CHAPTER XIIINOT ON THE PROGRAM
Sam, following his enemy at a more moderate pace, was burdened by a peculiar sense of helplessness. He was troubled by no doubts of the justice of his cause; but he was annoyed and perplexed by the obstacles Fate threw in his way. They were the harder to consider philosophically because he was quite sure that he was obeying his new rule of Safety First, and that Orkney’s guilt was clearly established. At the same time he had to admit that Tom had offered valid grounds for delaying combat. Altogether the case struck him as one of difficult application of entirely sound principles.
As he turned a corner, however, he forgot Orkney for a little; for within a dozen yards of him he beheld two men in conversation. And one of the men was Major Bates. The other was Peter Groche.
Sam almost halted. He gazed in surprise at the two. The Major had never appeared tobe straighter, or fiercer, or more bristling; while Groche’s slouch was never more pronounced. The ne’er-do-well was listening sulkily to the Major’s very energetic remarks, occasionally growling a brief reply to the veteran.
As it chanced, Sam had not met the Major since the night he had made confession. A glance was enough to show that he had nearly recovered from the effects of his wounds; and the ear testified that the vigor of his speech was in no wise abated.
After a second’s hesitation Sam advanced. As he neared the men, Groche, seeming, of a sudden, to catch sight of him, wheeled and shuffled off, growling as he went. The Major swished his cane, as if he regretted that it might not descend upon the retreating legs. Then he, too, saw the boy, and the severity of his expression lessened a trifle.
“Ah, young man!” he said. “Ah, good-morning!”
“Good-morning, sir,” said Sam.
The Major tapped the sidewalk smartly with his cane. “I’m out of hospital. Am I to regard myself as in receipt of your felicitations?”
“’Deed you are, sir!” Sam assured him with unfeigned warmth.
The Major’s eyes twinkled. “Mutually satisfactory state of things, eh? I’m pleased myself. Fact is, I’m so overflowing with good will this morning that I’ve been trying to improve that vagabond.”
“Yes, sir,” said Sam.
“By Jove! but I fancy I made it clear even to his befuddled wits that there is no profit in persistently remaining a social liability. I warned him that if he didn’t mend his ways he’d end in state’s prison. Big, hulking brute like that’s liable, some time, to commit a felony.”
Sam glanced at the retreating Groche. The fellowwasbig and hulking, and brutish as well—an ugly customer, in short.
“Has he been bothering you again, sir?”
“No,” answered the Major. “I rather anticipated some of his characteristic attentions, but he has quite neglected me. Not that I complain—certainly not! Only I took occasion to point out to him the exceeding unwisdom of again annoying me. Odd, too, how he took the advice. Leered at me, and mumbled,but made no distinct threats. But I must not detain you, young man. You, I infer, are on your way to school?”
“Yes, sir,” said Sam again.
“Then proceed. A moment, though!” The Major’s bushy eyebrows met in a frown, which wholly lacked ferocity. “Your holidays are at hand, I believe. Some day, when you’re at leisure, I should be glad to show you my modest collection of weapons of war and the chase. Ought to interest you, as a budding sportsman with a promising record of large game!”
The Major’s eyes were twinkling once more. Sam blushed hotly.
“I’ll be very glad to come, sir,” he said.
“Then I have the honor to wish you a very good morning,” quoth the Major; and they parted in friendly fashion.
Both Major Bates and Peter Groche soon lost first place in Sam’s consideration. The school session promptly put the Orkney affair to the fore.
The Lester prize for declamation was one of the great honors of the course, and competitionalways was keen. The contest covered a full term, two boys and two girls entering the lists each Monday. Usually they were seniors, elocution being part of the required work of the final year, but sometimes juniors volunteered, often with a notion of “working off” the requirement ahead of time, but occasionally with a hope of winning.
There could be no doubt that Tom Orkney did his best to win. As it happened, he was fortunate in his competitors. The other boy was a senior, who took the platform simply because he had to take it, and who raced through his selection with an eye single to ending the ordeal in a minimum of time. Then two girls performed conscientiously but ineffectively. And then came Orkney, junior and volunteer.
Tom had chosen an ancient favorite “speaking piece,” so ancient, indeed, that a giggle ran through the hall when the principal announced, “The Parting of Marmion and Douglas.” But the merriment quickly died, as the boy swung into Scott’s stirring verse.
“Good work!” was the involuntary and whispered tribute of Step Jones, who sat besideSam. “Awfully good work, confound him!”
Sam nodded. Orkney was revealing unexpected dramatic fire; and, unpopular as he was with his audience, was capturing its admiration. One might suspect that he had had professional coaching, but one could not deny that it had been worth while.
There was loud applause—not the customary ripple of hand-clapping but a spontaneous and hearty demonstration—and Tom was smiling when he made his bow to his schoolmates, and another bow to the principal, and came down the steps from the stage. It was not a pleasing smile, for there was in it more than a trace of supercilious triumph.
“Hang the chump! Look at the smirk of him!” complained Step.
Sam made no answer. Orkney was approaching, and for an instant the eyes of the rivals met. Sam’s expression did not change, but the other’s smile lost the little charm it had. Sam found it bitterly taunting; it seemed to say to him, “This was what you schemed to prevent, eh? Well, you didn’t do it, did you?”
Step drove an elbow into his ribs. “You can’t spoil that mug by pounding it! Say, though! When are you going to get at it?”
“Soon as I can,” said Sam simply.
“Date with him?” whispered Step eagerly.
“Not exactly.”
The classes were rising to march out of the hall, but Step found time to make a suggestion.
“Maybe you can catch him down at the pond this afternoon. They say the ice is at last strong enough to hold.”
“I’ll be there,” Sam promised.
Mild as the season had been, the temperature had been falling steadily, if slowly; and the skim of ice on the big mill-pond on the outskirts of Plainville had thickened until it had been for some days in rather perilous use by venturesome skaters. Now, however, Sam believed it was reasonably safe; and when he descended the slope to the pond, its surface was dotted with swiftly gliding figures.
Directly in front of him a lively game of hockey was in progress. To the right, and safely removed from the rushes of the players, were boys and girls, skating singly, or inpairs, or in long lines, hand in hand. To the left, near the dam, were a few youngsters.
Sam shook his head as he observed them. The ice always was thinner there than in other parts of the pond, and there was seldom a season in which somebody did not regret rashness in straying too close to air-holes. At a time like this there was more or less danger anywhere in the neighborhood of the dam.
“It ought to be roped off,” he told himself; but as there appeared to be no means to carry out this precaution he sat down on the bank and began to put on his skates. This he did leisurely, pausing now and then to run his glance over the skaters. At a little distance up the shore some of the larger boys were building a fire, and were having trouble, their fuel consisting chiefly of long boards torn from an abandoned ice-house. Here a little crowd clustered. Sam thought he had a glimpse of Orkney, but was not certain. As he tightened his last strap, however, and stood up, Step came along, arms and legs flying in an effort to recover the partly lost art of the Dutch roll. At sight of Sam the lanky youth went through some extraordinary contortions,checked his speed, and glided alongside his friend.
“Say! It’s all right—he’s here!” was his greeting.
“Who’s here?” asked Sam, quite unnecessarily.
“Humph! Who you s’pose? Deacon Pender?”
“No,” said Sam coolly. “I don’t imagine you were thinking of the deacon.”
“You bet I wasn’t!” rapped Step. “I was thinking of Tom Orkney.”
Sam peered at the crowd by the fire. “Queer I can’t make him out,” he remarked.
“He’s down at the lower end—along with those kids.”
“Oh!”
Step was grinning. “Oh, he tried to butt into the hockey game, but the fellows gave him the cold shoulder. So he had to flock by himself till he saw the young ’uns. He’s with ’em now, teasing and tormenting ’em, I reckon.”
Sam struck out with the experimental feeling of one on runners for the first time inmonths; made a wide circle, and came back to Step.
“Bit rusty, but I’ll get the swing all right in an hour or so,” he reported.
Step brought him back to the previous question, so to speak.
“What do you want? Don’t mean to fight him on skates, do you?”
“Certainly not,” said Sam testily. “What put such a notion in your head?”
“Well, what are you here for?” demanded Step pointedly.
“Don’t expect to have a fight before all this crowd, do you?”
“Seems to me you’re getting awful fussy.”
“I am, if ‘fussy’ consists in objecting to scrapping with half the town rubbering.”
Step looked hurt. “Don’t you want anybody but yourself to have any fun?”
“I don’t intend to entertain Plainville in a body.”
Step’s expression was bewildered. “Say—say, you ain’t crawling, are you?” he queried.
The suspicion stung Sam’s pride. “Crawling? Not on your life! I’m looking for Tom Orkney, and when I find him I’ll ask him towalk back in the woods with me—he’ll know what for. And you can come along, and one or two of the others, but——”
The cloud vanished from Step’s brow. “Oh, that’s all right!” he said heartily. “Can’t have a mob trailing along, of course. But I say! There’s Orkney now—just shooting out from behind the point. He’s chasing one of the kids.”
Sam’s glance followed the direction of Step’s extended arm.
“Yes, that’s Orkney, fast enough. But what’s he doing?”
“Pestering the youngster!” snapped Step. “Can’t you see? And I declare, if it isn’t Little Perrine he’s worrying!”
Sam watched the swiftly moving figures, one short and slender, the other tall and stout. Little Perrine, barely in the lead, seemed to be hard pressed, for he dodged frequently without being able to throw off his pursuer.
Suddenly Step cried out sharply: “The miserable bully! Look, Sam! he’s driving the kid right down to the dam, where the ice won’t hold him for a minute!”
“Confound it all!” fumed Sam. “Whywon’t people think of Safety First? Why won’t——”
There he broke off, aghast at the catastrophe he beheld, but Step’s voice rose shrilly:
“Great Scott! it’s happened! They’re in—both in!”
With appalling swiftness the ice had yielded beneath the weight of the two, and Little Perrine, vanishing as if through a trap-door in a stage, had been followed almost instantly by Orkney.
Step started to the rescue, striking out wildly and shouting as he raced down the pond at top speed. Sam, about to join in the dash, checked himself. He knew well enough how the thin ice near the dam, once broken, would crack and crumble under even slight pressure. “Safety First!” was the thought which flashed upon his brain; safety not so much for himself as for the pair struggling in the water.
Other skaters were speeding after Step: but Sam, turning, hurried to the heap of boards near the fire. He caught up the longest plank on which he could lay hands, and skated down the pond with all the speed his burdenpermitted. Before him other would-be rescuers, halted by the widening circle of open water, were moving about aimlessly, if pluckily, getting in one another’s way, and risking a general break-up of the ice under their weight. One youth, indeed, had slipped over the edge, but luckily had been dragged back, suffering no more serious consequences than a drenching to the waist.
Orkney was clutching desperately with one hand at the crumbling edge of the ice. At first Sam saw nothing of Little Perrine, but as he dropped his board and thrust its end over the water, he had a glimpse of the boy’s head, pressed close to Orkney’s breast. So Tom, having caused the disaster, was doing what he could to save an innocent victim! Such was Sam’s belief, and the belief of Step and the rest.
The long plank swung nearer and nearer to Orkney. He grasped it, drew himself forward, threw an arm over it; his other arm was still about Little Perrine. Sam, kneeling on the board with Step anchoring its end to the thicker ice, got a firm grip on Orkney’s coat collar. Then came the tug of war. It lastedfor thrilling seconds, of which Sam was to have only confused memories, in which were mingled the ominous cracking of the ice, the shouting of the spectators, his own cries of warning to the crowd to move back, Orkney’s struggles, the ghastly pallor of Little Perrine’s face. Slowly, by inches, they gained. Then with a report as sharp as that of a pistol a foot or two of the edge gave way; Orkney dropped back till his shoulders were submerged; Sam’s arms were plunged in water to the elbows. Then Tom made a mighty effort. Sam exerted all his strength. What had been lost was recovered and retained. Then there was another clear gain; and, in an instant more, Orkney and Little Perrine had been dragged to safety.
Tom was able to raise himself on an elbow, but Little Perrine lay unconscious and motionless.