared his shoulders. “By going down to the station and telling the officers what I’ve told you—everything. Then they’ll have to let Peter Groche go. And they—they can keep me.”
“That would be a simple method; but there may be a better one—not so direct, but probably more effective.”
Sam stared at his father. “More effective?” he repeated.
“Yes. The officers might be slow to act. You have to remember that they think the case against Groche is pretty strong.”
“But they’d have to believe me,” Sam urged.
“Not so fast, son! Don’t forget that there is a good deal of circumstantial evidence against Groche. Your story would certainly create a doubt—and a strong doubt—in his favor; but with his reputation for evil doing, they would be reluctant to let him go and risk making a mistake. No; there is a surer way to achieve the result.”
“And that is——?”
“To go straight to Major Bates and give him your version.”
“Oh!” gasped Sam, and blanched at thought of confronting the redoubtable Major, by long odds the most terrifying, overbearing and truculent person in all Plainville. “Oh, I—I’d rather not, Father! They can put me in a cell if they want to, but——”
Mr. Parker rose to his feet. “We’ll go to the Major—at once!” he said, with decision.