One boy had been absent from section D that day. This was David Hamlin,
a big, handsome fellow, a general favorite, and the acknowledged leader
of the better element in the class. He was at school early the next
morning, and listened with the greatest interest to the story of the
previous day’s happenings, which the boys were eager to tell.
“Well,” he said, looking from one to another when the story was ended,
“where were all you decent fellows that you didn’t interfere? If I’d
been here, I’d have stood up for Clark. Coward indeed! He showed pluck
enough, I should say, in refusing to fight that bully Crawford.”
But at this, a murmur of dissent went around the group. It was plain
that for once Hamlin was not to have the popular support even of all
his friends.
“No, no, Hamlin,” said one, “you can’t make me believe that a fellow
with the right sort of stuff in him would let anybody give him the lie
direct and a blow in the face to boot, and not strike back. That’s not
my idea of courage.”
“Nor mine. Nor mine,” cried half a dozen voices.
Hamlin looked from one to another, reading the same opinion in every
face.
“No,” he said scornfully. “It is quite evident that it is _not_ your
idea of courage. Haven’t you sense enough to see that Clark showed a
courage as much higher and finer than Crawford’s as his was higher than
that of--a mad bull, I was going to say”; he stopped and half laughed,
as he added, “That’s a poor comparison however, for I don’t think that
Crawford’s courage _was_ one whit higher or better than a mad bull’s.”
Hamlin was standing with his back to the door. A little stir, and a
change in some of the faces turned towards the door, made him glance
around to find Crawford himself standing just behind him with a scowl
on his dark face.
“So,” he said, “I seem to be the interesting subject under discussion.
Go on, go on. Pray don’t let me interrupt you.”
“I don’t mean to”; and as he spoke, Hamlin wheeled quickly around so
as to face the other. “I’d just as soon, and in fact a little sooner,
speak my mind to your face. Crawford, if I’ve heard the story straight,
you did some mean, contemptible, cowardly things, yesterday. _I_ think
such doings are a disgrace to our section, and I tell you now once for
all, that if this sort of thing can’t be stopped I shall ask for a
transfer to some other section, and I shall tell Professor Keene just
why I want a transfer, too.”
There was a moment of silence while Crawford, choking down his rage,
looked from face to face to see on which side were the sympathies of
the boys. Had any other than Hamlin said all this, Crawford would have
either laughed it to scorn or answered by a sneer and a blow, but
Hamlin was too popular and stood too high in the class to be treated in
that way. He belonged, too, to a wealthy and influential family, and
these facts weighed heavily with Crawford; so, though his eyes were
full of sullen anger, he only said gruffly, “Seems to me you’re making
a mountain out of a molehill. I gave that cad of a Clark a slap across
the mouth which he was too cowardly to return. That’s all there is
about it, and I don’t see, for my part, why _you_ are taking it up, and
making such a row over it, Hamlin.”
“I don’t know Clark very well,” replied Hamlin, “but I’ve never seen
anything sneaky or cowardly about him, and I don’t believe he is
either. I know a fellow always gets the name of a coward if he won’t
pitch in and strike back like a prize fighter when anybody insults him;
but I’m beginning to think that the _honor_ that can only be proven by
making a brute of one’s self, isn’t worth very much anyhow. But that
blow of yours that Clark had the _courage_ not to return, Crawford,
was only one of the things that you were responsible for, yesterday,
if all I’ve heard is true. You all know,” he went on, turning to the
boys, “how often little Freeman is sick, and how much he is absent on
that account. Perhaps some of you don’t know that he has no father,
and that his mother is working a good deal harder than any woman ought
to work, to keep him in school. Freeman himself is very anxious to
get to work and help his mother, and the position he gets after he
graduates will depend largely on his school record; yet you, Crawford,
deliberately tried yesterday, to make him fail, when he knew his lesson
perfectly, and not satisfied with that, you pitched into him after
school and rolled him in mud and water in the street. It was a shame,
Crawford--a little delicate chap like him, not half your size! I can’t
see, for my part, how any decent fellow _could_ have stood by and seen
it done without interfering”; and Hamlin’s eyes blazed with righteous
indignation as he looked around the circle.
“Oh, come now, Hamlin, you’re putting it on too thick,” said Crawford;
“I”--but whispers of “Here comes Bobby!” cut short the talk, and the
boys slipped into their seats as Mr. Horton entered the class-room.
“Bobby” was the class name for the teacher of section D.
Clark did not appear until the last moment--just in time to avoid the
tardy mark. His face was very grave, and he looked neither to right nor
left as he took his seat, so he did not see Hamlin watching eagerly
for a chance to give him a friendly smile, and Hamlin had to content
himself with the thought, “I’ll have a talk with him at recess.”
But at recess the principal, Prof. Keene, sent for him and kept him so
long in his office that the recess was over before he was at liberty,
and half an hour before school was dismissed Clark, after a word with
Mr. Horton, left the room and did not return.
So Hamlin, breaking away from half a dozen boys who surrounded him when
school was out, hurried after Freeman who was walking off alone.
“What’s the matter with Clark? Why did he leave so early?” he asked, as
he overtook the little fellow.
“I don’t know,” answered Freeman; then he added, speaking earnestly and
quickly, “You don’t believe that it was because he was afraid that he
didn’t fight Crawford, do you, Hamlin?”
“Of course not,” was the quick reply. “I don’t believe in fighting any
more than Clark does, though I doubt if I should have had the moral
courage to do as he did and risk being called a coward.”
“I’m to blame for it all. It was his standing up for me in class that
began it,” said Freeman, with a troubled face.
“Don’t worry over that,” said Hamlin kindly. “I’ll stand by him, and I
know some of the other fellows will too.”
“If you do, he won’t care much about the rest, I guess,” said Freeman,
who, like most of the younger boys, looked up to David Hamlin as a
model. He turned off presently at his own corner, and Hamlin walked on
alone, saying to himself, “I’ll run around and see Clark after supper.”
But his kindly purpose was not destined to be carried out. When he
reached home he was met by his little brother with the announcement,
“Papa’s going to London to-morrow, and you’re going with him.”
It was even so. Unexpected business made it necessary for Mr. Hamlin to
leave at this short notice, and it had been decided that David should
go with him, and so his seat in section D was vacant the next day, and
for many days after.
Stanley Clark was the first boy in the school-room the next morning,
and he waited impatiently for the teacher’s appearance, as he wanted to
speak to him alone; but Mr. Horton was later than usual, and several
boys were in the room when he came in. Henderson’s seat was on the
front row, and he strained his ears to hear what Clark was saying,
but he only caught Mr. Horton’s reply, “You are sure that there is no
mistake about this, Clark?” and then, “Very well, I will attend to it
later.”
Clark took his seat, and the morning recitations went on as usual till
just before the closing hour, when Mr. Horton ordered books put away
and the attention of the class given to him. The order was quickly
obeyed and all eyes turned toward him, while a most unusual silence
reigned.
“It has come to my knowledge,” began Mr. Horton, “that some very
mean and contemptible methods have been employed in this class to
prevent scholars who are really anxious to do well from making perfect
recitations. If anything of this sort is done hereafter, I shall give
the offenders the severest possible punishment. The disorderly element
in this section shall be put down or put out of the school. In the
matter of scholarship I have no fault to find with you as a class, but
you are fast getting the reputation of being the roughest and most
disorderly section in the school. Surely there are some among you who
are, to say the least, too gentlemanly to be willing to have your
section so distinguished, and I call upon all such to see to it, that
you use all your influence in behalf of law and order, and do your
utmost to secure a different reputation for section D.”
Many and various were the opinions expressed, as, school being
dismissed, the boys talked over the matter so forcibly presented to
them. Crawford’s face was dark with anger as he walked on discussing
with his “crowd” the teacher’s severe remarks.
“I believe that sneaking Clark’s at the bottom of it,” he was saying
angrily; “he was hobnobbing with Horton before school, and I’ll bet a
cooky he put Bobby up to it.”
“Of course he did,” added Henderson. “I heard Bobby say, ‘You’re sure
there’s no mistake about this, Clark?’ and then thank him for the
information he had given.”
“Do you hear that, fellows?” cried Crawford. “That’s the sort of chap
Clark is. Couldn’t lower himself to fight, but he can lower himself to
tattle to Bobby.”
“But, Crawford, it might have been something else he was talking about.
We don’t _know_ that he was tattling,” said a boy named Graham.
“Know,” repeated Crawford impatiently. “As if there was any question
about it. I don’t believe there’s another fellow in the room who would
tell tales, and I move that we nip this thing in the bud, and put down
blabbing and tattling once for all.”
“So say I,” shouted Henderson, while Graham cautiously inquired:--
“_How_ do you propose to put them down, Crawford?”
“Make it so hot for the tattlers that they’ll get good and sick of it,”
replied Crawford savagely.
“But how--tell us how.”
Crawford looked from one to another of the group.
“Henderson, you and Coyle and Green come around to my rooms this
evening, and we’ll fix this thing up,” he said, pointedly ignoring
Graham, and two or three who had kept silence.
“Wonder what Crawford is up to now,” said one of these boys whom
Crawford had not named, dropping back a step or two.
“Some scurvy trick, or other,” replied a second. “For my part, I’m sick
of him and his crowd. I believe I’ll side with law and order after
this.”
“Don’t know but I’d better, too,” replied the first. “I’ve half a mind
to, anyhow.”
“Do,” said the other quickly. “Let’s start in to-morrow and see how
many will join us.”
“Pity Hamlin’s away. He’s a power when he takes hold of anything,” put
in Raleigh, the third boy.
“So he is,” said Graham, “and I wish he was here too. The only trouble
with Hamlin is that he’s so full of fun that he gets to cutting up
before he stops to think--but he never does a mean thing.”
“No, there’s nothing sneaky about Hamlin,” said Raleigh, as he turned
off towards his home.
CHAPTER III. SECTION D TAKEN BY SURPRISE.
If a bomb had exploded in the room, the pupils in section D could
hardly have been more astounded than they were a few days later, when,
after the opening exercises, Mr. Horton quietly remarked:--
“Every boy that owns a key to the algebra we use will please rise in
his seat.”
There was a moment’s pause, then Freeman and two other boys arose.
“Freeman,” said the teacher, “how do you use the key?”
“I do the examples first, and then see if I have the correct answers.
If I have not, I keep trying till I get them,” said Freeman frankly,
but with a very red face.
“Thank you,” said Mr. Horton. “You may be seated, boys. Now, I want
every other boy in the room who uses a key, whether it belongs to him
or not, to rise.”
Nearly half the school stood then, and Mr. Horton’s keen eyes noted the
glances cast at some who did not rise, and read their meaning clearly.
“That will do,” he said. Then he looked about the room slowly and
searchingly.
“Clark,” he said, “you never use a key?”
“No, sir,” was the quiet reply.
“And you, Crawford?”
“No, sir,” said Crawford promptly.
The boys did not realize how much the teacher could read in their
faces. He read something in several faces as Crawford gave his positive
denial, and he thought to himself once more, “Crawford will bear
watching.” Then aloud he said:--
“I am sorry to find that so many have been using keys; but with those
of you who have frankly and honorably acknowledged it, I have no fault
to find, since I have never forbidden the use of them. I do forbid it
now, however, and I wish every key that any of you have here or at
home, handed to me to-morrow morning. If I find any boy making use of
one hereafter, I shall not let him off easily. Now take up your work.”
At recess D section gave attention to nothing but the matter of the
keys. Those who had risen at Mr. Horton’s request were inclined to look
with scorn and contempt upon those who had used the keys, but had not
seen fit to acknowledge it.
“I say, Crawford, you certainly were cheeky! You’ve used my key more
than I have myself, and you had the bluff to deny it,” said Barber.
Crawford yawned with pretended indifference, then answered coolly:--
“’Twas none of Bobby’s business what I _had_ done. He said himself that
he’d never forbidden it.”
“Humph!” said Barber, and turning, walked off to the other side of the
playground.
Crawford had the grace to color a little at this, but he turned to
Henderson and shrugged his shoulders as he said, “Huffy--’cause I’ve
borrowed his key. He’ll get over it. But now see here--the thing I want
to know is, who put Bobby up to this dodge?”
“Of course ’twasn’t any of the fellows that use the keys,” said
Henderson.
“Right you are!” exclaimed Crawford, emphatically. “It was some
sneakin’ saint who never stains his holy fingers with such polluted
literature as algebra keys, and I don’t know anybody so likely to have
done it as Clark.”
“Oh no,” cried one, “I don’t believe it was Clark.”
“You don’t, hey! Well I do, then. It takes a coward to do a thing like
that.”
“You always blame everything on Clark,” cried Freeman, “and I think
it’s mean of you, Crawford.”
“_You_ think,” repeated Crawford, scornfully, then turning to the
others, he went on, “Who knows anything about Clark, anyhow? He only
entered the school this year. Does anybody know where he came from?”
“I believe he only came to the city just before school opened. Isn’t
that so, Freeman?” said one.
Freeman colored, and looked uncomfortable.
“Yes,” he said.
“Where’d he live before?” said Crawford.
“In--in Albany,” stammered Freeman, flushing uneasily.
Crawford looked at him sharply, then turned again to the others.
“I believe it was Clark,” he repeated, “and it just makes one more
thing we’ve got to pay him off for. We’ve grounds enough now, Green,
for doing what we were talking over the other night.”
Green hesitated, then said slowly, “I think we ought to have some proof
that Clark is to blame for this, first.”
Crawford’s face darkened. He leaned over and whispered something in
Green’s ear--something unpleasant evidently, for Green shrank, and said
hastily, “Oh, well, if you’re so sure he did it, I’ll back you up, of
course. If he did it, he deserves all he’ll get.”
“Yes, _if_ he did it. We know well enough he did it,” cried Crawford,
“and if the rest of you will let it pass, _I_ won’t.”
“What you going to do about it?” asked another.
“We’ll send Clark to Coventry for one thing. If I see any fellow
chumming with St. Clark after this, I shall know what to think of
him--that’s all.”
One or two spoke a word in Clark’s behalf, but he had been so little
while among them, and was so grave and reserved that he had made no
friends. Hamlin had been strongly attracted to him, but Hamlin was so
bright and popular that he was always surrounded by a throng of boys,
and had seldom had the opportunity to see much of Clark. Freeman’s
mother and Clark’s mother were cousins, but the boys, having until
recently lived in different cities, had seldom met until Clark entered
the school.
Now, the majority of the boys believed that Clark had shown the white
feather in refusing to fight Crawford, and cowardice is one of the
hardest things to forget or forgive.
Hard days followed for Stanley Clark. The belief quickly gained ground
that he had informed Mr. Horton that keys were used in the class, and
this added to the cloud already resting upon him. Soon, not a boy in
the section spoke to him or noticed him except Freeman. Proud and
sensitive, Clark felt this keenly, and withdrew more and more into
himself. He would have remained in the school at recess, but this
was forbidden, so he was obliged to go out. He never stayed in the
playground, however, but spent the twenty minutes walking up and down
the sidewalk in front of the school. At first, Freeman used to join him
there, but after a little Clark sent him away. Freeman was hurt and
grieved at this, never guessing that his cousin was too generous to let
him fall under the shadow that rested on himself.
So Freeman went more and more with the other boys as the days and weeks
went by.
One day he was on his way home when Crawford overtook him, and to his
great surprise, instead of passing him with a rough word or a sneer as
usual, fell into step and walked on with him.
“I say, Freeman,” he began, “I’ve been wanting to say a word to you. I
used you rather roughly a while ago.”
“’Deed you did,” said Freeman coldly.
“Yes, I acknowledge it, and I’m sorry for it. A fellow can’t say any
more than that--can he?”
Freeman looked up in great surprise, half suspecting that Crawford was
trying to make game of him; but the big fellow was looking down at him
in a friendly fashion, and now held out his hand saying, “Shake hands
on it, boy, and let bygones be bygones, won’t you?”
“Of course, if you really mean it,” said Freeman, hesitatingly giving
his hand.
“To be sure I mean it, and to prove that I do, I’ll take you for a
drive to-morrow--if you’ll go. I’ve a jolly pair of ponies. What time
can you go?”
“Why--any time, as to-morrow’s Saturday,” said Freeman, still doubting,
unable to understand this sudden change of manner.
He thought of it again and again that evening, and finally talked it
over with Edith.
“It’s the queerest thing,” he said; “I don’t yet believe that he really
meant it. Don’t believe he’ll come for me at all, to-morrow.”
“I hope he won’t,” said Edith quickly; “I don’t want you to be friends
with such a fellow.”
“Not much danger of that,” Ray answered, “but it’s better to have him
for a friend than for an enemy, isn’t it?”
“I doubt that, Ray. You know what mother says, ‘You can’t handle pitch
without getting sticky fingers.’ From what I’ve gathered, Crawford is
pitch of a pretty bad sort.”
“Well,” said Ray discontentedly, “I don’t see what I can do except go
with him to-morrow. It isn’t likely he’ll ever ask me again, and if he
does I needn’t go; but after I’ve accepted his invitation, he’d be mad
if I didn’t go this time.”
“Y--es, I suppose so,” said Edith doubtfully; “but I just can’t bear
the thought of your being with such a fellow even for one drive, Ray.”
Crawford appeared promptly the next day at the hour appointed, and
though his talk with Edith had made Freeman uncomfortable, yet he could
not repress a thrill of very real pleasure, as the horses bore the
light carriage so swiftly through the wide, smooth streets. Crawford
exerted himself to be entertaining, and he could be _very_ entertaining
when he chose, and before the drive was over, Freeman wondered how he
could ever have considered his companion ugly and disagreeable.
“I’ve had a jolly good time, Crawford,” he said heartily, as the
carriage stopped again at his own door. “Thank you ever so much for
taking me along.”
“Glad you’ve enjoyed it,” replied Crawford. “We’ll repeat it some day
soon.”
As he drove off, he chuckled and said to himself, “Little fool! ’Twill
be easy enough to get hold of him. And the innocent way the baby told
me about St. Clark. Oh my! If it wasn’t rich!”
He drove around for Henderson, and told him what he had wormed out
of the unconscious Freeman, and the two put their heads together and
planned that which was to bring shame and deep sorrow upon Clark.
As to Freeman, he was so loud in his praises of Crawford and his
kindness, that Edith began to wonder if she could have misjudged him,
and to think that it might have been merely thoughtlessness and boyish
roughness after all, instead of meanness and cruelty, as she had
thought, that had made him treat her brother so.
Freeman looked at Crawford doubtfully when he saw him at school
on Monday. Even yet, he could not feel quite sure that his new
friendliness would be lasting, but Crawford called out a gay greeting
and summoned him to join the group about him, and the others followed
Crawford’s lead, wondering somewhat at this sudden friendliness towards
“little Freeman,” but ready enough to take him in; and he, flattered
by Crawford’s notice, and always too ready to follow, soon began to be
counted in as one of “Crawford’s crowd.”
One morning a week or two later, Crawford and Henderson were the
first to enter the class-room. After a hasty glance around, Crawford
exclaimed, “You stay here at the door, Henderson, to see that nobody
comes.”
Whatever Crawford had to do was quickly accomplished, and he and
Henderson were lounging in the hall, when the other boys began to come
in, and all went into D class-room together, where, perched on desks
and backs of chairs, they dropped into lively conversation.
“Come on up here, Hendy. What are you sitting off there for?” called
Crawford, for Henderson had taken the seat nearest the door, where he
could see any one approaching.
“I’m waiting for Coyle,” he replied, without turning his head.
“Oh, Coyle’s always half an hour behind time. He’ll be late at his own
funeral if he don’t look out,” cried Green.
“Say, Green--got your examples done?” asked Crawford, glancing at the
clock and keeping an eye on Henderson.
“No, plague it! Bobby gave us a double dose yesterday, an’ it takes
such a time to prove ’em all.”
“If we only had the keys now, ’twouldn’t take half so long,” grumbled
Barber.
At this moment Henderson coughed, and Crawford, whose back was towards
the door, called out loudly, “Well, I say it’s no fair to take away
algebra keys and let the Latin class keep their ponies. Clark and some
others wouldn’t get the marks they do if Bobby should make a raid on
their ponies.”
“Sh-sh-sh” went around the group, and Henderson strolled carelessly
back to his own seat as Mr. Horton entered the room.
The other boys looked inquiringly at the teacher, wondering how much he
had overheard, but they could gather nothing from his face. They were
not left long in doubt, however, for, as soon as the opening exercises
were over, he said:--
“When, a short time ago, I called for all the algebra keys, I supposed
that I had put an end to the use of helps of that sort, but from a
remark that I overheard as I entered the school-room this morning, I am
obliged to believe that I have been mistaken. I will give you the same
opportunity that I gave on the previous occasion, and ask every boy who
has, or who uses, any translation or other such help in preparing his
Latin to rise.”
As Mr. Horton ceased speaking, one boy rose. There was a ripple of
laughter, for this boy--Vale--was the dullard of the class, but the
teacher’s stern voice quickly checked the merriment.
“You may be seated, Vale,” he said. “And now I wish all the members of
the Latin class, except Vale, to come forward.”
His order being obeyed, he left his seat, and, walking down the aisles,
looked into the desks of all except Vale. Four faces were full of
dismay as he passed from desk to desk, but only one was turned toward
him in blank surprise as he returned to his seat with five books in his
hands.
“Barber, Green, Hopkins, Cox and Clark, remain where you are. The
others may return to their seats,” he said.
Then he looked at the five boys before him with mingled sorrow and
sternness.
“Boys,” he said, “I am terribly disappointed in you. It is bad enough
to find that you have been resorting to such methods to avoid work and
secure high marks, but you have added to your guilt by deliberately
lying about it. I had thought better of you than this.”
As he paused, Clark, whose face had shown strong emotion, stepped
forward and said: “Mr. Horton, did you find one of those books in my
desk?”
There was a touch of contempt in the teacher’s voice as he replied:--
“I did, sir, and I hope you will not lower yourself further by useless
protestations.”
“Mr. Horton,” said the boy very quietly, “I should be doing wrong if I
did not declare that I have never used any help in preparing my Latin
except the notes in the book itself. I never saw the book you have
there, and do not know how it came in my desk.”
Somebody hissed then, but Mr. Horton promptly checked the demonstration.
“You can hardly expect me to believe you, Clark, with the evidence I
have here,” he said, pointing to the fly-leaf of the book, on which
were the letters “S. C.” Part of the leaf was torn out, leaving only
those two letters.
The look of bewildered surprise in Clark’s eyes turned to one of proud
disdain as he saw those letters, and he did not open his lips again,
not even when Mr. Horton said:--
“I shall give every one of you five a failure for each Latin
recitation during the past week, and for the remainder of the month
I wish each of you to write at the top of your Latin exercises these
words.” He wrote rapidly on the blackboard:--
“Lying lips are an abomination.”
The other four went to their seats with red faces and shamed eyes,
but Clark’s face was very white, and his eyes were proudly uplifted,
as if he dared his schoolmates to believe him guilty, in spite of the
evidence against him.
“He doesn’t act guilty,” thought Mr. Horton uneasily, as he looked at
the boy. “I wonder if it is possible that he is innocent.”
“St. Clark won’t be in good odor for a while to come,” chuckled
Henderson on the playground at recess, glancing with malicious eyes at
the lonely boy pacing up and down the sidewalk.
“I don’t believe he used that pony, anyhow,” said Freeman. “He didn’t
need to use it, for he had read Cicero long before he ever came here.
It’s just review to him.”
“Hush up, you!” exclaimed Henderson hastily. “If it’s review to him,
he’s no business to be marked higher than the rest of us who never took
it before. Hold your tongue, youngster, if you know when you’re well
off.” He whispered the last sentence in Freeman’s ear.
“Yes, yes, keep quiet, boy,” said Crawford; and in a lower tone he
added, “Don’t you fret. He’ll come out all right enough.”
But in his heart Crawford was thinking, “He won’t come out all right if
I can prevent it, and I think I can.”