A WANING STAR
The next morning, when Rob saw Carle swinging merrily off after chapel
with a pair of irresponsible cronies, he judged that the twenty dollars
had been found and the crisis averted. This was true. Unfortunately,
however, the first successful effort, under spur of special necessity,
to override the school decree as to study hours encouraged him to
repeat the act of contempt a few days later. This time he made the most
of the glamour of heroism attached by some boys to the reckless defier
of authority. His triumph was short-lived. It is a peculiarity of this
unsubstantial tribute of admiration that it is given, not for breaking
the rules, but for daring to break them and for escaping unscathed. The
maladroit who tries the heroic and is detected meets only contempt and
derision. Carle was detected and put on special probation--the last
stage on the outward way.
It is not impossible for a boy, even at this dangerous point, to take
a new grip and by steady pulling draw himself gradually back to a
position of safety. This thought was Poole's only comfort, who now,
desperately anxious for his pitcher, was ready to undergo any sacrifice
if it would but avail to save his man. All forces possible were brought
to bear on Carle himself and his surroundings. His friends were urged
to try to stiffen him up. Mr. Graham's counsel and assistance were
sought. The Principal gladly gave the encouragement to Poole that he
would have given to any boy interested in steadying another in the
right way; but at the same time he suggested that fellows whose moral
energy needs to be bolstered up by extraneous means almost always
prove a poor reliance on the athletic field. He did not say, as he
might have done, that no amount of skill can make up for lack of grit
and determination and honest effort; and that the sooner a trifler
is disposed of, the less the ultimate disappointment will be. Poole,
though himself above reproach, was not ready for such a doctrine.
He saw only that the nine must have a pitcher, and that Carle was
a star who must be kept in school by all fair means. To all other
considerations the captain was blind.
Owen, among the rest, was pressed into this crusade, though as Carle
took very little notice of him, it was hard to see of what use he could
be to the cause. In spite of his pity for Mr. Carle, he could not
arouse himself to the desired pitch either of personal interest or of
patriotic feeling. He knew Ned too well to cherish any delusion about
his character; after four months of drifting in self-indulgence with
the current, it was quite unlikely that Carle would have the strength
to reverse his course and force his way inflexibly against it. And as
for the school's need of a pitcher, Rob had, as we know, his own reason
for regarding Carle as not indispensable.
So the last fortnight of the winter term crept by, with Carle under
watch and ward to prevent critical offence. He was coached in his
lessons, guarded from undesirable visitors, showered abundantly with
moral advice, earnestly admonished of his loyal obligations to the
school. Flattering as this distinction was, it had its unpleasant side.
In the first place Carle had to work--and work had become for him the
least attractive way of spending his time. Secondly, a dreary prospect
stretched before him: he must continue to work like a man pumping for
his life; for if he slackened pace or relapsed into his old habits,
special probation became immediately "severed connection." Thirdly,
there was no fun in it, and no likelihood of fun. His disgust with the
position grew more intense as the days dragged painfully along.
The events of these days which especially concern this narrative may be
briefly enumerated.
Another plague visited the Pecks. Number four was chemical, not
zoölogical in its character, and while its effect lasted it seemed more
severe than any of its predecessors. If you wish to know what it was
like,--I advise strongly against the experiment,--pour two ounces of
sulphuretted hydrogen into an open dish in a closed room. As Duncan
reported sadly to Owen the next day, "It smelt like the concentrated
essence of rotten eggs, as if a whole car-load of 'em had been stewed
down into a spoonful." After this Duncan openly declared for peace,
but Donald hardened his heart. Owen, once more appealed to, approached
Payner again, but the avenger was obdurate. He would not take the
apology of one for both, and he would not undertake to distinguish
between two indistinguishables; they were both bad until both were good.
* * * * *
The names of the prize winners in composition were read aloud in
chapel. Two were awarded prizes and one received honorable mention.
When Mr. Graham announced that he was about to read the names, Rob felt
a thrill of sudden emotion, and, dropping his eyes like a timid girl
abashed at public praise, listened expectant, half convinced that the
next moment the glances of his neighbors would be aimed at him. And
when the names of the fortunate were read, with no Robert Owen among
them, and the applause burst forth about him, he kept his gaze still
fixed upon the floor, penetrated through and through with shame at
his presumption. In a moment, however, he held up his head and joined
in the clapping with a vehemence that added a second or two to
its length. Why should he care? He had as much right to try for the
prize as any one. Nobody knew he had tried anyway, except Simmons, and
Simmons would keep quiet.
[Illustration: The Chapel Stairs.]
So Rob jostled his way downstairs with the crowd, and strove to think
no more of his disappointment. It kept recurring, however, in heavy
moments during the Greek recitation, and once he was almost caught
napping by a stray question as he dwelt longingly on the satisfaction
he might have had in making the announcement to his father. A prize for
an essay would have been an antidote for a whole season of parental
objections to baseball!
That morning was blue all through. Simmons's well-meant commiseration
buried him still deeper in the dumps. He brooded in unreasonable
discouragement over the fancied failures of the year. The relay prize,
his only success, had come to him in defeat through the efforts of
another. In baseball he was to be numbered among the substitutes; his
scholarship was mediocre; he possessed none of the qualities which
bring popularity. Then he bethought himself of Carle, and the dangers
of popularity and success as exemplified in the career of that youth,
and felt some comfort. Mediocrity was at least safe.
Meanwhile Carle was losing interest in the cause. He was often sullen,
and gave small and sometimes ungracious coöperation to those who were
trying to help him. The glories of school life were no less attractive
to him; he was as ambitious as ever to be the shining light of the
baseball season, but the seriousness of the obstacles was growing
clearer. To turn square about, work hard, shun extravagant friends,
husband the pennies, do without every luxury,--this was his prospective
life if he held on at Seaton. Was it worth while, even for the sake of
the baseball? Carle, who was possessed of nothing resembling Spartan
fortitude, had his doubts.
During the last week a further change set in. He became secretive
where he had been confidential, and shy where he had formerly courted
attention. He received important letters from his father without giving
a hint of their contents; he had two interviews with the Principal, as
to which the baseball people could get no information. A dealer in
second-hand furniture called on him by appointment when his room-mate
was absent. He cashed a check and paid certain bills.
The school broke up for the short spring recess on Tuesday morning
early enough to permit those fortunate ones who lived at accessible
points to catch the eleven o'clock train out of town. The candidates
for the nine remained behind to take advantage of the recess for
practice. Comans, Carle's room-mate, who lived in Massachusetts, got
off on the first train. In the afternoon Carle had his usual practice
with Borland.
On Wednesday the first mail brought to Robert Owen a letter from one
of his correspondents in Terryville, which contained one short passage
more interesting than all the rest: "They say Ned Carle is coming home
to stay. His father says he's disappointed in the school; it's too
expensive and they don't make the boys work as they ought to."
Could it be true? Was Carle really going to leave? The baseball crowd
surely knew nothing of any such plan.
Rob jammed his hat on his head and hurried over to Carter 13. The door
was locked; his knocks roused only hollow echoes. He ran downstairs and
stampeded across the yard. At the gate he met Poole.
"I was coming to see you," Rob began eagerly. "I've just had a letter
from a friend of mine at home. There's something in it that'll interest
you." He read the passage aloud. "What do you think of that?" he asked,
lifting his eyes in serious question to the captain's face.
"Rot!" exclaimed Poole, contemptuously. "I don't believe a word of it.
Why, he was pitching to Borland yesterday afternoon!"
"But I couldn't raise him this morning," said Rob, his eagerness
somewhat chilled.
"Oh, he wouldn't sneak off like that without a peep. Let's hunt him up
and see what he says about it."
They crossed the yard in silence and ascended the stairs in Carter; Rob
ashamed of his credulity, Poole clinging to his assurance, yet secretly
agitated at the frightful possibility. As they neared Room 13, Poole,
who was ahead, perceived that the door was ajar, and turned about with
a triumphant smile.
"It's all right; he's here," he called, giving a whack at the door that
opened it wide.
But inside stood revealed, not Carle, but Jenks, the second-hand
furniture man. The visitors gaped at him for a moment in speechless
astonishment.
"Where's Carle?" demanded Poole, recovering himself.
"On his way home, I expect. He was going by the early train this
morning."
Rob threw at his companion a significant glance, but Poole was gazing
at the speaker with staring eyes and open mouth.
"Has he sold his things to you?" asked Rob.
"All he didn't take with him. He arranged with me to call for 'em this
morning. He ain't coming back, you know."