The Safety First ClubFights FireCHAPTER ISAM BEARS WITNESS
The Safety First ClubFights Fire
Sam Parker was studying under difficulties. His intentions were of the best; his industry, as a rule, was proof against distractions. This day, though, there was something in the very air which seemed to interfere with his work.
It was a fine day, a beautiful day. The sun shone brightly; a pleasant breeze was blowing; beyond the open windows of the big assembly hall on the third floor of the high school tree tops were swaying gently. In spite of his efforts Sam’s gaze strayed to them, and lingered on them, to the sad neglect of the instructive remarks on the English paragraph, offered bythe text-book lying open on his desk. Topic sentences, somehow, had lost their hold; “proofs” no longer appealed to his reason; conclusions didn’t matter in the least. Sam felt the spell of the spring in his blood, and, to do him justice, fought against its influence.
As a student, the boy had to earn what he gained. He didn’t lack brains by any manner of means; and he stood well in his classes, but this was the result of application rather than of inspiration. He had come up to the hall for a study period because it was quieter than his “home” room, where a recitation was in progress; and a score of other pupils had followed the same plan. They were rather widely scattered in the big space of the hall, and the teacher who was charged with maintaining order had the easiest of tasks. Spring fever might not promote industry, but likewise it did not encourage mischief.
From the window Sam’s glance came back to his comrades of the study hour. Nearly all were classmates of his—Juniors—but only two were among his special chums. Over in a corner a slender boy with thick-lensed spectacleswas deep in a calculation, being by long odds the busiest person in the room. Sam, surveying him, chuckled. Willy Reynolds, known to his friends as the “Shark” because of his extraordinary appetite for mathematics, cared very little what the weather might be, or whether the season were winter, summer, spring or autumn, so long as he was provided with an interesting problem. At a little distance from the Shark “Trojan” Walker was dallying with an English exercise. Sam grinned sympathetically, while he watched the slow motion of the Trojan’s pencil; he knew just how his friend was longing to be out-of-doors and making holiday. Trojan was a good fellow, rather a quiet chap, neither a dullard nor brilliant at his books; likable, dependable, and a valued member of the little coterie, of which Sam was the acknowledged leader.
Sam’s smile faded as his glance passed from Walker to a brace of his neighbors. He was not fond of Jack Hagle, and he disliked Edward Zorn. In the case of the former he might have found it hard to put the reason for his opinion into words. Hagle never had harmedhim; at times he had tried to be friendly; but there was something in Jack’s personality which didn’t appeal to Sam. “Hagle puts a fellow’s teeth on edge, somehow”—so Sam had said more than once, and it would have puzzled him to make the explanation more definite. As for Zorn—well, he was a schemer, an intriguer, a school and class politician, always working for this, that, or the other thing; now fawning, now blustering, but always keeping the personal fortunes of Edward Zorn in mind. Once or twice Sam and his chums had clashed with Zorn and his allies, and the encounters had not left the feeling of respect one sometimes finds for a stout and honest adversary.
Sam turned again to consideration of the English paragraph. He tried to concentrate his attention upon the printed page before him, and so was not aware that the principal and the sub-master had entered the hall and were talking earnestly with the teacher on duty. The conference at the desk went on for several minutes. The sub-master appeared to be excited. His voice rose a trifle, and Sam looked up. By this time all the pupils were eyeing the groupon the platform with varying degrees of interest.
Suddenly the sub-master turned to his chief and put a question. What it was nobody in the body of the hall heard, but everybody saw the principal nod agreement. To Sam at least the agreement did not seem to be at all eager.
“Walker!” the sub-master called out sharply.
The Trojan gave a start of surprise at the summons; rose; went forward. The principal put a query, his tone so low that the words were inaudible a dozen feet from the platform.
“Why—why, I don’t know, sir.”
Sam, straining his ears, barely caught the Trojan’s answer. He quite missed both the next question and the reply. Then the sub-master put in a suggestion:
“Suppose we excuse Walker for a moment. We can—er—er—we can recall him later.”
Again the principal nodded. Sam, closely attentive, was more strongly impressed than before that the head of the school was not enjoying the moment.
The Trojan walked back to his desk. His expression was puzzled. Sam’s guess was thathe was racking his memory and failing to recall distinctly something about which he ought not to have been uncertain.
“Hagle!” said the sub-master.
Jack shuffled up the aisle and took his stand before the teachers. His examination was longer than the Trojan’s, but the other pupils heard not a word of it. Then Zorn was called, and again there was an exchange almost in whispers.
The sub-master consulted a list of names written on a card.
“Parker!” he said, after a moment’s reflection.
Sam made his way to the platform. By this time his curiosity was keen enough. Zorn, he noticed, had not gone back to his former seat, but had taken a place well forward, where he hardly could escape hearing whatever might be said.
“That’s a cheeky performance!” Sam told himself—and then forgot Zorn for the moment; for the sub-master was addressing him.
“Parker, perhaps you can help us. There is a point we wish to establish. In a case of—er—er—ina case of disputed ownership of a book, let us say, suppose Walker claimed it——”
“Then I’d say it was the Trojan’s—I mean, Walker’s,” Sam declared without hesitation.
“That is because you are a great friend of his?”
“It’s because Trojan always tells the truth, sir.”
“I see. You give him a general vote of confidence?”
“Yes, sir.”
Sam fancied that the principal moved uneasily, as if he didn’t like the course the examination was taking. Yet the head of the school permitted his assistant to go on.
“Well, Parker, it happens that the ownership of a certain book is a matter of some interest to us. We are anxious to establish it definitely. By the way”—the sub-master pushed aside a paper on the desk and revealed a worn and battered text-book it had concealed—“by the way,can you tell us anything about this?”
Sam picked up the book. He glanced at the fly-leaves. They were torn and dog-eared,and bore a dozen scribbled entries. It was plain enough that the book had been handed down from class to class, though it would have puzzled anybody to get much clew to its present ownership from the conflicting scrawls. Then Sam turned to the last printed page, and found there a penciled skull and crossbones.
“If Trojan says this is his Cicero, he’s right, sir.”
“You—er—er—you corroborate him, then?”
Again Sam sensed the principal’s lack of approval of the question; but made mental note, too, that he let the sub-master continue.
“Yes, sir,” said the boy; “though he doesn’t need corroboration.”
“You’re absolutely sure?”
“I ought to be—I drew that picture on the last page. Did it one day when I’d borrowed the book from Trojan.”
“Long ago?”
“Two or three months.”
The sub-master frowned. “That is somewhat remote, Parker. If you have a weakness for decorative effects, there has been timesince then for you to adorn other texts. And if you haven’t seen this book in months——”
“But I have seen it, sir!” Sam broke in. “When? Last Friday. Just before our class went in for its Latin test I borrowed the book from Trojan to look up a passage. It—it’s pretty freely marked with notes on hard places, you know.”
“So I perceive,” said the sub-master drily.
Sam coughed. “Ahem, ahem! Well, the fellows who’ve had it have written in a lot of things, sir. And—and they help, when you’re in a hurry. And there was one ‘sticker’ Ididwant to get straight before we tackled the examination.”
“Very much of an eleventh-hour performance, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, sir. We were in the corridor—just before we went in.”
“And you are sure you returned the book?”
“Perfectly sure, sir. Trojan wanted it back—he had something to look up, too.”
“And you gave it to him?”
Sam smiled faintly. “‘Gave’ is hardly the word, sir—he grabbed it.”
“That was the last you saw of the book—inWalker’s hands, in the corridor, outside the examination room?”
“Right there, sir.”
“But you had your own Cicero with you?”
“I guess all the fellows had theirs. But we left them in the corridor—that’s the way we always do, you know.”
The sub-master turned to the principal. “Well, some things seem to be established,” he said. “Do you care to take the witness?”
The principal seemed to hesitate. “No, Mr. Bacon,” he said at last. “You’re quite right—some things we can now accept as established.”
Sam might have considered himself dismissed, but he lingered.
“If there’s anything else I can tell you——” he began; but the sub-master shook his head.
“No; that’ll do for you, Parker,” he said curtly.
Sam, still very much in the fog of uncertainty and wondering greatly that there should be any doubt of the Trojan’s claim to his book, turned away from the platform. As he did so, he caught Zorn’s eye, and was remindedthat that youth must have overheard all he had said. Well, he didn’t care; it was all true—so Sam told himself, even as a sense of resentment filled him. It wasn’t Zorn’s affair; playing eavesdropper was a contemptible trick. Sam amended his statement to himself: he did care; he objected strongly to Zorn’s action. At the first opportunity he would say so, forcefully and as publicly as might be. He glared at the other, who, truth to relate, returned the attention in kind. Then, Sam had passed by and was taking his seat at the back of the hall.
The Trojan appeared to be in a brown study. His brow was furrowed, and he was gazing at the wall in the fixed fashion which suggests seeing very little. Jack Hagle had developed sudden absorption in his work, and was bent over the text-book on his desk. The Shark was still deep in his calculation. Nobody else in the room, though, was ignoring, or pretending to ignore, the peculiar affair which had interrupted the study period.
The instructors had their heads together in a consultation which continued for several minutes. Then the principal and sub-masterrose, and walked to the door; halted; exchanged a word or two.
“Walker!” the sub-master called, and the Trojan, his manner of perplexity remaining, again went forward. This time he did not return to his seat, but followed the two men into the corridor.
The pupils left in the hall exchanged questioning glances. Every boy there—with the exception of the Shark—felt that something out of the usual run was happening; and most of the number, including Sam Parker, groped vainly for the secret. Sam had a notion that Zorn, and perhaps Hagle, had clew to the mystery, and it is to be confessed that the suspicion annoyed him. Therefore he awaited eagerly the reappearance of the Trojan.
But Trojan Walker did not come back to the hall.
A gong clanged, marking the end of the period. Sam and the others gathered up their books, and streamed out into the corridor, there dividing and going on to their own rooms. In each of these there was the stir of preparation for home-going, for the period closed the day’s work; then came the littlepause, while the rows of boys and girls sat quietly, awaiting the dismissal signal. Sam noted that Trojan was not in his accustomed place; but hardly had he made sure of this when the gong clanged again, and the school session was over.
Sam marched out with his classmates, but lingered in the yard. So, as it chanced, did a dozen other boys, among them several of his special chums. There was the Shark, blinking behind his big spectacles. There was “Step” Jones, so called because in height, and thinness, and angularity he suggested a stepladder. There was “Poke” Green, who was so plump that a finger could be poked into him anywhere. There was Tom Orkney, sturdy, reserved, not an ingratiating fellow but sound to the core on better acquaintance. And, finally, there was Herman Boyd, long a member of the clan and possibly the Trojan’s most intimate friend. These boys grouped themselves about Sam as about a leader, and waited, as he waited, for the coming of Trojan Walker.
“Something queer is on,” Sam told them. “I don’t know what it is, but I’m going tofind out. All I know so far is this.” And he sketched rapidly the incidents of the masters’ visit to the hall.
There was a murmur of surprise, followed by many questions. Sam shook his head.
“Somehow Trojan’s Cicero is mixed up in it—how, I can’t guess,” said he. “I knew the book as soon as I saw it. Every one of the crowd would know it on sight.”
“That’s right,” Step agreed. “I’ve borrowed it a hundred times—got the best lot of written-in notes that ever happened—regular life saver sometimes. Yes, I’d know that bully old book as far as I could see it.”
“Same here!” said Poke Green; then turned to the Shark.
“Look here, old polyhedron, you were in the hall—what’s your theory? What’s all the row about?”
“No theory,” said the Shark calmly. “Wasn’t noticing—had something better to do.”
“What?”
The Shark shrugged. “I could tell you in thirty seconds, but you couldn’t understand in thirty years.”
“I believe you!” chuckled Poke cheerfully.
Zorn, who had drawn near the group, laughed cynically.
“Ho, ho! If I’m not mistaken, you fellows will hear something pretty soon that you can’t help understanding in three seconds instead of thirty. And you won’t like it, at that!”
The friends stared at him; finally Step spoke:
“What is it we’re not going to like?”
“Wait and see.”
“Rats!” said Step scornfully.
Zorn scowled. “Your gang has been putting on a lot of side lately, but you won’t feel so high and mighty after this.”
“How do you know we won’t?” It was the Shark who put the query, though, as a rule, he took small part in such verbal clashes.
“How—how do I know?” Zorn appeared to be staggered by the demand. Suddenly, however, his expression changed, and he pointed to a figure framed by the arch of the great doorway.
“There he is! Let him do the talking for a while.”
The Trojan slowly descended the steps. His face was pale; he moved heavily.
Sam met him and caught his arm.
“What’s the row?” he asked eagerly.
The Trojan hesitated. “I—I—there’s a mistake, a mix-up, somehow. It’s over my Cicero. They—somebody, that is—found it in the desk I sat at when we had the test the other day. Or they say that was where they found it. And the way the thing worked out—that was the worst of it—made me look as if I were lying about it. They began by asking where my Cicero was, and I said I supposed it was with the rest of my books. I thought it was; I hadn’t missed it—you know we’ve had no Latin recitation since the test. Then they sent me back to my seat, and—and”—he hesitated again, glancing almost apologetically at Sam—“and when they afterward took me to the principal’s office, they said they had evidence identifying the book as mine. They hadn’t shown it to me before then. If they had, I’d have claimed it, of course, no matter how they happened to get hold of it. But the way everything happened, you see, seemed to make it a pretty black case against me—lugginga text-book into an examination, and then trying to lie out of it, and——”
Step broke in hotly. “You say somebody identified the book as yours? Who was mean enough to do that?”
Once more Zorn laughed, and it was a taunting laugh. “Ho, ho! Don’t ask Walker that! Get it first-hand!”
Tom Orkney’s hand fell on his shoulder, and Tom spoke sternly:
“You’re aching to make trouble, somehow—anybody can see that. Cut it out! This isn’t your row, unless you’re the telltale—understand?”
Zorn wriggled free. He retreated a pace or two; for Orkney’s hand had been heavy.
“You’re a nice crowd!” he sneered. “They say you call yourselves the Safety First Club. Good name, that! Sure it is! Just fits in with the speed Sam Parker made in saving himself and giving Walker away. Safety First! You bet that’s the rule with every one of you, and the rest can go hang, for all you care!”
Orkney would have charged the enemy, but Sam held him back. The last minute or twohad been a trying time for Parker, as any time must be which brings revelation that one has fallen into a most embarrassing predicament. Sam had had his flash of illumination. He saw, all too distinctly, the complications in which he had become involved. Innocently enough he had fallen into the rôle of chief witness against his friend and club-mate. And Zorn had not played eavesdropper without result. That the knowledge thus gained would be used for the annoyance and discomfiture of the clan, Sam had no doubt; but he realized that a fight then and there would in no wise mend matters.
“Easy there, Tom, easy!” he counseled. “We won’t have any scrapping just now.”
Orkney yielded, reluctantly.
“Might as well let me polish him off,” he grumbled. “It’ll have to be done sooner or later.”
“Very likely—but better not now,” said Sam quietly.
“Sure! Always Safety First!” jeered Zorn; and walked away, grinning wryly.