CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE
Kendall awoke the next morning possessed by a pleasant feeling of
well-being for which he could not, during the first few moments,
account. Then recollection of the events of the preceding night came
and he smiled broadly and mentally patted himself on the back. He
jumped out of bed and dressed himself briskly, thinking that the world
was a very good place to be in. Harold, who was usually out of sorts in
the early morning, was visibly annoyed at Kendall’s high spirits.
“Cut out that whistling, will you?” he begged between yawns. “You give
me a headache, you do; always whistling; making a noise――” The words
died away in a growl as he patted the cold sponge gingerly over his
face. Kendall laughed.
“I guess you don’t like music,” he said.
“Music!” exclaimed the other with awful irony.
“Yes, that’s what the little birdies do in the morning, whistle. I’m
playing I’m a little birdie.”
“You’re playing the silly fool,” growled Harold. “Whistling isn’t
music. Besides, there isn’t any tune to what you whistle!”
“I was――what do you call it?――improvising,” replied Kendall. “All great
musicians do it.”
“Well, do it outdoors then. I want peace in my own room.”
“All right,” agreed Kendall good-naturedly. “I’m off. You’d better
hurry or you’ll be late for chapel.”
“Don’t care if I am,” answered Harold defiantly. But he dropped the
towel and made a rush for his clothes as Kendall closed the door behind
him.
When Kendall reached the front of Whitson he observed a little group
of fellows at the flagpole. He hurried across to it. On the grass,
overturned, lay the paint can, with two brushes, sticky with green
paint, balanced on top. The brushes had been found on the grass nearby.
A glance at the pole told Kendall that he had not entirely saved it
from the enemy after all, for on the farther side two big streaks of
bright green marred the whiteness. The group was speculating excitedly.
Kendall listened:
“Must have been done early last night. The paint’s almost dry.”
“Some Third Class gang, of course. Green’s their color.”
“They ought to get their heads bumped together,” said an older boy.
“Faculty’ll have something to say when they see it.”
There was an uneasy silence at that, and one or two of the smaller boys
edged away. But others joined the group and the theories kept coming:
“Wonder why they didn’t finish it. Must have been scared away, what?”
“Of course! Look at the paint pot. And Decker found one brush ten feet
away. They probably heard something and ran.” The speaker lowered his
voice. “Know anything about it?”
Then the chapel bell stopped ringing and the fellows made a rush for
the entrance.
Kendall smiled to himself as he followed. He could tell them something
that would surprise them if he wanted to. Of course he would have to
tell someone or else he would get no credit for his act; and it is
only human nature to want credit for our good deeds. The best way, he
guessed, would be to just sort of mention it carelessly to someone.
When one fellow knew, it wouldn’t take long for the story to get
about. And after that――well, at least they’d know who he was!
But presently, when Mr. Collins reached the announcements for the day,
Kendall was reminded that life was not all roses.
“I will see the following students at the Office at twelve,” said Mr.
Collins. Then came a half-dozen names, and the last of all was Burtis!
Kendall left Oxford wondering what sort of punishment was to be meted
out to him. It seemed a very small crime, leaving the dormitory after
ten o’clock, and Kendall comforted himself with the conclusion that the
Assistant Principal would only give him a talking to. But now and then
during the forenoon the recollection of the coming interview caused a
qualm.
Meanwhile the school had worked itself into quite an excited frame of
mind over the green paint episode. Older fellows recalled the time
when, a couple of years ago, the front of Dudley had been discovered
decorated one morning with a legend in blue paint. But the boy who had
performed that startling feat could not be connected with the present
adventure for he had removed himself from Yardley a short while after.
Younger boys whispered of a mysterious secret society and hinted that
they had suspected its existence for some time. By noon the Third
Class had been made defendant. They might deny it as much as they
pleased, declared the other classes, but anyone could see that it was
their work. And, added some of the First Class oracles, the sooner they
discovered the culprits and made an example of them the better for
the reputation of the Third Class. All of which added to the rapidly
growing excitement. Of course the Third Class denied to a man all
knowledge of the affair. Well, perhaps not to a man, since Kendall
didn’t put in any denial, the principal reason for which was that no
one thought of accusing him.
By the time breakfast was over the paint can and brushes had
disappeared and the janitor was busily at work removing the offending
stains. It was rumored that Mr. Collins himself had taken the paint
can, but when questioned the janitor only grunted. It was also rumored
that faculty was enormously incensed over the affair and had summoned a
special meeting that evening to consider what steps to take to discover
the miscreants, and that there was the dickens to pay generally!
Meanwhile the school waited with bated breath and enjoyed the sensation
hugely.
At twelve o’clock Kendall made his way down the long corridor of Oxford
and pushed open the ground-glass portal marked “Office.” There were
two boys ahead of him in the outer room and Kendall sank into a chair
to wait. The school secretary glanced up across the top of his desk,
fixed Kendall speculatively for an instant and went back to his work.
The door of the inner office opened, Mr. Collins appeared, looked over
the callers, said “Watkins, please,” and disappeared again, one of the
boys at his heels. There was a solemnity about the proceeding that
Kendall found a trifle depressing. Five minutes later the same thing
was repeated and the second youth disappeared behind that forbidding
portal. Meanwhile three other boys had arrived and seated themselves
about the room. Then it was Kendall’s turn at last and he followed the
Assistant Principal across the threshold.
“Take a seat, please, Burtis,” said Mr. Collins, closing the door.
Kendall sat down in a chair at the end of the broad, flat-topped
mahogany desk and Mr. Collins lowered a shade by a few inches at one
of the windows and took his own chair. Then he looked at Kendall for a
moment in silence. Finally,
“Well, Burtis, suppose you tell me all about it,” he said in a kindly
tone. “That will save a lot of questions.”
“Why, sir,” replied Kendall, “there――there isn’t anything much to
tell, sir. I didn’t think about the rule, sir. I don’t mean that I
didn’t know it, only――”
Mr. Collins frowned.
“Never mind about that part of it, Burtis. What induced you to do such
a silly, childish thing, my boy?”
“Do――do what, Mr. Collins?”
“Come, come now! Don’t beat about the bush, Burtis.”
“I don’t understand what you mean, sir,” replied Kendall bewilderedly.
“If you mean why did I go out after lock-up――”
“I mean,” said Mr. Collins shortly, drumming with his finger-tips on
the top of the desk, “I mean why did you daub the flagpole with green
paint? What was your idea in doing such an idiotic thing?”
Kendall stared in amazement.
“Why――why――”
“Well? Come now, tell me all about it.”
“But I didn’t! You don’t understand, sir! I didn’t have anything to do
with that, Mr. Collins. It was the oth――”
He stopped abruptly. Mr. Collins shook his head impatiently:
“You mean that you didn’t actually do any of the painting? Does that
matter? You had a hand in the affair, Burtis. Who was with you?”
“No one, sir,” answered Kendall, still bewildered.
“That means you refuse to tell their names. Do you mind telling me
whether the thing was intended as a Hallowe’en joke or as a mere piece
of vandalism?”
“Why, sir, I think it was meant as a joke! But I didn’t know it was
Hallowe’en. They said――”
“Who said?” asked Mr. Collins sharply. Kendall was silent.
“Come, come, Burtis, don’t be silly. Make a frank confession and it
will be easier for you.”
“I’d rather not say who they were, if you please, sir. But I know they
intended it as a sort of joke on the school. I tried to stop them, and
I did, but I was too late――”
“So you were on the side of law and order, were you?” asked Mr. Collins
ironically. “Very fine of you, Burtis. Then you don’t deny that you
were present at the time?”
“N-no, sir; that is, I was――was nearby.”
“Who did that electric torch you had belong to?”
“My roommate, Harold Towne.”
“Hm. Where was Towne at the time?”
“In bed, sir.”
“You’re certain of that?”
“Yes, sir. I waited until he was asleep before I went out.”
“Were the others there when you arrived?”
“No, sir.”
“You had to wait for them? How long?”
“I――I don’t know exactly; about twenty minutes, I guess.”
“Where did you wait?”
“On the steps of Oxford, sir.”
“I see. You had the paint with you then?”
“No, sir! I didn’t have anything to do with the paint. You――you don’t
understand, Mr. Collins!”
“I’m trying to, my boy, but you won’t help me. You acknowledge that you
took part in the affair――”
“No, sir, really! I had nothing to do with it. I went out to try and
stop them.”
“That’s rather a hard pill to swallow, Burtis. How did you know that
‘they’ were going to do it?”
“I overheard them talking about it in the afternoon, sir.”
“Why didn’t you try to stop them then?”
“I――I didn’t know them well enough.”
Mr. Collins was plainly puzzled. Kendall looked as though he were
telling the truth, but Mr. Collins had had many disillusionments in
his time. He moved impatiently. “Burtis,” he said, “here are the clear
facts of the case. I found you last night at almost eleven o’clock
coming into the dormitory with an electric torch in your hand. This
morning the flagpole is found daubed with green paint――the color of
the Third Class, of which you are a member――and a paint pot and two
brushes are found nearby. As circumstantial evidence that looks pretty
conclusive, doesn’t it?”
Kendall sadly acknowledged that it did. It was his first encounter with
Circumstantial Evidence and he was forced to own that Circumstantial
Evidence was getting the better of him.
“Well,” resumed the Assistant Principal, “now you confess that you
were aware of the project, that you were present, know the other
participators――”
“Only by sight, sir!” interrupted Kendall.
“You mean that you don’t know their names?”
“Yes, sir! No, sir; I mean that I don’t!”
“Um; members of your class, however, are they not?”
“No, sir.”
“What! Then why the green paint?”
“Because――because――” But Kendall couldn’t answer that without
informing on the Broadwood fellows.
“Well?”
“It wasn’t used because it was a class color, sir; it――it had another
significance.” And Kendall found time to be secretly proud of that word
before Mr. Collins went on:
“Now you tell me that you went out there to prevent the others from
doing what they had planned to do. What method did you intend to use,
Burtis?”
“I meant to scare them away.”
“Ah! And how did you propose to scare them away?”
“By hiding and turning the searchlight on them, sir. And that’s what I
did, only the light wouldn’t work at first and they got some paint on
before it would work. And then they ran away.”
“Yes? And in what direction?”
“I――I――” Kendall stopped and observed Mr. Collins apologetically. “I’d
rather not tell any more, please, sir.”
“Very well, my boy, but bear in mind that you are making it harder for
yourself. I’d like very much to believe your version of the story,
but, frankly, I can’t. Now, wouldn’t it be much more sensible to make
a clean breast of the whole thing? Is there any reason why the others
shouldn’t take their share of punishment? Especially if, as you say,
they are the ones to blame and you are merely an innocent victim of
circumstances? Come, come, Burtis!”
“I couldn’t make a clean breast of it, Mr. Collins, without telling
on――on the others. And――and you don’t think that’s right, do you, sir?”
Mr. Collins smiled slightly. “That question has been put up to me a
good many times, my boy, and I’ve always declined to answer it. There’s
something to be said on both sides. It’s a question you’ll have to
decide for yourself. I must tell you, though, that we have always
had very little patience for the sort of tomfoolery indulged in by
your party last night. Defacing property is a skulking, mean-spirited
business, Burtis. Now and then some prank comes to my attention for
which, although I am obliged to mete out punishment, I have a sort of
admiration. Ingenuity, daring, courage, all those compel admiration
even when displayed in a bad cause. But to sneak out at night under
cover of darkness and daub paint on another person’s property
has nothing of ingenuity nor courage about it. In short, Burtis,
the defacing of school property is held by this faculty as being
mischievous and contemptible and is always punished severely. I tell
you this that you may realize the seriousness of your position before
it is too late. Think it over a minute.”
“You mean that I――that you will let me off if I tell who the other
fellows were?” asked Kendall unhappily.
“I mean that if you will make a clean breast of the whole affair,
fixing blame where it belongs, you will be dealt with much more
leniently than you will be if you persist in――in retarding justice,”
replied Mr. Collins kindly. “Take your time and think about it.”
He arose and passed into the front office, and Kendall heard him
address Mr. Forisher, the secretary:
“Let me have the card of Burtis, Third Class, please.”
He returned with the card in his hand. Kendall could see his name at
the top of it. It was evidently taken from the filing cabinet which
stood back of the secretary’s desk. Mr. Collins laid the card on the
desk and looked inquiringly at Kendall. Kendall shook his head:
“I――I’d rather not, please, sir.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yes, sir. I’d rather not tell.”
“I’m sorry.” Mr. Collins frowned slightly and picked up the card. For
a moment or two there was silence while he glanced over the record
it held. Then, “Upon my word, Burtis, this is too bad,” he exclaimed
annoyedly. “You have good reports for the week from every instructor.
Mr. Bendix says you show first-class physical conditions and that you
are trying football. Here’s a fine, clean card and now you go and spoil
it by such tomfoolery as last night’s! Too bad, really! Well――”
He laid the card down again, drummed on the desk with his fingers once
or twice, swung his chair around so that he could look out the window
across the Yard and was silent. A minute passed. Kendall followed the
Assistant Principal’s gaze with his own and wondered how many pillows
were piled in the window seat of a room in Dudley, how you told time
by a sun-dial and what the little red discs on the golf course meant.
Then Mr. Collins swung around briskly and Kendall came back from his
dreaming.
“Well, Burtis,” said Mr. Collins in a very matter-of-fact tone of
voice, “I guess it will have to be probation.”
Kendall made no answer. He was very uncertain as to what probation
meant. He didn’t like the sound of it, however. It sounded, he thought,
almost as bad as Circumstantial Evidence. Mr. Collins didn’t leave him
long in ignorance, though:
“That means that you must keep within school bounds, my boy, remain
in your room from supper time until chapel in the morning, have your
lessons perfect and abstain from athletics.”
“Does it mean,” asked Kendall blankly, “that I mustn’t play football,
sir?”
“Just that; neither football nor anything else. And the rules oblige me
to notify your”――he glanced at the card――“your father, Burtis. I shall
write to him this evening. It would be well for you to do the same, I
think.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Kendall was silent a moment, revolving his
cap in his hands, and looking very miserable. “I――I’m glad I didn’t buy
any football clothes,” he murmured abstractedly. Mr. Collins smiled a
little:
“Well, that’s all, Burtis, for this time, I think. Try and let this
teach you a lesson. Will you?”
“Yes, sir.” Kendall got up slowly. Mr. Collins put out his hand and
Kendall placed his in it:
“Being on probation doesn’t prohibit you from paying me a call
sometimes, Burtis. You know my room. Come in and see me. I’ve got some
books you might like to see, and I’m always glad to loan them to boys
who I believe will treat them well.”
“Thank you, sir.” Kendall walked to the door. There, with his hand on
the door, he turned. “There’s――there’s just one thing, Mr. Collins,”
he said earnestly. “I know you had to――to do this. I guess my story
ain’t――I mean isn’t――very likely. But I wish you’d just try your very
hardest, sir, to believe that I was telling the truth.”
“I will try, Burtis. If it is the truth, my boy, it will prove itself
some day. If it does you won’t be more pleased than I shall. Good
morning.”
“Good morning, sir.”
“Oh, by the way, Burtis! I shall say nothing of this to anyone beyond
the faculty. Unless you speak of it yourself to your friends the reason
for your punishment is not likely to be known.”
When he passed Whitson the entrance was thronged with fellows awaiting
the dinner hour. It seemed to him that, as he went by, everyone turned
and looked at him, and he could imagine their expressions of amused
contempt. To be sure, Mr. Collins had seemed to think that the matter
would be kept secret, but it seemed to him that everyone must know
already. He passed by on his way to his room with lowered head. As a
matter of fact, very few noticed him, and none connected him with the
green paint episode.
In his room Kendall washed up for dinner and then sat down on the edge
of his bed and strove to think it over. He was very glad that Harold
was not there. It would be nice to tell somebody about it, but surely
not him. There was the electric torch on the table. He wondered if it
would light if he tried it. Funny how it had come unscrewed last night.
He would never forget the scene when the light had streamed out across
The Prospect. He wondered what the four Broadwood fellows thought of
it; what explanation they had fashioned to account for the sudden
surprise; whether they connected it with the boy who had sat next to
them in the drug store.
Then he pulled himself up. Why, he wasn’t thinking of his misfortune
at all! He was thinking of what had happened when――when he had been
a hero. He felt mighty little like a hero to-day! Probation! No more
football! That was tough. Worse than that, though, was the thought
of his father’s disappointment, and his mother’s. He must write that
letter and tell them the real facts of it. It wasn’t doing very well,
he reflected ruefully, to get on probation within the first fortnight
of school!
Well――! A fellow had to eat, though, probation or no probation, and he
suddenly became aware of a very healthy appetite. After all, he hadn’t
_really_ done anything very bad, and he _had_ told the truth to Mr.
Collins, and――and, oh, shucks, he was going to dinner!