A GENEROUS THOUGHT
“Deny it, if you dare!”
The cry rang through the suddenly still, tense store like the crack
of a whip.
Billy Dobson straightened up and looked steadily at his accuser.
“I do deny it! It’s a lie!”
There was something in the fearless honesty of the young man’s eyes
that convinced most of those in the crowd. There were some who
doubted, however; one who doubted openly, and that one was Hull.
“Well, my lad, we’ll see,” said the latter, with a dubious shake of
his head. “But I warn you, if you try to get away, it may go hard
with you.”
“I won’t try to get away,” said Billy proudly. “You can find me any
time you want me, either here or at my own house.”
Jane was indignant. She turned to poor Marion who had been looking
rather frightened during the inquisition.
“It’s an outrage!” said Jane, loud enough for those about her to
hear. “Why, Billy Dobson couldn’t do a thing like that!”
“You seem very sure!”
The words were uttered in a low tone, but there was an icy quality
in them that caused Jane to wheel about suddenly. She found herself
looking into the disdainful eyes of pretty Betty Browning.
“If I were you,” said Betty in the same icy tone, “I would be a
little careful what I said. Billy Dobson is guilty, and you may get
yourself in trouble by defending him!”
Before Jane could recover from her astonishment and retort, Betty
turned her back upon the plain girl and walked from the store.
Mr. Browning had been deep in a conversation with Hull and had not
appeared to notice his daughter. The latter’s going seemed a signal
for the breaking up of the crowd. They straggled off reluctantly,
going in groups of two and three and talking excitedly about the new
turn events had taken.
Jane stood rooted to the spot, her eyes following the figure of
pretty Betty as the girl proceeded slowly up the slope of Rose Hill.
Jane became aware suddenly that Marion was tugging at her sleeve.
“Lovely girl, Betty Browning,” said the latter, bobbing and smiling
wistfully. “Lovely girl, but cold--cold and proud like her mother.
No heart, they say. All ice. Yes, yes, all ice.”
Jane smiled at the poor little woman and patted her hand.
“Well, we needn’t worry, Miss Marion,” she said, biting her lips to
keep them from trembling. “It isn’t our fault if some people are
unkind, is it?”
“No, no! Of course, not at all!” simpered Marion. She squeezed Jane’s
hand and with many backward glances and smiles and nods managed to
get herself out of the store.
Mr. Browning had gone out too, in earnest conversation with Hull.
Jane found herself alone with Billy when his employer followed Mr.
Browning and Mr. Hull to the street.
Jane’s impulse was to go away, for Billy looked as if he wanted to be
alone. But there were the things that Mrs. Powell needed right away,
and then Jane thought that she must speak to Billy and assure him of
her friendship, at least.
“Billy!”
The young man, who had turned away and pretended to be absorbed in
contemplation of the goods on the shelves, turned toward her.
Jane was startled at the sight of his face. It seemed to have aged
incredibly in the past ten minutes. He was white, there were lines
about his mouth and suffering had left a cloud in his usually merry
eyes.
“Billy, I’m so sorry!” she cried, impulsively, reaching a hand across
the counter to him. “It was all a trumped-up charge, and they ought
to be ashamed of themselves! I’ll tell them so, too, any old time I
happen to meet them!”
“You did,” said Billy, his face softening into a smile of
comradeship. “I heard you stand up for me, and I heard what Betty
Browning said, too. You’re a good little sport, Jane, and, believe
me, I’m not going to forget it!”
He took her outstretched hand of friendship and pressed it so hard it
hurt. Dear Billy! He was badly in need of comfort just then. Jane’s
heart ached for him.
“They can’t do anything to you, Billy.” The words were more a
fearful question than a statement, though Jane tried her best to
seem confident. “They certainly couldn’t convict a person on no more
evidence than they have!”
“I don’t suppose so,” said Billy, and sighed, rubbing a hand across
his forehead. “But it really doesn’t matter so much whether they get
out a formal charge against me or not. I’m just about done for in
this town.”
“What do you mean?” gasped Jane, alarmed at his tone.
Billy looked at her queerly.
“You’re only a kid, after all, Jane, in spite of the sixteen years
you claim, and I don’t suppose you know what a thing like this can
do to a fellow in a small town. Suspicion is almost as bad as proved
guilt.”
“Oh, no!” cried Jane. “How could it be?”
“It puts a fellow under a cloud,” explained Billy. Jane could see
that it did him good to talk to some one, and so she encouraged him
with all her might. “It puts a fellow under a cloud,” Billy repeated,
“and turn as he will he finds the cloud following him, wrapping him
in a mist of doubt and suspicion. In the city a fellow can get away
from it, but in a place like Greenville--never!”
“But I’m quite sure that most of the people in Greenville don’t
believe a word that that old Mr. Hull said!” Jane protested. “And if
they are like me, Billy, it will only make them feel more friendly to
you because you have been treated so unjustly.”
“But there aren’t many like you, Jane,” said Billy, fervently
grateful for the girl’s loyal friendship. “If there were, I shouldn’t
wonder if the world would be a much better place to live in. But
Greenville is Greenville, and as far as any future for me here is
concerned, I might as well stop trying.”
“But your inventions!” exclaimed Jane.
“It’s my inventions I’m thinking of,” Billy retorted grimly. “Do
you suppose any one is going to lend me money to back my ideas now,
when I’ve been accused of setting one place on fire already because
the proprietors wouldn’t finance me? No sir, I never had much of a
chance, but that’s gone now.”
Jane was silent for a moment, thinking hard, while Billy beat a
restless tattoo with his fingers on the edge of the counter.
“Billy, if you could get away from Greenville, you’d have a chance of
getting some one to back you, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes,” agreed the lad. “But with the wages I’m getting here and no
prospect of ever getting any more as far as I can see,” he added
bitterly, “I might as well try to get to Mars. But never mind,
Jane,” he added in a different tone, seeing how worried and really
distressed the girl looked, “it’ll all come out in the wash. And
anyway,” with another grateful pressure of the small friendly hand,
“I’ll always remember you stood up for me when I was down and needed
friends. It’s the people who stand by you at a time like this that
you know you can count on. And now,” with a faint return of his old
cheerful grin, “what can I do for you this morning?”
So the girl gave her order and left the store with her purchases.
But Jane had other things to think of that morning beside Billy’s
troubles. Things had begun to look black at home with Mr. Powell
laid up for an indefinite period. She had noticed how careful Mrs.
Powell had been in ordering things from the store. She knew it was a
question of money.
So she was very thoughtful on her way back to the Powell cottage. An
idea was forming in her mind.
She had not started to school in Greenville. It was too near the end
of the term. The whole summer stretched before her.
Why not?
Bustling in with her bundles from the store, eager to win Aunt Lou’s
consent to her new idea, Jane found that good woman in the sunshiny
kitchen dissolved in tears.
“Why, Aunt Lou!” she cried, alarmed. “What is the matter?”
Mrs. Powell dried her eyes hastily and tried to smile.
“N-nothing, Jane,” she said. “I--did you get everything from the
store?”
Jane knew only too well the meaning of those tears. Mrs. Powell could
easily stand up against the added task of caring for her husband
during his illness. But where was the money coming from with which
to pay the rent, the doctor, the store bills? She rightly suspected
that the moving alone had cut deeply into the Powells’ savings.
A sudden flood of gratitude for this good woman who had been so kind
to her overwhelmed Jane. She went over to Mrs. Powell and laid a hand
lightly on her shoulder.
“Aunt Lou,” she challenged, with a little thrill in her voice, “I bet
you don’t know who I am!”