ON PROBATION
On Friday morning Alfred Loring awoke early. During the last few days
he had got into the habit of waking early and going to sleep late. It
was all well enough for Colton and Capes and Hill and the others to
counsel cheerfulness; they could afford to be philosophical and to give
advice; but when a fellow has been working hard all Fall with one goal
in sight only at the last moment to have that goal suddenly disappear,
it requires a whole lot of fortitude to keep from cutting up rough.
Loring had tried not to act the baby, but just the same the tears had
come once, at least. He wished that Colton and the others would cut out
their everlasting “Cheer up, Alf!” He couldn’t cheer up, and didn’t
want to, anyway! There was one good thing about Tom Dyer; Tom didn’t
tell him to cheer up or pretend that the bottom hadn’t dropped out of
things; Tom was frankly heart-broken and angry, and it was a comfort to
Loring to hear him hold forth.
For the first couple of days Loring had been hopeful. It seemed that
the fellow who had perpetrated such a trick, whether for spite or
merely as a joke, must have the decency to come forward and own up. But
when Thursday night had arrived, and his shackles had not been knocked
off, Loring had lost hope. And he had laid awake until long after
midnight, thinking and thinking! If only he could get his hands on the
fellow who had done it! He groaned and gritted his teeth in impotent
rage. Then his anger swung around to the Doctor and the Faculty as a
whole. They should have believed his declaration of innocence. His
record was as good as that of any fellow in school. Common sense
should tell them that he wouldn’t be idiot enough to do a trick like
that less than a week before the Broadwood game and so endanger his
chance of playing! Fools, that’s what they were! A pack of silly,
doddering fools! Finally sleep had come to him, a sleep interspersed
with dreams, and now he was awake again with the cold light of a cloudy
morning flooding in under the half-raised window-shade. He was tired,
unrefreshed; too fagged to feel even resentment. He simply didn’t care
this morning.
He turned over, closed his eyes and tried to go to sleep again.
Presently a swishing sound from outside the window reached him and,
half asleep, he told himself that it was the maid scrubbing the front
steps. For Loring’s home was in Philadelphia, where the cleaning of
the white marble doorsteps with scrubbing-brush and fine sand or
rotten-stone was an almost daily ceremony. But after a few minutes he
found himself wide awake again and realized that he was not in his room
at home and that consequently his explanation of the sound couldn’t
be the correct one. He heard footsteps on the brick pavement and the
grating of a pail. But whatever it was it didn’t interest him for
long. He looked at the clock on the mantel, saw that it announced a
few minutes before seven and decided to get up. Dyer was still snoring
peacefully.
Loring bathed and dressed himself slowly. When he was ready he awoke
Dyer. By this time the dormitory was noisy with the tramp of hurrying
feet and the slamming of doors. Dyer, only half awake, thrust his feet
into a pair of heelless slippers, tied a big bath towel about him and
went yawning off down the corridor for his shower. Loring took up a
magazine irresolutely, turned a few pages, dropped it onto the table
again and went out. At the entrance he paused and looked about. The sky
hinted of snow and the air smelt of it. The Yard was deserted, or so
it seemed until sounds near at hand caused him to turn his head. Then
Loring stared in mystification.
A few steps away Dan Vinton, with pail and brush and sandsoap, was
scrubbing at the blue letters along the base of the building. He wore a
brown sweater in lieu of coat, his trousers were turned up well at the
bottoms and his feet were encased in a pair of old “sneakers.” And he
was working steadily, doggedly, with set, determined face.
“What the dickens are you doing?” exclaimed Loring finally.
Dan looked up for a brief instant. Then,
“Cleaning off this mess,” he answered soberly.
“What for, you idiot?”
There was no answer. Dan kept his eyes on his work. A little frown of
perplexity appeared on Loring’s forehead.
“What have you got to do with it, Vinton?” he asked with dawning
disquiet. There was a moment of silence before Dan answered. Then,
“Faculty,” he said in low tones, “says the fellow who did it must take
it off.”
“What?” cried Loring incredulously. “Do you mean that--that--you--I
don’t believe it, Vinton!” Dan made no answer.
“You’re crazy!” continued Loring. “If Faculty sees you here they’ll
think--” He paused. Dan’s silence was disheartening. His face showed
Loring that here was no joke. Perhaps--but Loring smothered the
suspicion; it was absolutely absurd to believe Vinton capable of
playing such a trick on him and remaining silent so long. “I don’t
believe it!” he muttered. But there was little assurance in his tone.
By this time the dormitories had begun to empty and one by one fellows
paused, stared and drew near. If Loring had been incredulous they were
not. To them it was simple enough. Vinton was the culprit.
Dan had been working for an hour and had made good progress; but four
letters remained. But now he must stop and go to Chapel. He set his
pail out of the way, dropped the brush in it, laid the sandsoap beside
it and rinsed and dried his hands. Then he turned calmly and made his
way toward Clarke. No one spoke to him; no one knew just what to say.
Half-way across the Yard he came face to face with Mr. Collins.
“Vinton,” said the Assistant Principal, “was that you scrubbing the
bricks over there?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then--am I to understand by it that you are the one who is to blame?”
he asked gravely. Dan made no answer. But his silence was conclusive
and Mr. Collins sighed. “I am sorry, Vinton,” he said kindly. “Will you
come and see me at the office, please, after breakfast?”
“Yes, sir,” muttered Dan again. Then he was free to go on and hide from
the sight of those dozens of staring eyes. But it was not for long, for
the bell was ringing as he hurried to his room and got into his coat.
Walking across the floor of Assembly Hall, facing the curious glances
of the school, was the hardest of all. But finally he was in his seat
and could stare at the head of the boy in front of him and try to
convince himself that he had done right. When Chapel was over and he
filed out with his class he had it all to go through with again, and
once more at breakfast. Many fellows spoke to him as though nothing at
all had happened, but for the most part the glances that he met were
frankly curious and aloof. At training table the fellows were awfully
decent, he told himself. They strove to include him in the talk, and
he strove to speak naturally. Once he caught Payson’s gaze on him. The
coach was frowning in a puzzled way. Dan wondered if he suspected.
The visit to Mr. Collins was distinctly unpleasant. Mr. Collins had
taken a warm liking to Dan and he seemed to feel worse about the affair
than Dan did himself.
“Were you alone in this, Vinton?” he asked. “Did one of the other boys
help you?”
“I had no help, sir.”
“Why did you do it? Was it intended as a joke?”
“I--I don’t know, sir.”
“You don’t know!” echoed the other incredulously. “But you must know
what prompted you to do such a foolish thing! Didn’t you know that you
would be punished?”
“I suppose so, sir.”
“Had you a grudge against Loring or Dyer?”
“No, sir,” answered Dan earnestly.
“Then you tried to place suspicion on them--why?”
But Dan was silent. Mr. Collins waited a moment, sighed, and shook his
head.
“You’re not making it any easier for yourself, Vinton, by refusing
to answer my questions. I want to think that the affair was only a
thoughtless prank, that you had no mean motives, but you will tell me
nothing. When did you buy that paint, and where?”
Dan’s eyes fixed themselves on the floor and he made no reply.
“Surely,” went on Mr. Collins persuasively, “there can be no reason for
hiding facts now, Vinton. Come, answer me.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but I--I can’t.”
“You mean you won’t,” replied the other impatiently. “Very well, have
it so. Why have you confessed to-day?”
“I didn’t want Dyer and Loring to--to be punished, sir.”
“I wish you might have owned up a little earlier, Vinton,” said Mr.
Collins with a sigh. “I’m afraid the Doctor will think your repentance
rather too late to be satisfactory. I will do all that I can for you,
my boy, but you mustn’t expect to get off without punishment.”
“I don’t, sir,” answered Dan in a low voice. “I’m willing to take
what’s coming to me.”
“Even if--it amounts to being expelled?”
Dan looked up with startled eyes.
“It--it won’t be that, sir, will it?” he asked troubledly.
“I’m afraid,” began Mr. Collins, “that the Doctor--But, no, Vinton, I
don’t think it will come to that. I will do everything I can for you.
I only wish you would be a little more frank with me; I could help you
better.”
“I--I wish I could, sir,” said Dan earnestly. “I’m sorry.”
Mr. Collins looked perplexed. Then,
“I fear you are trying to shield someone else, Vinton,” he said. But
Dan shook his head.
“No, sir, truly!” he declared. There was a moment’s silence. Then Mr.
Collins arose and placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“Vinton, you’ve done wrong and you’ve got to be punished. But don’t
make the mistake of thinking that the Faculty is ‘down on you.’ It
isn’t, my boy. We dislike to punish, believe me. Take this in the right
way; make up your mind to profit by it, for one can profit by his
mistakes if he is wise. Show us and the school that you are big enough
to take your medicine without whining, no matter what it is. Will you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s right,” said Mr. Collins cheerfully. “Now you may go. I’ll see
the Doctor and do what I can for you. Come to me again at noon.”
At noon Dan went on probation and Loring and Dyer came off.
Dan’s chief sentiment as he walked out of the Office was one of
relief. All morning he had been in dread of being expelled. That would
have been a big price to pay for what he was doing, and he wondered
whether he would have the courage to play the game through and take
his medicine if it was as nauseous as that. Luckily, he was not called
on to decide. A month of probation was his punishment. Although Mr.
Collins didn’t say so, Dan was certain that the Assistant Principal
had been obliged to plead hard with the Doctor, and he went away very
grateful to the former. He spent most of the afternoon in his room. He
didn’t feel very guilty and ashamed, but it was necessary to appear so.
Tubby’s behavior was eccentric, even for Tubby.
“You’re a fool, Dan!” he cried hotly. “You know well enough you never
did that painting! You’re just doing this to get Loring off probation!”
“Nonsense!” said Dan. “Do you think I look like a martyr?”
“That’s all right, but you can’t fool me! And you’ve got to stop it,
Dan Vinton! If you don’t I’ll go to Collins and tell him!”
“Tell him what?” asked Dan smilingly.
“Tell him what I know!”
“Well, what _do_ you know, Tubby?”
“I know you never did it!”
“How do you know that?”
Tubby hesitated. Then:
“Because you were here in your room at ten o’clock,” he replied weakly.
“What of that? That business was done before ten, Tubby. How can you
tell what I did during the evening? You were over with Hiltz, weren’t
you?”
Tubby nodded.
“You’re a fool, just the same,” he muttered. “And--and I wish you
wouldn’t, Dan!”
“Oh, nonsense, Tubby, I’m not hurt. It’s only probation, anyway.” Dan
was surprised at Tubby’s solicitude and spoke very kindly. Tubby looked
troubled for a moment, tried to say something, swallowed hard a couple
of times and hurried out of the room. Dan gazed after him and gave
expression to his surprise in a low whistle.
“To think of his caring!” he murmured. Then his face grew thoughtful
and for several minutes he stared at the closed door. Finally he nodded
his head several times, as one who has reached a decision, and,
“That’s just it!” he muttered.
The popular verdict was rather favorable to Dan. Of course, the fellows
argued, Vinton had done it merely as a joke on Loring. Everyone knew
that they were good friends. Afterwards he had been scared and so had
kept quiet. That he had finally confessed and relieved Loring and Dyer
from probation and placed them once more in a position to play against
Broadwood was generally conceded to be sufficient amends. Of course,
he might have owned up sooner, but then, hang it all, lots of fellows
would have done the same thing as like as not! The members of the team
were so glad to get Loring back that, had anyone suggested it, they
would gladly have presented Dan with a loving-cup!
Loring’s own feelings were baffling even to himself. He had liked
Dan and had believed that Dan liked him. He knew that he ought to be
terribly angry for what the other had done, but somehow, what with his
liking and his delight at being able to play against Broadwood, he
couldn’t find anything but sympathy for Dan. He would have gone to see
him and tried to tell him this had it been possible. But after dinner
Payson took him in hand, regularly kidnapped him, and he wasn’t seen
again until nine o’clock that night, at which hour the football players
were sent to bed. Loring didn’t forget that day for a long, long time.
Payson, in seven hours, drummed into him what the rest of the team
had taken four afternoons and four evenings to learn. But he slept
that night, slept like a log, and awoke on Saturday morning ready for
anything, ready to play the game of his life against Broadwood!