“You fellows in the battalion have all the good times. I just wish I’d
entered the high school first year, then I’d have been an officer by
this time,” said Dixon to Reed, one day, with an admiring glance at the
other’s neat uniform and shoulder straps.
“Oh, yes,” said Reed, “it’s _such_ fun to drill three times a week,
especially when the thermometer climbs up among the eighties--say about
next May. We generally have a hot wave along that time.”
“It’s no fun to carry those heavy muskets,” put in Freeman. “I joined
the cadets first year, but the guns were too heavy for me, and I had to
quit.”
“Oh, well, you’re a little chap,” and Dixon glanced half-contemptuously
at the slender lad. Freeman’s cheeks flushed at the look.
“Well, I never fainted, anyhow,” he said; “and some fellows a good deal
bigger than I fainted more than once that year.”
“That was when we had heavy guns. We use lighter ones, now,” said Reed.
“I’d like to wear that uniform,” went on Dixon; “I notice how the girls
watch you fellows; girls like a uniform, you know.”
A shout of laughter greeted this remark, and one boy said:--
“Too bad you can’t wear a uniform, Rosy. You might try to get on the
police force next year. Maybe the girls would watch _you_, then.”
Rosy joined in the laugh that greeted this suggestion. He was never
backward about acknowledging to an interest in the girls, and was
forever begging some boy to introduce him to one or another girl of his
acquaintance. Sometimes his interest in the feminine portion of the
school got him into trouble, as was the case a little later on this
same day.
When school was dismissed, the boys formed in line, and were expected
to go through the corridors, and down the stairs in this order.
But there are always disorderly boys, and noisy ones too, and very
often Professor Keene would be on the stairs, or in one or other of the
corridors, to take note of any such; and not seldom would he send a boy
back to his class-room, there to wait until all the others had passed
out.
On this occasion, as the boys were standing in line in the upper hall,
waiting for the signal to move on, “Rosy” noticed that the door of one
of the girls’ rooms, near which he stood, was ajar. He glanced quickly
to right and left. The professor was nowhere in sight, so he leaned
over and softly pushed the door open a little farther so that he could
look in. As he did so, a hand dropped heavily on his shoulder, and the
professor’s voice sounded in his ears.
“Dixon,” he said, “I see you are anxious to make the acquaintance of
Miss Bent and her class. Step right in, and I will introduce you”; and
with his hand still on the boy’s shoulder, he threw open the door, and
led him to the platform.
“Miss Bent,” he said, “this young gentleman was so very eager to meet
you and the young ladies of your class, that I took the liberty of
bringing him in. Allow me to introduce Mr. Dixon.”
For once, Dixon was too confused to be equal to the occasion. His face
was as red as his hair, and the bow with which he acknowledged the
introduction was not a model of ease and grace. No wonder--when forty
girls sat there enjoying his discomfiture, and laughing at the haste
with which he departed.
Shouts of “Here comes Rosy!” “Did you have introductions enough, Rosy?”
“Say, which was the prettiest girl?” “Why didn’t you stay longer?”
greeted him, as he reached the playground, where most of his own
classmates were waiting for him; but, by this time, he had recovered
his self-possession, and only laughed good-naturedly at the sallies of
the boys.
When he entered the school-room next morning, two or three voices
called out, “Wrong room, Rosy. The girls’ room is on the other side.”
Dixon grinned, as he perched on the top of his desk, and looked about,
saying:--
“Some of you chaps must have gotten up before breakfast this morning.
Never saw so many here at half past eight, before.”
“Written exam. to-day, sonny,” said Barber.
“Looks as if ’twas house-cleaning, to-day,” replied Dixon, glancing at
the pile of books and papers Barber was hauling out of his desk.
“Does look rather that way,” said Barber. Then he glanced about the
room, and added:--
“Say, if any of you fellows have jagged my notebook, give it back, will
you. It’s a new one, and I know I left it here last night.”
“You’re dreaming, Barber,” somebody remarked. “Nobody’s been near your
desk.”
“But somebody has, though,” persisted Barber; “an’ ’tisn’t the first
time, either. My knife vanished last week--the third one I’ve lost this
quarter.”
“Better have your mother sew up the holes in your pockets,” suggested
Raleigh.
“Or you might fasten a string to your knife and tie it into your
pocket,” added another.
“I tell you, the things are taken out of my desk,” insisted Barber,
“and somebody does it after school. I like fun as well as anybody, but
I’m sick of this kind, and I think it’s time now for whoever did it to
hand over my notebook.”
“Is it so, for a fact, Barber?” said Hamlin, walking over to the
other’s seat. “Have you been losing things out of your desk--honest
Injun?”
“I have so,” replied Barber.
“And I, too. I left a gold pen in my desk last week, and the next
morning it was gone,” said Lee.
Upon inquiry, it proved that nearly all the boys present had lost
something from their desks within a few weeks, and several had lost
small change or car-tickets from the pockets of overcoats left in the
dressing-room during school hours.
“We must tell Mr. Horton,” said Hamlin. “It won’t do to have this sort
of thing going on.”
“Oh, I say!” broke out Dixon, “you don’t really believe that anybody’s
been thieving here, do you? I’m always thinking I’ve lost something,
and finding it a week or two later, where I’d poked it away, an’
forgotten all about it.”
Barber shook his head.
“I poked my new notebook into my desk yesterday just before I went
home,” he said, positively. “I can’t be mistaken about that.”
“Crawford, you look melancholy. Have you lost something, too?” called
out Dixon.
“No,” said Crawford, shortly.
“Not even your temper,” suggested Dixon, who seemed to be in a
tormenting mood that morning.
Crawford was standing with his hands in his pockets, and looking
moodily out of the window. He made no reply to Dixon’s last remark.
“Clark seems to be the only one who has lost nothing,” remarked Lee,
with a significant emphasis that implied more than the words themselves.
Clark looked up inquiringly, while Hamlin exclaimed quickly:--
“What do you mean by that, Lee?”
“Oh, nothing,” said Lee, carelessly, “only some things that happened
last term have never been really cleared up.”
Before the words were fairly out of Lee’s mouth, Crawford had wheeled
around and caught him by the shoulder. Lee never flinched, and, for an
instant the two boys stood gazing angrily into each other’s eyes.
Hamlin, too, had started towards Lee, but stopped as he caught sight of
Crawford’s white, set face.
“Well, what are _you_ going to do about it?” demanded Lee coolly of
Crawford.
“I am going to knock you down if you accuse Stanley Clark of doing
anything mean or underhanded since he’s been in this school,” said
Crawford, while Clark looked from one to the other in blank amazement,
and the rest of the boys gathered about the two.
“So?” said Lee, tauntingly. “Perhaps, then, _you_ know more than the
rest of us about some of these underhanded performances.”
The perspiration gathered on Crawford’s forehead in big drops, and the
hand that still clutched Lee’s shoulder, trembled perceptibly, but he
faced the wondering group, and said slowly, and distinctly:--
“I _do_ know something about at least one underhanded performance that
concerns Clark. I’ve been longing to make a clean breast of it for
weeks, and now I’m going to do it. _I_ put that pony in Clark’s desk
last year. The letters S. C. were the initials of--someone else, and
Clark told the truth when he said that he had never seen the book until
Mr. Horton held it up before him. I hated Clark last year, and I wanted
to do anything I could to injure him. Clark,” he left Lee and turned
towards the other, “Clark, it isn’t much to say I’m sorry--but that’s
all I can say.”
Clark instantly held out his hand, and said cordially:--
“It is all forgotten from this moment, Crawford,” and then, catching
sight of Mr. Horton, who had entered the room while Crawford was
speaking, Clark added quickly, “It can end right here, can’t it, sir?”
But Crawford spoke before the teacher could reply.
“No,” he said, “I want all the class to know the truth. Then perhaps I
can respect myself a little more.”
“Very well, Crawford,” said Mr. Horton, “it shall be as you wish.
I think you are right, and one who can so frankly and manfully
acknowledge his fault, cannot fail to win back the respect of his
classmates.”
Crawford dropped into his seat with a flush of pleasure at these words,
and the boys separated, but more than one glanced coldly at Lee, and
Hamlin could not refrain from saying, as he passed Lee’s seat:--
“I hope you are satisfied now, and will stop hounding Clark for the
future.”
Lee made no reply, but he thought to himself, “Clark didn’t cheat that
time, it seems, but he’s the son of a defaulter; and no _Southern_ boy
would take a blow as he did last year.”
Mr. Horton was much disturbed when he learned of the petty stealings
that had been going on in the school. Soon, not from section D alone,
but from all over the school came complaints of losses of greater or
less value. The teachers were very much troubled over the matter.
They could not bear to suspect any pupil in the school, but no one
else had access to class-rooms and dressing-rooms except the janitor,
and he had been in charge of the building for years, and nothing of
this kind had ever before occurred. A strict watch was kept over the
dressing-rooms through the day, and no scholars were allowed to enter
the class-rooms until the teachers came in the morning, or to remain
after the departure of the teachers in the afternoon. In spite of these
rules however, the losses continued.
One wet day, Raleigh, who lived a long way from the school, was obliged
to walk home because the car-tickets he had carelessly left in his
overcoat pocket, were missing. The next morning, he appeared wearing an
old shabby overcoat in place of the new one he had had the day before.
“What’s the matter, Raleigh? Has your new coat been jagged?” questioned
Barber, overtaking him near the school gate.
“No,” said Raleigh, “but if you’ll keep mum, I’ll tell you why I wore
this.”
“Mum’s the word,” said Barber, promptly, and Raleigh went on:--
“My car-tickets vanished yesterday. Served me right, I suppose, for
being such a ninny as to leave them in my overcoat pocket; but it made
me mad to have to foot it all the way home in the wet, so I planned a
little scheme to put a mark on the stealer. My sister has some shoe
blacking that stains like fury--worse than any ink I ever got hold
of--and I’ve soaked a sponge with it, and put it in my side pocket,
here. See?”
“Well,” said Barber, “how’s that going to mark the thief?”
“Why, I’ve put half a dollar--a counterfeit one, you understand, that
somebody shoved off on my mother--I’ve put it into that same pocket,
and if anybody puts a hand in to haul out that half-dollar, he’ll get a
mark on his fingers that he can’t scrub off in one day, now I tell you.”
“Well, that _is_ a scheme,” laughed Barber, “but you ought to let one
fellow in every room into it, for you and I can’t examine all the paws
in the school, ourselves.”
“That’s so; I never thought of that,” said Raleigh.
So the two decided upon one boy in each room who should be the one to
keep an eye on the hands in his class-room in case that fifty cents
should be missing later in the day.
Mr. Horton having given Raleigh permission for himself and Barber to
remain in the room that morning, during recess, as soon as the other
boys had gone down to the playground, the amateur detectives began
operations. They borrowed from the dressing-room a mirror which they
hung on the wall in such a way that it reflected the hall and the door
of the dressing-room to them, while they, having set open the door of
the class-room, were out of sight behind it.
Five minutes of the recess had slipped away--ten, and not a person had
passed through the hall.
“I don’t believe,” began Barber in a whisper, but at that instant
Raleigh gave him a poke, and pointed to the mirror. Through the hall a
boy was passing quickly, glancing furtively about him as he went.
While they looked, he slipped noiselessly into the dressing-room and
softly closed the door behind him.
Raleigh and Barber looked at each other with astonished faces.
“I can’t believe it,” whispered Barber, and:--
“I never would have believed it,” said Raleigh, in the same breath.
Then he added:--
“His going in there is no proof, though it’s against the rules now.”
In silence then the two sat, their eyes fixed on the telltale mirror.
“There goes the bell,” whispered Barber. “He’s probably going to wait
there and drop in at the end of the line. We must get out of this
corner before the boys come up.”
“Let’s go out and wait near the stairs; then we can see him when he
comes out, without his suspecting.”
This they did, and without seeming to look, saw Dixon suddenly and
silently fling open the door of the dressing-room as the last boy
passed by, and follow quickly to the class-room.
Then Raleigh hurried into the dressing-room, slipping an old glove on
to his right hand as he went. He rejoined Barber in a moment, saying:--
“It’s gone.”
“The half-dollar?” questioned Barber.
Raleigh nodded, and the two went into the class-room. Each cast a quick
glance at Dixon as they passed his seat, and both saw that he was
rubbing his right hand with his handkerchief.
As they took their seats, Barber glanced at Raleigh with a quick
gesture towards St. John. He, too, was rubbing his handkerchief over
his right hand, and eyeing with a disgusted expression some black
stains that showed conspicuously on his slender white fingers.
Presently, Raleigh went to the desk, and told Mr. Horton, in a tone too
low for any other ears, the result of their watch.
Mr. Horton was greatly disturbed.
“There _must_ be some mistake,” he said. “I cannot believe it of either
of them.”
Then placing Gordon in charge of the room, he went to confer with
Professor Keene. The result was that when the class was dismissed, St.
John, Dixon, Raleigh and Barber were told to remain.
Then Mr. Horton took St. John into the dressing-room alone. The boy
followed him with evident bewilderment, and when the teacher said:--
“St. John, will you tell me how you got those stains on your hand?” he
looked as if he thought himself the victim of some practical joke, and
drawing himself up, answered haughtily and coldly, “That is my affair,
sir.”
“Ordinarily, it would be your affair, St. John,” answered Mr. Horton
patiently, “but, unfortunately, to-day I must insist upon an answer to
my question.”
The boy bit his lip and hesitated, evidently half inclined to refuse to
answer, but there was something in Mr. Horton’s face that puzzled and
rather awed him, and after a moment’s silence he said sulkily:--
“The janitor did not fill my inkstand, and I had to go down to that
beastly old cellar and fill it myself, and I got the ink on my hand.
I never went to a school before where I had to do servant’s work,” he
added with his haughtiest air.
“Did anyone see you filling your inkstand?” asked the teacher.
“The janitor was muddling around there,” answered the boy. “I told him
it was his business to do it for me, and he had the impudence to tell
me that it was as much my business as his.”
Mr. Horton half smiled, understanding that St. John’s overbearing
manner would not be likely to incline the somewhat crusty old janitor
to save him any trouble; but remembering the serious question at issue,
his face grew grave again.
“Have you been in the dressing-room to-day?” he asked.
“No, sir,” said the boy.
“Very well; you may go,” and, as St. John went down the stairs, Mr.
Horton returned to the school-room, where he found the three boys
sitting in a sort of embarrassed silence.
“Dixon,” he said at once, “I see you have stained your hand. How did
you do it?”
Dixon glanced at his fingers, and the color suddenly flamed in his
freckled cheeks.
“I--I--hit it against something black,” he stammered.
“Evidently,” said Mr. Horton. “Dixon, were you in the dressing-room at
recess?”
The boy hesitated, glanced half appealingly at the teacher, and then at
the boys.
“Would you rather see me alone?” asked Mr. Horton, and as the boy
nodded, he signed to Raleigh and Barber to leave the room. Then he
said:--
“Dixon, it will be best for you to tell me the whole truth frankly;
best for your own sake, I mean.”
“Oh, I’m not thinking about myself, you know,” said Dixon. “It’s--”
then he stopped.
“Well?” said Mr. Horton, inquiringly.
“Oh, dear!” said Dixon desperately, “I _don’t_ know what to do,” and
putting his head down on his desk, he actually sobbed.
The teacher’s hand was laid kindly on the rough, red hair, as he said:--
“A fault confessed is half forgiven, Dixon, and though this is more
than a fault, for it is a most grave and serious matter, yet a frank
and full acknowledgment will incline us to deal as leniently as
possible with you.”
Dixon raised his head. There was a bewildered expression in his blue
eyes which changed to one of indignant astonishment as the meaning of
his teacher’s words dawned upon him. He started up, dashing the tears
from his freckled cheeks as he exclaimed:--
“You don’t mean that you suspect _me_ of stealing!”
“Well, really,” said Mr. Horton, actually moving back a step before the
indignant flash of those blue eyes. “Well, really, I begin to think I
do not, though I must confess that I did a few moments ago. Tell me all
about it, Dixon. Evidently you know something about the matter.”
“Oh, yes; I wish I didn’t,” and again the freckled face was hidden by
the stained fingers. After a moment’s silence, he went on:--
“Mr. Horton, if I can promise you _sure_ that nothing else will be
taken, won’t that do?” he asked imploringly.
“I’m afraid that won’t do, Dixon. I see that you are trying to shield
the guilty person, but it is not fair to those who have been robbed,
nor do I believe that it would be best for the one who deserves
punishment to go scot free. It would encourage him to repeat the crime.
Yes,” as Dixon started at the word, “it _is_ a crime, and one that will
put the guilty person behind the prison bars, if continued.”
“Oh, Mr. Horton, you won’t put him in prison, will you? Promise me you
won’t, or I’ll _never_ tell. I’ll go to prison for it myself first,” he
cried excitedly.
“Easy, easy, my boy,” and Mr. Horton laid his hand on the boy’s
shoulder. “If you do not tell what you know, we shall surely find out
for ourselves who is the guilty person, and then it may be too late for
any word of yours to be of any benefit to him. Be persuaded, Dixon, and
tell me all you know about the matter, now.”
“Well--I will,” said the boy, after a moment’s thought; “only, Mr.
Horton, I shall depend on you to save him from prison, if you anyway
can. You see he’s a little fellow, only thirteen, and it will break his
mother’s heart if he’s sent to prison. His mother is an old friend of
my mother’s, and when I came in to the city to go to school, last year,
I went to her house to board. She’s a widow, and keeps a boarding-house
’way up town. Well, sir, the very day after I went there, I was taken
sick with typhoid fever, and my mother was sick at home, so she
couldn’t come to me, and Mrs. Gray took care of me just as if I had
been her own boy. She sat up nights with me, and oh, I can’t tell
you how good she was through all those weeks. The doctor told mother
afterwards that I owed my life to Mrs. Gray’s care and nursing, so you
see, I can’t help thinking a lot of her, and I’ve tried my best to
keep Willie straight; but lately, he’s got to going with one or two
bad fellows in the school, and I think, Mr. Horton, that they make a
cat’s-paw of him, and make him do things that he’d never think of doing
himself, for he _isn’t_ a bad boy really--Willie isn’t--and he’s all
his mother has left.”
Again the rough red head went down on the desk, and the boy’s low sobs
proved the depth of his sympathy for the widowed mother.
Mr. Horton’s own eyes were dim as he looked down at the lad.
“You haven’t told me how you came to be in the dressing-room at
recess,” he said gently, after a little silence.
“Why, I hunted all over the playground for Willie, and when I found
he wasn’t there, I felt somehow that I _must_ find him, and be sure
he wasn’t doing anything wrong. You see, I only found out about this
a few days ago, and he had promised me solemnly that he’d never take
another thing that did not belong to him. You know there’s another
dressing-room adjoining ours, and the windows of the two are only a
foot apart. As I came through the hall, I saw Willie slip into that
other room, and I got to the door just in time to see him climb up on
the window sill. I didn’t dare speak, for fear he’d fall, but I waited
till he’d climbed from one window to the other, and slipped down into
our dressing-room, and then went in, and shut the door after me. Willie
had his hand in the pocket of an old overcoat, one I never saw before.
I snatched his hand as he drew it out, and it was all wet with what
looked like ink, and that’s the way mine got daubed.”
“And Willie kept the half-dollar he found in the overcoat?” said Mr.
Horton.
“Oh, no, I made him give it up, and I put it back in the pocket.”
“And then?” questioned the teacher.
“Then he cried, and said that those fellows had threatened to tell
Professor Keene that he was a thief, unless he’d keep on taking things.
He hasn’t kept a single thing himself, Mr. Horton. They lent him some
money a while ago, and because he couldn’t pay it back, they kept at
him, telling him that he could easily pick up loose change enough in
the dressing-rooms to pay the debt, and after he had taken one piece of
money, then you see, they held that over him to make him keep on.”
“And these boys; who are they?” said Mr. Horton sternly.
Again Dixon hesitated, but in his heart he knew that such boys were
too dangerous to be suffered to remain in the school to lead weak boys
astray, and so he gave the names.
When at last Raleigh and Barber were called in, they were glad enough
to learn that their classmate was not the thief; and Dixon, his mind
relieved by having passed the responsibility over to Mr. Horton, could
even laugh at his stained fingers, while he appreciated Raleigh’s
ingenious plan.
“Funny what became of that coin, though,” the latter said, as he took
his old coat from the nail where it hung.
“I rather think there’s a hole in this pocket, Raleigh,” said Mr.
Horton, feeling at the bottom of the coat “See here!” and he held up
the side where the coin could be plainly felt between the outside and
the lining.
Dixon told the two boys enough of Willie Gray’s story to explain his
own connection with the affair, and awaken their sympathy for the
widowed mother.
There were no more losses that year, in the Central school.
Willie Gray’s interview with Professor Keene, and his suspension from
the school for a month proved a lesson that he did not care to have
repeated, but his severest punishment was in seeing his mother’s
bitter shame and sorrow when she heard the story. He wore very shabby
clothes the rest of that year, and so did his mother, but by the end of
the school year every scholar’s loss had been made good, and from that
time on no more scrupulously honest boy than Willie Gray could have
been found in all that city.
As to Dixon, Raleigh and Barber conceived a new respect and regard
for him after this affair, and even his openly expressed liking and
admiration for “the girls,” awakened amusement instead of scorn.
“For you see, boys,” Dixon said one day confidentially to the two, “You
see, boys, I’ve got a lot of sisters at home--half a dozen of ’em--and
a right pretty lot they are too. You wouldn’t think they were any
relation to a freckled carrot-head like me. But, bless you--they have
never found out how homely I am, and, as I’m the only brother they’ve
got, I’ve been kind of spoiled, I reckon. Anyhow, you wouldn’t believe
how I miss those girls, and I like _all_ girls for their sakes, don’t
you see?”
St. John never found out that a suspicion had rested upon him. Indeed,
it is doubtful if he knew that there had been any losses, since, as it
happened, nothing had been taken from his desk; and Hamlin never again
saw Dixon hanging about a saloon, since he no longer had to look for
Willie Gray in such places.