Sam, having given his word to the club, duly presented himself at the
principal’s office.
Though he had rehearsed carefully the little speech he intended to
make, he found himself stammering, and hesitating, and, finally,
blurting out a rather incoherent summary of his case.
“It was the way things worked, sir--made me seem to say what I didn’t
mean to say. And it was the same with the Trojan--with Walker, that is.
Both of us were tangled, and twisted--and--and----”
“Yes?” the principal encouraged.
“Well, and tricked,” said Sam.
The head of the school glanced at him sharply. “That’s an ugly word,
Parker,” he said curtly.
Sam reddened, but held his ground. “I don’t mean that it was intended
so, but it worked like a trick, sir. If the book had been shown to the
Trojan right at the start, and he’d been asked if it was his, he’d have
said it was and made no bones about it, even if he hadn’t a notion how
you came to have it. But he was asked first where his Cicero was. Now,
he hadn’t missed it, and supposed it was with the rest of his books,
and----”
“You’re making a statement, Parker, that it might be difficult to
prove.”
“I know that, sir. But I know, too, how it could happen that the Trojan
didn’t miss his Cicero. There had been no Latin recitation for our
class since the test; he had had no occasion to look for the book.”
“Yet we had your word for it, Parker, that he had it with him at the
time of the examination.”
“No, sir--just before the time. That’s a big difference.”
“Admitted!” said the principal drily.
“Just outside the room I borrowed the Cicero for a moment. Then I gave
it back--the Trojan wanted it. Then the bell rang and we left our books
in the corridor.”
“Did Walker?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How can you be sure he did? Did you see him leave his text there?”
“I didn’t see him--at least, I didn’t notice. But he says he did, and I
believe him.”
The principal was eyeing Sam keenly. There was a brief pause. Then said
he:
“You’ve something to add? Go on!”
Sam summoned all his resolution. “I was talking about being tricked. I
was caught, too, by the way the questions were put. Somehow, I seemed
to be made to give the Trojan away. I hadn’t any notion of doing that,
and there wasn’t any reason why I should, seeing that he hadn’t done
anything wrong. But Mr. Bacon seemed to tangle both of us up. Do you
remember, sir, how he didn’t go straight at the thing, but fussed
around it, and--and----”
“I do remember,” said the principal, when Sam hesitated. There was
something in his tone which reminded the boy of his curious doubt that
the head of the school had really approved the course the inquisition
took.
“Well, sir, in the end I appeared to have done the Trojan a lot of
harm, and he’d harmed himself, and it was all a mix-up. That’s what I
meant by the trick part.”
“I see,” said the principal. Again there was a pause.
“The Trojan is honest,” was the way Sam resumed the discussion.
“Parker, let me show you the other side of the case,” said the
principal quietly. “For some time we have had reason to believe that
there has been cheating in examinations, and have been keeping a close
watch on all the classes. There is, as you know, a strict rule against
taking text-books into rooms where examinations are held. In this
case, after your class had taken Latin papers, a Cicero was found in
one of the desks. We established, beyond doubt, that it was the desk
Walker had used. There was evidence that the book was his. When he was
questioned, opportunity was given him to make confession----”
“But that was prejudging him guilty, sir!”
The principal coughed. “I get your point, Parker, but must remind you
that we are interested rather in maintaining discipline and doing
essential justice, than in following rules of court procedure.
Walker’s course was unfortunate. It certainly did not serve to lessen
the strong presumption of his guilt.”
“But what was I brought in for?”
“To assist in establishing all available facts. And you furnished some
information, which surely bore directly upon the question at issue.”
“I know--it seemed to,” Sam admitted dismally. “That’s the hardest
part, so far as I’m concerned.”
“I understand your position,” the principal told him, not unkindly.
Sam took thought for a moment. “Well, sir, there’s another side to the
case--what’s the Trojan to do, that is. And--and--was he given a mark
on that Latin paper?”
“A mark of zero.”
“Afterward--yes. But was there a mark to begin with?”
“Yes,” said the principal. He opened his desk, took out three or four
sheets of paper, closely written in a hand Sam recognized as the
Trojan’s. “All the papers were marked at once, as it happened. Walker
was given an eighty-two. That was canceled, of course, after the
investigation, and is out of the reckoning.”
“I don’t think it should be, sir,” Sam argued. “It’s important. If the
Trojan had been doing any crooked work, he’d have turned in a better
paper. He usually has had eighty-five or more in examinations.”
The principal consulted a record-book.
“Quite true,” he admitted. “Let’s see! Here’s an eighty-seven--that
was a test; he fell just under eighty-five in the next one, but
picked up again at mid-year’s. Then I find an eighty-six and next an
eighty-seven.”
“All higher than eighty-two,” Sam pointed out.
“Granted. I can’t grant, though, direct application to the main
question before us.”
“Which is that you think the Trojan lied?” Sam asked bluntly.
“That is certainly the most serious aspect of the case.”
Sam reflected swiftly. “Well, sir,” he said, “I’m sure he didn’t lie,
and I believe some day we can prove he didn’t. But, meanwhile, we’ve
got to figure on what he can do. That zero will smash his term-stand.
As he isn’t to be allowed to recite with the class in Latin, he’ll
have no chance to pull it up; so, even if he came in for the final and
did mighty well, he’d probably be flunked.”
“It might be.”
“Well, I--we--his friends, I mean--don’t want to have him flunked. We’d
do anything to prevent it. And that brings me to something we’d like to
have arranged and understood. If the Trojan keeps up in his Latin by
outside work, and this--this other thing is cleared up, and he passes
the final, what can be done about his term marks?”
It was plain that the principal, if not persuaded of the Trojan’s
innocence, was impressed by Sam’s earnestness.
“If your hopes can be realized, Parker, and if we can be shown that
Walker is a victim of circumstances--I warn you, it’s a difficult task
you appear to have set yourself--if you can clear his record, you can
depend upon me to give him fair play.”
“Then you’ll fix the term-stand part of it?” Sam insisted.
“Yes--on condition the other requirement is met.”
“That we prove he didn’t take the Cicero into the room, and supposed
the book was with the rest of his lot?”
The principal smiled. “Proof of the second proposition, Parker, might
be beyond even the efforts of the strongest friendship. I fear evidence
of his mental processes cannot be secured. But if you can establish
the fact that he did not have his text with him that day, while he was
working on his paper, it will be quite enough. Convince me of so much,
and you’ll have no cause to complain--nor will he.”
“Hurrah!” cried Sam, delightedly.
There might have been doubt in the principal’s expression, but there
was surely a trace of sympathy.
“Parker, I wish you success in your efforts, though I am not
oversanguine. But you can be assured of this: if we are in error in
punishing Walker, we’ll make every effort to make amends.”
“I understand, sir. And all we want is a square deal.”
“Precisely,” said the principal, and there was the suspicion of a
twinkle in his eye. “Precisely. The trouble, though, is that on the
face of the returns, that is just what Walker is getting now.”
“Then we’ll change the returns!” Sam declared valiantly.
“’Pon my word, Parker, I shall be very glad to see you do it--if you
can!” said the head of the school.