While Fred was enjoying the latter part of his evening so thoroughly, Matthew was miserable in his anger, as he and his confederate remained crouched under the shadow of the bushes, chafing at our hero's failure to appear.
Every minute seemed ten to him, there in the cold night wind, as he meditated upon the events of the past few hours, and imagined his rival enjoying the pleasure of escorting Nellie home. The more he thought upon the matter the more vividly he pictured the situation, and the greater the contrast seemed to be between his own position and that of the boy he hated.
And as he dwelt upon this picture, and thought, and thought rightly, that Fred was prolonging the time in reaching Dr. Dutton's house, his anger became more bitter against his intended victim, for being kept there so long in the frosty night.
It was indeed a galling situation for Matthew, and right well he deserved to be placed in it. He was on a wicked errand—an errand for which he should have suffered a severe punishment. Stillthe time went on, and the cold grew more intense, until their teeth chattered, and their fingers were benumbed; yet Fred did not appear.
Matthew was so bent on revenge that he hated to give up his evil project; but he had waited so long, looked, listened, and hoped, and no sound of footsteps could he hear, that now he broke out angrily:
"Worthington isn't coming, after all—the sneak!"
"Don't believe he is," shivered Tim, who was evidently very anxious to get out of his contract.
"But he must come this way," continued Matthew.
"He might go to the other road and cut across the grove."
"Why should he do that when it is so much farther? Listen, do you hear it? There is a step now!" exclaimed De Vere, clutching his club tightly.
"Sure as I'm alive, there he comes," said Tim, pointing to an approaching object just growing visible.
"Let him get nearly opposite us before striking. Ah, now I'll get square with him—the tramp! I'll teach him better than to interfere with me," continued Matthew, swinging his club as if raining imaginary blows upon the head of his victim.
"I should think so," observed Tim.
"He will think so, too, in about a minute. He will wish he had not crossed my path."
"Where shall I hit him?"
"Hit him on the leg so he can't run."
"He might get my club if he has the use of his arms, and then it would be all day with us," put in Tim, with a hint at caution.
"Don't you worry. I'll fix him quick enough so he won't bother us with his arms," replied De Vere, in a savage tone.
"How will you do it?"
"Hush, now is the time!" returned Matthew, darting from his hiding place.
"Stop, you villain!"
The words suddenly rang out upon the night in a powerful voice. They struck terror to the heart of the highwayman, whose club was raised high in the air, ready to descend upon his victim.
The sudden appearance of a strong man before him, as if by magic, the disappointment, the danger and the surprise, almost paralyzed Matthew with fear, and he dropped his club and fled, like the coward that he was.
But not so fortunate in escaping was young Tim Short, for before he had time to realize the unexpected situation his club fell heavily upon the leg of the man that he had taken for Fred Worthington.
Though he heard the command to stop, and did actually break the force of his blow in consequence, nevertheless he struck so hard that Jacob Simmons, for that was the name of the new comer, thought for a time that his leg was broken. Notwithstanding this, he made sure of his assailant, and held him in an iron grasp.
Jacob was fairly taken aback at first as the two boys rushed out upon him, but Tim's well aimed club speedily brought him to his senses, and aroused his temper as well. He consequently fell upon his assailant like a madman, and choked him till he cried piteously for quarter.
"What does this mean?" demanded Jacob angrily, at the same time enforcing his demand by shaking his prisoner as a terrier might shake a rat.
"I do—don—don't know," replied the boy, as he, with much difficulty, forced breath enough through the grasp of the strong man's hand around his throat to speak at all.
"Don't, eh?" echoed Mr. Simmons, with another shake, given, probably, with the view of bringing Tim back to his senses.
"It was a mistake—oh, don't; you will cho—choke me to death."
"Well, then, tell me all about this business, and why you assaulted me in this outrageous manner."
"We didn't know it was you. We thought——"
"The truth, mind you, now."
"I am telling the truth, and I say we thought you were some one else."
"It was a plot, then, to rob and murder some one else?"
"No, it wasn't, and I didn't have anything to do with the plot. Matthew hired me to——"
"Matthew who?" interrupted Jacob, whose anger was giving place, to some extent, to his interest in the affair.
"Matthew De Vere."
"Matthew De Vere!" exclaimed Mr. Simmons, with intense surprise, giving vent to a low whistle. "His father rich, proud, a banker," continued the wily Jacob, easing his grasp upon the throat of Tim. "And he, Matthew De Vere, is the villain who raised his club to hit me on the head—to murder me, perhaps?"
Young Short caught at the idea of freeing himself by implicating Matthew, so he replied:
"Yes, he was the fellow, but when he saw his mistake he dusted out, for it wasn't you he wanted."
"Of course you would plead innocent—all outlaws do—and try to throw the blame on some one else; but you can't get away now. I shall have you arrested and locked up for an attempt at robbery and murder."
"Oh, don't—don't!" pleaded Tim, with tears and bitter anguish.
"Come along. I'll have to put you in safe keeping, where you will not get a chance to try this game of murder again right away."
"Please don't! Oh, don't, Mr. Simmons! I will tell you all I know about it, and do anything—work all my life for you if you will only let me go."
"Let you go, after this affair? Yes, I will let you go—go to the sheriff! Come along, I say."
"It's all Matthew's fault—wanting to lick Fred Worthington."
"Do you expect me to believe such a story? It's a fine yarn to try and clear yourself when you are the one that almost broke my leg with your club."
"He told me to hit you——"
"Told you to hit me?"
"I mean to hit Fred, for he was waiting for him—said he wanted to get square with him."
"Then, according to your own story, you hired yourself to Matthew De Vere to come here and waylay an innocent boy, and beat him with clubs, and perhaps murder him."
"Yes; but I didn't think of it in that way or I wouldn't have come. Matthew hired me."
"So much the worse, if you would sellyourself to do such a wicked deed. You are as guilty as he, and it is my duty to hand you over to the State."
It was plainly Mr. Simmons' duty to hand young Short over to the authorities, but when he found that Matthew De Vere was the principal offender, a scheme instantly suggested itself to him—a plan to extort money from the rich banker to keep the affair a secret, and save his family from disgrace. Thus Jacob's regard for the law and justice, which was sincere at first, before he saw an opportunity of turning his knowledge to a money value, was now but an assumed position to draw Tim out, and to hold over his head the power that would frighten him into doing his bidding.
By entertaining this idea of suppressing the knowledge of the crime in order to get the reward Mr. Simmons became, in a sense, a party to the assault upon himself, and morally guilty with the boys, though undoubtedly in a less degree.
However, this did not trouble his conscience, as he was one who lived for money, and he saw here a chance to replenish his pocketbook. He took Tim with him, and, after getting his story in full regarding Matthew's object in waylaying Fred Worthington, gave him a conditional pardon; that is, he agreed to wait a few days beforehanding him over to the sheriff, to see if he could get Matthew to buy his liberty by paying handsomely to suppress the whole affair. If he did not succeed in this, he assured Tim that he would then be arrested, convicted, and sent to prison.
Mr. Simmons next told his prisoner that Matthew was liable with him, and would be arrested at the same time unless he complied with his proposition, which was that he should be paid five hundred dollars cash for the injuries he had received. If Matthew and his father did not comply with this demand, then he would summon the sheriff at once, have both offenders arrested, and the entire facts made public.
Though five hundred dollars seemed an enormous sum to young Short, he was nevertheless glad to get off temporarily on these conditions. He promised to try to raise this amount through Matthew, or, if he failed in so doing, to secure by some means one hundred dollars to free himself. Jacob had at last very shrewdly, though with seeming reluctance, agreed, if Tim could do no better, to take the one hundred dollars in settlement for the part he played in the assault, provided he would hold himself in readiness to testify against Matthew.
Short readily agreed to this proposition, and looked upon the magnanimous Mr. Simmons as aparagon of liberality, and as his best friend. But before leaving the presence of his benefactor, the latter was careful to note down all the facts touching upon the assault as related by Tim, and made the boy sign the statement.
This was a little precaution probably intended to assist Tim's memory if he should happen to forget some important points.
Jacob never forgot little matters like these when the interest of his friends was to be considered, and in this especial instance he was unusually keen.
Matthew left the scene of the assault very hastily, without even the ordinary civility of saying good night. This, however, was in keeping with his manner of leaving the party, for there he did not so much as thank Miss Grace for her entertainment.
Twice that night he had found walking too slow for his purpose, though his object in the two cases was quite unlike. In the one instance he was on a mission of revenge, and in the other he was animated by a keen desire to avoid the immediate neighborhood of Mr. Jacob Simmons.
He evidently imagined that Jacob's society would not be agreeable to him. Taking this view of the matter, he thought it would be the wise thing for him to come away, and not to press himself upon the man at so late an hour of the night.
He reasoned that there would be no impropriety in such a course, as Mr. Simmons couldn't be lonesome, for Tim was with him, and would probably remain with him for the night at least, so he withdrew from the scene.
We commend Matthew's worldly wisdom, as things turned out, in doing just as he did, for had he remained it is altogether probable that Jacob would have given him also an exhibition of his muscular powers, and Matthew—the gentle youth of fine clothes and haughty manner—wouldn't have taken to it kindly. It wouldn't have been a popular entertainment for him in any sense.
He seemed fully impressed with this idea of the situation, for never had he got over the ground so fast as he did that night. He ran the entire distance to his own home, and even when in his room, with his door locked, he trembled with fear, and cast nervous glances around, as if half expecting to see the angry Mr. Simmons rush in and fall upon him with remorseless blows.
Matthew's evening had been anything but a success. Every move he had made had not only failed to accomplish his purpose, but had actually recoiled upon him. He little imagined, though, to what extent this was the case in his last effort, for his fear was only of immediate bodily punishment.
As time passed, and his door was not burst open, he began to feel safe once more, and as terror ceased to occupy his thoughts, it was replaced by jealousy, and a desire for revengeupon Fred Worthington. He cared little what became of Tim, and gave him hardly a passing thought since he himself was safe from harm. He was not in the mood for sleep, so passed the time in thinking over the events of the evening.
It is a contemptible act of cowardice to lie in wait for a rival, and, taking him thus at a disadvantage, spring upon him and beat him with malicious pleasure. But Matthew would have felt no scruples on this point, for it is just what he had planned to do; and now that he had made of it a miserable failure, he resolved upon a new plot—an entirely different form of revenge, but one, in many respects, much more to be dreaded.
When Fred Worthington's mind finally descended from the clouds, and he began to think once more in a natural way, he at once took in the situation. He knew that Matthew did not like him, and he had seen him leave the party in an angry mood. Knowing him to be so revengeful, he anticipated that trouble of some sort would follow; but he little thought what that trouble would prove to be.
Imagine his surprise, therefore, when the next afternoon Matthew called at the store, in a very gracious mood, to see him and to talk over the previous evening's entertainment. He was very agreeable, and as sociable as if they had never quarreled.
After he had gone, Fred began to feel somewhat guilty, thinking he had unjustly wronged him. He disliked to have trouble with any one, and from the fact that they had not been very good friends of late, and that now De Vere had made the first concessions, Fred felt disposed to use every effort to be on good terms with him.
Matthew was quick to take note of this, and it suited his plans exactly. At first he thought he would speak to Tom Martin about his despicable purpose, and get his assistance. But he knew Dave Farrington would not listen to it, for he had already shown a preference for Fred; so he finally concluded to keep his own counsel, for should the facts at any time become known, as they most probably would, then, if another boy shared his secret, they would count heavily against him.
He lost no opportunity in making friends with Fred, and they now appeared together so much that the other boys could not understand what had brought about such a marked change. It was a matter of remark to the girls as well, for they also knew something of Matthew's hostility to our young hero.
"I am of the opinion that this sudden friendship is for a purpose that Fred little suspects," said Dave Farrington, "for you know the circumstances and remember what Matthew said to usbefore the party. My idea is that he is the worst boy in the village, and that we have never seen how mean he can be. Fred is a good fellow and is working hard to get ahead, and I am sorry to see him fall in with De Vere. If it wasn't meddling with the affairs of other folks, I would tell him to be on his guard."
"It does seem queer," replied Tom, "that matters should have taken this turn; but I guess nothing will come of it. I know Matthew always wants his own way, though, and is bound to have it, and that is why his actions seem so odd just now."
It had been Fred's custom to stay in the store nights until he got ready to go home, but since he had been under the influence of Matthew he had changed in this respect. Though he firmly intended to do nothing that he would be ashamed of, or that would injure him in any way, yet he was in dangerous company, and, like all others under similar circumstances, was gradually being affected by it.
One night De Vere suggested, as they were passing a drinking saloon—the very one where he had found Tim Short—that they should go in and have a glass of ginger ale. Fred had some conscientious scruples about this, but, lest he should offend his companion, he yielded, saying to himself: "There is nothing intoxicating aboutit; I don't see any more harm in it than drinking soda. Still I don't like the surroundings."
Having once visited that place of ruin, he hesitated less about going the second time; so when he and Matthew again passed it (and the latter purposely led him that way), Fred, feeling that he was under obligations to his companion for his previous treat, invited him in. This time they lingered a while to watch the billiard playing, and when a table was unoccupied Matthew asked Fred to have a game with him, adding that he would pay the expense.
Fred accepted the proposition and won the game, though he had never played before, while Matthew had had a good deal of experience.
Billiards is a fascinating game, and, from the very fact of its fascination, it is extremely dangerous for boys. It is usually associated with drinking saloons, where the air is filled with evil influences and the fumes of rum and tobacco; and, aside from these degrading surroundings, it is a very expensive game. It is a very common occurrence for one to find himself two or three dollars short for a single evening's entertainment of this sort, and this, too, when no drinking or betting has been done.
Fred, of course, felt elated that he should win the game with an old player, while Matthew chuckled over his own success; for, in purposelyallowing his opponent to win, and thereby playing on his conceit, he had scored more points in his own subtle game than he had hoped.
The obstacle that at first appeared to stand in the way of this young scoundrel's accomplishing his purpose seemed to be well nigh surmounted. He had carefully managed his victim, and would soon be paid for all his trouble by the terrible revenge he would enjoy.
There now remained the final act, which he arranged with the bartender, by paying him a certain sum.
It was agreed that De Vere should bring Fred in for a drink, and that they would persuade him to take a glass of lager beer, that should contain a large adulteration of whisky.
Tim Short was taken into the secret with a view to rendering any service that might be required of him.
When the boys next appeared at the saloon, Matthew, with a pompous air, said:
"John, give me a glass of lager; I have got sick of drinking ginger ale. It's nothing but a baby drink, any way. Fred, you'd better try the lager, too. It's ever so much nicer than that slop. Just try it now, and if you don't like it you needn't drink it. See how clear it is! I guess I can beat you at billiards after taking this."
The bartender laughed, and after indorsing all that De Vere had said, added:
"Folks is got about over drinking ginger ale, nowadays. Lager's the proper stuff!"
Fred was a good scholar, but there was a little word of two letters that he had not yet learned how to spell; that is—no.
He drank the beer, and his fate was sealed. He was now a tool in Matthew's hands. On some pretense the young hypocrite excused himself from playing a game of billiards as he had at first proposed, and induced Fred to follow him into the street, knowing it was not safe for him to remain longer in the heated saloon.
It was his first intention to go back to the store, thinking that if Mr. Rexford should see Fred in a tipsy state he would discharge him. But just before reaching the merchant's place of business he stopped, and, taking Fred by the arm, walked quickly up the street.
Tim followed close enough to answer promptly if Matthew should summon him.
The liquor had already begun to have the desired effect. Fred had become talkative and boisterous, and in such a condition that he could be influenced to do almost any absurd thing.
Matthew was bound to make the most of his opportunities, and so he incited him by flattering words to call at Dr. Dutton's house, oppositewhich they now stood. Fred assented to this, provided Matthew would accompany him. This De Vere readily agreed to do, and he led the intoxicated youth up to the door, and rang the bell sharply.
Presently the door opened, and on stepping in Fred looked about for his companion, but he was nowhere to be seen.
Tim Short made a very wretched attempt to obtain a night's sleep after escaping from captivity, both because the night was well spent before he reached home and because matters of too great importance rested upon his mind to allow him to bury them in slumber.
He reported at the factory at the usual morning hour, but after working a little time complained of being sick, and was released for the remainder of the day. If he was not physically ill, he was doubtless sick at heart, so he speedily sought Matthew, and told him, with more or less ill feeling, of his experience at the hands of Jacob Simmons, and of the latter's demands in settlement (as he called it) for his injuries.
"And you 'squealed' on me?" demanded De Vere, with ill suppressed anger.
"I told him who you were, to save him from choking me to death."
"Is that all you said?"
"He told me to tell the truth or——"
"So you gave him the whole story—you idiot, to tell everything you know!"
"I only wish you had been in my place."
"If I had I wouldn't have been an idiot!" retorted De Vere.
"Oh, you wouldn't have! Some folks are very smart," replied Tim, getting angry.
"I'd have been smart enough for that."
"A lot you would. If he'd had you as he had me, you would have told more than I did, and promised anything he asked."
"I'm not a baby, I want you to understand, to cry if any one looks at me."
"No, you are very brave, to have to get some one to help you to get square with Fred Worthington."
"I was a fool when I got you."
"And I was a fool for having anything to do with you in this business. You will be arrested and sent to prison, and so will I, unless you pay Mr. Simmons the five hundred."
"Arrested! What do you mean?" asked Matthew, turning pale.
"I mean just what I said; if you don't pay him he will come down on us within three days."
"Did he say so?" gasped De Vere.
"Yes, he did. He was going to take me to the sheriff last night, and that's why I told everything."
"Five hundred dollars! I can't get it without asking my father for it."
"Well, ask him then."
"He would find out everything, and would whip me almost to death."
"Better be whipped than go to prison, and have every one know all about it."
"I won't do either."
"How can you avoid it?"
"Five hundred dollars is too much."
"You'd better see Mr. Simmons and fix it with him."
"I don't want to see him."
"You will have to see him or send the money."
The two boys finally called upon Jacob Simmons and entered into negotiations.
"I ought to have more than five hundred," said the latter.
"How can I give it to you if I haven't got it?" asked Matthew.
"Your father is rich, and could give me ten times as much and not miss it."
"Oh, don't tell him. I will pay you what I can."
"If you had the money I would take it and say nothing more to him or any one; but I must have it or hand you over to the sheriff."
Matthew shuddered at this thought. He was in a dilemma, and hardly knew which way to turn.
After a good deal of parley, Mr. Simmons agreed to take three hundred dollars in place of the five originally demanded. This act, however, was not inspired by liberality or a desire to make the penalty less for the boys, but with a feeling that he might get nothing if he were to take the matter to the elder De Vere, as he gathered from Matthew's conversation that the latter would run away from home rather than submit to the severe punishment his father would be sure to give him.
"Three hundred dollars," Jacob argued, "is much better than nothing."
Matthew gave him what cash he had with him—seventeen dollars—and his watch, and signed an agreement to pay the balance within six weeks. He also indorsed the statement that Tim had signed about the assault as being true, and the careful Mr. Simmons replaced it in his large pocketbook for future use if it should at any time be needed.
When Fred found that he was in Dr. Dutton's house, and that Matthew had disappeared and deserted him, he was at a loss to know what to say or what move to make. His mind was far from clear, and his tongue so unwieldy that he could hardly manage it.
He stood silent for a moment, evidently trying to collect his thoughts and make out his situation; then, muttering some half intelligible words, he made a start as if to leave the house.
The doctor, who answered the summons of the bell, was struck nearly dumb by the sight that greeted his eyes. He closed the door, and, taking the youth by the shoulder, supported his unsteady steps to the office.
The fumes of whisky readily indicated the cause of this unfortunate occurrence, but the doctor was at a loss to know why Fred should be in such a state. Was he not one of the most exemplary boys in town, and did he not belong to the school, of which Dr. Dutton himself was superintendent?
Surely something must be wrong, thought thedoctor, and he began to question the boy, who on going from the cool air to a warm room had grown so suddenly sick that he looked as if he would faint.
The kind physician laid him gently on a lounge, and gave him such professional treatment as the case demanded.
There is a vast difference between one who has become intoxicated by a single glass and one who has been drinking for hours, and has thereby paralyzed his nerves and deadened his brain. In the former case the liquor can be thrown from the stomach, and the victim soon recovers the powers of his mind; while in the other event it may take several days to restore his customary vigor.
This sickness of Fred's was the very best thing that could have happened to him, for he got rid of the vile poison before it had time to stupefy him to any great extent. Nevertheless the dose was so strong and the shock so great for his stomach that for a time he was extremely sick and weak.
But after lying quietly on the lounge for an hour or so, he regained a little strength.
The doctor ordered his carriage, helped Fred into it and took him home. The latter was still so unnerved that he could hardly walk, but the cool air benefited him so much that when hereached home he managed to get into the house alone, and up to his room without disturbing his parents, who had retired some time before.
The next morning he awoke with a severe headache, and seemed generally out of tune.
The mere thought of what he had done—how he had disgraced himself by going to a public bar, and there drinking to intoxication—caused him the deepest sorrow and regret; but when he fully realized what a severe wound his conduct would inflict upon his mother and father, and how they would grieve over it—when he thought what the people of the town would say, and remembered that he had actually called in this lamentable state at Dr. Dutton's house—the place of all others he would have wished to avoid—he became sick at heart as well as in body, and his tumultuous feelings were only soothed by tears of honest repentance.
However, Fred hurriedly dressed himself, went to the store as usual, and commenced his accustomed labors. He saw at once, by Mr. Rexford's manner, that he did not know what had happened the previous night, and this afforded him a slight temporary relief; still, he knew it was only a question of time before his employer would learn the whole story.
When this took place, what would be the result? Would he lose his situation? He knewthat Mr. Rexford was a stern man, having little charity for the faults of others. That his clerk should have been intoxicated the previous night would undoubtedly irritate him greatly.
Fred imagined that every one whom he saw knew of what he had done, and looked upon him with disgust. He felt tempted to leave the village, and never be seen again where he had so disgraced himself. Could he only go to some new place, among strangers, and commence life over again, he might have a better chance to work his way upward; but here this shame would always hang, like a dark cloud, above him.
On reflection, however, he saw that it would be both unmanly and ungrateful to leave his parents.
No; he was the guilty party, and he must stay here, where the unfortunate occurrence had taken place, and here try, by the strictest discipline, and the most watchful care, to regain his former standing among his friends.
As Fred thought over the occurrences of the past few weeks—of Matthew's decided hostility, of his course at the party, and his sudden friendship since that time—of his treachery and meanness the night before, in getting him to call at Dr. Dutton's while intoxicated, and his deception in so suddenly leaving him at the door—hesaw clearly that he had been made the victim of De Vere's mean and cruel malice.
Moreover, he did not believe that a single glass of beer would have produced such an effect upon him, and so he strongly suspected the truth—that he had been drugged.
Still, he decided to bear the blame himself, and not throw it upon another, though there might be justice in such a course. He felt confident that the truth would at some time come to light, if he said nothing about it, whereas, should he bring forward his suspicion as an excuse for getting tipsy, the charge would at once be denied, and then he would be less liable to fix the guilt upon the young villain who had made him the plaything of his ill will.
He knew, also, that he was to blame for having visited the iniquitous den at all, and much more for allowing himself to be persuaded to indulge even in what is popularly considered a harmless drink.
He was so absent minded during the day, and showed so clearly in his face that something was troubling him, that keen eyed John Rexford observed it, and wondered what had happened to check the flow of the boy's spirits.
Rexford was a selfish man, and thought that possibly something pertaining to the store had gone wrong. Such an idea was enough toarouse his suspicion, for he was wholly wrapped up in his business. He could not look beyond that, and had no feeling for others—only making an occasional show of it for the sake of policy.
A man who lives in such a way is not half living. He is not broad, intelligent, liberal, and sympathetic, but is narrowed down to a sordid, grasping existence.
I often pity such men, for though they may have wealth in abundance, they know not how to enjoy it. Neither do they possess the faculty of deriving pleasure from kindness and generosity.
They can see no beauty in art or nature, and when they become unfit for pursuing their vocation, they have nothing to look forward to. The life beyond is something to which they have given little thought. They have starved their nobler nature that is nourished on higher things, until it is dwarfed and shriveled, and the baleful results of such an unnatural mode of life are pictured in their countenances.
Fred's most trying ordeal during the day was that of going to Dr. Dutton's house with goods; for if others did not know of what was on his mind, surely the doctor's family did. He knew that he had forfeited the good opinion they had had of him, and he wished to avoid meeting them.
To his surprise Mrs. Dutton greeted him pleasantly, and made no reference whatever to the affair of the previous night. Her motherly nature pitied him sincerely, for she saw plainly written in his face the sorrow that he so keenly felt. Bless the dear soul for her kind, sympathetic heart, and the cheerful, helpful look she gave the boy in the hour of his trial!
This unexpected charity helped Fred not a little; but the conspicuous absence of Miss Nellie, evidently due to a purpose of avoiding him, sent a chill deep into his very heart, which was plainly reflected in his face and exhibited in his demeanor. Fred's regard for her, I think we may safely infer, was much stronger and of a finer type than the ordinary preferences shown by boys of his age; therefore we can understand why he was so deeply affected by her turning away from him as if he were unfit to be her associate.
Matthew De Vere made the most of his opportunity. He felt that he was being revenged now. He took great care to spread the report, and to inform a certain one in particular of the facts concerning Fred. His version of them was a highly colored one; but of course he made no allusion to the adulteration of the liquor. He claimed that he induced Fred to leave the bar room, and intimated that he must have drunkseveral times before he saw him, "for," he said, "one glass of beer could not have made him tipsy."
By afternoon, the report spread nearly through the town, for, as Milton says:
Evil news rides post, while good news baits.
Dave Farrington and Tom Martin called to see Fred and talk the matter over with him. The latter did not breathe his suspicions of the real cause of the occurrence, but simply told the facts. The boys quickly replied that they considered it a trick of De Vere's, and that this was the mean way he had taken to carry out his threat of "getting the advantage of him."
This conversation confirmed Fred's opinion, and though he felt ashamed of himself, and was bound to suffer for his foolish act, while the guilty party went free, yet he reflected:
"I would rather be in my place than in Matthew's, for I shall learn by this experience not to be influenced by another to do anything without first counting the cost, and seeing whether it is right and best. If it is not, I won't do it for anybody's friendship. This will also teach me to keep away from suspicious places, and to avoid the temptations and corrupting influences of a bar room. De Vere's guilt will work more injury to him, in the long run, than my damaged reputation will to me."
Towards the close of the day Mr. Rexford heard of the previous night's occurrence. He immediately called Fred into the counting room, and sternly, and in an excited manner, questioned him as to the truth of the report.
The latter acknowledged its correctness, and told his story, stating that he drank but one glass of beer, and that that was his first, and would also be his last.
The suspicious merchant was very angry, and disposed to doubt the boy's statement. He said that it was a mystery to him where Fred got the money to spend for such a purpose—intimating that perhaps it came from his own cash drawer. Then, after giving him a sharp lecture, he hinted at discharge, saying that he would have no drinking persons about him.
John Rexford well knew the value of such a boy as Fred, and had no real intention of sending him adrift. But he wished to make the most of his opportunity, and to impress the boy, and the public if possible, with the idea that in keeping him he was doing a very magnanimous act.
So he said that he would overlook this fault, though a grave one, and retain Fred for the present on probation; but he warned the boy that he must keep a sharp lookout, as the first misdeed, or suspicious act on his part, would result in immediate discharge.
The turn of affairs was anything but pleasant to Fred, though better than he had expected. And it was far more satisfactory to him than the previous suspense, when he had not known what his employer would decide to do.
When the day's work was over, Fred went directly home, where he found his father and mother seated before the open fire.
The latter was somewhat worried about her son, for he looked pale and worn, and had eaten hardly anything since the night before; still she knew nothing of the cause of this. His father had received some intimation of what had happened, but had decided to say nothing to his wife about it for the present.
Fred had no intention, however, of keeping his parents in ignorance of his adventure; but taking his seat by the side of his mother, and where he could look both parents in the face, he told them the whole story, going minutely into all of the details.
He also told them of the conversation which had occurred between himself and Rexford.
Both parents listened intently to this statement. The mother at first sobbed bitterly, on hearing from the lips of her own child—on whom her hopes and pride were centered—that he had been in such company and in such a condition.
The father doubtless felt the disgrace quite askeenly, for he was a sensitive, intelligent man and naturally feared that this was but the beginning of a dissipated life. Still, he could hardly look for that from a boy whom he had tried so hard to instruct in what is manly and right, and who had always seemed to profit by his teaching.
But as Fred progressed in his narration, and showed how the lamentable result had been brought about, and that he had been made a victim of De Vere's revenge in consequence of the latter's jealousy, both parents looked upon the whole matter in a very different light. Mr. Worthington was extremely indignant, and expressed his determination to see De Vere's father and demand redress for the despicable course Matthew had taken. He also vowed that he would wage war against that bartender, and drive him out of town.
Fred, however, urged his father not to do either, since he believed it would only make a bad matter worse; adding that he had decided that it would be better for him to say and do nothing about the affair, further than to mention that Matthew was with him. He requested his father to adopt the same course. Mrs. Worthington, too, thought this the better plan, so after some persuasion her husband agreed to accept the situation and wait for time to bring the truth to light.
The wisdom of such a course must be apparent to my readers when they stop to think upon the matter, as did Fred. For, had he charged De Vere with being the cause of his misfortune, and alleged that the bartender had drugged him, both villains would instantly have denied it, and would, doubtless, have thrown the lie upon young Worthington, thus making him appear more at disadvantage than before. Besides, the villagers would be disposed to believe them, as it is well known that every one guilty of a misdemeanor is sure to give some excuse for his action, though excuses usually have but little weight.
On the other hand, a secret becomes burdensome to one after a time. If it is of a trivial nature, and the author finds he is not suspected, he will finally tell it as a joke, contrasting his cunning with the stupidity of his victim; while if it be of a graver sort, it will finally be disclosed, if for no other reason than to unburden the mind.
While both of Fred's parents regretted most deeply what had happened, they felt proud to think that he had told the whole truth, without even waiting to be questioned upon the subject.
If all boys would follow Fred's example in this respect whenever they get into any trouble, they would not only retain the confidence of their parents, but would receive the rewards of a clear conscience and an unburdened heart.