CONCLUSION
DICK sat with his sullen prisoner in the Principal’s outer office, while
Varrell and Eddy were closeted with Mr. Graham in the smaller room
adjoining. The door between was left ajar, and both prisoner and guard
strained their ears for some inkling of the course of events in the
inner room. Although delighted that the end of the long chase had been
reached, Dick was not altogether satisfied with his own position at the
finish. He had submissively stood watch while Varrell had made the
search in Bosworth’s room; he had obeyed as submissively when Varrell
had reappeared and ordered him on with Bosworth to the Principal’s
house. That he must still be kept on guard just out of hearing of the
interesting details which he had a right to know, was exasperating even
if unavoidable. With the feeling that he was doing his duty, Dick
steeled himself to wait in patience.
Through the crack of the door came the murmur of Varrell’s voice, as in
low, steady tones he told his story, occasionally interrupted by short,
distinct questions from the Principal that Dick could all but
understand. Presently Eddy’s testimony was invoked. With tremulous lips
he sobbed out answers to the senior’s questions, like a bashful witness
affirming his attorney’s suggestions. When Mr. Graham took a part in the
questioning, the boy’s voice grew yet more nervous and shrill. Words and
expressions penetrated to the eager ears in the outer room. Bosworth
threw off his pretence of indifference, and sat bolt upright, listening
with all his might.
But he was destined to hear little. Eddy’s whining voice suddenly shot
to a high key, broke, and dwindled abruptly to a gasp and a gurgle. A
chair slipped on the smooth floor, and an inert body struck the hard
surface with a dull thud. In his nervous state Dick could restrain
himself no longer. Throwing police duties to the winds, he rushed into
the inner room, where Mr. Graham and Varrell were bending over Eddy’s
collapsed form, Varrell still holding the boy’s head as he had caught it
close to the floor, and the Principal staring in horror at the twitching
face.
“It’s a fit,” Varrell was saying. “I’ve seen a case like it before;
comes from indigestion. You want to loosen his clothes and keep him from
biting his tongue.”
“Dr. Kenneth at once!” exclaimed Mr. Graham, catching sight of Melvin at
his elbow.
Dick hurried back to the room which he had just left. It was empty. He
stood an instant, staring blankly at the vacant room, then turned to the
others a bewildered face.
“Bosworth’s gone!” he exclaimed excitedly. “Shall I—?”
“Get the doctor at once!” repeated Mr. Graham. “Never mind Bosworth!”
The command was explicit, and yet the boy hesitated. His lips came
together and parted in “But—.” He got no further, however, for Varrell
interrupted him before the word was out.
“Hurry up, can’t you! Don’t stop to talk!”
It was the sharp, stinging tone in which the words were spoken and the
warning look flashed from Varrell’s gray eyes as he uttered them that
sent Dick flying from the house.
In five minutes he was back again, having met the school doctor at the
door of his office. Eddy was already reviving.
“Come, let’s get away,” said Varrell, after they had watched operations
for a few minutes in silence. “They don’t need us any longer.”
The doors had hardly closed behind them when Melvin began fiercely,
“Well?”
“Well, what?” returned Varrell, coolly.
“Why did you make me let that fellow go?”
Varrell laughed. “Because Mr. Graham evidently wanted him to go. He had
his wits about him if you had lost yours.”
“But why?” persisted Dick.
“Put yourself in his place and you’ll see,” retorted Varrell. “Bosworth,
in the eyes of the law, is a felon. Mr. Graham cannot condone a criminal
offence, and he doesn’t want the scandal of a public trial in the
courts. Bosworth has helped us out by running away. He’ll never be seen
again in this town. Now come up to the room, and I’ll tell you all about
it.”
Varrell’s prediction proved true. Bosworth disappeared suddenly and
completely. His mother came a day or two later and spent a few hours in
packing her son’s goods, and a few minutes in a sad interview with the
Principal. The boys who had lost money had it restored to them through
Mr. Graham, and the thieving in the dormitories ceased.
The whereabouts of the wretched Bosworth remained for some time a
mystery even to his mother. A year later, Vincent, who took his meals at
Mrs. Bosworth’s in Cambridge, reported having seen a letter postmarked
“Texas” addressed to his landlady in handwriting which he thought he
recognized. In his last college vacation Marks ran across Bosworth
himself among a set of gamblers offering bets at the professional ball
games in Chicago. It is safe to say that they did not renew their
acquaintance.
Eddy, relieved of the burden of his secret, convalesced rapidly, and was
soon taken home by his father. Fortunately for the repentant lad, Mr.
Eddy, himself an old Seatonian, had a frank talk with Mr. Graham before
seeing his son, which deprived the dreaded meeting of half its terrors.
It was a new idea to Mr. Eddy that a boy might be driven to continue in
an evil way from which he wished to escape, through fear of the
uncompromising harshness with which his confession would be received.
The parting word of the Principal sent the father home somewhat
comforted by the thought that there might yet be a chance for the boy to
retrieve himself in the old school.
For Phil and Dick and Wrenn Varrell the last days of school were
pleasantly uneventful. Dick had a peaceful fortnight in which to prepare
his class-day oration, which he delivered with becoming gravity, as if
it were a serious contribution to the wisdom of the world. Wrenn
returned to the modest tenor of his life; and when Planter, in his class
prophecy, predicted for Varrell a career which should rival that of
Sherlock Holmes, hardly half a dozen fellows in the class understood the
point of the reference. Phil went rejoicing home at the end of the
school term, leaving his older friends to miss his cheerful presence.
His study chair was more than filled by John Curtis, who settled himself
in it as the most favorable place for “grinding,”—a place which he left
only to sleep and eat during the long week which preceded the college
examinations.
John was rather subdued when the final good-bys were said, and the
fellows around him were promising one another a speedy and happy reunion
at Cambridge or New Haven or Hanover or some other of the half-dozen
places to which their choice of college called them. Melvin felt much
concerned at the solemn look on the big fellow’s face, and the artless
subterfuges with which he sought to avoid committing himself as to his
plans for the future.
But Curtis was merely cautious. On the Fourth of July, as Dick was
condescendingly helping his “kid” brother in the serious task of setting
off fireworks, a telegram was brought to him, dated at Mt. Desert, and
bearing this simple legend:—
“In clear except for Dutch. Meet you Soldiers’ Field, September.
“JOHN CURTIS.”
Dick’s last half-dollar went for fireworks to celebrate the news.
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● Transcriber’s Notes:
○ Missing or obscured punctuation was corrected.
○ Unbalanced quotation marks were left as the author intended.
○ Typographical errors were silently corrected.
○ Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only
when a predominant form was found in this book.
○ Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).