_WHO WILL TELL?_
AS Benny Mallow hid himself in a barn in the yard into which he had
jumped, he had only one distinct thought in his mind: he wished that the
Italian had never come to Laketon at all—never come to the United
States, in fact. He wished that the Italians had never heard of such a
place as America: if one of the race had to discover it, he need not
have gone and let his fellow-countrymen know all about it, so that they
should come over with organs and monkeys, and get boys into trouble—boys
that weren’t doing a thing to that organ-grinder when he threw a stick
at them. What made the fellow go into the school-yard, anyway? No one
asked him to come. Now there would be a fuss made, of course; and if
there was anything that Benny hated more than all other things, it was a
fuss.
But what if the organ-grinder should really prove to be dead? Oh! that
would be too dreadful; all the boys would have to be hanged, to be sure
of punishing the murderer, just as the whole class was sometimes kept in
for an hour because something wrong had been done, and no one would tell
who did it.
Benny could not bear the thought of so dreadful a termination to his
life, for he knew of a great deal worth living for; besides, his mother
would need his help as soon as he grew old enough to earn anything. What
should he do? Wait until dark, and then run away, and tramp off to the
West, where other runaway boys went, or should he make for the
sea-board, and from there to South America, from which country he had
heard that criminals could not be brought back?
But first he ought to learn whether the man was really dead; it might
not be necessary to run away at all. But how should he find out?
Suddenly he remembered that Mr. Wardwell’s barn, in which he was, had a
window opening on the alley; so he crept up into the loft, and spent
several moments in trying to look up the alley without putting his head
out of the window. Finally, he partly hid his face by holding a handful
of hay in front of it, and peered out. Between the stalks of hay he was
delighted to see the organ-grinder on his feet, although two men were
helping him. They were not both men, either, Benny saw, after more
careful looking, for one of them was Paul Grayson; but the other—horror
of horrors!—was Mr. Stott, a justice of the peace. Benny knew that
Justice Stott had sent many men to jail for fighting, and if Grayson
should tell who took part in the attack, Benny had not the slightest
doubt that half of Mr. Morton’s pupils would be sent to jail too.
[Illustration: BENNY MALLOW IN THE BARN.]
This seemed more dreadful than the prospect of being hanged had done,
but it could be done more quickly. Benny determined at once that he must
find out the worst, and be ready for it; so he waited until the injured
man and his supporters had turned the corner of a street, and were out
of sight; then he bounded into the alley again, hurried home, seized a
basket that was lying beside the back door, and a moment later was
sauntering along the street, whistling, and moving in a direction that
seemed to be that in which he might manage to meet the three as if by
accident. He did not take much comfort out of his whistling, for in his
heart he felt himself to be the most shameful hypocrite that had existed
since the days of Judas Iscariot, and the recollection of having been
told by his Sunday-school teacher within a week that he was the best boy
in his class seemed to make him feel worse instead of better; and his
mind was not relieved of this unpleasant burden until at a shady corner
he came suddenly upon the organ-grinder and his supporters, when he
instantly exchanged his load for a new one.
“Why, what’s the matter, Paul?” asked Benny, with as much surprise in
his tone and manner as he could affect.
Justice Stott had just gone into an adjacent yard for water for the
Italian, when Grayson answered, with a very sober face, “You know as
well as I do, Benny, and I saw the whole crowd.”
“I don’t!” exclaimed Benny, in all the desperation of cowardice. “I
didn’t do or see—”
“Sh—h!” whispered Grayson, “the Justice is coming back.”
Benny turned abruptly and started for home. He felt certain that his
face was telling tales, and that Justice Stott would learn the whole
story if he saw him. There was one comfort, though: it was evident that
Grayson did not want the Justice to know that Benny had taken part in
the affair.
There was a great deal of business transacted by the boys of Laketon
that night. How it was all managed no one could have explained, but it
is certain that before bedtime every boy who had taken part in the
assault on the Italian knew that the man was not dead, but had merely
been stunned and cut by a stone, and Paul Grayson knew who were of the
party that chased the man up the alley. Various plans of getting out of
trouble were in turn suggested and abandoned; but several boys for a
long time insisted that the only chance of safety lay in calling Grayson
out of his boarding-house, and threatening him with the worst whipping
that the boys, all working together, could give. Even this idea was
finally abandoned when Will Palmer suggested that as Grayson boarded
with the teacher, and seemed to be in some sort a friend of his, he
probably would already have told all he knew, if he was going to tell at
all. Some consolation might have been got out of a report of Benny’s
short interview with Grayson, had Benny thought to give it, but he had,
on reaching home, promptly feigned headache, and gone to bed; so such of
the boys as did not determine to play truant, and so postpone the evil
day, thought bitterly of the morrow as they dispersed to their several
homes.
There was not as much playing as usual in the school-yard next morning;
and when the class was summoned into school, the teacher had no
difficulty in discovering, by the looks of the various boys, who were
innocent and who guilty. Immediately after calling the roll Mr. Morton
stood up and said:
“Boys, a great many of you know what I am going to talk about. Usually
your deeds done out of school-hours are not for me to notice; but the
cowardly, shameful treatment of that organ-grinder began in the
school-yard, and before you had gone to your homes, so I think it my
duty to inquire into the matter. Justice Stott thinks so too. When any
one has done a wrong that he cannot amend, the only manly course is to
confess. I want those boys who followed the organ-grinder up the alley
to stand up.”
No boy arose. Benny Mallow wished that some one would give the bottom of
his seat a hard kick, so that he would have to rise in spite of himself,
but no one kicked.
“Be honest, now,” said Mr. Morton. “I have been a boy myself; I have
taken part in just such tricks. I know how bad you feel, and how hard it
is to confess; but I give you my word that you will feel a great deal
better after telling the truth. I will give you one minute more before I
try another plan.”
Mr. Morton took out his watch, and looked at it; the boys who had not
been engaged in the mischief looked virtuously around them, and the
guilty boys looked at their desks.
“Now,” exclaimed Mr. Morton, replacing his watch in his pocket. “Stand
up like men. Will none of you do it?”
Benny Mallow whispered, “Yes, sir,” but the teacher did not hear him;
besides, Benny made no effort to keep his word, so his whispering
amounted to nothing.
“Grayson,” said Mr. Morton, “come here.”
Bert Sharp, who sat near the front of the room, where the teacher could
watch him, edged to the end of his seat, so as to be ready to jump up
and run away the moment Grayson told—if he dared to tell. Most of the
other boys found their hearts so high in their throats that they could
not swallow them again, as Grayson, looking very white and
uncomfortable, stepped to the front.
“Grayson,” said the teacher, “I have known you for many months: have I
ever been unkind to you?”
“No, sir,” replied Grayson; then he wiped his eyes; seeing which, Bert
Sharp thought he might as well run now as later, for boys who began by
crying always ended by telling.
“You saw the attack made on the Italian; Justice Stott says you admitted
as much to him. Now I want you to tell me who were of the party.”
“May I speak first, sir?” asked Grayson.
“Yes,” said the teacher.
“Boys,” said Grayson, half facing the school, “you all hate a tell-tale,
and so do I. Do you think it the fair thing to hold your tongues and
make a tell-tale of me?”
[Illustration: “MR. MORTON, I WAS THERE.”]
Grayson looked at Will Palmer as he spoke, but Will only looked sulky in
return; then Grayson looked at Benny Mallow, and Benny was fast making
up his mind that he would tell rather than have his friend do it, when
up stood Bert Sharp and said,
“Mr. Morton, I was there.”
“Bravo, Sharp!” exclaimed the teacher. “Grayson, you may take your seat.
Sharp, step to the front. Now, boys, who is man enough to stand beside
Sharp?”
“I am,” piped Benny Mallow, and he almost ran in his eagerness.
“It’s no use,” whispered Will Palmer to Ned Johnston, and the two boys
went to the front together; then there was a general uprising, and a
scramble to see who should not be last.
“Good!” exclaimed Mr. Morton, looking at the culprits and then about the
school-room; “I believe you’re all here. I’m proud of you, boys. You did
a shameful thing in attacking a harmless man, but you have done nobly by
confessing. I cannot let you off without punishment, but you will suffer
far less than you would have done by successfully concealing your fault.
None of you are to go out at recess next week. Now go to your seats.
Sharp, you may take any unoccupied desk you like. After this I think I
can trust you to behave yourself without being watched.”
The boys had never before seen Sharp look as he did as he walked to a
desk in the back of the room and sat down. As soon as the bell was
struck for recess Grayson hurried over to Sharp and said,
“You helped me out of a terrible scrape, do you know it?”
“I’m glad of it,” said Sharp. “And that isn’t all; I wish I could think
of something else to own up to.”